Vrell nibbled a piece of dried fish and passed her gaze between the orange glow in the distance and Achan, curled up on a bedroll beside Sir Gavin. Achan had suffered so much. Would the people of Melas be kind? Depraved? Would they seek to exploit him? Kill him? Melas was the only place separating Southern Er'Rets from Northern Er'Rets this side of Mahanaim. It commanded the only way to cross the Strait of Arok.
Vrell could no longer stand the silence. "Will they let us enter through the gate?"
"My friend is expecting us." Sir Gavin took a swig from his water jug. "He'll meet us inside."
"Who is he?" Vrell asked.
"A former Kingsguard soldier turned priest."
Vrell hoped for a priest of the Way. It had been so long since she had heard Arman's word.
Though the lights of Melas seemed close, hours passed before they approached the narrow bridge that crossed the mouth of the inlet and led up to a solid cast iron gate. A massive stone wall stretched along the northern shore of Arok Lake and out of Vrell's eyesight. Torches blazed from the parapet, flames mirrored on the dark water. A fortress on a moonless night.
The hollow clunking of the horses hooves on the bridge rattled Vrell's nerves after hours of sandy terrain.
A voice called out from the gate: "Who comes this way?"
"Sir Gavin Lukos and company. We're here on business with Trajen Yorbride."
"Hold."
The horses stopped. Vrell's eyes adjusted to the torchlight on the curtain wall. Achan slumped over his horse. She hoped he would wake with no memory of his strange behavior.
"Stand back for the guard," the voice from the gatehouse said. "They will exit, count your party, then follow you inside. Then the gate will close again. Agreed?"
"Aye, we agree." Sir Gavin twisted around on his horse. "Steer your mounts to the right of the bridge to make way for the guards. Do what they say and don't argue."
Vrell guided her horse as close to the right railing as possible. Why so much security just to enter Melas? What would happen if Achan woke and had another fit? Would they arrest him? Kill him? Leave him outside the gate?
A boom shook the bridge. Vrell's horse jerked. Vrell patted the animal's neck as the clanking of chains echoed over the water. The gate slid left like a curtain, baring a sliver of orange light from within. When the gate was wide enough for one man on a horse to pass, the chains stopped rattling. Hoofbeats clomped nearer as the guards approached, single file.
Three rode past Vrell. They wore long dark capes over dark armor. Vrell tensed, remembering the black knights. When the hoofbeats stopped, she glanced back. The guardsmen had circled their mounts and now faced the gate.
One of the guards called out. "There are five in the party. Move forward!"
Sir Gavin rode through the gap in the gate, pulling Achan's horse behind. Vrell clicked her tongue and her horse followed. Two guards stood on either side of the gate, swords drawn. Vrell avoided eye contact as she passed under the gatehouse. She murmured a prayer over her uneasiness.
Inside the gatehouse, the knights circled the horses and waited for Sir Caleb to pay the guard.
Beyond the gatehouse, flaming torches perched atop three-level high stone walls gave everything an orange and brown glow. Melas seemed made of mostly stone. Narrow cobbled streets split off from the gate like branches on a tree.
When Sir Caleb returned, Sir Gavin rode out from the gatehouse. Vrell followed the knights down a wide street. Lanterns hung from iron hooks high along both walls. Flickering candlelight and shadow danced over stone walls and board and batten doors. The clatter of hooves on the cobblestone drowned out the voices inside. Thick grime and cobwebs coated the occasional glass window. No point in cleaning glass if the sun never shone through, Vrell supposed.
Sir Gavin rode up to a double arch separated by a thick drum pillar. A slender, dark-haired man dressed in brown linen stood before the pillar and waved, a kind face in a dark land.
Sir Gavin dismounted. "'Tis good to see you, Trajen. We've had a time of it out there."
"Then let's put up your horses and get some food in your bellies." The man's voice was friendly and deep.
Sir Gavin passed his reins to Trajen and led Achan's horse under the right arch. Vrell followed into a stable. They left their horses and returned to the street. Sir Gavin walked with Trajen. Sir Caleb and Inko carried Achan between them. Vrell wished the men would lift Achan higher. She didn't like his feet dragging over the soiled street.
Trajen led them down several cobblestone alleys lit by hanging lanterns. Narrow, two-level stone homes lined the streets, some no more than a man's height wide. Sounds and voices reverberated between the stone walls. Vrell couldn't tell what noise came from where.
Trajen entered a small house with the number twenty-seven carved on the door. Unlike the neighbor's door-coated in broken cobwebs flecked with dead flies and moths-door twenty-seven was clean and dust-free.
Vrell entered into a tiny foyer facing a one-wall kitchen. A dog yipped incessantly. A baby cried.
"Ressa? I've found our visitors," Trajen said. "Could you come out, please?"
"A moment, Tray," a woman's voice called.
"Ressa will be able to look at his wounds," Trajen said, nodding to Achan.
"No trouble," Sir Caleb said. "We have a healer with us."
Vrell swelled at Sir Caleb's reassurance in her abilities.
A small, shaggy, black dog scurried from leg to leg, sniffing. Vrell took in the cramped space. A sideboard covered the entire left wall. Before her, a rough-hewn table and eight chairs took up the left side of the room. A linen curtain draped over a doorway behind the table. On the right side of the room, two deep couches faced each other. They had backs made of lashed sticks and straw-filled cushions. Between them on the far right wall, pillows in a variety of colors made a mound as high as the couches.
Behind the table, a hand drew the curtain aside and Ressa entered, holding a crying child on one hip. She was a tan-skinned woman, Vrell's height but much curvier. Her reddish-brown hair pulled back in a long braid. She smiled. "Hello."
The child tugged at the neck of Ressa's auburn tunic, pulling it off one shoulder. "Bite bite, Mima. Bite bite."
"Shh, Romal. Mima will feed you soon." She approached Trajen and tried to hand the child off, but he clung to her arm.
"Bite bite, Mima. Bite bite!"
Trajen peeled the child away, and Romal broke into a horrible wail. His face flushed crimson and his tongue curled in his mouth. Trajen bounced the child in his arms and offered his knuckle for sustenance. Romal pushed Trajen's hand away and craned his neck from side to side looking for his mother.
Ressa had moved to where Inko and Sir Caleb held Achan. "You have an injured man? What's happened to him?"
"I gave him hops tea," Vrell said.
Ressa's dark eyes didn't leave Achan. "Was he in pain?"
"We were having trouble controlling him." Sir Gavin shrugged off his pack. "He was hallucinating."
Ressa skirted the table and waved a lazy hand over her shoulder. "Bring him." She lifted the curtain aside.
Sir Caleb and Inko carried Achan through the narrow doorway. Vrell followed, not wanting that woman to steal her job. She ducked under the curtain into a narrow hall, stretching the length of the house. The curtain fell closed, dousing the light. Vrell ran her fingertips along the wall until a flash of candlelight revealed the silhouettes of the men ducking through a low doorway halfway back. Vrell hurried after them and stepped around another curtain.
The men settled Achan on a pallet on the floor in a room barely bigger than the straw mattress. A stool sat in the corner, topped with a water basin. A long shelf stretched over the bed and held a lone candle burning in a jar. The men left.
Ressa dropped to her knees beside Achan and set the back of her hand to his forehead. "He has no fever."
Vrell kneeled on Achan's left. "No. I bandaged his feet as best I could in the torchlight."
"My light is not much better. You're the healer?"
"Yes. I am Vrell Sparrow."
"Where'd you train, Vrell?"
Ressa's direct questions and her low, silky voice inspired Vrell to give an impressive answer. "Under the Maysens of Walden's Watch. Wayan is the apothecary. Mitt the midwife."
