Vrell stumbled over rocky soil. "Sir Gavin? Achan?" Where had they gone? She stretched out her hands, afraid of walking into a sharp branch. The darkness pressed against her skin, her very eyes. "Hello?"
"Here, my lady."
The familiar hiss of Khai Mageia's voice chased a chill up Vrell's arms. How had he found her? She stopped, turned, scanning the darkness for any hint of light.
A heavy hand grabbed her shoulder, and Khai's voice growled in her ear, "Surprise!"
Vrell sucked in a breath that reached to her toes. Her eyes flashed opened to reveal Sir Caleb's shaggy head bent over her.
"Wh-What? Is it Khai?"
"No. It's time to rise, Vrell. We must get moving."
Joyful heart! It was only another dream. Heart still pounding, Vrell rolled up her bed and set it and her satchel on the edge of camp. Keeping the torchlight in view, she crept away to her own private privy as the knights packed up.
Darkness sickened her. How many more twisted visions would stress her heart? Everything was dead, useless for food or medicinal purposes. And how long could she keep her secret without being caught? Achan already suspected her of lying. If she was not careful, he would suspect her of treason, as well. His animosity burned into her mind like standing too near a blazing fire. She hoped he would let his suspicions go. Though he would not make a very wise king if he did.
But maybe Achan had already acted on his suspicions. Yesterday, when he fell, it was clear Sir Gavin had been training him in bloodvoicing. Excluding Vrell. Did Sir Gavin distrust her? Did he want to keep her from learning the technique he had been teaching Achan?
She could see the logic, no matter how vexing. Had she been in Sir Gavin's boots, she would do the same. Who was she to them? A stray healer who had recently left the service of their enemy. Not exactly a person to trust. The tops of her ears tickled. She pressed her hands over them as her mother's knock came again.
Lady Nitsa Amal.
A tear rolled down Vrell's cheek. She held the curtain in place around her mind, keeping Mother blocked out. Oh, how she wanted to tell Mother everything. But Achan had overheard them last night. Uncertain whether it had been Vrell's error or Achan's strength, she could not risk it again.
She relieved herself as quickly as possible, holding her breath and trembling, keeping her vision locked onto the torch glow back at camp. She finished and started back, squeezing between two pitchy branches.
Why not confess? Certainly they would understand. Achan respected Bran and would likely be honored to watch over his friend's betrothed. But so many had lied to Achan, tricked him, used him. She could not bear Achan thinking ill of her, even for a moment.
Yet he thought ill of her now. An explanation might clear everything up.
No. She wiped the tear away. Achan suspected Vrell Sparrow, the nearly fifteen-year-old stray boy who did not exist. He knew nothing of Lady Averella Amal, the seventeen-year-old woman in hiding, and it would stay that way. If Lady Averella ever met Achan, it would be under vastly different circumstances.
Her ears tickled again. Lady Nitsa Amal.
A twig snapped behind Vrell. She whirled around. How she hated this horrible place! The idea of creatures she could not see lurking…
Crack.
Vrell froze, straining to hear further noise. Something was out there.
Not caring what branches scratched her, she ran back to the rocky clearing. Sir Gavin hoisted Inko's pack up over the Barthian's shoulders. Achan stood gaping at Sir Caleb, who was showing off with his sword and shield.
Vrell considered mentioning the sound, but a sudden green spark flew over her head and stopped above the clearing, swelling into a glowing orb.
Achan drew his sword and held it before his face.
"Circle up!" Sir Gavin backed into the clearing, eyes fixed on the trees.
The urgency in the old knight's voice trilled Vrell's heart. More ebens? Or could this be another illusion Darkness conjured to snare her?
Sir Caleb pulled Achan between him and Sir Gavin and lifted his blade toward the forest. Inko shrugged off his pack and bow. A second and third orb shot out from the trees. The three knights turned their backs to Achan, blocking him in.
"Boy!" Inko waved Vrell forward as two more sparks flew above her head. She scurried toward the men. Inko pulled her inside with Achan.
The orbs formed a wide circle overhead, hovering and lighting the rocky clearing with a green glow.
"What is it?" Achan asked.
Inko drew his sword. "Sakin Magos."
But Sir Gavin's translation meant more to Vrell. "Black knights."
She sucked in a sharp breath. Her father had spoken of such mages when she was little. In fact, it was rumored at court that Sir Nongo-
A knight clad in black armor stalked out from the forest and stopped under one of the eerie orbs. Another knight advanced, identical to the first. Vrell clutched Achan's arm and twisted around to see five knights circling them, each standing under an orb.
Achan squeezed between Inko and Sir Caleb and raised Eagan's Elk. "Best draw your sword, Sparrow. This is no time to let fear win."
Vrell's hand flitted around her waist until it landed on the hilt of her sword. She had owned the weapon for only two days and had no idea how to use it. Still, the pointed piece of metal was better than nothing.
"Be wary of their appearance." Sir Gavin rocked from foot to foot. "They can be both illusion and solid."
Impressive illusion. The green light cast a sinister glow over the black armor. It had the dreamlike quality of some of Vrell's nightmares, but none of those had lasted this long before switching streams. This had to be a real attack.
"We are coming only for the marked one," one of the knights said in a thick accent. Barthian? "We are having no quarrel with any other."
"If you take our prince, you start a quarrel," Sir Caleb said. "So we might as well save ourselves time in chasing you down and fight now."
The black knight drew his sword. "Then be letting us fight."
An oily voice from Vrell's left yelled, "Phaino takmak!"
A gowzal's cry split the night. A green speck flew from one of the orbs and swelled, taking the shape of the flying rat bird and soaring toward Sir Gavin.
"Ignore it!" Sir Gavin shouted.
The black knights advanced. Five against three, they were evenly matched only if she and Achan fought. Achan had already made his choice-he could certainly hold his own. But Vrell did not know what to do.
The glowing gowzal soared into the cluster of Old Kingsguards, through Sir Gavin and through Vrell's torso. She yelled but felt nothing. An illusion?
Swords clashed around her. Sir Caleb screamed a battle cry. Inko grunted. The black knights drew back slowly, pulling the Old Kingsguardsmen away, exposing Vrell. Before her, Inko fought a black knight whose helmet covered half his face, allowing his short, coiled, black beard to hang free. To her right, Sir Gavin fought a man with a similar beard. Sir Caleb, sword in one hand, shield in the other, fought two more bearded black knights. Her eyes widened as Sir Caleb swung his shield and stabbed his blade. He pushed his opponents back, but his movement left a wide gap in Vrell's sanctuary.
The fifth knight stalked between Sir Gavin's opponent and one of Sir Caleb's, as if invisible to all but Vrell. Dressed differently from the others, he wore black plate armor and a full helmet. The flat-topped, black cylinder had a scalloped crown and ribbed metal wings over each ear. Dark eyes glared through a slotted visor. A gowzal's head was stain-engraved in silver onto his breastplate.
Vrell clutched Achan's sleeve with a shaky hand. He pushed her behind him, eyes locked on the menacing knight, hilt gripped with both hands, rocking slightly from one foot to the other. Vrell squatted, holding her breath and cringing as blades clashed around her.
The black knight darted in at Achan with a small jab, which Achan deflected easily. The knight inched back. Achan stepped toward him.
The knight slowly drew Achan away. Bit by bit, the pair turned, until Achan faced Vrell. Only then did the black knight press forward.
"Don't let him drive you into the trees!" Sir Caleb yelled.
Achan swung his blade as if each stroke meant life or death, growling like a cougar. He stifled a cut from high guard with the flat of his blade, which brought him close to the knight, their weapons locked above their heads.
Achan yelled and kneed the knight in his engraved breastplate. The knight stumbled back a step. Achan seized that moment to ram his shoulder into his opponent.
They tumbled to the ground, rolling about as if wrestling. The black knight's armor grated against the rocks.
Achan came to the top and tore off one of the knight's gauntlets. The knight punched Achan's cheek with his other, still armored, hand. Achan screamed and bashed the empty gauntlet against the knight's helmet. The knight struck Achan in the face again and Achan fell back.
A sick thud and a grunt drew Vrell away from Achan. Inko staggered back, gripping his head in one hand, his sword arm drooping. Plum-sized rocks flew up and whacked him like raindrops from below. Inko's head lolled back and he slumped to the ground.
Inko's attacker turned to stare at Vrell, then raised his sword. She stifled a scream and crawled backward. Three stones hovered behind her attacker's head. The black knight's coiled beard shifted, revealing a set of grimy, sneering teeth.
Memories of her father training his guard flitted through her mind. Never be caught on your knees, he had told the young trainees time and again. Vrell stood and lifted her weapon in trembling hands.
The black knight advanced, laughing, and flicked one finger forward.
One of the stones soared toward Vrell as if thrown. She lifted her sword to block but missed. The rock struck her shoulder.
The other two rocks zinged forward. Vrell ducked, but the rocks changed course and pelted her ear and temple. Gritting her teeth at the pain, she squeezed her sword and charged. The black knight stepped aside, causing Vrell to stumble. She spun around only to be hit in the forearm by another rock.
The knight swung at Vrell's neck. Vrell lifted her sword to block. The weapons met with a clang, sparing her death but knocking her sword away. It clattered to the rocks and left her fingers throbbing.
Oh, she wished Jax mi Katt, her giant friend, had given her even one lesson.
The black knight pursed his lips and blew. A ribbon of green light spewed from his mouth and flowed toward Vrell. She backpedaled, looking for her sword. It had landed several paces away, behind Sir Gavin and his opponent.
The light curled around her waist as if to hook her. She froze, waiting to see if it had done anything, but the ribbon of light continued to snake round her like coiling twine. Another rock shot toward Vrell. She lifted her hands to block her face, and the stone clipped her knuckles. She cried out.
"The light is only being an illusion, boy. Don't be giving in to it." Inko struggled to a sitting position.
Vrell broke through the green strands and sprinted toward her sword, but the black knight cut off her path. Just as another rock rose between them, one clunked off the back of the knight's helmet.
"Hey!" Achan pitched a rock. "You only fight little boys or what?" His first attacker writhed on the ground behind him, the visor of his helmet dented into his eyes.
Blood and dirt covered one side of Achan's face and his tangled hair hung loose. He raised his sword like he wasn't the least bit winded.
Vrell released a shaky sigh as the knight approached Achan. She marveled at Achan's confidence. At sixteen-nearly two years her junior-Achan considered himself the man and Vrell the scrawny boy.
Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb were still fighting, but now Sir Gavin fought two opponents and Sir Caleb fought one. Sir Caleb plunged his sword into the torso of his attacker, and the black knight vanished in a puff of green smoke. Only an ebony gowzal remained once the smoke cleared. It squawked and flew over Sir Caleb's head. Sir Caleb crouched, watching the bird, waiting with his blade beside the edge of his shield. The black knight reappeared behind him, and Sir Caleb spun around in time to block the knight's blade with his shield.
What magic was this?
Inko struggled to his feet and inched toward his sword on the ground a few paces away. Vrell scrambled after her own weapon and ran to the edge of the clearing in time to see Achan cut through the black knight who had been throwing rocks. He disappeared into a green mist and, with the cry of a gowzal, reappeared at the opposite edge of the forest.
Vrell no longer cared if she was discovered. Mother! There is a battle. Black knights. What can I do?
Stay back, dearest. A battle is no place for you. Can you hide?
Is there a way I can help? As soon as one is defeated, he turns to smoke and appears elsewhere. How can that be? Are they men or magic?
It is difficult to say with black knights. There may only be one. Some have the ability to duplicate themselves.
But surely only in illusion?
Yes, unless they have called on dark spirits to aid them. Then they can give their illusions physical form. Black knights use the darkest magic. Can you guess the leader? Does one appear stronger than the others?
Vrell peered around the tree. I cannot tell good sword fighting from the bad. I-wait. Four of the knights look identical. They all have the same beard. The fifth looks different, and he is on the ground, crawling toward the trees. Achan felled him.
The others are likely apparitions from a mage. Do you see another person, maybe standing a safe distance away?
Vrell scanned the tree line. A pale, raised hand and a set of eyes glinted in the green glow, back where she had made her privy. A sixth man, barely discernable in a long, hooded cape.
An unarmed man stands in the trees.
Does he see you? Move to a safe place, quickly!
Vrell darted back behind the pitchy tree truck.
I am going to step through your mind, Averella. I need you to focus on the unarmed man.
I understand. Fear prickled up Vrell's arms. Mother wanted to jump through her. Vrell had tried it before and failed. But Mother's strength far exceeded her own. What did Mother hope to accomplish by entering this mage's mind? Master Hadar taught me of this technique.
Very well. Prepare yourself, my love.
Vrell stepped around the tree and stared at the hooded man. She closed her eyes and pictured him. I am ready.
Sounds invaded. Swords clashed in the clearing. Men yelled and grunted. Boots skidded over rocks. But just as she had before, on the day Achan had jumped through her, she saw nothing, felt no different. Did this mean it was working? Vrell wanted to pray, but breaking concentration might ruin Mother's plan.
So she sensed a prayer, knowing in the back of her mind Arman was with her, holding her up, protecting her. Peace flooded her body, easing the sting of her bruises, silencing the sounds of battle. A song rose within, not from any instrument or voice she had ever known. A joyful song of hope swept around her, lifted her in its arms like pollen in the wind. She wanted to laugh, safe, free, and floating out of her body and up above the clearing.
*
"Vrell?" A hand pressed down on her shoulder, igniting sharp pain from a bruise there.
Her eyes flashed open. She lay under a large charcoal tree lit with faint yellow torchlight. The moist ground cushioned her rear and legs. Gnarly tree roots bit into back and shoulders.
A shadow loomed above, breathing heavily. She could not see his face. "Are you well? We almost lost you to the Veil."
Sir Gavin.
"Yes." A sharp root poked into Vrell's lower back, but she did not feel seriously injured.
"Who are you?" Sir Gavin asked.
"My memory is fine, sir. I am Vrell Sparrow and we are in Darkness."
"Aye, but who are you really?"
Her breath snagged. "I…what?"
"Together you and I stormed the mage. We couldn't find his body. He must have had more men in the woods. Where'd you learn such a trick? I had been trying to battle his mind as I fought his apparition with my sword, but it wasn't until I had help that I could put an end to his mischief. Did Macoun teach you to storm?"
Vrell's heart lurched. Storm?
A torch flamed to life back in the clearing. Sir Caleb held it above Inko, who still lay on the ground.
Sir Gavin reached a hand down to Vrell. She gripped his calloused palm and he pulled her to standing.
"Make no mistake," Sir Gavin said, "we'll talk more of this."
Vrell pushed past Sir Gavin and found her satchel at the edge of the clearing. She carried the bag to Inko's side, dug out her safflower salve, and tried to help him sit.
He shook his head. "Be seeing to the others, boy. I'm being fine."
She approached Sir Caleb, who had a gash over his left eye. He held his torch toward the forest. "See to the prince."
Of course. Vrell turned and found Achan propped against a tree on the edge of the clearing. She scurried to his side and knelt gingerly on the sharp rocks. "Are you hurt?"
His lips parted, baring a wide, toothy grin in his blood and dirt-covered face. "How'd you like yer firs' battle?"
"What makes you think it was my first?"
"Lucky guess?" Achan chuckled, then closed his eyes and moaned. The cut on his left cheek had been torn open.
"If it hurts, stop talking." With shaking hands, she opened her water jug and wetted a fresh cloth. She wanted to know what Mother had done, but forced the worry away for now. She dabbed the dirt and blood from around Achan's wound and grimaced at the sight of the swollen skin. She hoped it would not get infected. "For your information, Jax, Khai, and I met eben resistance on the journey from Walden's Watch."
Achan flinched at her touch. "And yeh hid 'hind a tree?"
Why did he always want to play? She acquiesced, only because his cheek looked incredibly painful. "In the tree, actually. Now be serious, Your Highness. Where else are you hurt?"
Achan groaned. "Sp'rrow. If yeh call me that one more time, I'll see that yer hurt."
"Just answer the question, stubborn boy."
Achan met her eyes and coughed out a laugh. "Me? I'm notta-"
"Look." Vrell nodded to Sir Caleb. "They are injured but will not hear of being treated until you are, so stop wasting time and let me help you so I may help them."
Achan lifted his right hand in front of his face. His dark, wet knuckles glistened in the distant torchlight. "M' hand does 'ting a bit."
"Sir Caleb," Vrell called. "The light, please?"
They journeyed over rocky terrain for hours listening to Sir Caleb talk on the sword and shield's strengths over the longsword alone. Achan's feet ached. Sharp pebbles poked into the soles of his boots. Sir Gavin wanted to get to Mirrorstone as quickly as possible. Achan didn't like the fact that more black knights might be shadowing them but could think of no better plan.
The terrain flattened. Sir Gavin stopped in a field carpeted in short, twiggy grass and urged they make camp in the open where no one could sneak up on them so easily. Did that even matter? In Achan's opinion, Darkness provided endless cover for anyone wanting to set up an ambush.
They laid out the bedrolls around a small, blue torchlight. Achan settled onto the stiff leather and nibbled a piece of dry meat. "I still don't understand what happened." He pictured Eagan's Elk slicing through the black knight and the man vanishing into green smoke. "The first man I fought was flesh and blood. But the one who picked on Sparrow disappeared as I finished him."
"Deception," Sir Caleb said. "Black knights don't fight fair. Illusion is their biggest strength. And those who call on black spirits can give their apparitions physical form."
Black spirits? A chill raked Achan's arms. "I fought a demon?"
"Nay." Sir Gavin groaned as he sat on his bedroll. "The one with the helm was real. The rest of us were fighting the mage's enchantments. Black knights claim to be warrior mages. They believe sorcery combined with swordsmanship makes them stronger. They're under their own illusion. The power they wield isn't theirs."
Sir Gavin pulled his pack onto his lap and opened the flap. "The spirits aren't in control either. Both creatures, demon and man, are bound by each other's limitations. A man who falls victim to their spell is crippled by fear and rendered an easy target. That's why I stressed you understand the illusion. A very real illusion, but not as terrible as the black knights would have you think."
Sir Caleb squeezed Achan's shoulder, bushy eyebrows raised. "What I want to know is how you aren't dead, Your Highness. I thought you trained him, Gavin."
"I did, but…Achan uses what's at his disposal."
Heat spread over Achan at the idea of Sir Caleb's disapproval. "I thought I fought well."
"As did I," Sparrow said.
Sir Caleb winced. "Aye, you're brave, but you need proper training and practice."
"I competed in Prince Gid-Esek's tournament."
"Did you?" Sir Caleb's lips curled in a half smile. "What events?"
"The short sword and shield, though I'd never-"
"You were risking him to be playing games?" Inko's accusatory tone rang sharp. "What if he was being killed?"
"He should've been, judging by what I saw today," Sir Caleb said.
"He needed experience if he was to survive without me." Sir Gavin winked his brown eye at Achan. "Arman protected him."
"But you were risking him," Inko said. "Our future king."
"He's alive, is he not?"
Inko turned his disapproving glare to Achan. "It often is being said, Your Highness, that some training is being better than no training. But I must be cautioning you, sometimes no training is better than having bad training."
"Bah!" Sir Gavin slapped his palm to his thigh. "I trained him well enough!"
Sir Caleb folded his arms across his chest. "He fights like a drunk in a tavern brawl."
Achan blinked from Sir Gavin to Sir Caleb. A drunk?
"Aye, he's always been a bit of a brawler. I like that about him. Reminds me of his great uncle Preston." Sir Gavin sniffed in a long breath and released it slowly. "Forgive me, Achan. I've likely done a shabby job of teaching you to fight proper."
How was this criticism fair? Achan had defeated two of the five black knights. Sparrow had cowered like a girl. If Sir Caleb wanted to point out flaws, he should start with the boy. "What did I do that was so wrong?"
"Not wrong, Your Highness." Sir Caleb's brows furrowed as if he were searching for the right words. "You have courage and stamina, and you're strong and quite intimidating for a man your age. But you're full of risk. You leave too much to chance. Plus you've no respect for your weapon."
Achan shrugged. "What's a weapon but a tool to be used how its wielder deems necessary?"
"Well said, lad." Sir Gavin grinned, his thin, wolfish smile looking more like a grimace.
"Could I learn, as well?" Sparrow asked.
Sir Caleb nodded. "You can, boy. I must say, I thought you a coward until you turned veil warrior with Gavin and defeated the mage."
Achan frowned. Sparrow did what? "What's that mean, veil warrior?"
"It is meaning, Your Highness, that Vrell hasn't been being honest with us," Inko said. "He can do more with his mind than he has been letting on."
"No, I–I do not understand how…" Sparrow let his words die out, looking as though he had forgotten how to speak.
Sir Caleb gripped the back of his neck and pulled him into a one-armed hug. "Never mind your modesty, boy. Now, hand me your sword and we'll teach you to use it. Give those black knights something to fear on all accounts."
Despite wanting to string Sparrow up a moment ago, Achan's mind knotted at this line of conversation. The Veil was the world between Er'Rets and eternity in Shamayim or the Lowerworld. Not to be confused with the Evenwall, which separated Light from Darkness. How did bloodvoices work with the Veil?
Sparrow drew his sword from the ring on his belt and handed it, blade first, to Sir Caleb.
Achan rolled his eyes.
Sir Caleb frowned and twirled his finger. "Turn it around. Never hand over a weapon blade first."
"Sorry." Sparrow turned the blade and poked himself in the nose with the tip. He jumped, eyes wide.
Achan chuckled silently, fighting to keep his cheeks from curling, but the image of Sparrow's shocked face as he stuck himself with his own blade amused him to no end. Veil warrior or not, Sparrow was a bungler.
Sir Caleb took the weapon and examined it, then passed it to Achan, hilt first, with a sideways glance at Sparrow. "What do you make of Vrell's purchase, Your Highness?"
Achan gripped the thick, wooden handle, squeezing and releasing. He stood, backed away from the torchlight, and swung. The sword felt lighter than Eagan's Elk, which made sense for a short arming sword, but the handle weighed too much. It felt like he was wielding a pitchfork by the prongs.
He knelt before the torch, batted a moth aside, and scrutinized the blade. The cutting edges were crude, dirty with tool marks, gouges, and nicks. He held the sword flat in front of him, horizontal to the ground, and bent the end like he'd seen knights do to check the temper of the blade. It barely flexed.
He shot Sparrow a fleeting look. "How much did you pay for this?"
"Twenty pieces of silver."
Achan choked back a laugh. "Twenty!"
"Where does a stray come by twenty pieces of silver?" Sir Caleb asked.
Sparrow glanced from face to face. "My master in Walden's Watch gave it to me when I left."
Achan snorted. "You must be the luckiest stray I've ever met to have such a master."
"Lord Orthrop was more my warden than master. I apprenticed at the local apothecary."
Sir Caleb frowned. "The lord of the manor housed you and allowed you to apprentice? A stray?"
Sparrow's eyes cast down. "Lord Orthrop is a kind man."
"I'll say." Achan held up the sword. "Well, it's not worth five in my opinion. They didn't even bother to sharpen or polish it. It's unfinished, Sparrow. But that's not the worst of it." He peeked at Sir Caleb, confidence waning.
"Go on," the knight said.
"Well…it's got no flexibility. It'll probably break under a real blow. Plus, the balance is off. The hilt is heavy. The blade should be longer for the weight of this hilt, I think."
"But I'm short," Sparrow said.
"That doesn't matter." Achan paused. The knights watched him. Heat smoldered in the pit of his stomach. What did he truly know about swords? "Well, maybe it does."
"No. You're doing fine," Sir Caleb said. "Go on."
"Well, you'll build arm muscle using any sword, so the size of it based on your height isn't the issue. It's the reach, I think. If you're fighting an opponent with a longer sword, they'll be able to strike you, but you won't be able to reach them. Plus if they have a shield, which most do…" He stood and pointed to Sir Caleb's shield propped against his pack. "Sir Caleb?"
The knight handed Achan the shield. Achan tossed it to Sparrow who nearly fell over trying to catch it. The boy examined the shield and looped his arm through the straps.
Achan drew Eagan's Elk and handed it to Sparrow grip first. "Take my sword."
Sparrow accepted the weapon. "It is lighter than I expected."
"Aye. And you're much smaller than me. Take a swing."
"Easy." Sir Gavin's lecturing tone rang out.
Like the boy could actually do any damage. "Don't try and kill me, just reach out."
Sparrow did, slowly. Achan gripped the end of the blade between his thumb and fingers and jerked it toward his chest.
"There. See? You can reach me with a decent blade, despite your size. Look here." Achan gripped Sparrow's sword in his right hand. He was naturally left-handed, but Sir Gavin had taught him to fight with both. He reached out with Sparrow's blade. Even with his long arms, the tip remained a hand's breadth from the lad's chest. Sparrow's eyes bulged.
Achan dropped the cheap sword in the grass. "Switch with me."
Sparrow passed over the sword and shield and retrieved his sword from the ground. Achan gripped the shield in front of him, slightly to his left, and held the flat of Eagan's Elk against the shield's edge.
Sparrow gaped.
"Well?" Achan asked.
"I see my disadvantage immediately. Not only do you stand over a foot taller and much stronger, but the shield covers most your body. Where am I supposed to strike?"
"My legs and head," Achan said.
To Achan's surprise, Sparrow darted left and lunged for his foot, but his blade struck the dirt.
Achan whacked Sparrow's head with the flat of his blade, the way Sir Gavin had done to him time and again.
Sparrow yelped and stumbled, clutching his head.
The knights laughed.
Achan fought back a smile. "You just lost your head. Keep your chin up. Look with your eyes so you can see as much as possible at all times and not leave yourself wide open. Oh, and you aren't digging a pit. Yours is a cutting blade. A dull one. But your grip is all wrong, as is your swing. Don't swing like you're afraid you'll miss. Put your heart into it. Passion increases a man's strength."
Achan shrugged his arm out of Sir Caleb's shield and let it fall on the ground. "But none of that matters if your blade can't even reach me. And if your opponent slips his grip to the pommel, he can get another four inches on you."
Inko chuckled. "It seems our prince is to be knowing a mite more than you were to be thinking, Caleb."
"Aye, he knows some, but there are strategies for fighting against a longsword with a shorter blade or dagger. You and I will work on that, Vrell, and see if we can outwit our prince." Sir Caleb raised a bushy blond eyebrow at Achan. "And I don't care how much you know, Your Highness. If you keep throwing swords and shields in the dirt, they won't be useful for long. Bring your blade here and I'll teach you to clean it. Vrell, you can learn too."