"So you have a wide variety of training."
"I do." Vrell searched for a more impressive feat. "I also learned some battle healing from Jax mi Katt."
Ressa's lips curved into a small smile. "A giant?"
"Yes. Jax's guidance enabled me to remove three arrows from the prince. He does manage to get hurt a lot."
Achan's dark eyelashes fell thick against the tops of his cheeks. Tiny cuts and smudges of dirt seasoned his skin. Dried blood caked the slice Esek had made on his left cheek. More blood pasted his greasy hair to his scalp in several places.
"This is the prince?" Ressa sat back on her heels and stared. "He's so young."
"Sixteen," Vrell said. "He is called Achan."
Ressa grabbed the candle and scooted to the foot of the pallet. She set the jar beside her and started to remove the bandages on Achan's right foot. "Why don't you unwrap his left foot and tell me what I'm looking at?"
Vrell crawled to the end of the bed and tugged at the bandage on Achan's other foot. "I'm not certain what happened. When I got to him, his feet were covered in dirt and quite cut up. He also had iron cuffs on his wrists."
"And you didn't ask?"
"Sir Gavin bid us not speak. By the time we made camp, Achan was asleep. Sir Caleb didn't want me to wake him."
"This happened last night?"
"Or the day before. It is difficult to measure time here."
Ressa lifted Achan's foot into her lap, examining it with narrowed eyes. She sniffed. "You put yarrow on it?"
"Yes, ma'am. It was all I had."
"You've done fine. They're shallow cuts and should heal quickly." She lowered Achan's foot. "His head wounds seem to be healing on their own. We'll let him sleep it off."
Vrell seized the moment to ask about supplies. "I would like to redress his feet, but I have used all my linen."
"I have some we can use. And I'll take you to the apothecary to restock your bag. When he wakes, I'll make him a nice hot bath so he can soak those feet a bit. Sound good?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She smiled at Vrell and her eyes sparkled in the torchlight. "Now let me see what I might have to feed all you men."
*
Vrell followed Ressa back to the main room and found the men at the table, deep in a heated discussion. Vrell sat on the bench beside Sir Caleb.
He smiled at her and turned back to the men. "But who sent the black knights?"
Sir Gavin spoke from the head of the table. "Esek or Lord Falkson."
"I'm not liking it, Gavin," Inko said. "We are being far too vulnerable on this journey. I'm being afraid we won't be making it all the way to Tsaftown."
Sir Caleb shot a disapproving glare Inko's way. "Your fear is proof you don't trust Arman."
"I am trusting Arman, but I am not thinking it is wisest to go this route with so few men."
"Then you don't trust Gavin."
"You are pulling words from my mouth that I am not saying. We need-"
Sir Gavin slapped his palm on the table. "The smaller the party, the easier to hide, blend in. We are safest small and in Darkness."
"But twice already the prince's life has been-"
"Shh." Ressa held a bowl under one arm and stirred its contents. "The prince will feel better if he wakes on his own. And I'd rather you not wake the children."
Children? Just how many children did they have?
Sir Gavin pushed back from the table. "We'll discuss this further when Achan wakes."
Trajen gave a verbal tour. Three chambers lined the back hallway. The knights would sleep in the first-one man on guard-Achan in the second, and the back chamber belonged to Trajen and Ressa and their children. Vrell would sleep on the couch in the front room.
Vrell sat at the table, watching Ressa dart about the home. Vrell liked her more by the minute. The woman created a feast for seven with black beans and rice, set water heating for Achan's bath, fed her babies-for she had twins! — answered Trajen's call's, and still looked like she had energy for more.
Achan stepped through the curtain, looking around with sleepy eyes. Vrell's heart raced. She hoped he had forgiven her.
Sir Gavin jumped up and made introductions. "Trajen Yorbride, meet King Axel's son. He goes by Achan."
Trajen bowed his head, took Achan by the shoulders, and kissed his forehead. "A great honor, Your Majesty."
Achan's posture stiffened. "Thank you."
Trajen motioned to Ressa on the pile of pillows holding a sleeping babe in each arm. "My wife, Ressa, and our children, Romal and Roma."
"You're welcome here, Your Majesty," Ressa whispered.
Achan nodded once and rubbed his cheek, staring at the lady of the house with a puzzled expression.
"Trajen, if you'll take Romal, I can make the prince a bowl," Ressa said.
"Never you mind, my love. You rest. I can serve the prince." Trajen dished a bowl of beans and rice and set it at the head of the table. "It's not much, but Arman does provide."
"Thank you." Achan claimed the stool, moving slowly. "It's not dried meat or porridge, so to me, it's a feast."
Sir Gavin sat beside Inko. "We must hear the story of what happened when you were taken from camp. If you're up to telling the tale. Prince Oren told Gavin some."
"To the point when you returned," Vrell added, not wanting any detail left out.
"Aye," Sir Gavin said. "Vrell and Ressa would like to know how you were injured and if you're injured elsewhere.
Achan set his bowl down. Vrell didn't like the looks of the rings edging his eyes. She hoped he would sleep again soon.
Achan stared at the table with glassy eyes. "I woke alone on the sandbar. I called out but no one answered. I still don't understand why I could only reach Prince Oren."
"Locto spiked our drinking water with aleh and mint," Sir Caleb said. "He knocked you out, dragged you away, and conjured the illusion while we slept."
"Explain that," Achan said. "This illusion actually looked like me?"
"Aye," Sir Gavin said. "Just as black knights are able to duplicate themselves, they duplicated you."
Achan nodded. "They surrounded me when I woke. Prince Oren stormed two, but I ended up inside Silvo Hamartano's head and left my body empty for attack."
Vrell's insides coiled. Silvo Hamartano was a black knight?
"Needless to say, I lost. I must learn to do this right before someone kills me." Achan glanced at Sir Gavin. "Please?"
"We'll work on it tonight if you're up for it." Sir Gavin sighed through his nose. "But I wish you'd stop experimenting. It's not safe for you or us. That's likely how Esek's men found us. Kenton or Khai could be tracking your bloodvoice."
Achan hung his head. He combed his fingers through his tangled hair and yanked them free. "I woke with my head in a water trough. They had taken my clothes."
Achan went on to name Sir Nongo as Silvo's accomplice, and how Arman had restored his bloodvoices. He'd been thrown in a pit, met some crazy man called Hadad, was attacked by gowzals, then strung up on some sort of spikes as an offering to Barthos. It mortified Vrell to discover Achan had been hung there when she had knocked repeatedly. He kindly skipped over her intrusion.
Eyelids heavy, Achan turned his gaze to Sir Gavin. "What do those words mean? The ones you all said to Barthos?"
"Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad. Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman." Sir Gavin's weathered face relaxed as if the mere act of speaking those words calmed him. "It's the old language for Arman is God, Arman is One, Arman is Three in One. Deliver me in the name of Caan."
"Ah." Achan yawned. "How is it you speak the old language?"
"I've learned it from the Book of Life. You'll learn it too."
Ressa left to pour Achan's bath in his room while the men continued to talk out front.
"Will we leave first thing?" Achan asked. "I'm eager to get to Tsaftown and see the sun again."
"Achan, the sun does not shine in Tsaftown," Sir Gavin said. "The city sits over five leagues west of the Evenwall."
Achan's dark eyebrows wrinkled. "I don't remember that."
"I taught you in a hurry, Your Highness. I apologize for the confusion. We won't see the sun again until Mitspah."
"And we'll go to Mitspah when?" Vrell asked.
"After we build our army in Tsaftown."
Vrell only wanted to know how close they were to Carmine. "So from here we go to Tsaftown, then to Carmine?"
"Nay." Sir Gavin's eyes focused on hers. "From here we pass through Berland, then on to Tsaftown. We'll go to Ice Island first. Once we free our army, we'll go to Carmine."
"How long will all of this take?" Vrell asked.
"I cannot say. Much could waylay us. If all goes smoothly, we could be in Carmine before the fall harvest."
Vrell sucked in a sharp breath at the long journey ahead. "Wh-What season it is now?"
"Early summer," Trajen said.
"And will we raise support here as well?" Vrell asked.
"Nay," Sir Gavin said. "Melas is a dangerous place. The sooner we reach friendly soil, the better. Duke Orson voted for Achan at Council. Berland will be a good place to rest."
"I agree it wouldn't be wise to linger in Melas," Trajen said. "But we have a remnant here that serve Arman. Could you not stay to meet our flock?"
Sir Gavin stroked his beard braid.
"I, for one, would like to stay, at least for Teshuwah," Sir Caleb said. "It's been many weeks since I rested and many more since I've had the opportunity to attend a temple service. It would do us all good. Besides, Achan has probably never experienced a service like ours."
"Strays weren't permitted to enter the temple in Sitna."
"They're welcome here," Trajen said. "Everyone who asks may eat at Arman's table."
The curtain rustled and Ressa appeared. "Your Highness? Your bath is ready."
Achan twisted on the stool and stood. He limped to where Ressa held the curtain aside.
"What say you, Gavin?" Trajen asked. "It's only two sleeps until Teshuwah."
Sir Gavin's gaze followed Achan. "What would our prince like to do?"
Achan stopped, keeping his back to the table. When he spoke, his words were a whisper. "Whatever you think best, Sir Gavin. As long as they don't call on Barthos." He ducked through the opening and his footsteps shuffled down the hall.
Sir Gavin's mustache lifted at the ends, indicating a smile, as he watched Achan go. "I think it's best we stay for Teshuwah."
Trajen clapped his hands. "Excellent. I'll be honored to introduce His Majesty to the temple of Arman."
Vrell smiled. It would be nice to stay here a bit longer. She bet Sir Gavin would see to it she got a bath. And she couldn't wait for the Teshuwah service. The last time Vrell worshipped Arman in the company of believers had been last winter in Carmine. She couldn't believe how much longer it would be until she were safely home. Fall harvest…
When Achan finished his bath, Ressa and Vrell went to his room to redress his wounds. Ressa removed several splinters from Achan's arms and legs while Vrell bandaged his feet. Achan sat patiently, hair shaggy around his face, still dripping from his bath. Vrell put ointment on the welts on his wrists and the bites on his nose, cheek, and a bad one in his scalp. She tried to put balm on his chapped lips, but he snatched the jar from her and did it himself.
When Ressa finished, she left Achan and Vrell alone. Trajen had given Achan new clothes and boots. Green looked nice against his dark skin and hair.
Achan stretched his arms above his head. "Pretty lady."
Vrell flushed, then flushed again when she caught his meaning. "Ressa?"
Achan tousled Vrell's hair and laughed. "Do you see any other women around?"
Vrell blinked, annoyed at her misunderstanding. "She's Trajen's wife."
"And he's a fortunate man to have such a wise, hardworking, and beautiful wife."
"I suppose." Vrell scooted back against the wall. "So that is why you sat so still and didn't fuss like you do for me."
Achan grinned, but Sir Gavin ducked into the room before he could answer.
"You're certain you're up for a lesson tonight? We could do this in the morning."
"No. I want to do it now. Please."
"Very well." Sir Gavin moved the basin off the stool and sat down. "Ahh. My weary bones are getting a mite too old for this kind of adventure." He rubbed his opposite shoulder. "So, whenever you try to message, you end up watching?"
Achan shook his head. "No matter what I try, I end up watching. I tried to storm Silvo, and I ended up in his head."
"I beg your pardon, Your Highness," Vrell said, "but you called on Prince Oren and did not watch through him."
"When he helped me fight the black knights. That's true."
"You understand the difference between the different skills?" Sir Gavin asked.
"Well," Achan wiped balm from his bottom lip, "watching is to look through another's eyes. Jumping is when I look through another gifted person to see through the mind they're watching. And I think storming is when I attack the mind attacking mine?"
"Let's put storming aside for now. The most important methods I want you to learn are messaging: sending and receiving conversation, and watching: seeing through another's mind and allowing another to see though your mind. And doing all this while your mind is shielded."
"If I may add something?" Vrell said. "You message people all the time. The problem is, you rarely remember to knock. You simply barge through our shields and we answer. We cannot do that. If a gifted man's shields are up, we must knock and he must let us in before we can speak. I think when you are trying to message, you trick yourself into thinking it is more difficult than it really is. You concentrate too hard and end up watching instead of simply messaging. I suspect you don't need the extra concentration."
Sir Gavin stroked his mustache. "Try it as Vrell suggests. Speak to only me. Will you help us, Vrell? Try to overhear our conversation. And, Achan, do not storm Vrell. Ignore him."
"Gladly."
Vrell sneered at him and concentrated. She found only a slight chill in the air.
Sir Gavin's voice broke the silence. "Well done. Now speak to Vrell and I'll try to break in. Don't storm me, either."
Achan's voice burst into her mind. Can you believe all she does? I mean, I've never had beans and rice together. So simple. Likely inexpensive. I wonder what Poril would have said about such a dish?
Vrell stifled a groan, annoyed at Achan's captivation with Ressa. Can you at least knock before barging your way into my mind, Your Highness? And what is so shocking about beans and rice?
Not shocking. It was just… Do you think Lady Tara can cook?
Vrell rolled her eyes. I doubt it. Tara was more of an artist. What does she have to do with anything?
Sir Gavin clapped his hands once. "Well then? Did you succeed? I could hear nothing."
"We had a delightful conversation, didn't we, Sparrow?"
Vrell averted her eyes. "Riveting."
Sir Gavin tugged his beard braid. "I'd like you both to try watching someone you know isn't gifted. Choose someone safe who would never betray us, should you accidentally speak. And keep in mind, bloodvoicing is a gift from Arman, not a game. Should you intrude upon an intimate moment, please disconnect immediately. Go ahead and try, both of you."
Vrell had wanted to look in on Bran for ages, but it had seemed so invasive. She was thankful for permission to try. She closed her eyes and pictured his face. Unable to see the whole of it, she concentrated on each feature. Sunburned nose. Thick brown hair, tousled by the wind. Dark, brown eyes.
A room came into view from a low angle. Small and clean and quite sparse. A cottage, like the peasant's homes in Carmine. The sun shone through a curtainless window, casting a bright beam of light across a wooden floor. Chopping filled the room along with the smell of onions. A young woman stood at a table, her back facing where Bran sat on a squat, wooden stool. At first Vrell thought of Ressa, but this woman seemed taller, and her hair was russet and longer than Ressa's, bound in a single plait that dangled past her waist.
She wore a brown dress with a linen apron tied in back. The ivory ties cut into her waist and accentuated her hourglass form. Yet Bran stared at her bare ankles that peeked out between her long dress and black slipper shoes.
Vrell frowned.
I'm sorry my father's not here, the young woman said, keeping her back to Bran. He could be out a while. He'll need to get used to the soil here. It's not that he won't be able to do as good as he did in Sitna. It'll just take time. He wove excellent fabrics for Lord Nathak and the prin- Well, he wove excellent fabrics.