Achan knelt beside Sparrow at Sir Caleb's bedroll. "Honestly, you wouldn't stand a chance with that sword, even if you knew what you were doing. If we meet further opposition, I suggest you find a tree to hide behind. You'd cause more trouble in battle with us trying to keep you alive."
Sparrow's bottom lip trembled.
Pig snout, the boy was going to cry.
"There's no shame in it, Sparrow," Achan said quickly. "We need you as much as you need us. If not for you, who would patch us up when we're half dead?"
Sparrow folded his arms, but his lips curved up a bit.
"Now, Your Highness, that's not fair." Sir Caleb pulled his pack onto his lap. "If not for Vrell, we might not have survived those black knights, isn't that right, Gavin?"
"Aye. What concerns me is how they're finding us."
"Are you keeping your mind shielded, Your Majesty?" Sir Caleb asked.
"That shouldn't matter, Caleb," Sir Gavin said. "I sensed no ability to bloodvoice from the ebens or black knights. They found us by other means."
"Both attacks came in the morning. Ebens are good trackers. And black knights may have used gowzals. They can speak to them, you know, use them as messengers."
Achan recalled seeing through the bird's eyes. Guilt festered in his stomach. "I opened my mind after Sir Caleb's lesson that first night."
Every set of eyes focused on him.
"I know I shielded myself well. None of you sensed me. I…saw through a bird. It had information for its master. Made no sense to me at the time. Thought it might be Darkness messing with-"
"A gowzal, then," Sir Caleb said. "We must keep watch for the beast birds. The black knights are using them to track us."
*
Vrell opened her eyes to a black void. A hand nudged her side and she bolted upright.
"Vrell," Sir Gavin's whisper floated down from the darkness, "'tis our watch."
Vrell blinked her stinging eyes. Her back ached from sleeping on the ground. Oh, how she longed for a steamy, rose-leaf bath and her feather bed. "I am awake."
A blue torchlight whizzed to life, illuminating Sir Gavin's whiskered face. "Join me over here a moment, if you will." He walked away, his body blocking most of the blue light.
Vrell heaved to her feet and trudged after the faint glow, each step waking her further and bringing more and more of her circumstances to mind.
Sir Gavin stopped far enough away that she could no longer see the camp. Her heart thudded. She didn't like being so far from the others, but the light felt safer than the lack of it.
The Great Whitewolf stared down, the torchlight sinking into the surface of his skin, sharpening every wrinkle into deep gouges of shadow. "Who are you really?"
The question hung in the dark surrounding them. Arman, help her. Vrell pursed her lips and dropped her focus to her feet, though the torch did not cast enough light for her to see them. Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back. She had to keep control.
"I need the truth, lad." Sir Gavin softened his tone. "How is it you know such advanced bloodvoicing battle methods? I can't imagine Macoun taught it to you, fool though he is."
Battle method? She'd been dreading Sir Gavin's promise of a confrontation. Sir Caleb's veil warrior praise had only added to her apprehension. What had Mother done?
"You will answer me. I have no qualms about binding you and leaving you for dead. So tell me, do you mean us ill will?"
Tears flooded Vrell's vision despite her efforts to hold them back. "I cannot…" She lifted her fingers to cover her trembling lower lip. "Please don't…" A sob burst past her defenses.
"Aw, don't cry, now. I've no desire to see you hurt, but I've a responsibility to see Achan take the throne. I must know if anyone stands in my way. Are you Esek's spy? Macoun's?"
Vrell jerked her chin up, eyes wide. "No. N-Nothing like that, sir, I promise you. I am on your side. I follow Arman too. And I–I want Achan to be king more than anything."
"Then tell me what you hide."
Vrell fought to stifle her tears. "I…do not think I can."
"You will."
Vrell glanced in the direction of the camp, her breathing ragged. "Will you tell…the others?"
"Not unless I have reason."
Vrell licked her cracked lips and met Sir Gavin's mismatched eyes. She wanted to contact Mother, ask what to do, but she couldn't very well go glassy-eyed in front of Sir Gavin. Her gaze darted from his blue eye to his brown one.
Enough misery. Exposing the truth must be Arman's will.
Vrell's voice came in a near whisper. "I am Lady Averella Amal of Carmine."
Sir Gavin's bushy white eyebrows sank over his eyes.
Before he could reply, she hurried on. "Prince Gidon-beg your pardon…" Vrell swallowed and took a deep breath. "Esek petitioned Mother for my hand last winter. She refused, but he would not accept her answer. His pressure grew so intense that Mother deemed it best I go into hiding. Only Lady Coraline Orthrop of Walden's Watch knew the truth of me. But while she was away, Jax and Khai arrived to escort me to Mahanaim. Macoun Hadar had sensed my bloodvoice ability and wanted me as his apprentice. I had no choice but to go.
"Lord Orthrop and the knights believed I was a stray boy with no rights. If I had revealed myself…well, I feared they would force me to marry the prince-Esek, I mean. And I could not marry him. He did not care for me. He only wants control of Carm. He is a horrible person. I pity the girl who becomes his wife. And I will die before I meet such a fate."
An ache seized Vrell's stomach. She gulped and wiped tears from her cheeks. How terrifying to admit the truth after so long, yet so freeing. She had only intended to pause, then explain how she had come into Macoun's service and eventually met up with Achan, but now that she had stopped, the tears would not. She hugged herself and let them come, gasping and sniffing to keep her nose from watering.
"Eben's breath." Sir Gavin drew her into an awkward, stiff-armed embrace. Vrell cried harder, her body shaking with sobs. Sir Gavin slapped her back. "Poor child. Why didn't you confide in me? I could've left you in Prince Oren's care."
Vrell clutched her sides and wailed. Staying with Prince Oren had been her greatest hope. She choked and coughed, trying to stop the tears long enough to answer. Her words came in slurred bursts. "I did not know…who to trust. I had planned to tell…Sir Rigil, but…when I found Achan and Sir Caleb…in the secret passage…Sir Rigil had gone." Vrell sucked in a breath. "Achan's cheeks were bleeding. He needed aid. I thought I could serve my king a bit longer."
Sir Gavin nodded, as if putting the pieces together. "You were going to reveal yourself to the Council on your mother's behalf so Achan would have his votes. Did she ask you to?"
"No, sir. She did not wish it. Not with Esek there."
"She was wise not to risk you." Sir Gavin groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. "My dear lady, you're a brave soul. To think I let Achan strike you this night. I'm ashamed of myself."
Vrell welcomed the excuse to smile. "Well, I must learn to fight, sir. It has been horrible all this time not being able to protect myself. I felt so weak and vulnerable. So useless."
"Aye. And you've joined a perilous journey, my lady. Did your mother teach you to storm? What you did with the black knight?"
"I know nothing of what my mother did. I blacked out. I called out to her for help and she jumped through me. Then…I saw nothing."
Sir Gavin spoke to himself, "Aye. Nitsa helped him once. I had forgotten."
Vrell straightened. "Helped who?"
"Eag-forgive me. 'Tis not my tale to share but something to ask your mother." Sir Gavin sniffed and stroked his beard braid. "What is your wish, my lady? How can an Old Kingsguard knight be of service?"
"My only wish is to go home. But Macoun Hadar and Khai Mageia know who I am. They told Esek. Now Esek has placed a bounty on both our heads. Mine and Achan's."
Sir Gavin tipped back his head, eyes narrowing. "Perhaps that's why so many small parties hunt us. They're after the reward." He gripped Vrell's shoulder. "We'll get you home, brave lady. Unfortunately it will not be soon. You're certain you don't want the others to know? It'll be easier on you."
Vrell drew her bottom lip between her teeth. "I never meant to deceive Achan. I had hoped to slip away without him finding out who I really am. Is that wrong of me?"
Sir Gavin stroked his moustache over the curve of his top lip. "I cannot say. Either way, 'tis probably best you stay dressed as a boy. It isn't proper for Achan to travel with a woman, no more than for you to travel with four men." He sniffed in a long breath. "We'll keep your identity between us. It won't ease your burden, though I'll try to help where I can."
Vrell shook her tears away and lifted her chin. "Please, do not interfere with my training. I never want to be unprepared in battle again. If I am going to survive, I must learn."
"I've never met a braver lady." Sir Gavin's eyes widened. "Eben's breath! No wonder you didn't want help with your leeches. Oh, my lady. I thank you, deeply, on behalf of our king for your service these past weeks. You saved his life after the Poroo battle, cared for him in the dungeons, called me to his aid, and sacrificed your own safety for his benefit. You should be commended." He shuffled his feet, threw up his hands, and sighed. "I'm sorry I cannot offer more than words."
Vrell hugged Sir Gavin, his prickly beard tickling her face. "It is a great comfort to finally have a confidant. Your kindness means so much, Sir Gavin. I can never repay you for it."
"I'd never accept it if you tried. 'Tis my duty as a knight to see you safely home, my lady. That I promise to do."
"Sir Gavin, please. I do not understand what Mother did. And Sir Caleb is bragging me up as a veil warrior. All I remember was concentrating. I heard a song and all my pain vanished. I felt as if I had floated in the air. And then nothing."
"When I found you, you were cold. I fear we almost lost your mind to the Veil. Though I appreciate your mother's assistance, you must not help her again 'til you learn properly. The Veil is a dangerous place for one untrained to navigate it. We'll tell the men you helped me by accident, that you didn't know what you were doing. 'Tis mostly true."
"How can one enter the Veil whilst they are still living?" Vrell had always understood that a man who entered the Veil was on the brink of death.
"It is done using bloodvoicing. A gifted man may leave his body and enter the Veil, or he may cast another man-gifted or not-into the Veil, which is the essence of storming. A man's soul was not created for Er'Rets, you see. It was created for Shamayim and longs for the peace and joy of that eternal home. Trust me, Vrell. You do not want to tempt your soul to the Veil before Arman pulls it there."
Vrell shivered. Without realizing it, she had gone into the Veil before, when Macoun had asked her to seek out Esek and Achan drew her into his mind. "So my mother sent the mage to the Veil? Is he still there?"
"I cannot say. People can be brought back, but only by those who know how."
"And do you know how, Sir Gavin?"
"I do, but I'm too old to risk it. 'Tis not a wise task for a man so close to Arman's final call."
Achan woke with a stiff back. He sat up and scanned the camp, Eagan's Elk poking into the grass behind him. The knights were packing up. "Where's Sparrow?"
Sir Caleb combed his fingers through his wild mane and yawned. "Watering the nearest tree, I imagine."
Achan pushed himself to one knee and rolled up his leather bed. His stiff legs and back ached, and his belt had cut a groove into his waist overnight that had left the area without blood flow. He scratched his waistline and heaved to his feet.
"From now on, Your Highness, do not wear your belt and sword when you sleep." Sir Caleb's owlish eyes glimmered in the torchlight. "It's wise to keep it close by, but how could you draw if you're sleeping on it?"
Achan grunted in response. No doubt Eagan's Elk was to blame for the majority of his stiffness as he'd slept on his back to keep the hilt reachable.
He crossed the dead grass to where Sir Gavin knelt, attaching his bedroll to his pack. Achan crouched beside the knight. "So? Did you speak to Sparrow?"
Sir Gavin cinched the leather cords on the bedroll. "I did."
"And?"
"'Tis none of your concern."
Achan's eagerness faded. "He's not hiding anything?"
Sir Gavin drew the pack over his shoulders and groaned as he heaved it on and stood in one motion. Achan stood with him and received his piercing gaze. "What Vrell hides is his own business and no threat to you. Leave him be about it."
Leave him be? "Yes, sir."
Sir Gavin clapped Achan's shoulder, his calloused hand scratching Achan's leather doublet. "Please, lad. You must not call me sir. You're my prince. I say 'yes, sir' to you."
Achan nodded, though frustration seared through his veins. Sir Gavin wanted him to be prince but kept secrets. Sparrow was hiding something, threat or not. Achan had met the boy first. Were they not friends? Didn't Sparrow trust him?
Sparrow bounded into the light and looped his satchel over his head and arm. They each took their place along Sir Caleb's rope and set off in the dark. Achan traipsed along, more comfortable blindly trusting Sir Gavin to lead on this third day of the journey. Truly? Had three days passed already? They'd slept before the giants attacked, then in the rocky clearing where the black knights had appeared, then last night in the field. That made this day four. Without the sun to rise and fall, it all seemed like one long night.
Their boots scraped over crusty grass. To keep their minds from wandering, Sir Caleb told a story of how Allowntown had come to be.
"Were my parents staying in Allowntown when they were killed?" Achan asked after some time.
"Nay, they were just arriving from Mahanaim. When your father traveled, he reveled well into the morning with his men and his minstrels. Your mother, not wanting to expose you to such behavior at your young age, had come along."
"She sounds like a prudent woman and a loving mother," Sparrow said.
Achan grinned at the thought of his father wanting to include him in the merrymaking at age three and his mother's desire to tuck him into bed.
"I'd never seen a prouder papa than King Axel," Sir Caleb said. "You lived on his shoulders if you weren't in your mother's arms. I'm surprised you learned to walk."
Achan's grin sobered, knowing this story didn't end well. "So they were killed when they reached Allowntown?"
"As Sir Gavin said the other night, when we awoke, the king and queen had already left. We had barely started out from Mahanaim when your father cried out."
"No one in Allowntown saw what happened?"
"Nay. If you recall, the fortress is small. Normally, when the king and queen traveled, a messenger would ride ahead to announce their arrival. This would have given the staff in Allowntown a chance to welcome the king properly. My brother, Lord Agros, said no messenger came that day."
"What was Sir Kenton's story?" Achan asked.
The crunching of dead grass pulled Achan's attention to the web of trees on his left. Could Sir Gavin sense every beast in the area? Or only those he shadowed? He could have sworn he'd heard a horse neigh.
"According to Sir Kenton and every guardsman and servant questioned, the king dismissed his men when they arrived, and he, you, and your mother went for a walk in the orchard. No one would have questioned this as your mother had a fondness for trees. She had her own gardens at Armonguard. They're still there. You shall see them someday."
"Who found them?" Achan tensed at the image of a family walk turned to slaughter.
"A farmer. He'd been out-"
Torches fizzed to life on all sides, bobbing in the darkness. Achan drew his sword. Men in armor appeared all around them. These weren't black knights, however. Nearly two dozen soldiers encircled them, each gripping a sword and a two-tone shield bearing the face of a reekat. Behind them, men on horseback stood sentry before three long carts filled with rock.
"By whose command do you tread upon this land?" a man said.
Achan couldn't tell where his voice came from.
"We serve no man," Sir Gavin said. "We seek an audience with Sir Septon Eli, Lord of Mirrorstone."
"And you are?"
"Sir Gavin Whitewolf, commander of the Old Kingsguard. We come in peace."
"Then you shall be received in such." A tall, husky man stepped through the row of soldiers and approached Sir Gavin. His face was shaded in a thick grey beard. "I am Belen. I would be happy to escort you to Mirrorstone."
Stay in the shadows, Achan, Sir Gavin bloodvoiced.
Gladly. Achan dreaded their arrival in Mirrorstone, fearing Sir Gavin intended to parade him about to rally supporters.
All his life he'd had but one goal: freedom. To be able to build his own cottage, cook his own meals, and, maybe someday, have a wife and family. He'd never dreamed of being king. And despite any notions of what he thought a prince or king's life might be like, the past few days had shown the truth. A king was not a free man in the slightest.
Belen led them across a wide dirt road to the wagons filled with rock. He tapped the side of one that was hitched to two horses. "Your men can ride in this. Come with me, Sir Gavin, and I'll see you are given a horse."
Sir Caleb nudged Achan toward the wagon. "You heard him. Into the wagon, men."
Achan slipped up on the wagon bed, legs dangling off, but Sir Caleb made him move farther in. He scooted back and leaned against a smooth boulder. Sir Caleb and Inko sat on either side. Sparrow sat in front of him.
Like shields.
"How is your head, Inko?"
Sparrow's voice sent a jolt of tension through Achan. The secret keeper excelled at pretending nothing was amiss.
"It's being a big lump. I'm thinking Arman was blessing me that it was being the third rock that was being thrown. Any other I might not have been waking up from."
Achan closed his eyes, wishing the act could forever silence Inko's irrational superstitions over lucky numbers and who knew what else.
"It's a relief to be headed for a stronghold," Sir Caleb said. "Pray it's a friendly one."
The wagon jerked forward, wheels crunching over dirt, rocks shifting against the wooden wagon and each other. Soldiers rode by on horseback, eyeing them curiously in the glow of the torches they held. Lulled by rolling motion of the wagon and the sound of creaking wood, Achan soon nodded off.
"How lovely."
Achan opened his eyes at Sparrow's voice. Hundreds of torches illuminated the size and shape of a tall, narrow castle. Flames burned bright, reflecting warm, flickering light in the surrounding moat of dark water. Mirrorstone. Lord Eli had it good. It was an impressive place for a man no more than twenty years of age.
They passed under a marble gatehouse intricately carved with foliage, faces, and animals. The soldiers peeled away from the wagon and crossed a deserted courtyard toward an archway topped with a double row of torches. The wagon stopped before a grand marble porch with pillars as wide as three men.
"Stay back and keep your head down," Sir Caleb said.
They piled out of the wagon. A guard led them inside through a pillared vestibule and into a luxurious great hall. A raised, white marble dais stretched across the far end of the room. Red linen draped over a head table set with golden plates and goblets. Three bronze candelabras, dripping with glass prisms, hung above the table, each holding dozens of white candles. The prisms cast sparkling light over the floor and walls. Guards stood beside each fluted pilaster, edging the room.
Achan kept his eyes down, wincing slightly. After so many days of gloomy shadow, the light seemed wrong somehow. Too bright.
Sir Gavin and a young man were seated at the high table looking like a grandsire with his grandson. Achan recognized the young man's pale, freckled face and shock of orange hair immediately. Sir Septon Eli himself. A man barely older than Achan. His parents had also died tragically, though Achan couldn't recall how. He did remember Esek monopolizing the young lord's wife on the trip to Mahanaim.
Achan stayed behind Sir Caleb and kept his head down as they crossed the wide room.
"I'm collecting rock to build a wall around my land," Lord Eli said to Sir Gavin. "The Poroo and ebens have been merciless of late. It appears they want to start a war with one another, yet Mirrorstone lies in between. It thrills me to no end they want to kill each other, but I want no part of it."
"You think a wall will keep them out?" Sir Gavin asked.
"It works for Har Sha'ar."
"Har Sha'ar is a mountain fortress. You're on the coast."
"A tall enough wall will keep them out. The kwon too."
"Kwon certainly," Sir Gavin sniffed, "but Poroo climb."
"Oh, I'm well aware. I was there when the Poroo attacked Prince Esek's procession. Horrible creatures. Can't be reasoned with. Can't be bought."
Sir Caleb stopped and cleared his throat.
Lord Eli's gaze jerked to the floor and he waved them forward. "You must desire to freshen up before dinner, but I wanted to greet you first."
Odd. Achan did not claim to be an expert at decorum, but Sir Gavin had taught him a guest's comfort always took priority. Either Lord Eli was clueless, extremely self-absorbed, or suspicious of his guests.
Sir Gavin pushed back his chair and stood. "These are my fellow Kingsguards, Sir Caleb Agros and Inko son of Mopti."
"Ah, a Barthian, are you?" Lord Eli smiled down on Inko. "Well, I won't hold it against you." He snapped his fingers and one of the servants pulled out a chair for Inko.
Achan instantly disliked Lord Eli's arrogant, Esek-like demeanor.
"And Agros is a noble title, is it not?"
Sir Caleb bowed. "My brother is Lord of Allowntown."
"And are you heir to the lordship?"
"By no means. My brother has three healthy sons."
"A shame for you and a joy for him, I'm sure." Lord Eli snapped again and a servant pulled out another chair.
Sir Caleb hesitated, then took his seat beside Inko.
Achan remained standing beside Sparrow, eyes cast to the floor. He could feel Lord Eli's gaze.
"And these are?"
"Our servants." Achan looked up at the sound of Sir Gavin's voice.
"Delightful." Lord Eli left his chair and descended the platform. "I should like to meet them as well."
This was the longest of tales. No man as pretentious as Lord Eli would even look at another man's servants, let alone desire a personal introduction.
"What's this? Your servant is injured." Lord Eli stepped so close Achan could count the freckles on the man's face. His breath warmed Achan's cheek. "Why I…can it be?" He spun to face the high table, eyes wide. "Commander, do not play me false. I have seen this young man before on the journey from Sitna. King Esek issued a royal proclamation to apprehend this man."
King Esek? Sir Caleb stood and drew his sword. Achan drew his as well, and pointed it at Lord Eli's chest. Lord Eli's guards charged from the perimeter, weapons ready. Sir Caleb slid over the top of the high table and jumped to the floor, raising his blade to Lord Eli's back.
"No, no! You misunderstand!" Lord Eli cowered, cheeks flushing so his head resembled a peach. "King Esek made me a fool, keeping my wife from me on the journey from Sitna. Please, stay, Your Highness. Build your campaign. My seer advised me that counsel would come from outside Mirrorstone, and here you are. I am your servant. I will stand with you as you take what is rightfully yours. Please, accept Mirrorstone's full support. My staff and guards are at your disposal." Lord Eli nodded to his guards and the men lowered their weapons.
Achan glanced at Sir Caleb, who sheathed his sword, "Perhaps instead of games, a little hospitality would melt His Highness' resolve."
"Of course, of course. Right away." Lord Eli raised his arm, as if to snap. "But first you must visit the temple shrine and make an offering."
Sir Gavin walked to the end of the dais. "That won't be necessary."
"It is unwise to ignore Avenis. The more attention you bestow on the god of beauty, the more blessings he returns." Lord Eli's piercing gaze bounced from face to face, eyebrows sinking. "No? Very well." He snapped his fingers at a servant who stood along the wall. "Prepare a bath in our best room for His Royal Highness. Prepare the adjoining rooms for his staff. And inform our other guests that dinner will be delayed."
The servant bowed and darted away.
Lord Eli turned to Achan. "You will join us for dinner?"
Sir Gavin descended the dais steps. "What other guests?"
"The future queen, her mother, and her sister."
"You house the Hamartano women?" Sir Caleb asked.
Lord Eli blanched. "They were traveling through on their way to Jaelport. How could I refuse such beauty? Avenis would not be pleased."
"The future queen is whatever woman weds Gidon Hadar," Sir Caleb said, gesturing to Achan. "Esek may marry whom he pleases, but she will not be queen."
"Quite so," Lord Eli said. "Yet it is my understanding that the best match for the king of Er'Rets is a daughter of Lord Hamartano. My seer has said as much. None are prettier than Jaelportian women, though do not tell my wife I said so." He chuckled. "Should not the king have the most beautiful wife?"
"Jaelport is a powerful force," Sir Caleb said. "But the Hamartano family cannot be trusted. Lord Hamartano voted against the true prince and has always acted in his wife's best interests. Perhaps it's best we skip dinner tonight."
"But he has two daughters," Lord Eli said. "Lady Mandzee has been promised to King Esek, but Lady Jaira is promised to no one. Personally, I feel Lady Jaira is the handsomer of the two. Why not come to the temple and see who Avenis would favor for the prince's bride?"
"Never," Achan said.
The men looked to Achan.
"Even if I wished to marry, which I don't, I'd never marry Lady Scorn. I'll not even jest of it. Beauty is as much an inward attribute as it is physical, Lord Eli. And I've never met a more hideous beast of a woman than Jaira Hamartano."
Lord Eli placed a hand over his heart, his wide eyes and freckled face giving him the appearance of a scared child. "Surely we are not speaking of the same creature?"
Your Highness, Sir Caleb said to Achan's mind, do keep your charitable opinion of Lady Jaira to yourself. You do your reputation no service to speak so callously of anyone in company beyond our own.
Sir Gavin stopped at Achan's side. "We're not yet marrying you to anyone, but we must remain open to all options." His voice boomed in Achan's head. Play along, lad, and see where this leads. Tell him we'll dine with him.
Achan gritted his teeth but lightened his tone. "Forgive me, Lord Eli. It is only the fatigue of the road speaking, I fear. We'd be pleased to dine with you."
Lord Eli's face brightened. "Excellent. And I insist you allow my tailor to service you with new clothing for the occasion. We must look our best or Avenis will be displeased."
Sir Gavin jerked his head in a bow. "You're most kind."
Achan wasn't convinced.
*
Achan's chamber was a mini great hall paneled in dark wood. The room stretched lengthwise with narrow doors for servants on each end. White crown molding edged the ceiling and lined pocket niches along the walls that held nude gilded statues. A turquoise rug covered the center of the intricately painted gold and black wooden floor.
A colossal bedstead, centered on the wall opposite the entrance, dominated the room. It had a turquoise and gold silk canopy that tied back against four fluted wooden pillars. The carved headboard ran up the wall and held a marble bust of Avenis. At least a dozen square and round pillows of black, turquoise, or gold lay piled on the mattress itself.
To the left of the bed, a fire burned in a marble hearth as high as Achan's head. Two massive candelabra hung from the ceiling, holding thin white candles. Fancy furnishings stood about the room: wooden chairs painted white with gold leaf flowers, half pillars holding ornate vases, paintings of half-dressed people framed in gold leaf, and ornate bronze wall sconces every three paces.
"Delightful host." Sir Caleb removed his shield and set it against the wall. He shrugged off his pack and fell onto one of the white chairs. It creaked under his weight. "I've never witnessed such a display of arrogance and ignorance in the same man."
"I have." Achan crossed the wool rug, thinking of Esek. Riga Hoff held both traits as well. Achan paused at the bed and stroked the silk bedspread.
"'Tis no matter," Sir Gavin said. "If we mean to promote Achan as king, he'll need to be seen, and often. We must form a plan for his presentation."
"But not until we have an army to protect him," Sir Caleb said. "As is, we're elk in a barren field. I don't trust Septon Eli. And I certainly don't trust Jaelport."
"Nor I, but we've little choice but to play along for now."
Achan sank onto the edge of the feather mattress. "Do I get to sleep in this bed?"
"Lord Eli does present a good point," Sir Caleb said. "Esek has obviously aligned with Jaelport. We should find a bride for the prince, as well."
Warmth tingled up the back of Achan's neck. "What?"
Sparrow nudged Achan's foot with his boot. "Lady Jaira would bring a powerful ally in Jaelport."
Achan snapped out of the daze Sir Caleb's comment had evoked. "That's not funny."
"If Hamartano would truly be marrying one daughter to Esek and the other to Achan," Inko said, "he's not really being our ally. By his pledging one daughter to each man, he's securing himself a queen. That's being his only agenda."
Sir Caleb snorted. "Don't assume Lord Hamartano has an agenda. He simply does his wife's will."
"And no woman I ever met would be more capable of assassination than Lady Jaira," Achan said. "I'd be dead in a week. She's hated me from first glance."
Sparrow nudged his foot again. "Only when she believed you were a lowly stray. Give the lady a chance to redeem herself now that she knows your true birthright."
Achan spoke through clenched teeth. "Enough jesting."
Sparrow shrugged. "I am only pointing out that Lady Jaira is known to fancy high-born, wealthy men."
Achan's tone lightened. "Well, I'm not wealthy. Am I, Sir Gavin?"
Sir Gavin stroked his beard braid. "Achan, don't worry-"
"I am sure we could raise enough to turn Lady Jaira's regal head," Sparrow said.
Achan stood up so he could tower over the boy. "Then why don't you marry her?"
Sparrow propped his fists on his hips. "We both know how she feels about strays, Your Highness."
"Hush, lads!" Sir Gavin said.
"And don't even joke about an alliance with Jaelport, Vrell." Sir Caleb's bushy eyebrows pinched. "You cannot trust them. Ever."
Achan fell back onto the cushy bed. "I don't want to marry anyone. I just want to lie low for a while."
"People swore fealty to you at Council," Sir Caleb said. "The people want you as their king. You cannot hide. And you should choose a bride soon. Align with a powerful ally. If Esek is sworn in as king and takes up residence in Armonguard, the people will likely protest, possibly revolt. We need to gather supporters who'll rally the people in our favor when the timing is right. We need organization. A bride is a necessary step."
"But not the first one and nothing we must decide tonight." Sir Gavin fell onto one of the white chairs and groaned. "Put it out of your mind for now."
"But I…why should I…" Achan stammered. "You're really going to force me to marry?"
"Every king must have a queen, Your Highness." Sir Caleb pulled his cloak off over his head, causing his short blond hair to frizz out. "Er'Rets has been without a king for too long. Even now, if Esek or even you were to take the throne, many won't follow. They've been following their own agendas for so long, they don't want a king. We must convince them they need one.
"Most Kinsmen, true Kinsmen, will follow you. But the Kinsman population alone won't give us enough allies to take the throne. The majority-Poroo, Otherling, Giants, Chuma, Wildermen, Cela-will follow the coin. We have little funds. A bride can rectify that."
Achan's stomach churned. "I won't marry someone for money nor will I bribe people to follow me. Esek will always offer more, and when my back is turned, someone will stick a knife in it."
"Aye," Sir Gavin said. "Know then that you'll always have far more enemies than allies until this is over."
Achan stared into the blazing flames in the hearth. "That I'm used to."
A knock at the door stilled the conversation. Inko let in two servants, carrying a wooden tub between them. Three more followed with steaming kettles of water. The servants set the tub in front of the hearth and began filling it.
A sixth man entered holding dark blue folded fabric and bowed. He handed the fabric to Sparrow. "A robe for after His Highness' bath." He stepped toward Achan. "And I'm to measure His Royal Highness for his new ensemble."
"For the sake of the gods," Achan murmured.
Sir Caleb waved him forward. "Nothing too garish, now."
The tailor measured Achan's waist, chest, arms, and legs, then bowed and departed. The other servants left as well.
Sir Gavin turned to Sir Caleb. "I'll stay behind with Achan if you and Inko would like to visit the steams. He'll be ready to dress by the time you're finished, then I can go down."
"I can dress myself," Achan said.
Inko lifted his pack. "Vrell can be coming along. Vrell?"
Sparrow's eyes widened and he shifted from Achan's side to Sir Gavin's chair.
Sir Gavin put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I need Vrell's help. He'll have to go later."
Vrell sat cross-legged on her bed in the servant's quarters adjoining Achan's chambers, perusing the sparse contents of her satchel. Esek's sleeve was the only fabric left. Perhaps Lord Eli would replenish her stores. She would hate to have to use Esek's sleeve as a bandage. She also hoped to bathe. Her skin felt like a tree in Darkness.
The tiny room was only big enough for two beds separated by a narrow fireplace. A sliver of mirrorglass hung above the fireplace. She carried her toothcloth and toothpick there and began to pick her teeth, savoring the opportunity to clean them without an audience. Her solitude inspired her to bloodvoice Mother. She explained where she was and all that had transpired.
I am glad you confided in Sir Gavin, Mother said. You can trust his wisdom.
Sir Gavin said you stormed the mage. He explained the concept, but what did you do exactly?
Storming is a complicated process. You must not attempt to do it on your own. Sir Gavin told me how it weakened you. I was foolish to risk you without knowing how you would fare. When you are home, I will teach you all you want to know about your gift. For now, do nothing to endanger yourself. Promise me?
Yes, Mother. Vrell's gums itched. She traded her toothpick for the toothcloth and pressed it against her bleeding gums. What happened the day of the Council meeting? Why did we lose contact?
One of Lord Nathak's shadows had been working in our kitchens. He tainted my meal with aleh. It had been so long since I had tasted it, I didn't realize what happened until it was too late. I instantly requested karpos fruit but there was none to be found. My guards investigated and discovered that a servant was seen leaving the castle with a basket of karpos. It seems Lord Nathak's shadow stole them all.
Vrell rubbed her toothcloth over her bottom teeth. Did you find out who he was?
A new man, naturally. Went by the name of Jamon. Captain Loam believes the name is false and he was one of Esek Nathak's old squires.
Really? Which one? For Vrell had met many over recent years, though most did not stay squires for long. Esek tended to injure them.
Captain Loam did not recall. Only that he'd seen the man at tournament.
The door to Vrell's room swung in. Vrell closed her mind and hid her teeth-cleaning tools behind her back.
Sir Gavin entered, looking clean and tidy. His long white hair slicked back on top, partly tied back. The rest hung straight to his waist, as did his beard braid, now smooth and tight. He set a stack of clothing on Vrell's bed. "Achan went with Caleb to fit the clothes Lord Eli ordered. The tailor sent this for you. Should you like a bath, Achan's water is still warm. Sorry I can't get fresh, but I'll stand guard. Also…" He tapped a small leather bundle atop the folded clothing. "I asked Lord Eli if he had a gift I could take my niece in Melas."
Vrell looked from Sir Gavin's blue eye to his brown. "I did not know you had a niece."
"I don't." The old knight winked his brown eye. "Enjoy your bath, my lady."
Vrell opened the bundle and found a mirror, comb, and bar of rose-scented soap. She squealed and hugged Sir Gavin around the middle. "Thank you, good sir! I shall be quick."
Vrell turned every nude statue in Achan's room to face the wall, and, despite the used water, savored the bath. She couldn't tell her leech wounds from mosquito bites at this point. For all she'd been through in the past few days, she was remarkably unscathed. She tugged the snarls from her hair with her new comb. Mold speckled the belly of her padded disguise. She needed to air it out, fill it with fresh wool. How would she ever have the opportunity?
Reluctantly, she put the undergarment back on and dressed in the royal blue tunic and black trousers Sir Gavin had brought. She cracked open the door to the hallway.
Sir Gavin turned to the door. "Feel better?"
"Much." Vrell exited and closed the door behind her.
Sir Gavin offered his arm. "Time for dinner."
Vrell slid her fingers around Sir Gavin's forearm and allowed him to lead her down the hall. What freedom to be herself, however brief. She straightened her back and held her head high. Footsteps on the stairs caused her to release Sir Gavin's arm. A servant flowed off the landing and strode the opposite direction, holding a kettle of water.
Vrell flushed. How could she have been so careless?
"My apologies," Sir Gavin said in a low voice. "Probably not the best idea."
Vrell pushed the near miss away with a smile as they made their way downstairs. "How long will we remain here?"
"Just tonight. Lord Eli invited us for longer, but I'll not tarry. Not here."
Vrell agreed. She did not trust Lord Eli either.
Sir Gavin stopped on the landing halfway down where the staircase furled out into the pillared foyer like a river into the sea. Hearty smells drifted on the air. Vrell's stomach growled, then tightened when she saw Achan.
He stood with Lord Eli at the entrance to the great hall, looking every bit like a rich, exotic prince. He wore a black leather doublet over a royal blue tunic embroidered with silver thread. The sleeves dangled past his fingertips. Silver buckles cinched black trousers below his knees where they met shiny black boots. His black hair slicked back into a braided tail, held in place by a sparkling jewel. No bandage covered his scruffy cheeks, but his facial hair had been trimmed into the start of a beard that would eventually hide his scars.
But nothing could hide his sour expression. Such chagrin could be due to the fact he had been dressed like Esek, yet Vrell bet Lady Jaira Hamartano's presence was the likely cause. She stood with her mother, sister, and Lord Eli's wife at the bottom of the stairs.
Vrell paused beside Sir Gavin and frowned. Jaira's blue dress suspiciously matched Achan's ensemble. The gown clung to her every curve as if painted onto her skin. It had a wide, revealing neckline with little cap sleeves that dripped black beads down her slender arms. She wore black satin gloves to her elbows. The slender skirt fanned out from her knees like the tail of a fish. A silver chain draped around her narrow waist with a matching blue reticule attached.
Jaira's dozens of fine black braids were piled atop her head like an ebony crown, baring her long neck and shoulders. Shiny obsidian teardrops dangled from her ears. A third larger stone hung from a thin cord around her neck and plunged toward her low neckline. Her olive skin looked bronze under the flickering candelabras and sparkled as if she had bathed in mineral dust. Paint reddened her cheeks, outlined her eyes in black, and dusted each eyelid blue.
Vrell had never seen such repulsive beauty. She could hardly bear to see Jaira standing with Achan in such a way. Lord Eli had plotted these matching ensembles, she had no doubt. Vrell took a deep breath and tried to create a neutral expression, but a sudden thought stole her breath. She had been dressed to match Achan as well.
As his squire.
She turned her gaze upon the vestibule. Lord Eli left Achan to go to his wife, Lady Katiolakan. They wore matching ensembles of gold and green. He led his wife to Achan. Lady Mandzee and her mother walked behind them, themselves clothed beautifully. Appropriately. Mandzee wore violet and her mother wore peach. Neither was dressed as bait. Did these people think Achan a womanizing fool like Esek? Did they hope he might fall for Jaira's display?
Switch places with me, Sparrow? You be prince and I'll be squire.
Vrell jumped. Achan had just bloodvoiced her. Without knocking. Her shields were up, and still she sensed the open connection between them. How was he doing that? It had to be his power. She could not accomplish such a feat.
Sir Gavin inhaled through his nose. "Something smells sour," he said with a lilt to his voice. "What do you think of the colors blue and black tonight?"
Vrell wrinkled her nose. "They look like a bruise."
Sir Gavin laughed. "That they do, my lady. I quite agree."
*
Why didn't Sparrow answer? Perhaps Achan hadn't messaged correctly. He did forget to knock first, and he hadn't concentrated hard. Yet he'd managed to keep his connection open to Sir Caleb most the afternoon as Sir Caleb had groomed him. He had thought the same process might work for Sparrow. Apparently not.
Achan would have done anything to stand on the staircase with Sir Gavin and Sparrow. He hadn't moved since the women had entered. He wished everyone would pass him by. He made eye contact with Jaira when Lord Eli had brought the ladies over, but he didn't dare look in her direction again. Never had he seen a woman dressed so brazenly. He cursed his eyes for wanting to look back.
Sir Caleb, Sir Gavin, and Inko had been given matching white tunics with leather vests and brown trousers. Inko and Sir Caleb hadn't shaved. Getting started on their beards for Tsaftown, Achan supposed. He couldn't wait to be there.
Lord Eli led his wife before Achan and bowed low. "Your Highness, may I present my wife, Lady Katiolakan?" He held out his wife's hand as if passing her over for Achan to catch. She was pretty and plump with grey skin and sleek black hair. Achan lifted his hand instinctively, then lowered it. What did they expect him to do?
Take her hand and kiss it, Your Majesty, Sir Caleb said. Have you never seen such a greeting?
Kiss it?
You're the future king of Er'Rets and must act with dignity and respect in formal gatherings.
Hoping his expression was dignified, Achan reached out. His arm seemed to belong to someone else. He took Lady Katiolakan's dainty, gold-gloved hand and stared at it.
Try to look as if you know what you're doing, Your Highness, Sir Caleb said. Say something witty and kind, then softly kiss her hand and let go. You're not marrying her. It's not meant to be heartfelt.
Achan forced yet another smile from his lips. The act caused his freshly wounded cheek to throb. "It's an honor, my lady." He pressed his lips to the gold silk glove then released it.
Pig snout, he wanted to leave.
Lady Katiolikan rewarded his actions with a screeching giggle that took Achan back to the miserable days spent walking in Esek's procession. "The joy is being mine, Your Highness. I am being appalled to be discovering this treachery in Sitna. My heart is going out to all you have been suffering. The gods will be demanding retribution, I am being certain."
How should a prince respond to such? "Aye, it was an outrage, my lady."
Good. But next time say "yes" not "aye." You sound like a soldier.
Achan clenched his teeth. Why is this evening necessary?
Because we need supplies if we're to make it to Tsaftown.
Tsaftown. Yes. Achan would focus on Tsaftown. He'd play this role for a chance to see Lady Tara again. A lady with charm. And obvious virtue.
Lord Eli gestured toward the other women. "May I also present to Your Highness my special guests from Jaelport. Queen Torrezia Hamartano and her daughters, Princess Mandzee and Princess Jaira."
Achan couldn't help his bulging eyes. Princess of what?
Cela Duchy. Yes, I know the Hamartano women are vile creatures, but you must not sink to their standards. Dignity and respect, if you will.
The ladies each curtsied. Thankfully, none offered her hand. Achan bowed with rigid formality without making eye contact. "I'm honored."
Jaira surged forward and fell to her knees, seizing the legs of Achan's trousers. "My lord prince, I beg your forgiveness for my serpent tongue. The words I spoke when last we met were those of a spoiled child. I promise you, I have grown in wisdom and grace since then, and I pray you do not hold my behavior in Sitna against me."
Achan blinked at the pile of black braids pinned to the top of Jaira's head. It seemed an eternity before he could fathom how to respond, and when he did, he barely managed a whisper. "Not at all, my lady. Think on it no more and enjoy your evening. I've heard Lord Eli is a tremendous host. Please, rise and tell me if the rumor is true."
Sir Caleb's voice invaded his mind again. Well said, Your Highness. You're your father's son after all.
His insides coiled, but he offered his hand. He was slightly humbled at how she'd humiliated herself, but he still didn't trust her a hair. Now, if she were to treat Sparrow kindly with no witnesses present, he might believe her claim of having grown.
Jaira slipped her black-gloved hand in his. It felt oily. She smelled strongly of a spice he couldn't recognize, as if she'd bathed in the scent. He tried to pull her up, but her skirt had tangled under her knees. She gathered the layers of blue fabric in one hand and tugged. With a yelp she went down again. Achan caught her waist and lifted her to her feet. She stood in his arms, looking up into his eyes, cheeks flushed maroon.
She did that on purpose, you know.
Achan released Jaira and glanced over her head to meet Sparrow's eyes. The boy stood at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed, leaning against a fluted pillar. The smirk on his round face said it all.
You can hear me, Achan said. Why didn't you answer before?
She is such the actress. What performance will she give next? Perhaps the tale of the princess who wins the heart of the young prince.
Funny. I'd like to see you play my role. Sir Caleb put oil in my hair. This isn't exactly fun.
Oh, yes. It does look dreadful to have beautiful women literally throwing themselves at your feet. How ever do you manage?
Jaira pressed a hand over the black stone on her chest. "Thank you, Your Highness. The things a woman must wear to be beautiful. I'm afraid they can be a hindrance."
And now she fishes for compliments. Well? Go on then. You must oblige. It is only polite.
You're such a boil, Sparrow. Achan forced a smile. "They're more than worth the trouble, my lady, I assure you." He met Sparrow's eyes one last time. Happy?
Quite.
"We shall feast in my personal dining room," Lord Eli said. "It is more intimate than the great hall." He offered one arm to his wife, his other to Queen Hamartano, and led them through a set of painted doors as high as the vaulted ceiling. "Bring your men, Sir Gavin, Dinner is served."
Achan steeled himself and offered his arm to Mandzee, because she was older and Sir Gavin had taught him that was proper. Mandzee smiled and accepted his arm. Achan offered Jaira his other arm. She blinked her dark eyes slowly, then slid her fingers around his bicep.
He swallowed his angst and followed Lord Eli through a set of glass double doors into a narrow room, hoping he didn't trip on the gowns trailing alongside his boots.
Talking with Sparrow had lightened his mood a great deal.
A long table draped with white linen was set for twelve-five on each side and one on each end-with gold goblets, matching trenchers, bouquets of silk irises, and purple linen napkins. Two large candelabras hung from the ceiling. A painting of Lord Eli and Lady Katiolakan covered the right wall. Another set of double doors divided the left wall. A life-sized statue of Lord Eli stood behind the head of the table.
Lord Eli helped his wife sit at the end of the table and settled Queen Hamartano to her right. He moved to the head of the table and stood behind the chair, his own statue looming behind him like a shadow.
"My servants have set nameplates at the table," Lord Eli said. "Please take a moment to find your seat."
Achan released the ladies' arms. "Princess Mandzee Hamartano" was painted in purple ink on the small, white marble scroll to Lady Katiolakan's left. Next came Sir Gavin's name, Sir Caleb's, then Jaira's.
"Your Highness." Jaira stood before her nameplate. "Look, you're here beside me."
Heat coursed through Achan at the sound of her voice addressing him in such a way. Sir Caleb's hand on his back prodded him down the left side of the table. "Prince Gidon Hadar" painted in purple script marked his place to the right of Lord Eli and the left of Princess Jaira. Of course he'd be seated beside the host. Where else?
Sparrow stood dead center on the opposite side of the table. Good. At least Achan could make private jokes with his friend. He might not survive this evening without them.
Achan pulled out his chair and sat, ignoring Sir Caleb's glare, not caring whether decorum dictated he should wait until the women sat or pull out their chairs and fawn over them with flowery compliments. They could seat themselves.
A thin woman with sallow skin took the seat across from him. She wore a blood-red velvet robe over a black gown that bunched around her neck and up to her chin. Her gaunt face paled next to such vivid colors. Her cheeks caved in like she was sucking a lemon and her bloodshot eyes bulged in deep sockets ringed with dark circles.
A priest of Avenis with a stiff, ivory teardrop hat took the seat beside her. He wore an ivory robe with thick, rolled cuffs. At least ten gold chains in various girths and lengths hung around his fat neck. One long brown eyebrow stretched across his wide, flat forehead like a caterpillar. His eyes were small and fixed on Achan.
It had been days of dried meat and figs, and prison gruel for weeks before that, except for Sparrow's apples. His stomach growled at the idea of fresh, hot food.
Sir Caleb helped seat Jaira to Achan's left. Her spicy smell snaked up his nose, making his eyes water. She scooted closer to the table and her arm touched his. He froze a moment, then casually leaned away, reaching for his nameplate with his right hand. He pretended to examine it a moment, then put it back, careful to shift his weight so he no longer touched Jaira.
A tall and muscular, olive-skinned eunuch with a shaved head entered the room carrying a lidded basket. His eyes were outlined in black, similar to Jaira's. A maroon skirt fell to his sandaled feet, held in place by leather straps that crisscrossed over his bare chest and supported a sword at his waist as well. Achan recalled Jaelport employed eunuchs like slaves. This man must work for the Hamartano family. A shield, perhaps?
The eunuch stopped between Sir Caleb and Jaira and held the basket aloft.
"Finally, Larkos," Jaira said to the eunuch. She lifted the lid, and her tiny, hairless dog scuttled out of the basket and curled in a ball on her lap, tail wagging. Charcoal skin stretched over the dog's bony frame. Its huge ears reminded Achan of a bat.
Larkos backed against the double doors behind Jaira. The priest still stared at Achan from across the table, unfazed by the eunuch and bat-dog. Achan met Sparrow's curious gaze and said, Having fun?
Your discomfort is quite entertaining, yes.
Happy to help.
Do you like your seat?
Oh, I dream of torturous moments like these. Do you think it would be rude if I asked Lord Eli to open the doors to get a bit of a draft? If I don't get some fresh air, I may black out from the smell of the princess.
I do not think they have fresh air in Darkness.
Can't you smell her?
It is a bit strong.
What is it?
My guess would be a tropical lotion. Do you like the flakes of gold?
Gold? On her skin?
She sparkles for you.
Seems a waste of gold.
A piercing giggle rang out from Lady Katiolakan at the end of the table. Sparrow winced. Jaelportians have always been brazenly flamboyant.
Achan raised an eyebrow. Well, you've got the brazen part right. She may as well be naked. I've never been so uncomfortable in all my-
"Your Highness," Lord Eli gestured toward the snowball of a priest, "may I present my chief priest, Pontiff Latmus. And this is my advisor, Seer Rheala." Lord Eli laid a hand on the gaunt woman's shoulder.
Achan nodded once for both.
Pontiff Latmus spoke in a low, hoarse voice. "I would be honored, my prince, to show you Avenis's temple after dinner. I am sure the mighty Avenis understands your perilous journey, but to avoid him any longer is a risk you cannot afford, in my estimation."
Jaira set her gloved hand on Achan's arm. "Oh, yes, you must. It's the most beautiful temple I've seen. And Pontiff Latmus has displayed the offerings so you can see everything."
The doors to the dining room swung inward, and a long line of servants entered carrying heaping trays. A rich, meaty smell diluted Jaira's aroma.
"We shall try to make time," Sir Caleb said. Then silently to Achan, Do not eat until Lord Eli bids you start. Most hosts serve their guest of honor first. I know not what to expect from Lord Eli.
A servant leaned past Lord Eli and set a tray between Achan and Seer Rheala's trenchers. It held a roasted bird sitting in a pile of garlic cloves and apricots. Another servant placed a tureen of dark gravy sprinkled with saffron beside it. There were also bowls of flaky whitefish with wedges of lime; pickled beets; tiny, red potatoes; a basket of dark, long loaves of bread; and a tureen of soupy corn.
Lord Eli reached forward and ripped a leg off the bird. He dunked it in the tureen of gravy and dropped it on Achan's trencher. "Do you play dice, Your Highness?"
"Some." But only with Gren or Noam. Most people had refused since it was considered bad luck to consort with strays.
"Do you eat fish, Your Highness?"
"I do." Achan could finish the whole platter himself.
"All our food is imported from Allowntown and Mahanaim." Lord Eli cut a large portion of the fish and slid it onto Achan's trencher. "It is tradition, you know, for the host to serve his most honored guest. For you, Your Highness, I will do the slave's job." He piled two scoops of potatoes next to the fish, then ripped an end off a loaf of bread and set that on top of Achan's pile of food. Lord Eli snapped his fingers, and a servant poured wine into Achan's goblet.
"Your sacrifice is noted." Achan glanced at Sir Caleb. That's about what I might expect.
Seer Rheala and Pontiff Latmus began to fill their plates. Lord Eli filled his own. Achan took a deep breath and let the meaty smell soak into him. Should he eat? He doubted Lord Eli's crowd prayed to Arman. Might they thank Avenis?
But Lord Eli simply started eating, so Achan followed suit.
He bit into the leg first, for he had never been given such a large serving-never tasted warm meat. It was juicy and rich, the gravy salty. An unintentional moan escaped. He lowered his eyes, hoping no one heard. He put down the leg and popped one of the little potatoes into his mouth next. His teeth pierced the skin and the warm center mashed in his mouth. The flavor was bland after the fowl. He pinched off a bite of fish. It tasted tart and peppery. He shoved another bite into his mouth and savored the flavor on his tongue.
His first meal as royalty. He circled his plate, alternating between all the different foods.
A small squeak, like a mouse, turned his head. Jaira stared at him, tiny jeweled knife in her dainty fingers. She smiled with all the warmth of a jackal.
A quick glance around the table and Achan saw everyone-except him-was eating with tiny knives and dainty utensils. Even Sparrow. Achan frowned.
"Seer Rheala, tell the prince what your stones said of his visit."
The seer's voice croaked lower than the pontiff's. "I have seen an alliance in the south under a single leader. And I have seen riches, prosperity, and beauty for Mirrorstone."
"Do you see Light?" Achan asked.
Silence fell over the table. Every face turned at him.
"We must not put our hope in the fables of a man who can push back Darkness," Pontiff Latmus said. "We must be practical and heed the warnings of the gods. Seer Rheala has predicted much prosperity. You can choose to be a part of that, or you can choose to go your own way."
"You speak wisely, Pontiff," Lord Eli said. "Seer Rheala, tell our young prince what you see in the north."
"Death."
Achan cringed, not buying a word this woman was peddling.
"I am glad you've come to Mirrorstone, Your Highness," Lord Eli said. "King Esek is overbearing and ignorant of the ways of the gods. Stay with us and we will raise an army to march against King Esek, take Armonguard, and unite Nahar, Cela, and Arman duchies."
If Lord Eli wanted to convince Achan of his support, why continue to call Esek king?
"And what of Barth?" Inko asked. "Would they be supporting this campaign?"
Lord Eli waved his hand. "Barth supports itself."
"Do you get on well with Lord Falkson?" Sir Caleb asked.
Lord Eli's face tinged pink. "He and I have had our quarrels, as have many neighboring strongholds, but they no longer concern me. Seer Rheala predicted a mutual alliance with Barth long before Kati and I were wed. Ever since, Barth and Mirrorstone have gotten on fine."
Achan bit into his apricot and found the fruit warm, sweet, and juicy.
"Your Highness, have you fought much with the short-sword and shield since you defeated my brother?" Jaira asked.
Achan nearly choked on his fruit. He stiffened, searching for the perfect response. "Only the sword, my lady. I had the pleasure of a second encounter with your brother and some of his companions."
Jaira fed a chunk of meat to her dog. "And did you defeat him a second time?"
"Not as easily. He's a…cunning opponent." Who'd almost killed him.
"Was he responsible for the wounds on your face?"
Achan's cheeks warmed. "No, my lady."
Jaira smiled in such a way that Achan shivered. Her hatred poured into his senses like hot water in a bath. Still, she sat smiling, crafting friendly, almost flirtatious, comments. Why? Perhaps her mother had put her up to it. Regardless, he wouldn't be able to stomach this game much longer.
He glanced at Sparrow. I think I'm going to be ill.
Sparrow gave him a dopey smile. But you look lovely together.
You do realize we'll be practicing swords again soon, and when we do, you'll pay for your delight at my expense.
Sparrow snickered out loud, garnering a raised eyebrow from the pontiff.