She turned and smiled at Bran. Her face was lovely: caramel, freckled skin with rosy cheeks; wide, brown eyes, watery from the onions, with dark lashes. Her thick chestnut hair pulled back from her face into the braid, but wispy tendrils had escaped and framed her rosy cheeks. No wonder Bran stared. Vrell wished she could elbow him.
You sure I can't get you some ale or tea or…or water? Her chest heaved with a deep breath. She fidgeted with the frayed top edge of her apron, then jerked her hand away as if realizing she might call attention to her neckline. She spun back to the table so quickly her skirt coiled around her legs and slowly unwound.
Bran's attention drifted back to her bare ankles. A glass of water might be nice, madam, if it's no trouble.
Madam? This pretty young girl was married? Praise Arman. Vrell relaxed a bit.
The young woman curtsied, No trouble at all, sir, and scurried from the room.
Bran straightened on the stool and chuckled softly.
The young woman returned in a moment holding a mug in two hands. She crossed the room, her eyes focused on the mug. She stumbled and some of the water slapped to the floor. Her eyes bulged and her whole face darkened.
Oh! I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't mean-
A clap of hands and Sir Gavin's, "Did you succeed?" zapped Vrell away from the mystery girl and her spilled water.
Vrell faced Sir Gavin, but her thoughts were back in Carmine. What was Bran doing at that peasant's cottage? He had wanted to speak to the girl's father? Why? Who were they?
"Well?" Sir Gavin asked.
Achan frowned and traced the red welt around his right wrist. "I've looked in on Gren before. I mean…I think I have. I didn't know if I was bloodvoicing or if Darkness was playing with my mind. Last night on the sandbar… I think I misunderstood. But, Sir Gavin, something is amiss. Why would Gren have left Sitna and why would Bran Rennan be visiting her father?"
Vrell's eyes widened. Bran with Gren? Achan had looked in on Gren and saw Bran… Vrell's breath caught. That was Achan's Gren?
Sir Gavin grimaced and shifted on the stool. "Aw, I'm sorry, lad. Prince Oren bid me tell you when I found the right moment, only we have been running since I got the message. I planned to tell you-this night, actually, once we were alone."
The floor seemed to fall out from under Vrell. "Would you like me to leave?"
"No." Achan lifted his chin. "There's no need."
Sir Gavin nodded. "When you escaped from Mahanaim, Esek sent Lord Nathak back to Sitna to keep an eye on the Duchess of Carm and Gren's family. Leverage over the two things he wants most. Control of Carm and control of you."
Achan stood up as if he planned to run out the door and save Gren.
Sir Gavin clutched the hem of Achan's tunic. "Esek sent Khai into Darkness to track you. But Macoun Hadar had his own agenda. Since Khai also works for him and was already following you for Esek, Macoun sent Jax to Sitna to kidnap Gren before Lord Nathak got to her. Macoun, of course, is hoping to use Gren as leverage against you as well."
"Pig snout." Achan dropped back to the pallet.
Sir Gavin continued, "As you both know, Jax is a Marad spy, loyal to Prince Oren and to us. Prince Oren asked Jax to move Gren's family to a safe place. Sir Rigil and his squire, Bran Rennan-" Sir Gavin peered at Vrell-"were already in Carmine since they had gone to aid the duchess. Jax met Sir Rigil and his men outside Sitna Manor.
"Bran, being the least intimidating of the group, was sent to initiate contact with Gren's family. But Gren's father rejected Bran's warning, so Bran went to speak with Riga. He didn't listen either. Sitna has been overrun with thieves since Lord Nathak left. The people trust no one for fear of being swindled. Sir Rigil made a second attempt to contact Gren's father but found the Fenny home deserted. When he knocked at the Hoff home, he was arrested."
Vrell's breath hitched. She hoped nothing had happened to Sir Rigil.
"When Sir Rigil didn't return, Bran managed to find out from the local peasants that both families had been arrested. He and Jax broke into the Sitna dungeons and rescued all but Riga Hoff, who died trying to defend his wife."
Achan's eyes grew as wide as full moons. "Riga's dead?"
"Aye. I'm sorry, Achan."
"Trying to save Gren?"
"That's right. Sir Rigil said he took a sword for her, during the rescue attempt, I believe."
"Riga was her baby?" Achan's brow crinkled and he sank back on his elbows.
Vrell pulled her knees to her chest. The poor girl. To be married to a man she didn't love, then to see him killed…
"Yesterday on the sandbar," Achan's voice broke. He cleared his throat. "I heard Gren crying about her baby, thought she'd lost a child. It seemed so real, yet I thought Darkness had twisted my mind."
"Ah, yes. Well, Gren is expecting a child. Her mother informed Sir Rigil once they settled in Carmine, which happened a few days ago."
"Oh!" Vrell clapped a hand over her mouth. Sir Gavin could have delivered that bit of information at another time. Not heap it all on poor Achan at once. Did the man not see how weighed down Achan already was?
Sir Gavin focused on Vrell. "So, that's that. Vrell, were you successful with your attempt to watch?"
Vrell nodded but refused to elaborate. She wanted to respect Achan's moment of grief and not run over it as Sir Gavin appeared willing to do.
Achan only stared past Vrell's left ear with a dazed look.
*
Achan meandered out to the front room, limping on his bandaged feet. His muscles were tight and stiff. Sir Caleb and Inko sat at the table, playing a dice game.
"Want to join us, Your Highness?" Sir Caleb asked.
"No thanks." Dice reminded him of Lord Eli and Jaira.
He paced to the door, then doubled back and plopped in the middle of one of the sofas. He disliked this house. Too cramped. He wanted to be outside-not in Darkness but by the allown tree in Sitna, watching the clouds sail across the blue sky. His body throbbed. He inspected the welts on his wrists again, the most visible of his injuries besides his cheeks.
As he pondered how long it might take until his beard hid the scars on his cheeks, Ressa walked out from the hallway carrying one of the babies. Achan couldn't tell the boy from the girl. The child turned its wide, brown eyes on Achan and all he could see was Gren and her child, staring at him.
Ressa smiled. "Trajen and Romal are sleeping. They've taken the whole bed and left no place for Roma and me to go, didn't they, my precious?" She kissed the child's forehead and settled down in the pillows. She cradled the baby across her lap. "Do you mind if I feed her?"
Achan opened his mouth, then shook his head. He picked at a bit of skin on his wrist, wishing for a way to escape the confinement he felt. The baby's suckling filled the room. Achan stood and bolted down the hallway. But Sir Gavin and Sparrow were still talking in his room so he turned and strode out the front door.
Outside, the night-day? — was cool. He took in a deep breath and found the air thick with smoke, pitch, and dung. Wheels clattered over the cobblestone in the distance, bringing to mind his journey behind Silvo's cart. The street stretched out on both sides, narrow and hemmed in like a canyon. He counted ten doors across the street. Did that mean ten homes? Moths fluttered around the lanterns, their shadows darting over the stone walls below.
Gren hadn't looked to be with child. How long until that changed? Goats tended to carry for five months before they delivered. Were women the same?
Did she grieve for Riga? Achan couldn't imagine the same pot-bellied peasant who had bullied him, beat him, and stolen Gren away could have the guts-or the heart-to even try to defend someone else, much less take a sword for anyone.
But maybe he'd done it for his child.
This thought made Achan cringe all over again. The very idea that Riga had touched Gren, let alone… He shook the anger away. It didn't matter. Riga had been Gren's husband, had every right…but she hadn't wanted to marry him…and they'd been married only a little over a month. Achan didn't understand. Perhaps married people managed to bond somehow. If Gren had come to care for Riga…well…Achan hoped she wasn't suffering.