Achan supposed this was fun for the boy. The lad had seen him beaten to humiliation, imprisoned in a dungeon, had nursed his wounds, and now Achan was the Crown Prince. It was the most outlandish tale. Had the situation been reversed, Achan would've enjoyed poking fun at Sparrow.
The servants filed in again. One whisked away Achan's trencher and replaced it with a silver bowl of berries floating in fluffy cream.
"Is that the Hadar signet ring you wear, Your Highness?"
Achan glanced at the gold ring on his left middle finger. The letters OAH were engraved in the imprint of a castle. "It is Prince Oren's."
"I imagine King Esek has your father's ring, then?"
Did he? And why did Lord Eli insist on calling Esek king? "I imagine he does."
"Pity." Lord Eli scooped cream onto his finger and licked it off. "Have you ever played one hundred, Your Highness?"
"I haven't."
"It is the simplest of dice games." Lord Eli raised his voice. "I have hidden a surprise in the dessert that will dictate your companions for the evening. Chew carefully."
Achan took a bite of berries; the sweetness distracted him from his surroundings entirely. He'd never tasted anything so wonderful. It was even better than Poril's ginger cake. He inhaled the dish until his teeth bit down on something hard and cold. He spit a plain gold ring into his fingers.
Lady Katiolakan shrieked and clapped her hands from the end of the table. "How wonderful this is being."
Lord Eli beamed. "Ah! His Highness found the gold band. How fitting. The gods are playing matchmaker, I suspect."
Achan turned to see Jaira licking the cream off an identical gold ring. He frowned at Sparrow.
The boy shrugged. You are being positioned. First the matching ensembles, now matching rings. Do you like your intended?
Achan's lips parted. How could he have missed the coordinating colors of their clothes? Well, you match us as well, Sparrow. What say we trade? I'll be squire.
Oh no, I shall not interfere with your special time with the princess.
Jaira's dog lapped the remaining cream from Achan's bowl. Achan stifled a growl. Is there any poison on the table?
For you or the dog?
Both.
The sitting room, like the dining room, was long and narrow. A fire crackled in an ornate marble fireplace that filled the back wall, heating the room to a sweltering state. Two small, square tables, each seating four, sat in the middle of the room. Fat candles burned in bronze sconces along the walls. A narrow door, likely for servants, was wedged beside the fireplace and the far corner.
Sparrow stood with Sir Caleb by the entrance. Mandzee and her mother sat at the table closer to the door with the pontiff and Seer Rheala. Sir Gavin and Inko never came in. It appeared they wouldn't be playing.
Lord Eli waved Achan and Jaira to sit with him and his wife at the table by the fireplace.
Achan tensed and glanced at Sir Caleb. Must I?
Sparrow looked away, fighting a smile.
Sir Caleb raised his brows. The longer you stand gaping, the ruder you become. Whether Jaira is the love of your heart or Gazar's spawn, Lord Eli is host and you have drawn matching tokens. Now, offer your arm before you garner the name Graceless Gidon.
Esek has given the name Gidon enough shame. I doubt I could make things worse.
Take. Her. Arm. Go, Sir Caleb said. Be charming and witty. Play games. Enjoy yourself, if you can. And if you cannot, pretend, for the sake of your father.
You aren't playing?
Our time would be better spent gathering supplies.
Achan set his jaw. But I want to help.
You are helping, Your Highness. You make our host happy by letting him entertain you. When the host is happy, he shares horses and supplies. Be a charming fellow, now.
Achan stared at the sconce behind Jaira as he spoke, unable to stomach eye contact. "If you're willing, my lady?"
Jaira accepted his arm, nose in the air. "It would be my pleasure."
Sure it would. Achan steered her to the table beside the fire. Her hatred flowed into him, adding to his foul mood. Her spicy smell turned his overfull stomach.
Sir Caleb, if she hates me so much, why does she pretend?
It's likely her mother's wish. Play along. We'll be halfway to Melas before she's eaten her breakfast tomorrow. Should you need us, call. Vrell will be our eyes.
Achan stifled a groan and sat down opposite Jaira.
Larkos, Jaira's eunuch, stood against the wall, two paces to Jaira's right. Achan shot a quick peek at Sparrow, the boy who could barely hold a sword. So, if anything should go amiss, it was the scrawny boy against the muscle-bound eunuch. This didn't ease Achan's discomfort. He'd left Eagan's Elk in his chamber.
Lord Eli slapped a set of ivory dice on the table. "We each roll once, then pass the dice. The first team to reach exactly one hundred wins. You go first, Your Highness."
Achan rolled the dice. A six and a four. "Ten."
"Well done." Lord Eli nodded to his wife, who had parchment and quill. She scratched out ten hash marks.
The game went on. Achan and Jaira quickly made it to a score of ninety-seven, but they were unable to roll a three. Lord Eli and his wife took what felt like an eternity to reach eighty-eight. Then Lady Katiolakan rolled two sixes.
She giggled and threw up her hands. "What shocking a surprise that was being."
Lord Eli squeezed Achan's shoulder. "So close, Your Highness. I thought you'd beaten us for sure. Shall we play again?"
Achan shrugged. "If you like."
And so they played.
Queen Hamartano and Mandzee soon excused themselves for the evening, taking Jaira's bat-dog with them. The pontiff and Seer Rheala watched a few of Lord Eli and Achan's games, then they too retired. Achan hoped this was a sign he'd soon be excused to that massive featherbed he couldn't wait to try.
But Lord Eli ordered more wine and drank through two bottles himself. Achan slowly sipped one goblet. He'd never been permitted wine before but had seen what it could do to a man. Achan wasn't about to risk his sanity with this company, even for the pleasant tingle the drink left between his ears.
Lord Eli's behavior only solidified Achan's discretion. Before long, the young lord could barely keep his dice on the table when he rolled. When one struck Jaira's ear, Lady Katiolakan stood.
"I am begging your forgiveness, Princess. My husband has been having too much wine. I am fearing only his bed will be the cure. Please, be staying and enjoying yourselves as long as you are liking. I am bidding you all good sleep." She gripped Lord Eli's arm. "Septon, my love, it is being time to go."
Achan stood and helped Lord Eli to his feet.
He jerked away. "I can stand myself." He stumbled through the dining room doors.
"I am thanking you, Your Highness." Lady Katiolakan curtsied. "I am praying we will be seeing you at breakfast tomorrow, and then, perhaps, to the temple?"
"Perhaps." Achan didn't want to make any promises. "Good night, my lady."
She curtsied and scurried into the dining room. Her voice carried. "My lord! Oh, Septon, you are being hungry? But we are being finished with dinner, my lord. Let us be going upstairs and be finding your slippers and pipe."
Achan stood awkwardly and listened to the sounds of their hosts' footsteps receding. Relieved, he turned to Jaira, ready to make his excuse to depart.
Jaira laid her gloved hand on Achan's forearm. "You should visit Jaelport, Your Highness. You have never smelled anything like Market Street. The spices alone intoxicate the senses." Her eyes widened. "I can show you. Look."
She removed a small purple pouch from the reticule at her waist. She opened it, her lips curved in a coy smile, and she beckoned with one finger for Achan to lean closer. "You must smell this. I promise you, it will not disappoint."
Sparrow stood by the door, looking half dead. Achan could indulge Jaira a moment longer. He bent over the pouch and inhaled. A sweetness he couldn't place filled his nostrils. Much more pleasant than what drenched Jaira's skin. It filled his head with an indescribable joy. He breathed in more and shuddered. Enchanting. Again he took a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to live in the pouch, to roll in the scent.
He leaned back and blinked. Jaira hazed before him like a vapor. His head spun, rolled on his neck like a ball on a needle. He felt so light, so happy. His heart beat wildly as everything came into focus again. His breath caught in his throat.
Princess Jaira.
He'd never seen a more beautiful creature.
Her dark eyes widened, her full lips turned down. "Are you all right, Your Highness?"
He grabbed her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it.
He was in Shamayim. Heaven.
*
Vrell rubbed her eyes. She thought she had seen Achan kiss Jaira's hand. There! He had done it again. She focused on his mind, hoping his guard was down.
Jaira's amplified giggle made Vrell cringe. "Your Highness. Do you really think so?"
"Princess, what must I do to win your heart? Name me any task." Achan's tone was low and husky, burning Vrell's cheeks. "All I have I lay at your feet."
Vrell gasped. She called out using Achan's connection. Achan!
He shook his head as if trying to upset a fly that had landed on his ear.
Achan! She has done something to you.
Achan fortified his mind quicker than Vrell thought possible for his skill, leaving her pushing against a cold wall.
His rapidly developing skills scared her.
Jaira whispered in Achan's ear. He stood and offered his arm. Jaira accepted and they followed the eunuch through the servants' door, beaming like a pair of newlyweds.
Vrell crossed the room and called for help. Sir Gavin? They have done something to Achan.
Sir Gavin's voice yelled in her mind. Is he injured?
It seems not. But he is professing his love to Lady Jaira. Come quickly. They have gone.
Don't lose sight of them, Vrell.
Vrell slipped through the door and followed the eunuch, Achan, and Jaira down a cool, narrow corridor. Since Achan had closed his mind, Vrell could no longer hear them.
Jaira steered Achan up a circling staircase. Vrell followed a half level behind, stopping when they stopped, walking when they walked. Jaira's ongoing giggle fueled her anger. Vrell wanted five minutes alone with Jaira and a sword. She was certain she had learned enough to do the job right.
Seeing Jaira's blue train drag around the door jamb, Vrell waited a moment, then peeked down a wide hallway. Halfway down, the eunuch disappeared through a door, but Achan and Jaira stopped. Achan pressed Jaira's face to his chest like a cherished child. His fingers dug into her braids and pulled some loose. He lifted two handfuls to his nose and inhaled.
"Be my bride," he said. "If you'll wait, I'll build us a cottage in the mountains, hidden deep in the trees by a river or creek, a rocky one that sounds as beautiful as it looks."
"But you are to be king. We must live in the palace at Armonguard."
"I'll live wherever you live, for I cannot imagine ever departing from your presence, even for a moment."
Oh dear. Vrell rolled her eyes. Jaira had cast some spell to muddle Achan's mind so he would pledge to marry her, just as Sir Caleb had feared. Esek would marry Mandzee and Achan would marry Jaira, assuring a Hamartano queen on the throne no matter which man won Armonguard.
Sir Gavin? Are you close?
We're in the game room. Which way? What's happening?
Take the servant's exit and follow the tower stairs up three levels. They are here in the hallway. Sir Gavin, Achan proposed. I think she has befuddled him.
Watch them.
Jaira led Achan through a door. Vrell raced down the hall and burst into an antechamber. Larkos, the eunuch, stood like a shield before a set of double doors, painted in black and gold swirls. Two fat candles on thick stands stood beside the door.
Larkos' bronze muscles bulged under the leather straps that held up his skirt. "I'm sorry." His voice came silky and low. "You must have the wrong room."
"I have come for my prince. Let me pass."
Larkos tilted his chin and the candlelight gleamed off his bald head. "What prince?"
Vrell tried to push past him.
He grabbed her arm. "The temple is occupied at this time. The pontiff does not wish to be disturbed."
"Release me!"
Larkos held Vrell against the wall and stared deep into her eyes. Thick black paint outlined his eyes. His lips moved as if he were chewing. He crunched down and blew hot sweet breath in her face. Flakes of wet powder stung her eyes. Her nose burned. She coughed and blinked. Larkos held her until their eyes met again, then he released her and crouched to grab the beam that would slide across the door to lock it.
Vrell drew her sword. Larkos turned in a crouch, and she bashed the pommel against his head. He fell to his backside and reached out to grab her weapon. She struck him again, and he fell onto his side.
He gasped. "You're a woman! Without the antiserum, that's the only way to stand against the anabas dust."
Vrell swelled with a combination of fear and anger and slammed the pommel of her sword against his temple once more. Larkos slumped to the floor, this time unconscious.
She pushed through the double doors and stepped into the temple of Avenis. It was a vast, square room with a vaulted ceiling, dark but for the hundreds of candles in all shapes and sizes flickering on the floor along a narrow, wooden aisle that ran all the way to the statue at the far end of the room. Avenis, crafted from bronze and draped in a purple velvet robe, stood almost as tall as the ceiling. His handsome face cast a flirtatious smirk in Vrell's direction. A wooden altar ran out from Avenis' right and left, covered in gold cups, coins, wilted flowers, and jewels. Achan stood alone before the altar on the right.
"Achan!" Vrell started down the aisle, her boots tapping on the wooden floor.
Achan's blue eyes met Vrell's. "What are you doing here?"
"I have come to save your hide, Your Highness."
His brows knit. "You've come to steal her from me."
The very idea. "I do not want her, and neither do you. Think, Achan. You hate Jaira."
Achan's pupils doubled in size. "You lie. You want her for yourself."
A door on the far left wall opened, spilling a brief stripe of light over the dark floor. Vrell backed into the shadows.
Jaira entered with the pontiff. "You must agree this is what Avenis wants for Mirrorstone and for all Er'Rets."
"I see the benefits, Princess, yes. But I should like to consult Lord Eli, Seer Rheala, and the queen, of course."
"My mother said she has spoken to you already."
The pontiff sighed, his pudgy face flushed. "Yes…she did, but-"
"Marry us, then. Now."
Jaira and the pontiff reached Achan. Jaira left the pontiff's side and took Achan's hand in hers.
Achan released a ragged breath and fell to one knee. "You've seized my heart, fair lady. I beg you let me serve you. Give me a task. Nothing is too great."
Oh, for pity's sake. Vrell tried to knock and found Achan's mind open. What in all Er'Rets? Achan!
He jumped back to his feet, hand on where his hilt would be if he were wearing his sword. "Leave us in peace. We don't want you here."
Come out of here, Achan. This is a bad place.
"You are jealous!"
Jaira whirled, eyes wide. "What is it, my love? Do you hear someone?"
"Sparrow wants to take you from me." He pushed Jaira behind him. "Go away, Sparrow. I don't want to hurt you."
Vrell stepped into the light. "Achan, be serious. Come away at once."
"Frell, isn't it?" Jaira asked, stepping out from behind Achan. "How did you get in here?"
"The door was open," Vrell said.
"I don't like the way you disrespect the prince," Jaira said.
"Well, I do not like how you have stupefied him. It is my duty to protect him, and you have crossed the wrong squire."
Jaira giggled, throwing her head back so that the beads on the ends of her loose braids clacked together. "Your little squire is quite loyal, Your Highness, isn't he?"
Achan's lips twisted in a frown. "He's annoying, as usual."
Jaira sauntered down the aisle. "But he's such a brave young man." Her fingers slipped into the reticule on her belt.
Vrell backed toward the door. "Do not come near me. I saw what that dust did to him."
Jaira merely smiled. "Achan, would you hold him for me?"
"As you command, Princess."
Vrell clicked her tongue in disgust. "Achan, you fool! She has misted you. Do not do this. Pontiff, do you see the lady has bewitched my lord, the prince? She uses magic."
The pontiff shook his head. "Princess Jaira, this is most irregular. I beg you allow me to consult with Lord Eli."
Achan strode over to where Vrell stood and gripped her in a bear hug. Her feet lifted off the floor and her face pressed against his neck. He smelled like honeysuckle soap.
"The other way," Jaira said, "so I can see his face."
Achan dropped Vrell, spun her around, and gripped her from behind. Jaira lifted her hand.
Vrell squirmed, hoping the eunuch spoke truth and the powder would have no effect. Still, she lowered her head and bit Achan's arm through his thick brocade sleeve. He groaned but did not release her.
Jaira blew silvery powder in Vrell's face.
Vrell held her breath as long as she could, but when she could hold it no longer, she gasped. It smelled different from the eunuch's dust. Like spices and baking and flowers all at once. She smiled.
Jaira met Vrell's eyes and her red lips twisted in a smirk. "Release him."
Achan's grip vanished. The room spun. Vrell slumped to her knees, wishing to smell Jaira's powder again.
Jaira's voice came from above. "Now kill him. For me."
Achan's boots clomped away from Vrell. Praise Arman. Achan had refused.
"My lady!" the pontiff said. "I must protest. This is the temple of Avenis. Murder is disrespectful to the true nature of beauty. Don't touch that, Your Highness!"
Steel scraped against steel then more boot steps clomped, nearing. A sharp point pressed against Vrell's throat. "Must I kill him? Can't I knock him out?"
Vrell tensed at the prick against her neck. Achan must have taken a weapon from the offerings.
"Do you not love me?" Jaira asked.
"More than my own breath."
"Why, then, do you question me?"
Vrell drew in a long breath and refocused. Achan stood over her, facing Jaira. He clutched a long machete in one hand and had taken Jaira's face in his other.
"Forgive my foolishness. You're more beautiful than the stars." Then he kissed her.
Fire shot through Vrell. She leapt up and yanked Achan's braid.
His head snapped back and he spun around. "You little fox!"
"Kill him now!" Jaira screamed.
The pontiff scurried back to the side door, glancing over his shoulder every few steps.
Achan lifted the machete.
A tremble seized Vrell. She inched back. Sir Gavin!
"I told you. You can't have her!" Achan swung the machete.
We're in the third floor corridor. Where are you?
The temple!
The blade passed so closely Vrell felt wind on her nose. She backed up two steps. Achan pressed forward. Vrell pulled out her own sword, sad as it was against the machete.
Achan swung a powerful attack that knocked Vrell's sword from her hands. It clanged on the flagstones. He swung again. Vrell jumped against the wall, knocking over several candles. The machete struck the gilded plaster, splintering a jagged gash in the smooth surface. Achan growled when the blade would not come out from the wall. He let go and gripped Vrell's throat in one hand instead. He squeezed. A flame licked at the toe of Vrell's boot.
The door burst open. Sir Gavin, Sir Caleb, and Inko thundered inside. All three men drew their swords. Jaira screamed.
Achan released Vrell, wrenched his machete from the wall, and backpedaled in front of Jaira. "No!" he cried. "She's mine, I tell you. She's pledged her love to me. If you're not here to support our marriage, be gone or I'll kill you all."
Sir Gavin scanned the room, brow furrowed in disbelief. "Enough foolishness, Achan. Lower the blade."
"To be making an alliance with Jaelport is being most unwise, Your Majesty," Inko said.
"This is no alliance," Sir Caleb said. "This is Jaelportian mage magic. I can smell it."
Achan yelled and swung the machete at Sir Caleb. The knight blocked the attack and drew Achan away from Jaira. Sir Gavin snaked around Achan's back and thumped him on the head with the pommel of his sword. Achan crumpled to the floor, writhing.
"Get him out!" Jaira screamed. "I knew he held a grudge against me. I knew it!"
Sir Gavin wheeled around, scanning the temple. "Who?"
"This man! The prince!" She pointed a thin, black-gloved finger at Achan, whom Sir Caleb and Inko were trying to pick up. "He attacked me as I was trying to leave an offering."
"Do not be absurd," Vrell said. "The pontiff and I saw the truth."
Jaira's dark eyes flashed. "All night the prince begged for a moment alone, claiming he loved me. I refused. And when I finally withdrew for the evening, he followed me here. Before I could finish my prayers, he barged in and tried to attack me, in the temple of all places. I shall be surprised if Avenis does not strike him down."
Vrell stormed up to stand before Jaira. "You are a mage. You used a love powder on him. The same powder you blew in my face. The pontiff witnessed this as well."
"Ridiculous." Jaira arrested Vrell with a cold stare. "You clearly have not suffered any powder."
Vrell poked a finger against the silky bodice of Jaira's gown. "I know what you did and why. Give up this foolish quest. He will never marry you. You are beneath him in every way. He hates deceit and control and lies. All that the Hamartanos hold dear."
"Vrell." Sir Gavin drew her name out in warning.
"You think tricking him to marry you will make you queen? It only exposes your deceitful nature for all to see. We are not fooled. You seek to marry the prince while your sister seeks to marry Esek. Know this, there will never be a Hamartano queen. I will kill you first."
Jaira gasped and huffed. "How dare you threaten me, stray? Larkos! Where is Larkos?"
"Larkos has been detained," Vrell said. "And you will meet the same fate if you touch Achan again."
"Vrell!"
Sir Gavin stood in the doorframe. Sir Caleb and Inko held Achan's limp body between them, one of his arms over each of their shoulders.
Sir Gavin beckoned her with his hand. "Let's go, lad."
Vrell shot one more glare at Jaira. "Stay away from Achan or you will regret it." She spun away from Jaira and followed Sir Gavin out the door.
Achan woke, pulse pounding in this temples. He blinked until his bleary eyes focused.
His body lay sunken in a featherbed, tucked under warm furs. Where was he? He pushed up onto his elbows, struggling to sit, but pain rushed through his head and his stomach heaved. He collapsed back onto the mattress and breathed deeply, looking up through the open canopy at the flickering firelight dancing across the dark ceiling. When the nausea passed, he reached a leaden arm up and drew the curtain aside. Orange coals smoldered in the hearth beside his bed, sprinkling shadows over the carved birds and vegetation that ensconced the marble hearth.
This was his chamber at Mirrorstone. But he didn't remember coming in. There had been wine at dinner, and later, when they were playing one hundred. One glass couldn't have bested him, could it?
Achan reached out to Sparrow's mind for answers, but his head hurt too much to focus. He lifted a hand to caress his temple, but it was lost in his ridiculously long quilted sleeve. He rolled both sleeves to his elbows and traced the raw scar on his left cheek. A spicy scent lingered on his fingers. Jaira. Why did his hands reek of her? He'd barely touched her.
An image of him holding Jaira's face flitted though his mind's eye.
He sat upright and ripped back the curtains on the other side of the bed.
Sparrow slept on the floor, slouched against the wall beside his bed, one knee pulled up to his chest, an arm draped across it.
"Sparrow!"
The boy twitched, and his arm fell to the floor. He blinked wildly and clutched his pathetic sword. "Is she here?"
"Who?"
"Jaira." Sparrow jumped up and hurried to the bedside. He laid his sword on the bed and set his palm to Achan's forehead. "Oh, Your Highness. Are you well?"
"I feel ill. Fuddled, I think. I've never been fuddled, so I can't be certain. Was there wine with dinner?"
"There is always wine with dinner, but you are not drunk. You were poisoned."
Achan's heart thudded. "I was?"
Sparrow stepped back. "If you remember nothing of last night, perhaps that is best."
"No, tell me." Achan leaned closer to examine a long purple bruise on the boy's neck. "What happened to you?"
"You professed your undying affection for Princess Jaira."
Achan grinned. "Very funny."
"She is a mage. All the Hamartano women are, I suspect. She asked you to smell a powder that robbed your mind and turned you into a sentimental fool. For her."
The look on Sparrow's face sobered Achan quickly. Horror seeped up his spine, bolstered by the lingering scent of Jaira and the memory of the embrace. "Wh-What did I do?"
Sparrow wrinkled his nose. "You proposed. And when I tried to stop you, you attacked me."
Achan rubbed his throat in the place where Sparrow's throat was bruised. "I did?"
"You were right, Your Highness. Passion does increase a man's strength."
The door to Achan's room inched open. Sir Caleb poked his shaggy head inside. "Good. You're up." He threw the door wide and he, Sir Gavin, and Inko lumbered in, carrying their packs as if they were ready to leave that instant. They dropped them inside the chamber and surrounded Achan's bed.
Achan glanced briefly at the knights, then back at the bruises on Sparrow's throat. "Sparrow, I…I'm sorry."
Sir Gavin raised a bushy eyebrow. "Vrell has told you, then? What went on last night?"
Achan scratched behind his ear. "I don't understand-"
"There's no need to relive it," Sir Caleb said. "Get dressed. We'll leave as soon as you're ready. Lord Eli doesn't know what to believe. Queen Hamartano made her accusations before I could. The pontiff's story doesn't match Vrell's, so he's lying for whatever reason. We'd planned to go anyway. Leaving in secret might make you look guilty, but lingering to prove our case will only give more opportunity for attacks against you, and I'm not trained to fight Jaelportian mages. Are you well?"
"Uh…my head. It…hurts. But I'll love-" Achan pressed a hand to his neck as if a dry throat had caused that slip of the tongue. "I'll live."
Inko poured a mug of water from a tray on the sideboard. Achan took it and drank.
Sir Caleb pulled one of the wooden chairs over from the wall and sat beside the bed. "Never smell anything from the hand of a Jaelportian woman, Your Highness."
Achan groaned. "Now you tell me."
"Lord Eli was having a hand in this all, I'm being certain," Inko said.
"It simply proves my point," Sir Caleb said. "Achan should marry soon."
Achan fell back and pulled the pelt over his head. He didn't want to hear this again.
"Please." Sir Gavin sniffed long and hard. "Never in all my years of service have I seen anything like this. 'Tis nothing to fear will happen again once we're away."
Achan hoped not. That a simple powder could make him declare love for Jaira Hamartano… He shuddered.
Sir Caleb's chair creaked. "But if he's wed, there will be nothing to worry about."
"What is it you fear, Caleb?" Sir Gavin asked. "Once we leave, there will be no more danger of love dusts."
"I fear he falls for the wrong woman's charm. A beautiful woman can be convincing without love dust. If he's properly married, there's no fear of-"
"Many a king still finds beautiful women falling at his feet. His being married won't keep that temptation from him."
"It should," Sparrow said in his bossy tone.
Achan wanted to agree, but his feelings for Gren hadn't kept Lady Tara from his mind.
"But if Jaelport wanted to steal his heir, a child with his gift could be trained against him," Sir Caleb said.
Child? Achan pulled down the pelt and opened his mouth to comment, but could think of nothing to interject into such a statement. His head still hurt, and the conversation didn't help.
Sir Gavin tugged at his beard braid. "If they could steal an heir now, they can steal an heir when he's wed. What will be, will be, Caleb. Why worry over it?"
Sir Caleb scoffed as if it were obvious. "Because his firstborn must be legitimate, of course. So no other child could make a claim."
"But should his firstborn be killed, the second could still make a claim, even if he were born out of wedlock."
Achan pushed himself to sitting. "Stop killing off children I don't have! This is madness." He threw off the pelt. He still wore his clothes from last night, but his boots had been removed. He wanted his own clothes, what Gren had made him, not this pompous garb. Besides, it reeked of Jaira.
He slid from the bed, the wood floor cool under his bare feet. He spied Sir Gavin's pack against the far wall and walked toward it, wincing at his throbbing head.
"Your Highness," Sir Caleb said, "as we've mentioned, a king is a target for much trickery and deceit. We second guess possibilities as our way of protecting you."