One thing brought comfort: he knew Bran to be honest and kind. When next he spoke with Prince Oren, Achan would request that Bran look after the Fennys for a while. He pushed aside Gren's nervous thoughts of Bran Rennan, the handsome squire. Bran was betrothed to Lady Averella, after all. Nothing to fear there.
The door to the house opened and Sir Caleb stepped outside. "Are you well, Your Highness?"
Achan folded his arms. "It's so small in there."
"It is that. Nice of them to put us up, though." The knight stood beside Achan. They were roughly the same height, but Sir Caleb's blond hair frizzed out, making him seem taller. "Melas is well-known for its crime. It's best we stay inside."
Achan's shoulders sagged. "Fine." He pushed past Sir Caleb and into the house. Ressa was still feeding the baby so he went down the hall to his room. As soon as he entered Sir Gavin and Sparrow stopped talking, as if he'd interrupted some secret discussion.
"Do you need something, lad?"
"No." Achan slipped out again and walked toward the glowing curtain to the main room.
"Achan?"
Sparrow's voice made him jump. He turned to find the boy standing behind him, cat-like eyes peering up into his. "Are you well?"
"As well as one can be in Darkness, I suppose."
"Hearing news of Gren must have been…shocking."
Achan's muscles tightened. "Sparrow, if you think I-" He sighed. The boy could read him like a scroll. He smiled sadly. "Aye, I wish to help her. But Bran is there. That will have to be good enough."
"Bran is a good man," Sparrow said. "You trust him?"
"I sense he's as righteous as Prince Oren himself."
Sparrow beamed. "I think so too."
Achan shifted and the linen curtain to the main room clung to his back. He swiped it away and inched closer to Sparrow. "This cottage is so cramped. You'd think it wouldn't bother me so, my having slept under an ale cask all my life, but I…the dark is so oppressive. I never realized what a gift the sun was until it was gone."
"The sun brings light and life to the world."
"Aye."
"Sir Gavin is asking for you," Sparrow said.
"Oh. Right, then." Achan turned sideways to edge past Sparrow. He ducked into his room, relieved to have somewhere to go.
Sir Gavin still sat on the stool, elbows propped on his knobby knees. "Achan. Would you sit a moment?"
Achan settled on his pallet.
Sir Gavin slouched against the wall and stretched out his legs. "I've never been good with words, sentiments especially. I'm a soldier, you understand. I'm great with a sword, I excel with a battle plan, and I can track better than most hounds, but…" He tugged at his beard braid. "Vrell thinks I… Well, anyway, he's right. Achan, I've got the sensitivity of a bull in a pumpkin patch. I just don't know what I'm walking on, if you get me."
"Sir?"
"I'm trying to say I didn't handle telling you the news about Gren well. I should've… Well, 'twas a shock to you and I just kind of flattened everything like a stampede of… Anyway, sorry about that. I'm sorry about everything, really. All the way back to your parents' death. I've always felt responsible, you know. Your father would've agreed with me about the bull in the pumpkin patch too."
"How so?"
Sir Gavin winced. "Well, when we were a great deal younger, there was a young lady."
Achan grinned. A story like this just might lift his spirits.
"It's not that I never recognized women were beautiful-are beautiful. I do-I'm just called to a different life. I'm too busy to bother with romance. And when I've tried to woo, I've only ever managed to make ladies scowl." Sir Gavin sniffed a long breath as if pulling a memory out from the air. "Akami was your mother's attendant and best friend. She grew up with Dara in Nesos and-"
"My mother grew up in Nesos?"
"Aye. Your father had his eye on Lady Dara Pitney ever since he knew boys and girls were different. No one could doubt who he'd choose when the time came."
Achan tried to imagine what life might have been like had his parents lived. He would've been raised in Armonguard, traveled Er'Rets with his parents, attended court, and fought in tournaments. He would never have known Gren, true, but he may have always known Lady Tara.
"So what happened with…?"
"Apparently, Akami fancied me." Sir Gavin shrugged. "So Dara put your father up to getting us together. But Axel told me, 'My wife desires you to escort her attendant, Akami, to the Hepta Festival. Wear something nice, Gavin, and bathe.'
"When the Hepta Festival arrived, there were so many visitors, and rumors of Cheremites sneaking in to cause trouble, I knew my skills would be best used with the guard. So I sent one of my men to escort Akami to the festival."
Achan chuckled. "What did she do?"
"She married him."
"Your guardsman?"
"Eventually, aye, but not before your mother tongue-lashed me. I never would've agreed to be the girl's escort had I understood Dara's plans. Your father was never vague with me again. And the next time your mother set to matchmaking, Axel laid it out plain for me to reject entirely. Arman didn't make me for romance, my lad. I'm a warrior and to that cause I've dedicated my life."
Achan wished he could have witnessed Sir Gavin's moment of understanding.
"Know that I'm still as thick as ever with people, so if I seemed cruel before, it wasn't my intention." Sir Gavin shifted on the stool. "So, you know what I have to say now isn't meant to hurt, right? Though Gren's situation has changed…you and she could never…"
Achan met Sir Gavin's brown eye and forced his voice to remain even, though his stomach clenched. "Of course."
Sir Gavin slapped Achan's shoulder twice. "Good lad. Now, Prince Oren would like you to message him. I think you've got it down, so I'll see no one disturbs you."
Sir Gavin hoisted himself from the stool, groaning, and passed through the curtain. Achan stared at the rippling fabric until it stilled.
Why torture me, Arman? I wasn't good enough for Gren. Now she's not good enough for me. Why can't I do as I please? Esek would have.
But Esek hadn't been able to marry just anyone either.
I beg you protect her, then, if I cannot. Keep Bran at her side to make sure no one harms her or her family.
Lying down would be most comfortable for messaging. If he somehow left his body again, at least he wouldn't fall.
He pulled off his boots and lay back on the straw-filled mattress. He held up his right hand. Prince Oren's signet ring looked strange on his finger. In the same way wearing his bejeweled belt and sword had first made him feel small and insignificant, this ring dwarfed him even more. He stared at the crest of Armonguard, mesmerized. Armonguard should've been his home. He should've grown up in the castle as prince, the delight of every woman, the pride of every man.
The hope for the future kingdom.
Yet all had been lost. If Achan continued with these men, they'd do everything in their power to make him king. He hadn't wanted that, yet the idea grew more comfortable the more he learned of his parents. He wanted to be a good son. Would the people of Er'Rets accept him? Prince Oren had.
Achan closed his eyes and let his mind drift to the servant's chamber on the bottom floor in Mahanaim where he last saw Prince Oren. His uncle's kind words came back.
"We share the same blood, you and I."
Achan hung on to those words for a long moment, cherishing them. Then he called out. Prince Oren?
When is it only us, you must call me Uncle Oren or Uncle. I could feel you. I wondered what was taking you so long.
I was looking at your ring, Uncle. Achan smiled. He liked saying the word uncle.
Clunky old piece of gold, isn't it?
I think it's amazing. The history, especially.
I suppose it is. How do you fare? Your face? Has it healed any?
One side has scabbed over. The other broke open again. Silvo Hamartano.
Sir Gavin told me what happened in Barth. I'm proud of the way you handled yourself.
Thank you, sir.
When we last saw each other, I asked you whether or not Arman had spoken to you as king. We were interrupted and I never heard your answer. Tell me, have you heard his voice?
The mere mention of Arman's voice seemed to heat Achan's insides. Aye. He's spoken to me several times.
So it is true! His uncle's voice sounded anxious, excited. What has he said?