Achan threw up his hands. "But I wouldn't…I could never… Why would you all assume I'd betray my wife?"
"We cannot be knowing what you might be doing until you've done it," Inko said.
Accusation stabbed his heart. "None of you have faith in me to do what's right?"
"Truly we're knowing little about you, Your Highness. It'll be taking time to-"
"Aw, 'tis more we don't trust others not to take advantage of you," Sir Gavin said. "Look what Jaira nearly accomplished."
"Don't blame yourself, Your Highness," Sir Caleb said. "There's a reason women rule in Jaelport. Magic is not taught to men there unless they become eunuchs. Remember, Queen Hamartano, not her husband, rules Jaelport."
Achan continued across the room, pitying Lord Hamartano.
"Shouldn't have left him unguarded," Sir Gavin said.
"We didn't," Sir Caleb said. "Vrell was to bloodvoice any threat, and he did his duty."
"His duty?" Sir Gavin's voice rose in pitch. "One lad? To guard our prince? Vrell is untrained, unprepared for such responsibility."
"Since when do you care about a soldier's skill level?" Sir Caleb asked.
Sir Gavin gestured to Vrell. "The lad nearly died trying to protect his future king."
Achan recalled the ugly bruise on Sparrow's neck. He didn't feel worthy to have people willing to die for his stupidity. He opened Sir Gavin's pack and dug for his clothes.
Sir Caleb set a hand on Sparrow's shoulder. "Vrell took out Larkos on his own, which was very well done, boy. He's a hero who'll someday make an excellent Kingsguard knight."
Achan glanced across the room to Sparrow. "You bested Larkos?"
The boy's cheeks flushed. "I caught him slightly unaware."
"So let us at least consider the prince's options for matrimony," Sir Caleb said.
Achan groaned and went back to searching for his clothes.
"The first question is being, an ally or an enemy?" Inko said. "A marriage that will be strengthening current alliances or one that will be forging new peace?"
"Ally, of course," Sir Caleb said. "Er'Rets isn't strong enough to worry about making peace with known enemies. You see what people are willing to do to gain control."
"Then who is supporting our cause that we're trusting?" Inko asked.
"I can only guess," Sir Caleb said, "but Xulon, Berland, Carmine, Zerah Rock. Probably Mitspah, as well, and Tsaftown. Armonguard, of course."
Achan found the shirt and jerkin Gren had made him. He lifted them to his nose and found them stinking of mildew. Sir Gavin's pack must have gotten wet when they waded to shore. He switched the fancy blue shirt for Gren's brown one anyway.
"Does not Duchess Amal have a daughter?" Sir Caleb asked.
"Several, I'm thinking."
"Now Carm," Sir Caleb said. "She'd be our wisest ally. The North would rally behind a queen from Carm or even Therion."
"Wasn't Esek planning the same?" Inko asked. "Wasn't he trying to wed Averella Amal?"
Achan slipped his jerkin on. "Bran's lady? Didn't Macoun Hadar capture her?"
"Aye." Sir Gavin's eyes shifted. "But she escaped."
"Good." Achan had been feeling responsible for the lady when the trade hadn't happened. He started lacing his jerkin.
"Gavin, you know the duchess," Sir Caleb said. "Do you think she'd speak with us about a betrothal?"
Sparrow squeaked.
Betrothal? "Wait." Achan dropped the laces. "I've never met Lady Averella. You can't expect me to marry a stranger. Besides, she's Bran's girl."
Sir Caleb directed his eyes to Achan. "Kings do it all the time."
"Well, not me."
"This matter could be changing the course of who would be ruling Er'Rets," Inko said.
Achan scowled. "I'll not steal a friend's love or use any woman as barter in a war."
"Why ever not?" Sir Caleb asked.
"I…" Achan ran a hand through his hair. "Why can't I find my own bride?"
"We haven't time for you to comb the countryside in search of love," Sir Caleb said. "Do you know any noblewomen who are heirs to a duchy and come with a large army? Is there another you'd prefer?"
Achan wanted to scream. He didn't want to be king or marry some woman he didn't know. His head spun. He remembered sitting with Esek at his coming-of-age celebration observing the eligible maids of Er'Rets. Esek had found none of them desirable, but Achan had disagreed on one account.
He hesitated. "She must be of noble birth?"
"Aye," Sir Gavin said.
Lady Tara. He could think of no one else. He said in a small voice, "What of Lady Tara of Tsaftown?"
"Tsaftown is at the end of Er'Rets. No one much cares who they support," Sir Caleb said.
"But I've met Lady Tara. I like her. She was kind to me when she thought me a stray. Plus, she's beautiful."
"Ah. Forgive me, Your Highness," Sir Caleb said. "I thought we were attempting to save all Er'Rets from Darkness and peril, but Arman forbid our prince marry someone plain."
"That's unfair. I shouldn't have to marry anyone."
"That's the way of kings."
"Well, it's also the way of kings to…to change things," Achan sputtered. "To-to- to make new laws."
"Don't be ridiculous, boy," Sir Caleb said.
"Well…am I king?"
Everyone went silent.
Achan sucked in a sharp breath, horrified he'd used Esek's pompous catchphrase. "I–I'm sorry."
"Have no fear, Your Highness." Sir Gavin set a hand on Achan's shoulder and squeezed. "You'll not have to decide this day. It'll be a month before we free our men and many more until we reach Armonguard. You have until then."
*
Leather saddlebags creaked, hooves clomped, and tails swished at mosquitoes as the horses carried them through the dark void. North, supposedly. Sir Caleb had tethered the animals with his rope, so there was no need to steer. Still, it felt awkward to sit atop a horse again, especially in Darkness, but Achan liked Scout. The sleek black horse had a gentle disposition. Achan sensed he was eager to leave Mirrorstone.
Achan had ridden only once before, under Sir Gavin's instruction. He tried to figure how much time had passed, but the weeks blurred together. He'd left Sitna in early summer. The battle had taken him out for days, then he'd sat in prison for another week or so. They'd been in Darkness five days now. So maybe a month had passed since he'd left Sitna?
It felt like years.
Whether Lord Eli had known of Lady Jaira's treason was unclear, but he'd been more than generous providing horses, food, and supplies for the journey.
The horses soon entered the marshlands. Their footsteps reminded Achan of the sound Gren's feet made when stomping wool in the fulling water. Gren was the only woman he loved enough to marry, and she'd married Riga. He closed his eyes and focused on her face.
Suddenly it was as if he were elsewhere. The dank smell of urine filled his nostrils, making him feel like he was standing beside Gren as she stomped in her tub. But the smell was stronger than fulling water alone. Cold dampness pressed in on Achan. He shivered.
Riga's voice filled Achan's mind. You're full of dung, knight. I don't believe it.
Truth is truth. Doesn't matter whether you believe it, a man's familiar voice said.
I believe it, Gren said.
Grenny, don't be daft. That goat boy is no king.
Why else would we be here, Riga? You think Lord Nathak would jail us for talking to this knight? Now that's daft.
How was this possible? He'd only thought of Gren and-
"Achan!" Sir Gavin's voice pulled him away from the prison cell. "Stay with us, now. We don't want your mind wandering off."
"I'm here." But Achan's pulse throbbed. What had he seen? Could it have been real? Could Gren really be in prison-and because of him? Esek had done this. Achan had forgotten Esek's threat to hurt Gren and her family if Achan left his service. But what could Achan do? He was so far away.
Arman, help her.
A sharp ping needled Achan's temple. Sir Gavin.
Achan lowered his defenses to allow Sir Gavin inside. He was getting better at this.
'Tis a long journey, lad. And now that we're riding horses, we can practice without fear of walking into a tree. We must perfect your ability to bloodvoice. Vrell's going to practice with us. I'll invite him into our counsel now.
Achan's body rocked in the saddle. He closed his eyes, opened them, closed them again. No difference. Amazing how horses could see in the dark. If they neared a cliff, would Scout stop or plummet over the side? Achan sensed himself falling-
A soft prick to his temple. Vrell Sparrow.
Achan shook away from his wandering thoughts, embarrassed he'd lost control so quickly. He opened to Sparrow, and the boy's mind floated into Achan's head.
Achan could hear nothing from Sparrow. How do you guard your thoughts so well? I've never once been inside your head. I mean, I can speak to you, but not see through your eyes.
You are strong in some ways, but so am I. Arman has given us both what we need to serve our purpose in this life. At least you're shielding well. It no longer hurts to talk to you.
Was he shielding well? A rush of hope filled him. Maybe he'd get the hang of this after all. Where's Sir Gavin?
He told me to wait with you. It's strange, these knights knock differently than how I learned. I was taught to give the name of the person I wanted to speak to, but these knights give their own name.
Does it matter?
I suppose not. I usually sense the person as well anyway. Do you?
Never really thought about it. A bird screeched in the distance. Scout snorted and Achan patted his neck. "It's okay, boy."
Sparrow went on. Do you think someone could give a false name?
Why would anyone want to?
To get into your mind, fool you, storm or attack in some way.
Achan frowned. He supposed that could happen. Do you think there's a way to force someone to lower their defenses? I mean, bloodvoicing is a powerful gift. I should think forcing secrets from my enemy would come in handy during a battle.
It might. But bloodvoicing is good for other uses in war. Jax told me your father used to send orders to his generals in battles. Imagine the benefit of a coordinated attack controlled that well. That is why most Kingsguard knights have the ability in some measure. They are recruited because of it.
The giant knew my father?
No. Jax was a soldier, but he heard your father give orders.
Why didn't you mention this before?
It did not occur to me. We have been traveling a great deal.
Achan's temple prickled.
Prince Oren Hadar.
He straightened and fingered his uncle's ring. He saw a flash of the man on his knees, black hair slicked back over his head, blue eyes penetrating into Achan's as he offered his sword on both palms. The memory of his words brought chills.
"I swear fealty and service to the crown of Er'Rets, to ever give wise counsel, to uphold the laws and customs of our land, to serve where I might, according to my knowledge and ability. Thus swear I, Prince Oren Hadar, to you, my king."
Achan could sense his uncle, even recognize his voice.
Another prick came. Sir Gavin Lukos.
Achan lowered his guard to allow both men into his mind.
We'll postpone our lessons for the moment, Sir Gavin said. Prince Oren, I've asked Master Vrell Sparrow to join us so he might learn ways to help Achan practice.
Excellent, Prince Oren said. Master Sparrow, Sir Gavin has informed me of your service to my nephew these past few weeks. All Er'Rets is in your debt.
Thank you, Your Highness, Sparrow said.
How are you faring on your journey? Are you well?
I am, Your Highness.
Excellent. Nephew, you must learn to communicate without being overheard. I have much to speak with you about but not until you are ready. How do you feel about our link now?
Fine, Achan said.
And after your encounter with the Hamartano mage?
Heat crept up the back of Achan's neck. Did Sir Gavin have to share that blunder with his uncle? I'm glad to know what she's capable of. I'll not be so foolish again.
Well said. What is your agenda, Sir Gavin?
We head for Melas. I have a friend there who'll give us shelter and replenish our supplies before we head into Therion.
Good. Achan, I am glad to hear you are well and safe. You must be a student now so that later you can be a king. My prayers go with you on your journey north. Arman protect you.
And as quickly as he'd come, Prince Oren's presence faded away. Achan stared into the black void, the scraping of hooves over rocky soil grating loudly in his ears. Would he ever get to see his uncle on a regular basis?
Very well, Sir Gavin said. For our first lesson, Achan, I'd like you to shield yourself against Vrell. You'll both stay connected to me. Vrell, you'll try to force your way into Achan's thoughts. Achan, you'll speak with me and try to keep Vrell out. Are you ready?
Yes, Sparrow said.
Aye. Achan fortified his mind. He patted Scout a moment before more pinpricks needled his temples.
Sir Gavin Lukos.
Achan opened to the knight.
Talk to me about something only you know, lad. Anything will do.
Achan's mind spun. Um…the longer bread raises, the rounder the loaf. Dough raises best in a warm place. Under a cloth and near the fireplace is where Poril always-
Hold. You started out fine but distracted yourself from guarding your thoughts. Vrell heard half of what you said. Try again. A different topic.
Achan gripped his reins and concentrated on closing off his mind again. A different topic? His knowledge didn't range far. Oh, I know. It's said goats will eat almost anything, but they're actually quite particular. Their stalls and troughs have to be spotless before they'll eat. Mold in their feed can make them sick. I almost lost Dilly one winter due to mold. Alfalfa is…
Achan paused. His temple itched, almost like a knock, but no voice announced an intention to enter. Was that Sparrow trying to sneak in or someone else?
Achan duplicated himself, leaving one man to guard the door. The other stepped outside and pounced on the mysterious intruder.
A scream spilled out around Achan, but he concentrated, not willing to fail this test. He groped for the person, trying to discover this trespasser's identity, but the person blew away like a gust of wind.
"Inko, a light!" Sir Gavin yelled.
Achan's walls collapsed. He whirled around on Scout. "What's wrong?"
Boots splashed though water. A torch whizzed to life from the horse in front of Achan, throwing an amber glow over Sir Gavin's moving form below.
"Vrell's fallen off his horse." Sir Gavin crouched out of sight. "Achan, close your mind. You're spilling all over."
Achan drew up his shields and blinked rapidly, trying to see. He swung his leg over Scout and slid to the ground. His feet splashed into at least a foot of water.
Sir Gavin heaved to his feet, holding Sparrow's limp and dripping form. "He's breathing." Sir Gavin sighed. "Achan, what did you do?"
He did something? "I…I doubled myself, then attacked."
"I'll be ransomed." Sir Caleb's voice drifted down from his horse. "You taught him to storm?"
"I most certainly did not. Where'd you learn such a maneuver, lad?"
Maneuver? "I-nowhere. Seemed like the right thing to do."
"And you saw nothing of it, Gavin?"
"Nay. He blocked me. Must have duplicated himself first."
"Did I… Is he hurt?"
Sparrow wheezed in a long breath, coughed, sputtered.
"Are you all right?" Sir Gavin bounced the boy in his arms. "Can you stand?"
Sparrow coughed. Nodded.
What had Achan done? He could only stare as Sir Gavin lowered the boy to his feet. He didn't understand any of this. How could simple mind games wound someone? Was this what Vrell had done to the black knight mage?
"What happened, boy?" Sir Caleb asked.
"I am uncertain." Sparrow's voice croaked, eyes fixed on Achan's. "Achan did something strange. I felt…pushed from my body. I have a weakness, though. When I bloodvoice too long, I black out."
"It's Arman's blessing you did. A true storm can trap the strongest man in the Veil." Sir Gavin frowned at Achan. "It's not something to be played with."
Achan gulped. "I just wanted to see who was there."
"'Twas Vrell, Achan! We were having a lesson. Do you think it would be anyone else?"
"To be fair," Sir Caleb said, "it was wise to be suspicious of what you sensed. Just don't experiment with your power until you've learned. You could kill someone."
Sir Gavin tugged his beard. "Sir Caleb, surely you can teach this better than I."
"We made a bargain. I'd take over his weapons training if you trained his mind. Gavin, you're the strongest of us all."
"But I'm no teacher! What if Vrell had stormed Achan? What if we'd lost him?"
"You're knowing better than to be giving fear a listening ear," Inko said. "You should be thanking Arman for this warning and be having no more lessons until you can be giving the prince a proper understanding of the art."
Sir Gavin sniffed long and hard. "That's wise, Inko. But he and Prince Oren must be able to speak securely. So we must continue to practice sustaining a private connection. From now on I'll lecture in your mind, lad."
"If we each do our part," Sir Caleb said, "we might manage to train you properly."
"We need to keep moving." Sir Gavin gripped Vrell's elbow. "It's still hours to the sandbar. Come, Vrell. Let me help you onto your horse."
"Thank you, good sir."
Achan cocked his head as Sir Gavin boosted Sparrow into the saddle. The boy must be crazy to be so calm. It was the second time in two days Achan had attacked him. "Sorry, Sparrow. I didn't mean to-"
Sparrow turned his pale, round face down to Achan. "Do not think on it. I should have warned you how bloodvoicing weakens me. What I do not understand is when we first began I sensed your mind like an icy wall. Macoun Hadar's mind was the same. Always a cold presence."
"I felt that in him too," Achan said as Sir Gavin slogged past to his horse.
Sparrow glanced at Achan, eyes wide. "But with you, the coldness faded. And then I could not sense you at all."
Sir Gavin mounted his horse, water drizzling off the heels of his boots. "The chill you sense is weakness. Achan's still learning. He starts out weak but gets stronger. With Macoun, the coldness is lack of control in his old age. That's why he seeks out strong, young apprentices. He cannot shadow people if they sense they're being shadowed."
"So when Achan learns fully, even those with the gift will not be able to sense him?" Sparrow asked.
"Aye. He'll be able to enter any mind in Er'Rets undetected."
Silence hung on Achan's shoulders like a chain coat. Water sloshed as a horse shifted its feet. A mosquito buzzed down by his elbow.
"Why give such a tool to a man?" Sparrow asked.
"Only to one man at a time," Sir Gavin said. "The man Arman ordains king."
The unattainable expectation gnawed at Achan. He reached up to Scout's saddle horn. "How do you know this?"
Sir Gavin looked down on Achan. "It was that way for your father. And it's written in the Book of Life."
Achan heaved himself back onto Scout. He'd never heard of such a book.
"Where is the book now?" Sparrow asked.
Sir Gavin sighed. "Only Prince Oren knows. Lord Nathak didn't find it a worthy enough treasure when he took Owr and the crown jewels from the palace at Armonguard."
Sparrow huffed, as if he had been a Kingsguard knight with Sir Gavin all these years and took this personally. "They discard the one treasure that matters."
Achan might as well be listening to one of Minstrel Harp's long tales. Could this truly be his life? Destined to be the most powerful bloodvoicer? Arman had not spoken to him since he stood before the Council of Seven.
What if he'd imagined it?
*
As they rode through Darkness, Vrell tried to picture Bran's face. She could see his sandy brown hair, brown eyes, and sunburned skin individually but could not put it all together.
Had it been so long?
Once she got home, her first task would be to plan her wedding. She envisioned herself in a blue gown standing with Bran before the priest and all their friends and family.
Yet in her vision Bran scowled down. I revoke my proposal, my lady.
A winepress squeezed Vrell's heart. But…why?
You are thin and homely and look like a boy. I wanted to be Lord of Carm, but that is not reason enough to settle for one such as you.
Vrell tensed, throat burning. But you said I was beautiful. You called me a dove.
That was long ago. I've had time to think. I mean, you've been dressed a boy for months and no one has ever doubted that is what you are. I'm to be a knight. How could I marry someone like that?
But you love me. You told Achan about me.
Only to brag. If you were here, maybe I could be persuaded, but you cannot expect me to wait forever. There are many truly pretty girls in Er'Rets.
Please, Bran, this is so unlike you. I do not…
Vrell gripped her reins and snapped back to her physical location. Another trick of Darkness? It had been a long while since she had spoken to another. "Sir Gavin, can we talk aloud? My thoughts are beginning to wander."
"Of course. Caleb?"
Sir Caleb filled the miles with tales of the kings of old. Hours later, they made camp on what Sir Gavin claimed was a sandbar that ran for miles along Arok Lake. The air was cool and damp this close to the water. After a meal of smoked fish and flatbread, Achan and Vrell practiced swordplay around a red torchlight stabbed into the sand. Sir Gavin kept watch with his nose and mind.
The red glow cast eerie shadows over Achan's face. It was difficult to see his sword when he swung it above his head.
"I like having my own weapon, even if it is a poor thing." Vrell held her sword the way Achan held his. "I felt so vulnerable without one."
"A man does tend to walk taller with a sword at his side." Achan swung at her legs and she managed to parry his blow. "I did when I first wore Eagan's Elk."
Vrell hid her smile. Achan walked taller every time he wore-she lowered her sword. "Did you say Eagan Elk?"
The red flame sparkled in Achan's eyes. " Eagan's Elk. Aye. That's my sword's name."
Vrell's mind spun. "Really?"
Achan grinned, lopsided. "What? Don't you like it?"
"Oh, no. It is a fine name." Only Vrell had heard the name Eagan Elk from her mother. It was a person's name. An odd name for a sword.
Achan tapped his blade against Vrell's. "Why don't you name yours?"
Vrell frowned at her little sword, feeling foolish to have paid so much for a weapon Achan found so inferior. Though she had only paid for half. Jax had paid the balance. Had the giant known the weapon was so flawed? "I would not know how to name a sword."
"Why not a name to fit the bearer? You're small and witty. How about Little Kwon or Firefox?" Achan broke out into a wide grin. "What about Gebfly?"
Vrell clicked her tongue. "Are you calling me a locust?"
"They are pests."
"Are you calling me a pest?"
Achan shrugged. "If the boot fits."
Vrell raised her weapon to middle guard and spread her feet in the sand, ready to fight. "I like Firefox, thank you."
Achan's hearty laugh made her crack a smile. "Very well. But I suggest you get it sharpened when next we stop, or Dullfox might be a more appropriate title."
Vrell gritted her teeth and swung. Achan dodged and Vrell lunged past. He slid an arm around her neck and brought his blade to her throat. "Hmm. Maybe Slowfox."
She jammed her elbow into Achan's ribs.
He released her, chuckling. "Ticklefox?"
She lifted her weapon again. "Arrogance does not suit you, Your Highness."
He raised his eyebrows. "Nor does the title Your Highness." He swung at her waist.
Stubborn man. Vrell lifted to parry, but his blade whacked her hip. She stumbled sideways, kicking up sand, thankful for the cushion of her disguise. It would not stop Achan's blade for long. "Maybe we should not drill without armor."
"We don't have any armor, and you want to learn to protect yourself. Besides, I'm not even swinging hard."
He went easy on her for a while. It bolstered her courage to hear Firefox hit his blade, but the exercise tired her quickly. Thankfully, he stopped often to explain things.
"If you parry with the edge, you dull your blade further. Parry with the flat… Don't try to defend from back guard. It leaves you vulnerable… Back up, Sparrow. No one in his right mind would begin with swords crossed… You swing too slow. Try for a combination of strong, quick thrusts. Your goal is to weaken my guard, to break it so you can strike."
Finally Vrell could take no more. She fell onto her rear in the sand, gasping for air, limbs aching. "I am pathetic." She took a short breath. "None of this will make a bit of difference." Another breath. "I am simply not strong enough."
Achan sat beside her and leaned back on his elbows, panting. "Remind me your age."
"I will be fifteen years this fall." Eighteen, actually, but who would believe her to be a seventeen-year-old man?
Achan took a deep breath. "So you're small for your age. Sir Caleb said he'd teach you some tricks. I'm no expert. You recall how Sir Kenton nearly killed me?"
She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Achan, you are incredibly brave. You struck down at least ten Poroo."
"So? Poroo are terrible warriors. That's why they attack from the trees."
"Still, I would have run from the battles you faced. Sir Kenton has been a knight many years-and he betrayed your father. You have been sword-fighting how long? Three months? I could not have done all you have. I would never have tried."
Achan stared into the red flame, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed. Always so hard on himself. Blaming himself.
Despite Vrell's best efforts, the cut on Achan's cheek had healed in a long, red slash. And his other cheek looked even worse after the fight with the black knights.
Achan dug a hole in the sand with the heel of his boot. "We each have our skills, I suppose. Just know, Sparrow, you're as much a hero with your bag of weeds as any of us are with a sword."
Vrell lifted her sword. "Fireweed?"
Achan chuckled. "I think Weed says it best."
Vrell and Achan put away their weapons and crawled into their bedrolls. Sir Gavin put out the torchlight, and Vrell replayed Achan's words again and again in her mind.
He thought she was a hero.
Achan held his shield over his head to protect it from the rocks the Poroo pitched from the treetops. The melon-sized stones clunked against the wood with such force that his forearm continually bashed against the top of his head.
A Poroo warrior charged from the side, spear held high. Achan lowered his shield in time to deflect the spear, but a rock struck his unprotected head and he crumpled. The Poroo poured out of the trees upon him, massing, swarming.
A screech woke Achan. He pressed his hands against moist sand and pushed himself to a sitting position, relieved the Poroo had only been in a nightmare. He patted the sand. Where was his bedroll? He blinked into the surrounding void, straining to see any sign of movement.
"Sir Gavin?"
The darkness returned only silence.
"Who's on watch? Inko? Sparrow?"
Achan's voice seemed so loud. Could he still be dreaming? He raised his voice. "Hello? Sir Caleb?" The sound sent a throb through his skull. Wincing, he lifted a hand and found a tender lump on the back of his head.
His stomach lurched. Had someone attacked while he'd been sleeping? Poroo?
He got to his knees and reached out to his right, then left, patting the moist ground, hoping to get his bearings, hoping he'd simply rolled off the bedroll in his sleep. Wet sand wedged under his fingernails. No bedroll.
Nothing but sand.
His heart pounded faster. "Sir Gavin?"
A piercing squawk answered from Achan's left. He cringed, eyes darting around the dark, searching for any change in the inky-black hue. One of the demon birds was close. He quickly fortified his mind, then reached out.
Sir Gavin?
His temple twitched, but no name accompanied the knock. He took care not to attack in case this was a test.
Sir Caleb?
Achan sought out Inko's mind next. Why did no one answer? Had they been taken? Killed?
Sparrow?
Whoever was trying to penetrate his mind increased their efforts. Achan's temples throbbed more than the welt on the back of his head. The pressure increased tenfold, brutal, forceful. Achan clutched his face and bent forward until his forehead met the grainy sand. He screamed.
An oily voice magnified in his mind. Get up.
Unable to disagree with the voice, Achan gritted his teeth and stood. In his head, he multiplied himself ten times and surrounded the fortress of his mind, forcing the oily voice, and its control, out. The pain subsided. He called for Sir Gavin again, then Sir Caleb, then Sparrow.
No one answered.
A green light shot into the air and hovered above his head, illuminating the sandy terrain in an eerie glow.
Achan released a long breath laced with a moan.
Black knights.
He squatted, groped for his sword. Pig snout! Where was it?
Four men slid into the green glow, dressed in black armor with hard black masks. The one on the end held his hand aloft, pointing at the green orb above Achan's head. Achan studied them, pausing on the third knight in the line. Lofty bean pole posture and graceful stride brought a familiar fury.
Silvo Hamartano?
The third knight lifted his hand and a green ball of light shot out from his palm, up above his head, lighting more of the sandbar and the greasy black hair at the top of his mask.
It was Silvo.
Achan punched one fist into his other hand. The bezel and crest on Prince Oren's ring pressed inside his palm. He rubbed his thumb over his engraving, sought his uncle's face, and called out. Prince Oren?
His uncle's voice shot into him with a staggering force. Achan? What is it?
I'm surrounded by black knights. They're going to attack me. I'm alone. I don't know where Sir Gavin and the others are.
Relax and let me see.
Achan breathed deeply. He couldn't feel when his uncle looked out from his eyes.
We shall fight them together. Sir Gavin told me you can storm.
Two more balls of green light shot skyward.
Um…I've only done it once. Accidentally.
Keep your sword ready. They will attack physically while the leader attacks your mind. Do you know where the leader is?
My sword is gone. I have no weapon.
Stay calm, Nephew. Look for the leader.
Achan scanned the dark sandbar. The four black knights had encircled him ten paces away. I only see the four, but I think the leader spoke to me. Does that mean he's close?
It may or may not. Perhaps he is one of the four apparitions.
Uncle, I don't think these are apparitions. One is Silvo Hamartano, I'm certain. Achan kept his eyes on the thin figure.
Then it will be easier to defeat them. I will take the two to your left. You take the other two. One at a time, seek out a mind and storm.
Easy for Prince Oren to give the order, but these men weren't trying to enter Achan's mind. They simply stood there, appearing weaponless, conjuring green orbs. How did one storm? He'd only managed before because he'd sensed Sparrow trying to get into his mind.
Achan concentrated on the knight he thought to be Silvo Hamartano. A familiar, lofty voice chanted words he couldn't understand.
Rabab rebabah rabah yarad. Ruwach aphar mayim esh, machmad parar.
Achan blinked. A dark line obscured part of his vision. He stared at a dazed pale man wearing a doeskin jerkin.
Wait. That was his body. Pig snout! He'd entered Silvo's mind, the black mask obscuring his vision. Why couldn't he stay in his own boots? Had he concentrated too hard?
Silvo's breath hissed, creating warm moisture between his face and the wooden mask. He continued to chant, oblivious Achan had entered his mind. Rabab rebabah rabah yarad.
The black knight on Silvo's right crumpled to the ground.
"Zinder? Zinder!" The wooden mask muffled the panic in Silvo's voice. "Marken? Zinder has fallen!"
Prince Oren had defeated one man.
"Rabab yarad!" a voice yelled from Silvo's left.
"Fine!" Silvo continued to chant the words in his mind. Rabab yarad. Rabab yarad. Rabab yarad. Rabab yarad.
A shadow stretched out in front of Silvo. He glanced back to see four figures-identical to him-closing in. To Silvo's left, another four approached the black knight there. The three remaining apprentices were acting as wielders, calling forth apparitions of themselves.
"Yes," Silvo whispered, looking back to Achan's dumfounded, empty body. "Fight these, stray."
Achan popped back into his own mind. He staggered, surprised to find his muscles weakened. The twelve apparitions glided past their wielders, advancing toward him. He couldn't stand here and be killed. He sprinted toward the fallen man.
"No!" Silvo yelled.
"Concentrate," another knight said.
Achan slid to his knees beside the body. He patted the man's waist, found a sword, and wrenched it from its scabbard. He spun around barely in time to meet a fierce cut from a black blade. He backpedaled and took stock of his opponents. They moved toward him slowly, as if they had overeaten and were too full to move faster. Behind them, the three wielders stood like statues, arms outstretched as if worshipping the green orbs.
A man's voice cried out and one of the wielders crumpled. Four apparitions vanished.
Achan calmed, glad Prince Oren-a capable warrior-fought with him. Eight apparitions now. Better. Still, it might be best to flee. Slow as they moved, he could likely escape.
He sprinted into the dark void, praying the sand remained level and dry. Two clouds of glowing green smoke whirled before him and solidified into two black knights. Achan skidded to a stop, head twisting as he tried to keep all eight apparitions in sight. He lifted the sword to the closest one, hoping he could stall it long enough to drive off the second.
The apparition swung. Achan parried, but the opposing blade sailed through his sword and body. He screamed, startled, and barely remembered to turn and meet the second apparition's blade. This one struck, rattling Achan's arms.
Why were some solid and some not?
Nephew? Prince Oren called.
The other apparitions had reached Achan now. He parried another blow and ducked, wishing there were rocks to throw. I'm here.
What happened?
Uh…I failed. Again.
How do you mean? Speak clearly, boy. This is no time for sarcasm.
I don't know how to storm. I ended up in Silvo's head. I can't understand the difference between watching and messaging and storming. A sword clipped his shoulder. He growled, rammed the offending knight with his other shoulder, and went down, tumbling on the wet sand.
Get back on your feet, boy. You're too easy a target on the ground.
Too late. The apparitions swarmed, kicking and nipping his flesh with their black blades.
Achan cradled his head, squeezing every muscle and groaning against the lacerations and strikes biting his flesh.
Call on Arman, Prince Oren said. Only he can help you now.
Arman? A boot struck lower back. He choked on a scream as the shocking pain flared his old arrow wound. What could he say to Arman? I'm a fool who cannot use the gift you gave me? Please defeat these evil apparitions?
A kick to the side of Achan's head ended his need to figure it out.
*
Achan jerked awake underwater. He sucked in a sharp breath, and tepid water filled his nose and throat. He gagged and tried to hold his breath but there was little in him. Thankfully, someone pulled his hair, yanking his head above the water line.
He coughed and sputtered and opened his stinging eyes. Dark, firelight, before a stream. But the rotten smell left no doubt: he was still in Darkness.
He knelt on sharp, rocky soil before a wooden tub, wearing only his linen undershorts. Water dripped down his face and neck and made winding streaks down his chest. His wrists were shackled behind his back, the metal cool on his skin. He groaned through another cleansing cough. A familiar trace of bitterness coated his tongue. Aleh?
He called out to test his fears. Prince Oren?
Whoever held his hair released it. Achan swayed, head throbbing, chest burning. He sat on his heels and turned. Two black knights stood behind him. Their wooden masks were flat with two straight slits, one long one for the eyes and a smaller one for the mouth. Achan craned his neck the other way. A campfire burned a few paces back. Beyond that, four horses were tethered beside a cart with a mule hooked to the front. Two bodies lay on their backs in the cart. The moisture on the spindly, black trees glowed in the distance, outlining a forest.
But only two black knights. Prince Oren had done well disabling his targets. But how would Achan get away? If they had silenced his bloodvoice…
Achan sniffed. "Where's your leader?" His voice sounded weak.
"He is advising us from afar," a man said. Not Silvo. His accent sounded like Inko's.
"What do you want with me?" Achan gasped in another long breath. "Where are my companions?"
"Lord Falkson wishes to sacrifice you to Barthos in a ceremony to honor our god and master." Silvo. The slender olive-skinned Jaelportian removed his mask and glared down on Achan, his eyes as oily and black as his hair.
Achan's mind reeled. "Lord Falkson is your master?"
"All of Barth will attend the ceremony. The slaying of Arman's king will be a day celebrated for centuries to come."
Slaying? Achan stalled, seeking a way to escape. "Come now, Silvo. You don't believe I'm anyone's king, do you?"
"Unfortunately, I do. You've changed jobs more than my sisters change gowns. First a stray, then a squire, then a servant, then a soldier. It should have taken much longer to work your way up the political ladder, but at least this way I'll see you killed faster."
If Achan could get to a horse… No boots and almost no clothes, but at least he'd be free. "Was Jaira also trying to kill me?"
"I no longer care what my sister does. I have aligned my future with Barth. Men have power in Barth, you see. Women rule in Jaelport. They always have. A Jaelportian man must leave Cela Duchy to find true freedom. This I have done."
"How's that work, exactly? Do women blow powder in your face every time you disagree?"
Silvo snorted. "You have no idea what my mother and sisters are capable of. I will never go back. My brother and I prefer to serve a more powerful and just master."
"Brother?"
Silvo's eyes narrowed. "What did you do to him?"
"Who?"
"My brother, Sir Marken, you fool."
"I didn't do anything."
"You hurt him. And Zinder. What did you do?"
Achan opened his mouth but didn't speak. He didn't know enough about storming to explain Prince Oren's actions.
Silvo grabbed Achan's head and pushed him toward the water. Achan twisted so his shoulder struck the top of the wooden tub. Silvo had better leverage and forced Achan down. Achan's arm scraped over the tub's rough edge. He managed a deep breath before his head plunged beneath the water again.
Blood rushed to Achan's head. His face burned with pressure. He held his breath as long as he could, then jerked up, hoping Silvo would think him choking and pull him out. He sucked in a mouthful of water by accident. He tried to swallow, but the liquid ran up his nose instead. It burned and caused him to gasp in more water. He tried to lift his head, but two sets of hands held him under. He shook and fought, all the while gulping water.
The hands released him. He pulled his head up and gasped, but air didn't enter his lungs. He coughed and slumped onto his side. His stomach heaved, and a mixture of water and bile streamed past his lips.
Silvo kicked him in the back. "That's disgusting, stray."
Achan panted and wheezed, ignoring the smarting pain from Silvo's boot. Between breaths, he managed, "I'm…not a…stray."
Silvo clutched Achan's hair. He lifted him up and dropped him on his knees. "What did you do to our men?"
Achan shifted his knee off a sharp rock. "I didn't do anything." He coughed up more water and spit it at Silvo's feet.
Silvo punched him. Fire shot through Achan's left cheek. He fell back and caught his weight on his right elbow, barely managing to stay off the ground.
"Did that hurt?" Silvo leaned over and dragged his fingernail over the wound on Achan's left cheek, ripping away the scab. "I like your new marks."
Achan grunted against the pain and slumped back to escape the pressure of Silvo's finger, falling on his bound hands. He tuned his open wound to the ground where Silvo couldn't reach. Silvo straddled him, grabbed his chin.
"Enough," a muffled voice said.
Silvo released him and stood. The second black knight removed his mask. His grey hair puffed out like a mushroom. Achan's brows furrowed. He recognized Sir Nongo as the towering black knight who'd attacked him-who'd nearly killed him-on the journey to Mahanaim.
"Are all of you mages?" Achan asked.
"Sakin Magos are being more than mages," Sir Nongo said. "We are being strong in our bodies and our minds. We are being invincible warriors."
Invincible? "When the four of you attacked me-alone, unarmed, and unaware-didn't two of you go down like redpines?"
Silvo kicked Achan's thigh.
Sir Nongo pushed Silvo back. "We are not having time for this." His pale grey skin and grey hair made him look like a living corpse. "We have been silencing your mind games. You might have been succeeding once, but you will not be again."
Achan ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth. The lingering bitterness was more than the rancid aftertaste of bile. They had given him the aleh tonic. A chill seized him. Not even Prince Oren could help him until its effects wore off.
Call on Arman, his uncle had said.
But Achan knew so little of Arman. Cetheria, the goddess of protection, had been the goddess he'd served all his life, though she had done nothing for him. In fact, the one time he'd entered her temple, he'd heard another voice-Arman's voice-claiming that Cetheria was a false god.
Well, if Arman could talk to Achan, why couldn't Achan talk to Arman? It seemed a bit bold to address any god outside his temple, though circumstances were dire. Perhaps if he-
"We must be moving," Sir Nongo said. "Silvo, be switching his cuffs to the front and hooking him to the cart."
Silvo kick-rolled Achan to his stomach, giving him a mouthful of moist sand. Achan spit the grittiness from his mouth. His right cuff came free and another sharp kick propelled Achan onto his back. Silvo drew his hands together in the front, but before he could hook the cuffs, Achan kneed him in the chin and used both feet to kick Silvo back. Silvo staggered.
Achan jumped to his feet and slugged Silvo's nose. Silvo grunted, shot a dark glare Achan's way, and lunged.
Achan darted aside and swung the iron cuffs into the back of Silvo's greasy head as the young lord stumbled past. Achan spun toward the horses and met Sir Nongo's black blade, pointed at his chest.
He froze and lifted his hands, sucking in long gasps of air. The metal cuff dragged his right wrist downward. His left knuckles throbbed from Silvo's nose.
"Silvo," Sir Nongo said. "Be putting out the fire. I will deal with the stray."
Silvo growled from behind Achan. He teetered past Sir Nongo, a trail of blood running down his neck from his oily hair. His nose didn't seem affected by Achan's fist.
Sir Nongo waved his blade, directing Achan to the back of the cart. "Soon you will be meeting Gazar." The knight snagged the lose cuff, threaded it through a slat on the back of the cart, and secured it to Achan's free wrist.
Achan forced a brave response. "Arman will ransom me."
Sir Nongo stared down on Achan from heavy-lidded eyes. "Only Barthos is having power in Barth." He walked to a white and black horse and mounted it.
Achan studied the bodies in the cart but couldn't see well enough to recognize them. Silvo's brother, perhaps? Stormed? Trapped in the Veil?
To his left, Silvo kicked dirt over the campfire, bringing a deeper darkness, drawing Achan's eyes back to Sir Nongo, who now held a lit torch aloft. He rode ahead of the mule-drawn cart, pulling the other three horses on a tether behind him.
Silvo climbed up to the wagon seat and steered the mule after Sir Nongo. The wagon wheels grated over the sharp rocks, tugging Achan's wrists forward, then the rest of him.
Achan stumbled along in the dark, his bare feet pained on the sharp rocks. His heart quaked in his chest. He called out again, to see if the aleh had worn off.
Sir Gavin! Sir Caleb! Prince Oren! Inko! Sparrow!
No answers came.
Achan did not want to be sacrificed. He tipped his head back, as if to look up to Shamayim.
Arman!
Vrell's horse carried her north. Though her surroundings were black and Darkness called to her fears, she knew her horse was tethered behind Scout, who was directly behind Sir Gavin. She focused on Sir Caleb's voice as he lectured on the long-time feud between Magos and Cherem. Vrell had a pretty good grasp of history, but when Sir Caleb mentioned the Sar's custom of sacrificing his female children, she had to interject.
"The Sar kills all female children?"
"Only his own," Sir Caleb said. "Women are property in Cherem. A man may take two wives: an ishaw and a beten. A beten bears him children. An ishaw is poisoned so she may never bear children and serves as her husband's slave. Should a man's beten be unable to bear children, or should she bear only females, the man may banish her and choose another."
"That is despicable!" Vrell said.
"Esper was an ishaw. I met her in Armonguard when her husband was looking to buy a bow for sport."
"Who is Esper?"
"My wife."
Vrell sucked in a sharp breath. "I did not know you were married, Sir Caleb."
"You didn't ask."
Vrell paused to consider this. "Where is Esper now?"
"In Armonguard with Tyra. Tyra is Inko's wife."
Inko's wife? How sad to have your husband gone so long. Vrell wanted to hear how Esper came to be Sir Caleb's wife and not the Cherem man's ishaw. Then about Tyra and Inko.
"Achan, what do you think of Cherem's ways?" Sir Gavin asked.
Vrell waited, imagining Achan would be as horrified as she, but he did not answer.
"Achan?"
No answer.
"Light!" Sir Gavin called from the front of the line.
Vrell's horse stopped. Orange torchlight fizzed behind Vrell, illuminating Achan's slumped form on Scout. He must be sleeping. She hoped his mind hadn't drifted too far.
Ahead of Achan, Sir Gavin loosed the rope tethering the horses and reined his horse about. He rode alongside Scout, reached out, and grabbed Achan by the scruff of the neck. "Achan? Speak to me, lad."
Vrell could see Achan's left eye, open and glassy in the torch light. Her breath hitched. He seemed stunned or-dare she think it? — dead.
Sir Gavin gripped Achan's face in both hands. "Come out of this man, black spirit! In the name of Caan, the Son God of Arman."
Achan arched his back as if snow had gone down his shirt. A horrible screech flew from his lips, a sound Vrell knew he could never make.
Her pulse raced and she prayed. Arman, please protect Achan from this affliction. Protect him from Darkness.
Achan's body began to dissolve, slowly shrinking in the saddle like a mound of watery black mud. Vrell screamed. The mud took shape, slowly forming a large bird with a rat's face.
A gowzal.
The bird flapped its long, webbed wings, beating its foul stench over Vrell in bursts of air. Achan's horse reared. Sir Gavin gripped the animal's reins as the gowzal flew away.
Vrell's horse danced about and snorted. She held the reins tightly. "It is okay, boy."
"Eben's breath!" Sir Caleb said from the back of the line. "Where is the prince?"
Sir Gavin scanned the dark land. "They must have taken him while we slept."
"But we were being on watch, Gavin," Inko said. "How could we have been missing such a thing?"
Sir Gavin sniffed. "'Tis my fault for not speaking to him this morning. I should've been more cautious."
"It's not been more than a few hours," Sir Caleb said, "but they could be anywhere."
"I've called to him with no success." Sir Gavin blew out a breath in a whistle. "Will you all try?"
Vrell sought Achan's face, the scars on his cheeks, his wide grin. "He does not answer."
"Nor me," Inko said.
"None of you can hear me either?" Sir Gavin asked.
Inko's voice had a sharp pitch. "You now are calling out?"
"Aye."
Sir Caleb steered his horse beside Sir Gavin's. "The water this morning did have the slightest taste of mint."
Sir Gavin nodded once, almost bowing in shame. "We've been breached in more ways than one."
Vrell cast about for understanding. "Mint is bad?"
"It's strong enough to mask the bitterness of the aleh flower. Someone has silenced us." Sir Caleb's horse stomped its feet and the knight patted the horse's neck. "Whoa, girl."
Vrell ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth. A hint of mint lingered, but nothing resembling the bitterness of aleh. When could this have happened? How long until it wore off?
"Inko. Do you have any dried karpos?" Sir Gavin asked.
Inko reached for his saddlebag. "I'd be foolish to not be having it."
"Good. We must seek out the wielder before he escapes. No spirit can manifest without the help of a man. Someone must have followed us to keep up Achan's illusion."
Sir Caleb handed the torch to Inko, who was still digging in his saddlebag. Vrell met Sir Gavin's stricken expression and dared not speak.
Stones clicked in the distance, like footsteps.
Sir Caleb spurred his horse and galloped away. Sir Gavin rode after him.
"It's looking like they have been finding him."
Vrell stared into the darkness where the knights had ridden, listening to the horses' hooves receding. "Achan?"
"The wielder." Inko sniffed a leather pouch. "After all Gavin has been going through to be finding him, to be losing him to a mage and a gowzal is most distressing. May Arman be having mercy on our numerous imperfections."
Vrell prayed Arman would protect Achan, wherever he was. She hoped Inko had enough karpos for all of them. Jax had taught her it was the only thing that could counteract aleh.
Moments later Sir Caleb returned, holding a thrashing body across his lap. Sir Gavin rode up behind him and dismounted. He grabbed the figure by the back of the shirt and dragged him to the ground.
A pale-skinned boy, no more than thirteen, kicked and swung his skinny arms about. "Let go!"
Sir Gavin pushed the boy's face to the ground and pressed one knee into his back. "Where is he?"
"I know not who you mean." His voice cracked, caught between boy and man. "I'm bound for Melas to see my sister."
"Then where is your pack?"
"I have no pack, sir."
In one motion, Sir Gavin flipped the boy over in the watery sand. "I don't want to hurt you, lad. Don't tempt me."
Sir Caleb dismounted and took the torch from Inko. Light spilled over the boy, revealing pale, freckled skin and bright orange hair.
Vrell gasped. "I know him."
Sir Gavin's mustache curled down. "Well?"
"He is Locto Eli," Vrell said. "Lord Eli's little brother and squire."
"Are you?" Sir Gavin clamped a hand around the boy's chin. "Locto, we left your brother back in Mirrorstone. He didn't mention having a sister in Melas."
The boy hissed, the sound forming strange words. "Gowzal, yarad. Parar no oyeb."
Sir Gavin clenched the boy's tunic at the base of his throat. "Don't try your witchcraft on me, lad."
"Gowzal, yarad. Parar no oyeb! Gowzal, yarad-"
"Sh'ma Er'Rets, Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad." Sir Gavin's voice started low and grew to a yell.
Warmth bathed Vrell as if a summer breeze was blowing through Darkness. Locto's eyes went wide. His body trembled. Had he felt the warmth too? Arman's presence?
"That's the true old language," Sir Gavin said. "What you speak has been perverted far from what Arman originally spoke to the kings of Er'Rets. You worship a false god and call on black spirits. To what end? To be used, that's what. As a tool of Gazar."
"That's not true," Locto squeaked.
"You worship demons, boy. You let them toy with you. You, a creature created to serve Arman. You defile yourself."
Locto shook his head. "Barthos is not a demon. He's a powerful god. I've seen him. I've seen his miracles."
"You've seen what Gazar wanted you to see. What your feeble mind couldn't discern was false. If you've seen the One God and are not the chosen king or a dead man, then you've not truly seen the One God. Get up."
Locto struggled to sit, his face flushing. "Take that back! I follow Barthos, not Gazar."
Sir Gavin picked the boy up by the back of his shirt and stood him on his feet. "We'll take you home and introduce you to our One God, Arman Echad. Then you'll see a real miracle when Arman destroys your idol in front of you."
Every muscle in Achan's body screamed. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His lips had cracked, and no amount of licking brought comfort. He sat on a smooth rock-wrists still chained in front-and massaged his swollen foot, cut from the rocks he'd stumbled over for hours…days? A long time. His stomach pressed against his ribs, aching in its empty state. They'd given him only aleh tonic to drink and crusty bread.
Twice they'd stopped to sleep, so Achan figured two days had passed. He still couldn't bloodvoice. Arman had not restored it, despite Achan's pleas for a miracle. Perhaps Arman couldn't hear him through the aleh tonic, either.
His mind drifted like a twig in a fast current, dwelling on all he'd experienced in the past months. For what? To die in Darkness, sacrificed to a false god? And how exactly did that work? Would the Barthians kill him? Would they wait for their god to show up? And if Barthos didn't come, would they take matters into their own hands?
His thoughts rippled. Was his mind drifting out of reality?
Movement caught his eye and he glanced up. A crowd had formed around the rock he sat on. Scores of men and women with grey skin and hair. Every set of dark eyes fixed on his.
He stood, heart seizing in his chest. "What's this?" Where had these people come from? He shook his head to clear it.
The crowd parted. Silvo and Sir Nongo approached. Silvo grabbed Achan's arms, spun him around, and kicked out his knees, pushing Achan over the rock on his stomach.
Sir Nongo drew his black sword. "For Barthos!" He raised the blade above Achan's neck-
The image shifted. Now Achan hung from a tree, his cuffs looped over a branch.
A man in a blood-splattered apron stood before him, sharpening a long knife on a whetstone. "I've skinned my share of animals but ain't never skinned a man. S'pose it works the same." He lifted the knife to Achan's waist-
Again a shift. Achan was now strapped to a wooden altar, looking up at a golden statue of Barthos, a creature with the body of a man and the head of a rabid wolf.
The temple was sweltering, filled with burning braziers and hundreds of people chanting, "Barthos. Barthos. Barthos."
A black knight wearing a wooden mask stood at the foot of the statue. He grabbed Achan's hair in his fist and held a dagger to his throat. "Rabab yarad."
Nausea welled in Achan's gut. "Don't. Please. Arman!"
The chanting vanished abruptly. Achan again sat on his rock by the wagon. The campfire crackled to his left. Silvo and Sir Nongo sat beside it. A horse neighed. All else was silent, except for Achan's heavy breathing.
Darkness. Playing on his fears.
Maybe he could sing one of Minstrel Harp's songs. Achan sang aloud, for it seemed the only way to focus.
"Hail the piper, fiddle, fife,
The night is young and full of life.
The Corner teems with ale and song.
And we shall dance the whole night long."
"Quiet!" Sir Nongo scowled in Achan's direction.
Achan went straight into the next verse.
"Hear the pretty maiden sing,
Hair and ribbons all flowing.
She can take my heart away,
By her side I long to stay."
A stone struck Achan's knee. He jumped.
"Shut up, stray," Silvo yelled.
Achan lowered his voice.
"Never love a knight, he cares only for his sword.
Never love a sailor, he spends all his life aboard.
Never love a merchant, he's too busy counting wares.
Never love a prince, for himself, only, he cares.
Never love a bard, for he'll put you in a song.
And if he doesn't you will know-ow!"
A rock the size of Achan's fist struck his foot. Surely the black knights thought him mad by now. He wished he were with Gren at the Corner. He could almost smell her, the mix of orange blossom and the subtle bitterness from the fulling water she used to clean wool. Was she still imprisoned?
Tired of singing, Achan returned to nagging Arman. Why do you torture me? You say all other gods are false. You tell me I'm your chosen king. Then you play games with my life. Does this amuse you?
Heat flashed through Achan's body as if he'd stepped into a bathhouse. He tensed, recognizing the heat as the signal that Arman was about to speak.
TRUST IN ME AND I WILL DIRECT YOUR PATH.
The heat swelled and subsided in the length of one long breath. When nothing else came he laughed bitterly. "That's it? Trust in you? How am I supposed to do that while lunatics drag me behind a cart? Sit and wait, I suppose. Well, I was already doing that, so thanks for finally speaking up, but you're not much help."
"Do you always talk to yourself?" Silvo's voice came from the campfire.
Achan shifted on his rock. "He started it."
"Who?"
"Arman. He keeps telling me things, like an old sage. He's so abstract I can't understand what he's saying half the time."
"You think the father god talks to you?"
"No, I said He told me things. If He'd talk to me, a back and forth conversation, we might get somewhere. But no. He spouts cryptic proverbs. Whenever He feels like it, of course. I've been praying for two days and finally He speaks. But is it an answer? No. 'Trust in me,' He says. Trust. For Cetheria's hand! I'm about to be killed and He says to trust him."
"Darkness has rotted your mind, stray. Sacrificing you to Barthos will be a mercy to you. You're mad."
Achan sighed heavily and lifted the back of his wrist to rub his tired eyes. Another wave of heat racked his body. He wheezed at the overpowering sensation.
ACHAN. The voice sent burning tremors through his heart. DO YOU KNOW CETHERIA?
Saliva pooled in Achan's mouth. N-No.
HAS SHE SPOKEN TO YOU?
Achan swallowed, sweat dripping down his forehead. No, sir. Never.
YET YOU'VE LEFT SACRIFICE AND LOVE OFFERINGS FOR HER ALL THESE YEARS.
I thought that's what I was supposed to do. Sir.
AND NOW?
Achan sucked in a cool breath. I haven't petitioned Cetheria since you told me not to.
YET YOU SWEAR BY HER HAND.
Oh. Achan panted, the heat incredibly intense. Well, that was just an expression.
OF YOUR ANGER AT ME?
Achan winced. I guess so. Sir.