Uh… He appointed me…king…over the nation. Before that he said to listen to Sir Gavin. Recently he yelled at me for calling on Cetheria. Then he restored my bloodvoice and kept some gowzals from eating me alive. He banished Barthos. Though his uncle couldn't see him, Achan shrugged. I like him all right.
Prince Oren chuckled. Well, that is the best news I have heard since you were found. Now, tell me all you have been through since you left Mahanaim.
Achan filled his uncle in on the journey thus far. The conversation lasted a long while because Prince Oren kept asking questions, inquiring as to a detail Achan had skipped over or to ask Achan's feelings. Achan liked Prince Oren's attention. The man cared about his well-being.
Sir Gavin expressed concern to me about this Hadad fellow. He did not want to burden you, but I think it wise for you to be on guard. When this man spoke, did you feel a knock? Any mental intrusion at all?
No. Achan's mind spun. I did feel cold. Sir Gavin said a chill can be a sign of bloodvoice ability. Hadad wanted me to renounce Arman, to shake on it.
Touch increases bloodvoice connection. Take care to keep your mind guarded, nephew. There are so many who might seek to harm you.
So many already had. A meaty smell drifted into the room. Achan's stomach growled. Ressa was cooking again.
You are hungry? Prince Oren asked.
Achan smiled. A little.
Then go and eat. We can talk again later.
Achan didn't want the conversation to end. Uncle, do you know how Gren is doing?
She is safe. I am grieved over what happened to her husband. I thought sending Jax and Sir Rigil would be enough to protect one family, but I fear Lord Nathak did not want to part with them.
Will she stay in Carmine, do you know?
For now. Perhaps you will be able to visit her when you arrive there. I understand Carmine is one of the places Sir Gavin plans to visit.
Aye. It'll be months before we're there, though. Could you have Bran or Sir Rigil keep watch over her? To make sure she's okay?
I will. But trust her to Arman, lad. He'll watch over her better than anyone.
But Gren does not follow Arman.
That does not change the fact that he watches over her. He loves all of his children, whether or not they know or believe. Goodbye, Nephew. Go and eat.
Goodbye, Uncle.
When Achan entered the kitchen two days later, people filled the house. The table had been pushed lengthwise against the inner wall and people sat on it, dangling their legs over the edge. The chairs also lined the walls, occupied by men and women, chatting amicably. More people occupied the couches and floor. No one paid any attention to Achan.
He scanned the room. Sparrow? Where are you?
On the floor, other side of the table.
Achan squatted. Sparrow sat cross-legged behind the front table leg on the other end. What are you doing over there?
This is the best seat I could find.
Where am I supposed to sit?
Stay where you are. You can see from there.
Achan would much rather hide with Sparrow than stand in the doorway where someone might introduce him, possibly make him strip off his shirt and show his scarred back. He didn't relish another bout of humiliation. Besides, he'd spent most his life under the tables in the kitchens of Sitna Manor, scavenging crumbs from the floor. He crawled under the table and sat on the inside of the table leg by Sparrow. He stretched out his long legs, though he had to hunch to keep his head from hitting the tabletop. A man's legs dangled beside his face.
Sparrow peeked around the table leg. How do your feet feel today?
Better. I'm hungry. Achan pressed a hand to his stomach. Did you eat?
No. Sparrow nodded toward the sideboard crammed full with bowls draped in cloths. Ressa cooked all morning. I think we are to eat after the service.
Mmm. Achan studied the people in the room. Most were peasants or lower except for a well-dressed man beside Sir Gavin. The people chatted as if passing the time for a tournament to begin. A man and woman entered the front door, and Ressa greeted them with a smile. There's so little room in this cottage, why do so many come here today? What exactly is this Teshuwah about? Do we parade to the temple?
Teshuwah is our holy day. These people have come to worship Arman.
Here? This is a dwelling of people, not a god.
Arman has no temple besides his people.
Achan wrinkled his nose. The temple was people? That made no sense.
So many now filled the cottage that no surface remained bare. People stood along the walls, two deep in some places. Some men held children on their shoulders. The voices suddenly quieted, gazes drifting to the curtained doorway. Achan peeked out from under the table.
Trajen entered the room dressed in a white hooded cloak over a white tunic with the same brown trousers he always wore. He walked to the entrance of the house and faced the room. This position not only gave him space, it made him visible to everyone.
He lifted his arms high above his head. "And on the day called Teshuwah all who believe shall be gathered to one place, and the word of Arman will be spoken. Then we shall rise and pray. And when our prayers have been heard, we shall give praise and thanksgiving. Then we shall eat, for food brings nourishment to the body and celebration to the soul. We assemble on the Teshuwah because that's the day Arman wrought a change in the hearts of men. That's the day his son, Caan, rose from the tomb to give us Light.
"For he was murdered by men, put in a dark tomb, and on the day of the Sun, which gives light and life, appeared to King Willham and his men and taught them all these things."
A chorus of agreement, "So be it" and "May it be so," burst forth from the crowd. From somewhere Achan couldn't see, one of the twins said, "Bite bite, Mima," and the crowd chuckled.
Trajen closed his eyes, inciting a hush in the room again. "In the beginning was Caan, and Caan was with Arman, and Caan was Arman. Caan was with Arman in the beginning. In him was life, and that life was the Light of men. The Light shone in the Darkness, but Darkness did not understand it."
A man above Achan grunted in agreement.
"And in those days Er'Rets had no king; everyone did as he saw fit. The people forsook Arman to serve other gods. So Arman gave Er'Rets a king; his name was Echad Hadar. He came as a witness to testify concerning that Light, so that through the Light all men might believe."
Trajen paused. "But the people did evil in the eyes of Arman and Darkness began to push away the Light."
A chill raked up Achan's arms at the ultimate evil that had brought Darkness upon the land: killing Arman's chosen, his father.
"But Arman so loved his people that he gave his son, Caan, as a ransom for the transgressions of every man. He was buried in Noiz on the same day King Simal II breathed his last. Both men were buried that day. And to this day, the tomb of King Simal II remains sealed. But Caan's tomb did not remain sealed. Three days later, Arman opened Caan's tomb and raised him from the dead to sit at his right hand, a testament to what he longs to do in the life of men."
Achan had heard this tale many times over the years from Minstrel Harp in the Corner back in Sitna. It was a neat story, though he'd never heard it quite like this.
"King Willham believed, and through the power of Caan, took hold of the Darkness and pushed it back. The battle ceased for a time. But many a king has come and gone since then. Some have obeyed the call of Arman. Some have answered the call of Darkness. For many did not recognize Caan as the source of all Light."
Caan was the source of all light? Might Achan need his help, then, if he was to push back Darkness? And wouldn't his calling on Caan offend Arman?
"Though many did not recognize him-including his own Kinsman people-those who did receive him, those who believed in his power, he gave the right to become children of Arman-children not born of natural descent or a husband's will, but born of Arman.
"For we know that Arman is light; in him there is no Darkness at all. If we claim to have fellowship with him yet walk with Darkness, we lie and do not live by the truth. But if we walk with the Light as Arman is in the Light, we have fellowship with one another, and the Blood of Caan, Arman's son, purifies us from all evil, even in this dark place."
People yelled out "Praise Arman" and "May it be so."
Trajen opened his eyes and scanned the room. "For this reason, I've not stopped petitioning for all of you that Arman will fill you with the knowledge of his will, so you may live a life worthy of Arman and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of Arman."
A chorus of agreement, "So be it," "May it be so," and "As it has been said," burst forth, only this time, the voices did not quiet. A woman's voice broke into an upbeat song. Almost every soul in the room quickly joined in, Sparrow included.