I HAVE CHOSEN YOU, BUT YOU HAVE NOT YET CHOSEN ME. YOU MUST TRUST ME FULLY. ONLY THEN WILL YOU BE MORE AT LIBERTY TO MAKE DEMANDS AND EXPECT IMMEDIATE ANSWERS. SO, TRUST IN ME, LITTLE KING, AND I SHALL DIRECT YOUR PATH.
A long stretch of silence followed. Achan dared not move. A chill brought goose bumps over his arms and he shivered. The heat had gone. It was over.
His chest heaved. Moisture filled his eyes. He closed them. Arman, forgive me. I know not what I do. I've only ever wanted to be free, live my life as I saw fit, go where I wanted to, wear what I wanted to, love who I wanted to. I never aspired to king. I don't think I can do this.
A wave of heat. BUT I CAN.
Achan gasped as the warm sensation faded. He opened his eyes. He sat atop his rock, temples itching.
Itching? Praise Arman, a knock! Achan slid off the rock and kissed the craggy ground. He jumped to his feet and raised the shackles above his head. "Praise Arman!"
A pebble struck his shoulder. "Be shutting it, stray!"
Achan lowered his hands. "Thank you! Thank You."
Sir Gavin Lukos.
Another small rock struck his back. "One more word about Arman and Sir Nongo says I can beat you," Silvo said.
Achan smiled and reached for Sir Gavin. I've been captured. Silvo and Sir Nongo are black knights. They're going to sacrifice me to their false god.
You're not injured?
No more than usual. My feet are sore and they took my clothes and boots. Arman spoke to me, Sir Gavin. He scolded me, then healed me. Bested the aleh.
Then we're truly on the right path. Achan could hear the smile in Sir Gavin's tone. Look and listen for us. We're coming.
Dozens of bonfires cast an orange glow over Barth. The city consisted of thousands of domed clay huts, coating the land like endless anthills. But the pyramid was the main feature of the city. Just as Inko had told him, the pyramid rose out of the center of the city. Its height stretched beyond the range of bonfire light, into the black sky. An arched portcullis bored through the center base of the pyramid like a mouthful of teeth, bright yellow light glowing from beyond.
The cart towed Achan past the first bonfire. The flames heated the left side of Achan's body, stung the cut on his cheek. The fire burned in a pool of shimmery liquid contained in a round stone brazier sitting inches off the ground, twice as wide as the cart pulling him.
People lined the road, staring with wide, white eyes, their grey skin covered in dark mud. Their half-naked dress and dirty skin made them almost invisible against the dark backdrop. Olive-skinned men also peppered the crowd. Refugees from the plague of female mages in Jaelport, no doubt.
People chanted and jeered as Achan passed. The ground trembled with distant drumming. Ritual drums. The thrumming crescendoed as they neared the pyramid. A lonely wailing song rose above the rhythm.
A shiver snaked through Achan's stomach and coiled around his heart. This was like the daydream he'd had. One of the ways he might die. Surely Arman wouldn't let him die?
The cart stopped, and Achan stumbled into the end of it. Shouts in a language he didn't understand drifted back from the front of the procession. Clinking metal told him the portcullis was rising.
The cart dragged him over a moat of fire burning over shimmery liquid. The heat of the flames lapped at his heels and stung his cuts and blisters. Achan wished for some outer garments to shield his skin from the heat. He passed under the portcullis and into Barthos' sweltering temple.
It seemed the entire pyramid was hollow on the inside, as if it were a giant stone tent, its four sides converging at the top and covering an underground amphitheater. The stone grandstands were big enough to house a small army. Indeed, it seemed an army of barely clad spectators had already gathered for the show. More streamed down four aisles approaching the middle from the four corners of the compass. Narrow trenches of fire lined each path as if marking the way.
The main feature of the temple stood in the middle of the dirt floor below: a huge, elevated platform. Men walked around on top, several levels above the heads of the spectators on the bottom few rows of seats.
This must be where they planned to kill him.
Two massive beams rose from the floor on either side of the platform and leaned diagonally toward one another, their sharpened tips almost touching. A wooden scaffold reached almost to the tips, as if they regularly hung decorations from the spot-or perhaps took turns sliding down the giant spikes to the floor far below. Barthian fun.
What might such a contraption be used for?
Sir Nongo approached from the front of the cart and removed the chain holding Achan's shackles to the cart. He towed him toward the stairs and paused at the top. "We will be going down many steps."
"Where are we?" Achan asked.
"Barthos' temple."
Achan knew this already, but the answer brought a chill to his sweaty skin. Sir Nongo started down the stairs toward the bizarre platform. The chains on Achan's wrists tugged, pulling him along.
*
Vrell stood on a rocky cliff overlooking a distant, fiery glow that Sir Gavin claimed was the city of Barth. Achan was there somewhere, alone. But not for long. Soon Vrell would be the one left alone, as the knights were planning to go rescue Achan and leave her with the horses.
Sir Caleb held the only torch. It cast a golden glow over the trees. The knights stood with the horses, making plans to free Achan. Locto, the boy who had tricked them all with the illusion of Achan's body, sat bound on a boulder, whining incessantly. Vrell stood near a fat, slimy tree beside the path Sir Gavin had claimed led down to Barth. She studied the tree in the weak light. Its trunk had split, as if once struck by lightning. Had it been that way before Darkness had come?
After Locto had been discovered, they had all eaten Inko's dried karpos fruit and traveled back toward Mirrorstone. Their bloodvoices had returned, and Sir Gavin had discovered from Prince Oren that black knights had taken Achan. So they had changed their course to head for Barth. Then Achan had messaged. Now Sir Gavin believed Achan was to be sacrificed in Barthos's temple.
Fear for Achan overwhelmed Vrell. The knights were preparing to go into the pyramid-shaped temple and rescue him. Sir Gavin had insisted Vrell stay behind. He had even bloodvoiced her mother to ask permission to leave Vrell, and Mother had agreed! Mother was to talk with Vrell during their absence to make certain Darkness would not twist her mind.
To make matters worse, Vrell could not deny the familiar cramps in her abdomen. Her month-blood was coming.
Why was this happening now? She should be home, resting. The last time her month-blood had come she had been in Mahanaim, training with Macoun Hadar. It had been difficult to deal with, but not impossible. But now…it was unheard of for a woman to travel-to ride a horse! — at such a time.
Vrell wrung her hands as Locto's pleas echoed her own.
"Please don't leave me in Barth! Just let me go."
Sir Gavin picked up his shield. "We cannot allow a boy schooled in witchcraft to roam free."
"Then leave me in Melas. If Sir Nongo finds me…he'll kill me."
"I can do nothing about that, lad." Sir Gavin walked toward Vrell, his form a backlit shadow.
Locto took up his plea with Sir Caleb. "I beg you, change your mind!"
Sir Gavin took Vrell's elbow and turned so that half his face was lit and the other half shadowed. "Take these. It's a torchlight and firesteel."
Vrell's hand's trembled as she took the items from Sir Gavin. The idea of staying behind, alone in Darkness, perched on this cliff… "Please take me with you."
"I'm sorry, Vrell." Sir Gavin's visible eyebrow wrinkled. "Someone must stay with the horses, direct us back. We'll light a red torchlight when the time comes, so be looking for it. When you see it, light yours."
"But I want to help."
"Please don't fight me on this. We're walking into a perilous situation. We must leave Locto and bring Achan back. And we can't escape without a light to show us the way."
"But I am…" Vrell leaned closer and whispered… "frightened."
Sir Gavin set a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Then pray."
A distant squawk made Vrell jump. She inched closer to Sir Gavin. "What if gowzals come? I do not understand how they can do such…evil."
"'Tis not the birds themselves. Alone, they are merely animals. Mages call on black spirits to do their bidding. The spirits possess gowzals because the creatures are weak-minded."
"That is how the black knights work their illusions?"
"Aye. Black knights use the spirits as their tools. Little do they know it's truly the other way around." Sir Gavin slapped her back. "Look, no one knows you're here, Vrell. You've nothing to fear. Arman will protect you." He walked toward Sir Caleb, boots scraping over the rocky ground.
Vrell wanted to resist but she knew someone must stay with the horses. As much as it vexed her, she was the logical choice. She turned back to the split tree and made plans to wedge the torchlight in the crack later, when the red flame came into view.
She watched the three men drag Locto off into Darkness, toward a temple dedicated to evil, and she prayed Arman's protection over them all.
Sir Nongo led Achan under the platform at the center of the temple. Here, in the shadow of the platform and those log spikes, a pit had been dug. Sir Nongo seemed to be heading right for the gaping hole in the earth. Achan dug his heels into the dirt and clutched the knight's tunic, heart hammering, not wanting to fall.
Sir Nongo elbowed Achan's stomach. The sharp pain stole his breath. He folded against his knees, gasping, and Sir Nongo shoved him over the edge.
Achan's insides stretched as if they were trying to escape up his throat. He plummeted downward, falling a distance more than twice his height.
His back slapped onto soft dirt, batting the breath from his lungs again. He lay panting tiny hitches of cool air. All was dark but the square of fire glow outlining the bottom of the platform far above. Did Lord Falkson intend to sacrifice him like an animal? Would he simply slit his throat on the altar and let him bleed out? Would he set fire to him? A burnt offering for Barthos?
Achan stood, his legs shaky. There must be a way to climb out. He kicked his left toes into the dirt wall, reached his still-cuffed hands up, and drove his fingertips into the dirt as high as he could. He jumped with his right leg and pulled himself up, clinging to the side of the pit, arms trembling. He drew his right leg up and kicked in, but the force threw off his balance and he fell on his rear in the dirt, soil sprinkling on his head.
He jumped back up and screamed, pounded the dirt wall, bashed his shoulder into it, elbowed it, then sank to his knees and pressed the top of his head into the side of the pit, panting.
Arman had helped before. Achan could call on him. He didn't know the fancy words priests spoke but gave it his best. "Oh, great father god, Arman, creator of Er'Rets, maker of the sun, moon, and stars. Cast your gaze upon your servant. Help me, oh great god. Have mercy on my circumstance."
Arman did not answer.
Achan was tempted to yell, but perhaps Arman had everything under control. He tried another tactic. Sir Gavin! They put me in a pit. What can I do?
Long seconds passed before Sir Gavin answered. We're coming, lad. Stay calm.
Achan flipped to his rear and pressed his back against the cool dirt. He shivered, rocking back and forth to warm and calm himself. If only he could convince his mind to think casually about his situation, that all would work out…
"Great and powerful Arman, I am your servant. My life is yours. Extend it beyond this pit. You've called me to be king, so I trust you'll not let me die here."
The more Arman didn't answer, the hotter Achan's anger burned. "Arman!" He stood and yelled at the light above. "Tell me your plan!"
"Why waste breath on a codger like Arman?" a hissing voice said from across the pit.
Achan jumped against the dirt wall, heart trampling. He blinked hard, straining to make out the person who belonged to that snake-like voice. He could see nothing. "Who's there?"
"It matters not what I'm called. It is what I come to offer that is of importance."
Achan could barely see the shadow of a man draped in a black cloak. "A ladder?"
The man hissed, a wedge of butter tossed in a hot pan. "I know what it's like to be cast aside. Do not settle for what they offer you, boy. I can teach you to use your power. We can make things right in Er'Rets-for strays, for peasants, for all."
Achan's mind whirled, trying to understand. "How did you get down here? And what do you know of my power, anyway?"
"You crave freedom. You should not be made to wait for men to fulfill their own agendas."
"And you can give me freedom? How? We are together in the same pit."
"I cannot only set you free, but I will show you how to obtain the deepest desires of your heart. To make Er'Rets a better place. To have what you want when you want it. You are the Crown Prince. These things should be yours already."
Achan huffed. "Darkness has spoiled your mind. Do you even know your name?"
"I am called Hadad."
The name, so similar to Prince Gidon Hadar, sent a shiver up Achan's spine. "So, what must I do to have this freedom, Hadad?"
"Renounce Arman. Leave the knights and come with me. Take my hand, and we will vanish from this place."
Achan's stomach coiled. He sensed deceit from this shadow. He shot back a witty comment to ease his discomfort. "You do have a ladder?"
"Reach out for me!" the man hissed.
Achan considered it. But this faceless shadow emitted a chill, just by his presence. Achan preferred Arman's warmth. Sure, Arman bossed him around and paid no attention to Achan's schedule, but if Arman spoke truth, if he was the only god, Achan couldn't afford to betray him. And he didn't like the audacity of this Hadad trying to get him into more trouble.
"Thanks, but I'll take my chances with the black knights."
Wings rustled as if Achan had upset a flock of chickens. A bird cawed, high and shrill. Shadows swirled in the square of light above, a swarm of gowzals circling.
One dove and nipped Achan's chin. He batted it away, chains clanking. Another flew against his chest, knocking him into the wall. Teeth sank into Achan's nose.
He screamed, grabbed the creature's neck, and squeezed until it let go. He threw it to the ground, stomped on it.
Another bat-bird fluttered by his ear and bit his head, tugging bits of his hair and scalp. Achan grabbed the creature's leg and flung it across the pit. They swarmed him.
He cowered, covering his head with his arms. The beasts nipped at his back.
"Stop it! Arman, help me!"
The birds howled and fluttered away in a gust.
Hadad also seemed to have vanished. Was the man a black knight who had used gowzals to create an illusion of himself?
Achan slid into the corner to catch his breath. He dabbed his wounds with the back of his hand, waiting for his heartbeat to slow. The bites stung.
Suddenly, all his pain magnified. His chapped lips, cut feet, cuffed wrists, bruised torso, bleeding scalp and nose. He wanted relief. His memory drifted to his bath at Mirrorstone. He longed to soak his filthy, sore body. Even the cold shallows of the Sideros River delta would do.
He closed his eyes, recalling the last time he'd bathed there. The sky had been fierce blue dotted with white clouds, tufts of cotton floating in a field of forget-me-nots. Real birds-not beasts-had chirped their spring song.
He let his mind drift to Gren. Was she still imprisoned? He focused on her face.
Intense sorrow poured down his throat. Tears pooled in his eyes. Forsaken by the gods. Riga. A new home. Alone. People staring. Rumors. Throwing rocks.
"You're certain he's down there? I can't see a thing."
Achan snapped away from Gren's depression. That haughty voice belonged to the man who'd stolen his life. The former Prince Gidon Hadar: Esek Nathak.
Achan wiped his eyes and stood, looking up, veins throbbing. "Yet I can hear you, Esek. What brings you to Barth? Another throne to steal?"
Esek's callous laughter floated down. "You have got him, Sir Nongo, you devil. Well done. No one could imitate such insubordination."
"One cannot be insubordinate to a fake," Achan yelled, "or did Lord Nathak forget that little snag? I always thought people called you Puppet Prince because Lord Nathak pulled your strings. Now I see both father and son are playing a role. Guess what, Esek: the time is coming for the curtain to fall."
"You'd like to think that, stray, yet who's in the pit?" Esek's voice lowered. "Bring him up. Let's get this over with so I can get back to the land of the living."
A deep voice mumbled words Achan couldn't decipher.
"I do not care if it's not time. I want to see him die."
A rope flew down and whacked Achan in the head.
"Be taking the rope," Sir Nongo said.
"And be cut open before throngs of Barthians? Thank you, no." Achan sank into the corner of the pit.
There were a few more mumbles above, then silence. What might they devise to get him out? Voices rose again overhead. A ladder, black against the firelight, jutted over the edge and slowly descended.
Achan stayed put until the ladder pressed into the dirt. He crept toward it and crouched underneath the rungs. If he could get out on the other side of the pit, maybe he could run for it.
A shadow shifted above. The ladder trembled as someone climbed down. Achan waited until the man reached the bottom, then he slammed against the ladder, pushing until it tipped up and fell against the opposite wall.
A thud. A man grunted. Achan scaled the ladder as fast as he could with cuffed wrists, chains clanking against wooden rungs. A hand grabbed his ankle. Achan slipped down a rung but managed to hook his arms around the next rung with the insides of his elbows. He kicked his free foot, made contact a few times, and the man let go. Achan climbed a few more steps, but the ladder began to rise, being pulled from above.
Achan froze. Better to be caught out of the pit or to stay in the pit with an enemy? The pit had better odds. Plus, Sir Gavin was coming. He jumped off.
He landed on his right arm in the dirt. He scurried to his feet. Hands groped at his arm. Achan swatted like a girl, unable to see what he was fighting. His assailant managed to punch his chest. The force sent him stumbling into the wall. Dirt peppered his eyes. His assailant struck again, mostly missing, just grazing his ear. Achan dove to the right, blinking wildly to clear the dirt from his eyes.
"Sir Nongo! I need light!" Silvo's voice.
Firelight flamed above. The moment Silvo's lanky form came into view, Achan charged, bashing his shoulder against Silvo's waist. They fell to the ground. Achan straddled the bean sprout and beat his shackles down on his face.
A hand gripped Achan's braid from behind and struck his temple so hard, he went limp. His mind whirred. Voices murmured.
Get up, he told himself. But he had lost the ability to communicate with his body.
Sir Nongo's voice spoke over him. "He is being still now. Be lowering the rope."
*
Achan tasted dirt.
He shook himself awake and found himself still in the pit, but hanging from his wrists against the dirt wall. His feet dangled. Worse, he was slowly being hoisted upward. His face scraped against the soft soil. He twisted around and spat the dirt out. His body continued to rise until a hand seized his cuffs and dragged him over the side.
A bee buzzed in his ear. He blinked and shook his head, hoping to clear the sound. Then he realized it wasn't a bee. People were talking. A lot of people.
A male voice spoke in a foreign tongue from the platform directly above, silencing the crowd. Achan realized too late they'd freed his wrists when a thicker, cold metal cuff clamped around his left wrist. He sat up, wincing at his sore body, and pulled.
"Be watching him," Sir Nongo said.
It was dim under the platform, but Achan could see well enough from the firelight streaming from the temple trenches. Thick posts and diagonal support beams held up the platform. Beyond, the grandstands rose on all sides. He could see only the bottom few rows, but they were crammed full of the mud-covered Barthians, faces fixed on the speaker.
Sir Nongo stood four paces away, holding a black iron ring the size of his head. It was attached to a long chain that connected to the cuff on Achan's right wrist. The chain was stretched taut, pulling Achan's arm to the side like he was reaching. His left arm lifted away, connected to a chain and ring held by Silvo, whose cheek was puffy and smeared with blood.
Achan frowned, pulse thumping in his temples. What were they going to do? He twisted around. Khai Mageia stood behind him, looking down. Khai must have left his barge and tracked them inland. Had Esek followed on his own barge, or had Khai met him here?
A staircase on Khai's right rose to the platform. Some men were walking down it. But a squawk pulled Achan's gaze to the support beam in front of him. A gowzal stared at him with beady eyes. Its mouth hung open like a dog's, panting and revealing a row of fang-like teeth. Was Hadad here too, watching?
"Your back is a nightmare," Khai said. "You must have been a lousy stray."
"He was." Esek stepped before Achan, followed by Chora and Sir Kenton, the Shield, whose size, scowl, and pale skin reminded Achan of the Eben giant that had taken three knights to best.
Chora, Esek's valet, tittered, as if Esek's sarcasm were actually funny. Achan supposed a man who wore a wool cloak in this heat wasn't right in the head anyway.
Esek wore black trousers and a red silk shirt. The armpits were wet with sweat. A fancy gold crown pushed his black hair off his sweaty forehead. His short, thick beard coated his cheeks and chin.
Achan's stomach coiled. Owr gleamed at Esek's side. And with all the rings on the man's fingers, one of them had to be his father's. Achan glanced at his hand. A stab of panic shot through his chest. He no longer wore Prince Oren's signet ring.
"Give me back my ring!"
Esek raised a dark eyebrow. "You should have shaved his face, Sir Nongo, so we could see the marks on his cheeks. Further evidence of his failure in this world. He might as well meet Gazar hiding nothing."
Achan didn't want to meet the ruler of the Lowerworld. He didn't want to die at all. He forced valiant words out his mouth. "You should know, Esek. I don't intend to die today."
"Irreverence!" Chora barked.
Sir Kenton bent over Achan and cuffed his ear. "You will address His Majesty formally or not at all."
Achan steeled himself, gritting his teeth. It would do him no good to fight back from his position. Silence was his best move.
Esek leaned against one of the vertical support posts, looking down his nose at Achan. "Your death is not for you to decide, stray. No, you'll not claim my life, my sword, my ring, my bride, as you might wish to do. I am certain you'll fit in fine in the Lowerworld. Do tell Gazar hello for me."
Chora sniggered. "Well said, my king."
"You and Gazar are close, are you?" Achan forgot he had decided not to speak.
"Enough of his cheek." Esek waved at Khai. "Get on with it!"
Khai pushed Achan to his knees, then prostrate on the ground. Bony hands held him down while his arms were brought behind his back and hooked together. The long chains attached to his cuffs dragged over his legs, heavy and cold.
Achan reached out for Esek's mind, desperate to try something. As usual, he found himself inside the man's head. Fine, he could make do.
"Release him," Achan said through Esek's voice.
"No!" Esek said of his own volition. "Sir Kenton?"
The Shield swung his curtain of black hair around so that he faced Esek, his protruding brow sinking low over his dark eyes. He cupped Esek's cheek.
Achan suddenly spun in a circle, as if his eyes were caught in a whirlpool. He flew up out of Esek's mind and hovered above the man's greasy head.
Sir Gavin! My mind is out of my body.
What?
I tried to attack Esek, but I think Sir Kenton stormed me.
Focus on your body, Achan. You must get back to it.
Achan's perspective floated up to the support beams of the platform. He concentrated on his body that lay lifeless on the ground, arms outstretched. He suddenly looked out from his own eyes. It worked! Sir Gavin, where are you?
Eben's breath, lad. Don't try that again. Stay in your own mind or we'll lose you for sure. We're inside the temple.
Praise Arman!
It took us longer than we thought to get here. We had to find a place to leave Locto, but he kept begging to stay with us. I had to knock him out and leave him in an empty tent. I paid the owner handsomely to arrange transportation for Locto back to Melas. But now that we're here, we're unsure how to free you. There are thousands of people here.
Pig snout. Achan sucked in a breath through his nose, willing himself to stay calm. The knights were here. All would soon be well. Don't take too long.
Sir Nongo and Silvo each seized an arm, lifted Achan to his feet, and towed him to the stairs, chains slapping the back of his calves with each step. Brightness and heat engulfed him as he left the underside of the platform. He lowered his head, blinking the scene into focus as they dragged him up the stairs.
When they stepped onto the platform, the audience burst into cheers. Achan shut his eyes, wincing at the ringing in his ears. His shin smacked a sharp edge. His eyes snapped open. Sir Nongo and Silvo stood on the first rung of the ladder leading up to the gangway and spikes high above the platform. Each had looped a ring over his shoulder that held Achan's chains. They pulled his arms up.
Oh, no, no. Achan went limp, pulse throbbing. The black knights dragged him up, rung by rung, to the top. He struggled, tugged, and pushed, but Sir Nongo and Silvo were stronger. The crowd cheered their every ascending step.
At the top, a wooden railing ran along both sides of the gangway, like a narrow bridge. Three gowzals perched on the rail. The knights pushed Achan along the trembling plank. The sharpened tips of the giant support beams glistened before him in the firelight. Would they impale him?
He leaned back, trying to stay put, but the knights inched him along. When Achan reached the gowzals, he elbowed the rail and the beast-birds squawked and fluttered away. The gangplank swayed from the force of Achan's movement.
The knights forced Achan to the end of the gangway until his toes stuck off the end. He peeked down. His breath hitched at the dizzying drop. It hadn't looked so high from below.
Thousands of people filled the grandstands, focused on the man on the platform below, who was talking in the strange language. Achan recognized him now. It was Lord Falkson from the Council meeting in Mahanaim. He was tall and grey-skinned with a pudgy gut and short, grey hair like a shorn sheep. He wore a flowy black tunic and trousers. A huge gowzal perched on his shoulder.
Could Lord Falkson be Hadad, the man who'd visited Achan in the pit? Had he transformed himself like a black knight? Was he their leader?
In the air above Achan's head-a mere arm's-length away-the wooden spikes met, the tips not quite touching. Were they going to hang him? Push him off?
Achan curled his toes over the edge and pressed back. Sir Nongo let him back up to the center of the gangway, then kicked in the back of his knees. They slammed against the wooden platform. Sir Nongo pushed Achan to his stomach and pressed a knee into his back.
Silvo separated Achan's wrists from one another and stepped over his head to the end of the plank, chains clanking against the balusters and railing. Achan couldn't see what Silvo was doing. Overhead, metal scraped against wood. Achan's arms jerked away from his sides, up into the air.
The pressure left Achan's back. Rough hands grabbed his waist and lifted him to his feet. Here it came. Would they toss him out onto the crowd? Would the spikes fling him forward somehow?
"Not to be worrying too much about it, stray," Sir Nongo said. "All soon will be ending."
Achan's arms were loose at his sides, but he soon saw the problem. The metal rings at the end of each of his arm-chains had been looped over the tips of the spikes. Those rings had already slid down past the level of the gangway. If he fell, his weight would force the rings farther down the spikes, pulling his arms away from his body. If his arms managed to stay attached, he'd be left dangling over the center of platform.
What then? Would they stone him? The audience was too far below to do much damage. Shoot arrows? Maybe. But he could see no archers. Perhaps the sharpened beams would shift away from one another, tearing him in half.
On the platform below, Esek strode to Lord Falkson's side, flanked by Sir Kenton and Chora. The crowd erupted into cheers. Esek raised his hands above his head in a familiar arrogance. "Tonight we honor Barthos, god of the soil."
Lord Falkson translated to the audience, his voice deep and booming.
Achan gripped the rail with both hands, desperate for a way out. If he could somehow keep from falling…
"This man is a usurper." Esek pointed above his head. "He would have you turn your backs on Barthos. We must destroy him."
Lord Falkson translated and the people cheered. The gowzal on his shoulder screeched.
Sir Gavin! Where are you?
We're coming. Remember, Arman is stronger than Gazar.
Right. Achan gripped the rail tighter and hooked his left foot around the last baluster.
Behind him, Silvo laughed. "It will do you no good, stray."
Lord Falkson clunked to his knees on the front corner of the platform and lifted his hands to the pointed ceiling, as if worshipping an idol. "Ruwach aphar mayim esh, machmad parar. Gowzal, yarad. Parar no oyeb. Barthos parach. Barthos yarad. Barthos laqach. Barthos dashen. Laqach no minchah. Laqach no oyeb."
The garbled and phlegmy-sounding words hushed the crowd and weakened Achan's knees. He expected green orbs to shoot out from Lord Falkson's hands but none came.
"Thanks for the ring," Silvo whispered in Achan's ear, stretching his hand in front of Achan's face. Prince Oren's ring gleamed on Silvo's olive-skinned hand.
Achan loosened his grip on the railing and swung around to lunge for Silvo.
"Time to die." Silvo pushed him, dark eyes glinting, olive lips twisting in a smile.
Achan lost his balance. A flash of heat seized him as he fell sideways off the platform. A scream tore from his throat.
The rings caught him-nearly jerking his shoulders and wrists from their sockets. Achan's weight pulled the rings farther down the wooden spikes, drawing Achan's arms down and out inch by inch.
He writhed, kicking and gasping and shouting every curse in the king's language. The cuffs cut into the tops of his hands. His arms and wrists throbbed. He dangled above the platform like an animal in a snare.
He had to ease the strain on his arms. He thrashed back and forth, trying to grab the chain with his fingers to spare his hands from the cuffs. He grabbed for the opposite chain, but his sweaty fingers slipped over the metal. With each twist of his body, the rings slid down more, pulling his arms further apart.
Under his feet, Lord Falkson continued to chant his strange language, somehow raising a physical wind with his words. Several gowzals fluttered to perch closer to the man. "Barthos parach. Barthos yarad. Barthos laqach. Barthos dashen. Laqach no minchah. Laqach no oyeb."
Liquid tickled through Achan's beard and dripped from his chin. Sweat? Tears? Blood? He didn't know. He only knew he was going to die. Sir Gavin!
He looked out at the field of faces, scanning for red Old Kingsguard cloaks. But of course they wouldn't wear them if trying to infiltrate this crowd.
Achan's temple prickled. Vrell Sparrow.
Achan opened to the boy, thankful his rescue had come.
Achan. Are you well? Sparrow asked. What is happening?
Achan swung and reached again to the left. How could Sparrow not see? Where are you?
Sir Gavin made me wait with the horses.
Achan's fingers slipped over the chain and the cuff wedged back into the top of his hand. He gritted his teeth. Blazes, Sparrow. Wait with the horses, then, and keep out of my head.
You sound weak. Are you hurt?
Achan grunted and swung right. You could say that.
What can I do?
Sit and wait like you were told! Achan closed his mind to the boy, enraged his rescue hadn't come after all. His lungs were on fire. He could barely breathe. Where was Sir Gavin?
Achan's temple's pricked again.
Vrell Sparrow.
He managed to grip the chain above the cuff on his left hand, but his sweaty fingers slid down and he had to grip it again and again. He started to swing like a pendulum, side to side, until his left-hand grip was firm and secure. He ignored the searing pain from where the cuff cut into the skin on his right hand.
Sir Gavin! Where are you?
Straight out in front, lad. Do your best to hold tight.
Achan almost laughed. Holding tight wasn't the problem. He was holding quite tightly at the moment.
He squinted to locate Sir Gavin but failed. The wind picked up, tickling the hairs on Achan's legs and chilling his sweaty body. He swung toward the right spike. The chain drooped a bit. He jerked the chain, causing the large black ring to inch up the spike. In the same motion he crawled his fingers along the chain to keep it tight when he swung back. If he could climb off the top of this thing…
When he swung right again, he slid that ring up higher. It caught on a knot in the wood. His arms were crooked now, the right higher than the left.
He jerked the left chain up, twisting the excess around his hand to shorten it before he swung back. The higher he managed to raise the rings, the closer his arms were to the spikes-and the less he felt his arms would be ripped out.
He stopped, tried to catch his breath, but could hardly pull air into his lungs. His biceps burned. He wasn't strong enough for this. The chains coiled around his hands, cutting of the blood flow. They looked purple.
"Barthos yarad. Barthos laqach. Barthos dashen."
Dirt joined the wind rising from the platform below. The blowing cloud twisted into a funnel. Gowzals flew into the gale and were swept away, darkening the cloudy haze to black.
The whirlwind lengthened. Lord Falkson's phlegmy chanting droned louder. A gowzal squawked. The crowd grew silent, many of them dropping to their knees.
A form coalesced in the swirling cone. The black wind funnel began to take the shape of a man, five times taller than normal-with a doglike head, long pointed ears, and a shaggy mane. His body consisted of black dirt particles spinning together under invisible skin.
Barthos, god of soil.
The people in the temple fell prostrate. On the platform below, Silvo, Nongo, the guards…even Esek fell to his face.
"Arman, Arman, Arman," Achan whispered between short breaths, staring at the thing. His arms shook, ached, burned. Please. He gasped. "Please."
Sir Gavin Lukos.
Achan's head throbbed from Sparrow's persistent knocks so much he barely heard Sir Gavin's knock over the boy's. Achan opened immediately. Where are you? What do I do?
Remember, lad, he's made of black spirits like the black knights use.
Wonderful. But what do I do?
Barthos is a creature of Gazar, not a god. He has no authority over Arman's children. We cannot kill him with steel, but we can rebuke him.
Scold Barthos? That huge creature? How?
Tell him to leave.
Sir Gavin's voice yelled from the crowd on Achan's left. "Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad. Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."
Achan scanned the crowd in that direction but couldn't see him.
The creature too turned toward Sir Gavin's voice, revealing its lupine face. A kuon, the rabid black wolves that were said to be so prevalent in the Cela Mountains. That explained why Barth's crest displayed a kuon.
Achan whimpered, doubting this beast would listen to him. He sucked a short breath between his teeth. "Go away!"
Barthos's neck twisted. Eyes locked onto Achan's, he roared a guttural sound that curled Achan's toes.
The beast swung a clawed paw. Achan moved his legs aside in time. But the ring on the right spike slid loose, jerking Achan's right arm down.
Now he knew why he'd been strung here. He was to be plucked off his chains and devoured by this god of the underworld like a choice morsel.
Achan writhed back and forth, legs swinging, right arm jerking the chain back up the pole. His arms were killing him. His hands were numb. Pain stabbed his temple.
Vrell Sparrow.
Achan screamed. He was going to maim Sparrow if he survived this.
From the crowd behind him, Sir Caleb's voice shouted, "Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad. Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."
The kuon tipped his head back and howled like a hundred vultures circling their carrion. It fell to all fours and lumbered under Achan, shaking the platform and spikes with each step.
Inko's voice rose from somewhere on Achan's right. "Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."
Barthos spun toward Inko and roared.
Clearly, Achan didn't know how to scold the beast properly. Anyway, what was this doing but whipping the creature into more anger? This wasn't the rescue he had in mind. He realized that if he wanted down, he'd have to do it himself.
The right ring had wedged between two knots close to the spike's point. That drew his legs closer to the right beam. Achan kicked out, trying to hook a leg around the right spike. He missed and fell back, his arms jerking taut.
He grunted and kicked up again. This time he was able to curl his right calf around the spike.
The pressure in his right arm eased immediately. He hung for a moment, took a deep breath, then pulled his other leg over until he managed to wrap it around too. He clutched the spike with both legs and his right arm. He tipped his head back, left arm still stretched to the left spike.
Barthos stalked through the crowd, knocking the spectators aside. Black dirt billowed under his transparent skin.
People screamed. Some sang a warbling song in their foreign tongues. The knights' voices chanted low and steady, their rhythm contradicting Lord Falkson's slurred tones.
Sparrow continued to knock, the little boil.
Achan struggled with his left hand, jerking the chain up the spike inch by inch until at last the ring slipped over the top of the spike and fell.
The weight jerked his left arm, and his body slid down the wood spike. Rough splinters pierced his torso, arm, and thighs. He squeezed, stopping himself from sliding further, and pulled his left arm up to the spike.
He alternated hugging the spike with his arms and twisting his hips then squeezing his legs around the spike and moving his arms. The chains and metal rings still hung from his wrists, but at least his arms were no longer being yanked out. In this way he slowly inched his body around the beam until he was on the outside of it, hunched upon the slope as if riding Scout up a steep hill.
He shimmied up awkwardly. When he reached the sharpened tip, he worked the right ring up, for it had wedged between the spike and his body. Once he pulled the ring off the spike, he looped it over his arm like a metal sleeve. He pulled the left chain up and threaded his left arm through it.
Now what?
He was free of the spikes, but he was so high up that a smoky haze from the torches on the platform blurred the floor beneath him. Achan caught sight of a red blur running down the stairs followed by two dark blurs. Not so cocky now that the beast had been distracted, huh, Esek?
He looked out into the grandstands. The knights had successfully diverted Barthos. He could see them now. They wore the clothing Lord Eli had given them-white tunics, leather vests, and brown trousers-and were standing halfway up the grandstands on his left. The beast raged through the crowd, circling Sir Caleb, but never getting too close. People in the crowd screamed and trampled each other to get out of Barthos's path.
The platform was empty but for Lord Falkson and the gowzals that perched on him as if he were a scarecrow. Achan scanned the crowd for Silvo and Sir Nongo. He spied the black knights with Khai pushing through the crowd toward Sir Caleb.
Sir Caleb, three of Esek's men are coming your way.
I see them, Your Highness. How did you manage to unhook yourself? Well done!
Achan didn't answer. His arms shook so hard they'd likely give way and he'd fall to his death. He slid down a bit. A fat sliver stabbed into his thigh like a rose thorn. He clenched his jaw and kept going. Halfway down, he paused to check the knights.
The crowd had scattered, leaving a wide circle where Sir Caleb and Sir Nongo now clashed swords. Silvo gestured toward the platform and yelled the phlegmy language at Barthos, whose head bobbed back and forth as if unsure what he wanted to do next. Achan could still hear Sir Gavin and Inko chanting. What they were saying?
Ignoring the splinters, Achan slid further down. Part of him wanted to just let go and drop to the platform, but he'd probably break a few bones, so he maintained his controlled slide.
Finally, the chains clattered to the platform. Achan twisted around the beam as if coming down off a low tree branch and dropped to his feet.
On guard, Your Highness! Sir Caleb yelled in Achan's mind.
A coarse paw struck Achan's back and sent him sprawling across the platform. He rolled to his side against the supports of the ladder and tried to stand, but he was tangled in the chains.
Barthos stood in the center of the platform, Silvo right behind it. The creature roared, baring a mouthful of sharp teeth.
Achan sat up and untangled the chains. He threaded them behind his back and slid the opposite ring up over each shoulder, hoping to keep them out of his way.
Join us in rebuking him, Achan! Sir Gavin said.
Achan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. But I don't know what you're saying. Speak the common tongue so I can understand.
It matters not what you say but that you believe Arman can deliver you.
Oh. You're calling on Arman?
'Tis the only way to destroy it.
Achan closed his eyes and licked his cracked lips. "O, powerful Arman, father of all Er'Rets. Have mercy on your servants. Send this ugly beast back to where it came from."
Warmth spread through Achan.
Barthos screeched and swiped his paw. Achan backpedaled into the ladder supports to try to avoid Barthos' strike, but he could not. The massive paw descended to cut him in half.
But the only thing that passed through him was swirling wind. Merely a chilled breeze on his sweaty skin.
Barthos looked surprised. The creature's hind legs morphed into a whirling tunnel. The kuon's body spun out of form. No longer a dog-man but only a funnel of wind and dirt again.
Once the head vanished, the funnel scattered into hundreds of gowzals. The black birds soared over the audience squawking and biting. The crowd screamed and ran.
Achan headed for the stairs leading down off the platform, but Silvo cut him off.
Achan lowered his left arm and let the ring slide over his hand, gripping the chain when the ring hung inches from the ground. He swung it up over his head like a mace and ran toward Silvo, screaming.
Silvo's eyes widened. He fled down the steps. Achan stopped and flung the ring. It struck Silvo in the back of the head. The black knight's legs crumpled. He fell down the stairs and lay still at the bottom.
Achan looped both rings over his left shoulder. Master of the iron rings, he was. He scrambled down the steps, tugged Prince Oren's ring off Silvo's hand, and joined the throng.
"Stop him, Sir Kenton! He's getting away!"
Esek's order came from the crowd behind Achan. He ducked his head and squeezed between people, mud from their bodies rubbing onto his. A portly man plowed into Achan's side and knocked him to the floor. The mob stepped over him, on him. He crammed Prince Oren's ring on his finger even as his face was pressed into the dirt floor. The smell of soil filled his nostrils. Pain and fatigue engulfed him, vision swirling, blackening, his breath finally used up.
A voice whispered in his ear, sending an icy chill over his body. "Say the word! Call on me and I shall end this." Hadad.
Someone tripped over Achan, kicking him to his side. He curled into a ball, waiting for the people to pass. But he had to get up. Sir Kenton was coming.
"Say it, boy! Hadad. Call on my name."
"No." Achan mumbled a weak prayer to Arman. This was how the supposed future king was going to die, crushed in a stampede in a temple to a false god.
Strong hands seized his arms. Sir Kenton! He tried to pull away.
"I've got you, Your Highness." Sir Caleb's familiar voice calmed him. The knight draped a cloak around Achan's body and pulled him to standing. The crowd still pushed past, their muddy backs fleeing toward the exits. "Put on the hood," Caleb said.
"Sir Kenton." Achan swayed. The dull throbbing of scratches and bruises fatigued his nerves like a strong drought of Sparrow's tea.
"Inko and Gavin are dealing with him." Sir Caleb pulled up Achan's hood and put an arm around his waist. He helped Achan ascend the stairs.
"Sir Gavin?" Achan's mind was groggy. Had he been told where Sir Gavin was?
Sir Caleb didn't answer.
Inko joined them halfway up and supported Achan's left side. The three exited the pyramid, the knights all but carrying Achan away from the temple.
They darted around mud huts, weaving their way up the hill.
Sir Gavin Lukos.
Finally! Vrell opened her mind. It had been hours since Achan had shut her out.
Do you see our light? Sir Gavin asked.
Vrell stood. A cramp stabbed her lower back. At least Mother had advised her how to accommodate her month-blood. She had bided her time crafting compresses out of the linen Lord Eli's servants had given her for her healing kit. Hopefully no one would be seriously hurt until she could get more supplies.
She located the fiery glow of Barth below and scanned the blackness between the stronghold and her position. A prick of red light shone in the distance to her left, lower than where she stood but higher than the city. A ridge must lead to the valley.
I see it, sir.
Then fire the blue torchlight and ready the horses. We must ride.
It will be done. Vrell patted the ground beside her until her fingers found the firesteel and torchlight. It had been a while since Vrell had used a firesteel. She had one by the fireplace in her bedchamber back home but her servants usually lit the fire.
It took Vrell three tries to ignite the torch. The blue flame hissed to life and warmed her face. She stood to get her bearings, legs and back aching.
Must her whole body hurt during this time of the month?
The flame lit the tree and the path in an eerie blue glow. Vrell inched over the dark ground and wedged the end of the torchlight into the knot hole in the tree where it could be seen. She hoped no one else would come investigating the blue light until she and the knights were long departed.
Vrell crept to where the horses were tethered. Normally she would have taken off their saddles and bits and wiped them down, but she had not known how long the knights might be. She went from horse to horse, petting them to keep them calm. They had been waiting a long time and were eager to ride.
When she got to Achan's horse, she fingered the ivory pommel of his sword hanging off the saddlebag. How could she have missed it the morning he had been taken? Achan always wore his sword, had slept with it on until Sir Caleb had scolded him. If she had noticed it on his saddlebag sooner, she might have suspected something was amiss.
No reason to dwell. They were coming back and would soon be on their way. Vrell could no longer see the red light. Her stomach clenched. Sir Gavin had not said whether they had found Achan. What if they had failed?
Of course Achan would be with them. Sir Gavin would not have returned otherwise. The man had dedicated his life to Armonguard's rightful king.
Vrell checked the tether from one saddle to the last, then returned to her horse and patted his nose. Should she get on? How quickly did Sir Gavin plan to ride?
She inched back to the tree and stood in the blue glow, staring at the distant lights of Barth and the dark void between. Were the men close?
You're ready?
Vrell jumped, not expecting to hear Sir Gavin's voice without a knock. She must have been so excited she had forgotten to put up her shields. How careless.
Yes, Sir Gavin, she said. Everything is set.
She fortified her mind and carefully mounted her horse. There. Now she would be ready when they arrived and would not have to hurry. The blue torchlight had almost faded. She hoped they were-
A twig snapped. Fabric rustled. Vrell gripped her reins, and her horse shuffled his feet, ready to ride. Shadowed forms crested the hill and entered the clearing. She counted four and sighed. Good. Achan was with them. Where had they left poor Locto?
Sir Caleb and Inko peeled away from the light and went straight to their horses. Sir Gavin helped Achan mount his horse. He wore a black cloak-and, she couldn't help noticing-almost nothing but a black cloak. His feet and legs were bare and chain clanked as if he were bound and dangerous. He settled into the saddle and his hood slipped off, revealing a disheveled profile. Vrell's eyes prickled and she blinked away grateful tears. Where were his clothes? Why the chains? If he was injured, she should see to him right away.
Sir Gavin fetched the dim torchlight from the tree and mounted his horse.
Vrell could bear the silence no longer. "Does Achan-?"
Sir Gavin Lukos.
Vrell opened her mind.
Converse only in our minds until I say otherwise. I sense we're being followed already. He extinguished the light. The blackness encompassed them again.
How Vrell hated it.
They went slow and steady without a word. Every rock of her horse sent jolts of pain through her tender body. The horses' hooves scraped over the rocky terrain, kicking pebbles aside. Every sound seemed louder now that they were trying to be quiet. Leather packs creaked. Mosquitoes buzzed, garnering the occasional hand slap against skin. And the horses' breathed heavily, interrupted by an occasional snort.
Vrell ached to speak, to know what had happened, but no one knocked. The idea of being followed again left her feeling vulnerable and alone. She called out to her mother, told her the knights had returned with Achan and they were traveling again.
Finally, Vrell's ears tickled. She straightened, eager for news, but no name was given. The knocks continued until a terrible headache squeezed her skull. She wanted to yell at whoever it was to stop, but Sir Gavin had asked for silence. Besides, the knock might be Master Hadar or Khai seeking her. She kept her mind closed, gritting her teeth against the pain.
Achan's voice blurted into her mind, Annoying, isn't it?
She gasped, tears pooling in her eyes, remembering the way she had persistently sent knocks to Achan hours ago. I-forgive me. I had not meant to annoy. I only wanted to know what was happening.
Then why not look through my eyes?
She released a shuddering breath. I–I forgot to try. And she could not have risked blacking out.
Brilliant, Sparrow. Next time you forget, just forget trying to contact me at all.
Are you all right? When they brought you in I thought you were nearly unconscious. But you sound-
I'm fine.
So you say. Do you know what they did with Locto?
Sent him to Melas. Now leave me alone.
Why are you being so mean?
Look, I realize you had no idea what was going on, but when I said to wait, you should've listened. Not only did your endless knocking stab, I was already in a tight spot. The last thing I needed was more pain or distraction.
She wiped tears from her cheeks. I am desperately sorry, Achan. I was scared. It was so dark and I did not know if you were safe. Please forgive me.
Silence stretched on for a long agonizing moment. Just don't do it again.
Once Sir Gavin declared they had reached the old road north, they spurred the horses as fast as the beasts would go in the dark, which was not above a canter. Vrell cried most of the journey, both from pain and with grief for how she had angered Achan. She considered throwing herself from her horse, when it occurred to her that Darkness might be playing on her sorrow, not to mention how her month-blood always darkened her moods. She hummed praises to Arman and soon felt lighter.
They steered their horses across the wetlands of what Inko told her was Melas Marsh, sloshing water for hours. Sir Gavin had them stop on a small, dry knoll. He drove a torch into the ground and they made camp around it in silence. Either the men were exhausted or something truly horrible had taken place in Barth.
Vrell was thankful for her own bedroll. Lord Eli had provided that, at least, despite his trickery and betrayal. She laid it a few feet from the torch and sat cross-legged, watching the bugs flock to the light, waiting for someone to speak.
Clinking metal drew her attention to Achan. He carried a long length of chain looped over his arm that hung past his knees, jingling as he limped about. Why would no one talk of what had happened? How had they managed to free Achan?
Achan lay on his bedroll on the other side of the fire, chains scraping each time he shifted.
Sir Gavin handed out rations of bread and apples. He crouched at Vrell's feet and set her food on the end of the leather hide. "Would you mind looking at Achan's feet, Vrell? They might need care."
Before she could respond, Sir Gavin moved to Inko's bedroll. Achan looked to be sleeping now. She picked up her satchel and circled the torch by way of Sir Caleb. She could not suffer another verbal beating. If Achan was still cross, she would need reinforcements.
"Sir Caleb," Vrell said softly, "I am to check Achan's wounds. Would you mind holding the torch so I can see?"
"Of course." Sir Caleb jumped up and jerked the torch from the sand. Shadows danced as the only light for miles was moved. Vrell knelt at the foot of Achan's bedroll. Sir Caleb crouched beside her and held the torch low. Dirt caked footprints on the soles of Achan's bare feet. Vrell cringed at the blisters and streaks of dried blood that were nearly impossible to see against the dirt.
Sir Caleb laid his hand on Achan's bare shin. "Your Highness?"
Achan's breathing hitched, then fell back into a soft rhythm.
"Asleep already, poor lad. Can you imagine? A stray one day, a king the next. And in both lives, targets of wicked men's wrath."
Vrell's chest constricted. "No, I cannot."
"You think you can work on those feet a bit without waking him?"
"I shall do my best, sir." She hoped she had enough supplies.
Vrell used water from her jug and a strip of linen from her satchel to wipe Achan's feet as clean as she could without soaking them. Achan slept so soundly, he barely moved. She rubbed yarrow salve into the cuts and scrapes and used the rest of her linen to wrap his feet to keep out more dirt.
When she finished, she held the torch for Sir Caleb so he could pick the locks on Achan's shackles. Once those were removed, Vrell did what she could with her remaining supplies to nurse the lacerations on his hands and wrists.
She packed up her satchel, leaned over Achan, and whispered, "I'm so sorry."
The next morning-if a dark sky with no hope of light all day could be called morning-Sir Gavin made sure to greet each of them face to face, then they mounted and rode without a word.
Vrell's mind began to wander into a waking dream, scrambling reality with fear in a bizarre ongoing hallucination. If only she had brought along Achan's chains, she could punish herself by wearing them. How might they look with a wedding gown? Would Sir Gavin approve? Life would be blissful when she and Sir Gavin finally wed, but would their children have long white beards? Different colored eyes? And would Bran object? Would he challenge Sir Gavin?
She managed to break free from the chain of thoughts and center her mind on Arman, but each wild imagining left her shaken. Had Sir Caleb run out of lectures? Why did no one speak?
"No!"
Vrell jerked upright in her saddle. Her horse stopped and snorted. A horse ahead of hers whinnied and stomped, splashing the marshland water. A man grunted. Water splashed, followed by quick footsteps in the water. Who was running?
"Achan!" Sir Gavin cried out. "Stop!"
"Her child! He's dying!" Achan called from the darkness to Vrell's left. "I must go to her!"
"Who's dying?" Sir Caleb said from behind Vrell.
Leather slid against leather and boots splashed into the water at the front of the line.
A torchlight fizzed green behind Vrell, illuminating Sir Gavin's white hair, flying out behind him as he bounded through the marsh.
Sir Caleb dismounted and followed, taking the green light with him. "Light a torch so we can find our way back!"
Inko started to dig in his pack. Vrell clutched the reins and listened to Achan's screams in the distance. From the sounds of things, the men had caught him and he did not approve.
"What is he doing, do you think?" Vrell asked.
"Going mad, I'm guessing. It's being the way of Darkness to be calling to your fears."
Who did Achan think was dying? Vrell did not have to wonder long. Soon Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb dragged a sobbing, struggling Achan back to the horses.
"No!" Achan jerked against their hold, trying to get away. He plowed back and forth between them, causing all three men to stagger and slip in the ankle-deep water. "Let me go! Gren needs me. She's all alone. They killed him."
"Who did they kill?" Vrell asked.
Achan sobered and stopped struggling, eyes wide. He sniffled. "I must go. I must protect her from Esek. He intends to use her to get to me."
Vrell's face tingled as the blood drained away. She had thought Achan suffered from Darkness's hold, but this seemed all too real. "Who did Esek kill, Achan. Who?"
"Her baby!"
Baby? Vrell frowned. "Achan, Gren has only been married a short time. She could not have a child yet."
"He's dead, I say!" He glared up at Vrell. "You don't believe me? I don't care. I don't need any of you. I'll go alone. Let me go! I must go to Gren!"
Sir Gavin's voice swelled in Vrell's inner ear. He's delusional, Vrell. Don't encourage this line of thought. Do you have something to help him sleep?
I have hops tea. But I will need hot water to prepare it and time for it to take effect.
"We'll rest here a moment." Sir Gavin spread his feet as Achan tried to pull away. "Inko, please help Vrell heat a bit of water to make Achan a drink."
Achan grunted with his effort to break free. "I don't need a drink. I need to get to Sitna. Let go!"
But the knights did not. They stood in the marsh with Achan and tried to distract him from his worry of Gren's dead baby. Inko lit a torch and helped Vrell heat enough water to drink in a small tin cup. She had to wear one of Inko's thick leather gloves to keep the little cup from burning her hands as the torchlight heated the water.
"I've grown lax." Sir Gavin's face had darkened with his effort to hold Achan. "I shouldn't have ordered everyone to stay silent. Losing Achan should've made me more careful, not less. We must continue to communicate, focus our minds."
Vrell added the herbs and the smell cleansed her sinuses and relaxed her nerves. When it had steeped, she poured it into a cool mug and brought it to Achan.
He shook his head. "You're trying to give me aleh. You want to silence my bloodvoice so I can't see Gren. Get away!"
Achan swiped at Vrell and nearly upset the cup. Sir Caleb grabbed his arms, but Achan fought him. They fell and rolled in the water until Inko and Sir Gavin managed to drag Achan off of Sir Caleb. Achan elbowed Sir Gavin and sprinted off again.
It took all three men to restrain him and a very long time for Vrell to get him to swallow the tea. Then they had to wait for it to put him to sleep. He fought it until he went limp. Sir Gavin tethered Achan's horse beside his own, the knights hoisted Achan up, tied him to the horse, and they moved on.
Vrell prayed for Achan and for her own sanity. The horses' hooves soon found the dry ground of the sandbar again. Vrell spotted light to the north. A single flame winking on the black horizon. Sir Caleb bloodvoiced techniques for fighting with a short sword, and before they could stop for their second meal, the whole horizon seemed to glow as if a fire ravaged the land.
Melas.