Er'Rets was lost in the darkness within.
The Light of the world is Caan!
Like sunshine at noonday his glory shone in.
The Light of the world is Caan!
No darkness have we who in Arman abide.
The Light of the world is Caan!
We walk in the light when we follow our Guide.
The Light of the world is Caan!
Ye dwellers in Darkness with tar-blinded eyes.
The Light of the world is Caan!
Go, wash, at His bidding and light will arise.
The Light of the world is Caan!
No need of sunlight in Shamayim we're told.
The Light of the world is Caan!
For Caan is the Light in the city of gold.
The Light of the world is Caan!
The song ended in a heavy silence. Then a man started to sing from the table above.
Come to the Light, 'tis shining for thee.
Sweetly the Light has dawned upon me.
Once I was blind, but now I can see.
For Caan has brought Light that is free.
The people sang this twice, then, on the third time through, a clear woman's voice began a measure behind, leading several other women in a round. When the refrain finally ended, Trajen sang a phrase-nearly a chant. Everyone joined in.
"Sh'ma Er'Rets, Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad."
The words were the old language like what Sir Gavin and the knights had said in Barthos' temple. How strange that so many would know this language. And what were they saying about Arman?
When the singing ended, Trajen said, "Some of you may have noticed a few unfamiliar faces this day. We often welcome new followers into our fold, but today our guests have been walking with Arman for many years. We have heard of the deceit in Sitna and knew in our hearts it was true. Our promised king is not the evil man we thought him to be, but a man who, like Caan himself, was made a servant for his people, scorned and beaten, until Arman pulled him into the Light where all could see the truth.
"We have with us this day Sir Gavin Lukos and his companions who are escorting the rightful heir to Er'Rets-the true Crown Prince, Gidon Hadar-north to safety. There they plan to raise support so the true king can return to Armonguard and proclaim Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad, a truth so bright it will push back Darkness forever."
The crowd murmured. Achan shrank back against the wall under the table. He had expected an introduction, but who could live up to such words? He'd almost rather they strip him down and fawn over his birthmark.
Boot steps clunked across the floor. The voices hushed so suddenly, Achan couldn't help leaning forward to see what was happening. Just as he peeked out from under the table, a set of legs cast a shadow over his face. He glanced up to see Sir Gavin looking down into his eyes.
Achan's stomach rolled as he realized the crowd had been watching Sir Gavin.
"'Tis true," Sir Gavin said. "I found him once, and I'll not lose him again, wherever he may hide himself."
The crowd chuckled and Sir Gavin reached down with his calloused hand. Achan clasped his wrist and allowed the old knight to hoist him to his feet.
Sir Gavin clapped a hand on Achan's shoulder. "Here stands King Axel Hadar's only son. Here stands your future king. For in less than a year's time, this young man will sit on the throne in Armonguard and bring an end to the Darkness."
The people burst into cheering.
Less than a year? Achan tensed, yet couldn't fight his own smile, so contagious was the joy on the faces around him.
"A feast for our two kings!" Trajen yelled. "For this earthly king and our king who reigns in Shamayim!"
"Hear, hear!" a man said and the people cheered again.
Everyone moved at once. Those who'd been sitting on the table jumped down and put it back where it belonged. Ressa set one of the covered bowls on the table, and other women joined in to help. Sir Gavin guided Achan to the entrance. People clustered around, blocking his view of the food.
A portly man with a wisp of black hair took Achan's hand in both of his. "A pleasure and honor, Your Majesty."
"Thank you," Achan said.
Another man, stocky with a scarred face, pushed forward. "Say the word and I'll fight with you, my prince."
"We'd be honored to have your sword." Sir Gavin clasped the man's shoulder. "Trajen will keep you posted as to where our army will assemble. Likely Carmine."
Achan's stomach roiled again. They were truly going to build an army and fight against Esek? Good men like this, family men, might die for him? Before he could dwell on the matter, three more men pledged their swords for Achan's sake.
A pretty young red-haired girl curtsied before him. "My heart fills with hope to see your face, Your Highness. I can see you're brave and strong. With you leading our men I know we shall not be in Darkness much longer."
Achan felt taller at her words. He bowed, took her hand, and kissed it. "Thank you, my lady. Your words inspire me to crush any enemy who would stand in my way."
The young woman's face flushed. She tugged her hand free and stumbled back, her eyes locked with Achan's until she sank into the crowd.
Easy, Achan, Sir Caleb said. This is not a noblewoman who requires such courtesy.
Heat crept up Achan's neck. Well, why should that matter? You told me I had to act with dignity and respect in formal gatherings.
Aye, but you must consider your subjects' social class or you'll start a scandal with every young maid you meet. These women are not used to such flattery and may take your words as more than they were.
Achan met Sir Caleb's critical gaze. But I meant what I said.
The corners of Sir Caleb's mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. I see I must teach you about women next.
I know about women, thank you very much.
Sir Caleb laughed out loud. Achan scowled. The knight looked quite mad laughing alone on the other side of the room.
Trajen spoke in a loud voice, and Achan found the man standing at the head of the table now packed with steaming bowls of food. "We are one in heart and mind. We claim no possessions as our own, but share all we have. Darkness may surround us, but in our hearts, the Light is blinding. As we continue to testify to the love of Caan, truly there are none needy among us. For Arman provides our every need." Trajen met Achan's eyes and held out an arm, beckoning him forward. "Come, Your Highness, sit at our humble table and be filled."
Achan somehow managed to cross the room and sit on the stool at the head of the table. Thankfully, Trajen didn't ask him to offer thanks the food, but said the words himself.
"Arman, we thank you for your many blessings, for this food, fellowship, and the hope that dines with us this day. Let us break bread with glad and sincere hearts, praising you in all things. So may your will be, forever."
A chorus of "So be it" and "May it be so" erupted. The rest of Achan's party was ushered to the table. Sir Caleb sat to Achan's left, Sir Gavin to his right. Sparrow sat beside Inko on the other end.
Bowls of steaming flatbread filled the table along with seasoned brown rice, cuts of chicken, diced tomatoes, wedges of apples and peaches, peas, steamed carrots, shredded lamb, and stacks of toasted trenchers. The aroma watered his tongue, but no one touched the food. Every face watched him.
Ressa swept forward. She set a trencher in front of him, then arranged several pieces of flatbread on it, scooped rice, chicken, and tomatoes onto the flatbread, and rolled it up. She raised her eyebrows and smiled with a nod of her head. "Go ahead and eat, Your Majesty."
Achan lifted the rolled-up meal to his mouth and bit down on the rich and spicy mixture. He chewed, unhinged that everyone still stared. He smiled with his lips closed to hold in the food and said, "Mmm."
The crowd burst into cheers and applause. Achan kept himself busy chewing, eyes downcast. His approval of the meal seemed to be all everyone had been waiting for. People began filling their trenchers. Achan, happy to have the attention off him, glanced at Sparrow and found that the boy was the only person still staring. What?
You did well. That must have been terrifying.
Achan smiled. You think I'm going to have to do that every time we eat with strangers?
Yes. I am afraid this will soon be how you eat for the rest of your life.
Achan lowered his gaze to his plate. The first tradition to go if I ever sit on any throne. There's no reason I should eat first, especially with everyone watching.
It is meant to honor you.
I don't need to be honored. Though it was nice for Ressa to rescue me. If she hadn't I might still be staring at the food.
You only like her because she looks like…
Achan stared at Sparrow, who'd looked away. Looks like who? Ressa resembled Gren in so many ways, but how could Sparrow know that? Achan had told no one.
Not looks. She cooks like I suspect the king's chef might.
I don't see you pushing the food away. Achan tucked his last bite of flatbread roll into his mouth and reached for another. You're right, though. Vile, evil woman! How dare she feed us so well?
Then why not ask her to join our group? She can be your personal chef.
Achan scooped rice and lamb onto his second flatbread. Why don't you eat, or better yet, talk to Inko. He hasn't had the pleasure of your chiding conversation as much as I have. Go on then, share your wit with him a while.
You spoke to me, not the other way-
Achan blocked Sparrow out, rolled up his flatbread, and bit into it. He caught the boy's slight frown and grinned. Having stronger bloodvoicing skill than Sparrow was fun.
Vrell reclined on the pillows in the front room, holding Romal loosely so his feet touched the floor but he could bounce freely and not fall. The baby boy stared at her with wide, brown eyes. She made a face, puckering her lips and squinting. Romal giggled and bent his knees, his chubby cheeks dimpling.
What a sweet creature.
Ressa had handed the baby to Vrell so she could groom Achan. The two of them had been gone for a while. They were not alone, of course. Sir Gavin and the men were with Achan, discussing the plans to depart the city in the morning. Vrell felt excluded out in the front room. She had considered carrying Romal back there, but knew the little boy would cry the moment he saw his mother.
Muffled voices rose in the hall. The curtain shifted, and Achan held it open for Ressa.
Vrell rolled her eyes.
"Bite, bite, Mima!" Romal squirmed, reaching for his mother.
Ressa came straight over and swept him up. "Mima thinks it's time for Romal to nap."
"Bite, bite."
"Yes, you may have dinner first, my sweet."
Ressa left from the room without another word. Achan fell onto the pillows beside Vrell. His hair hung loose around his face, but the ends had been trimmed, as had his scruffy facial hair, to keep up his shadow of a beard.
"What?" Achan slapped Vrell lightly on the back of the head.
She flinched and shied back. "You smell like rose water."
He smirked. "It's not nearly so bad when a woman washes your hair." He put his hand on Vrell's ear and pushed her.
She tipped onto her side, grunted, and struggled to sit upright again. "Stop."
Achan's lips curved in a small smile. He snagged her arm, drew it behind her back, and grabbed her other wrist in the same hand. Then he flipped her over his lap and pushed her down to the floor. Her cheek slapped against the wood floor. Achan's knee pressed into her back and squeezed the air from her body in a rush.
"What are you doing?" She gasped in a quick breath. "Get off me!"
Achan leaned over, his wet hair tickled her ear. "You're a weakling, Sparrow. And you eat too much. What if you have to fight a warrior hand to hand, no weapons? It's my responsibility to make sure you know enough to live." He released her.
She took a deep breath and barely managed to stand before he darted forward and tucked her head under his arm. She flailed her hands about, slapping wherever she could, and managed to pull out a handful of his hair.
He laughed. "You fight like a girl. Come on, Sparrow. At least try to hurt me."
She drew back, but he had her chin locked tight in the crook of his elbow. "I do not…" she pulled back again, grunting with effort… "want…" another pant and tug… "to hurt you." She kicked at his leg, hoping to make him trip.
"Don't worry." He kicked her feet out from under her and released her head. "You can't."
She fell onto her side. Her elbow hit the floor at an awkward angle and stung.
He leaned over her again. "That's my point. Now, stand up and try again. A leg sweep has to come from behind my leg, not in front. You need to kick out the back of my knees and push me down at the same time."
Vrell scrambled to her feet and grabbed Achan around the waist, trying to hook her leg around his in the process, but like a solid tree, he did not budge. She reared back and charged again. He caught her shoulders, twisted aside, and swiped her feet out from under her again. Her back slapped against the floor, knocking her lungs useless. She sucked in, but no breath came. She closed her eyes and tried again, barely managing a hitch of air.
Achan sank to the floor and sighed. "Sleep in my room tonight, Sparrow."
Vrell's eyes flew open and she croaked, "Sleep where?"
Achan drew both hands over his head, sweeping his hair out of his face. "It's creepy back there alone. I miss the campfire and bedrolls. I don't know why everyone feels I must have my own bedchamber."
Vrell inhaled a long breath. Feeling had returned to her body again and it hurt. "You just want someone to beat on."
Achan nudged Vrell's shoulder with his bare foot. "I want someone to talk to. Please?" He cast a begging pout her way.
Vrell could not help but laugh. "You look as if you are a puppy who has been put outdoors. Ask Sir Gavin. If he does not disapprove, I suppose it would be all right."
"Why should Sir Gavin care?"
Vrell sighed, searching for a logical reason Achan might understand. "All this protocol is new to me too. When I met you, you were a soldier. Now you are a prince. I will not be accused of treating you poorly."
"Sparrow, you're so full of moss you're soft in the head. You're the only person who doesn't treat me like a prince every hour of the day. Imagine why I like you so much?"
Vrell's cheeks warmed. Oh, Shamayim. If her mother knew she planned to share a bedchamber with the prince, she would never hear the close of it.
Achan lay on his pallet and stared at the webs of light flickering on the ceiling from Sparrow's candle, glad they were leaving in the morning. Trajen and Ressa were kind, but Ressa's similarities to Gren haunted Achan. He wanted to get to Tsaftown and see Lady Tara, a girl he hoped could fill the cracks in his heart left by Gren.
Thankfully, Sparrow had agreed to sleep in the room. Achan couldn't stand another night alone with thoughts of Gren, memories of torture, and pondering his dead parents. If he wasn't careful, Darkness turned every thought sour, though he hadn't had any dark visions or nightmares here. Sir Caleb claimed Arman protected Trajen's household from such evil.
Light still danced on the ceiling. Achan propped himself up on his elbow. Sparrow sat cross-legged on his bedroll by the foot of Achan's pallet, a finger and rag in his mouth.
"What in blazes are you doing?"
Sparrow's round eyes focused on Achan. "I am cleaning my teeth."
Achan laughed. What an odd duck.
Sparrow shot him a lofty smirk. "You shall not be laughing when you have a toothache and nothing can be done but to have it pulled."
Achan sobered a moment thinking of Sir Gavin's thin and wolfish teeth. "So if I wipe cloth over my teeth I'll not get a toothache?"
"Not necessarily. But at least you will not have stink breath."
Achan frowned. "I don't have stink breath."
Sparrow raised his eyebrows and went back to rubbing.
Achan crawled out of his bed and over to Sparrow.
The boy shrank back, regarding him warily. "What?"
"I want to see what you're-" Achan leaned close and breathed in the boy's face.
Sparrow's eyes bulged and he sputtered. "Eww, Achan. How revolting. I thought Sir Caleb was teaching you manners."
Achan cackled and dove back to his pallet. "For everyone but you, Sparrow. For everyone but you."
Achan wanted to think they left for Berland bright and early, but who could guess the hour? Trajen took them to the stables for their horses and escorted them to the northern gate. Before they passed through, Sir Caleb tethered the horses in a line.
Trajen bid them farewell and the guards opened the gate. No horizon met them, only a black void. Achan didn't want to go into it again. How could Lady Tara live in Darkness and stay so agreeable?
He tried to focus on Lady Tara, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Gren. Ever since Sir Gavin's lesson, Achan continually checked on her, found her cooking, cleaning, even sleeping. It took a bit before Achan realized she'd been sleeping. He first feared he'd ingested aleh, but he remained focused and almost fell asleep himself. At least he now knew a way of getting to sleep when his mind refused to rest.
Sir Caleb Agros.
Achan opened to the knight. Aye?
We have a long journey. Inko has agreed to keep the others in their heads by discussing the Great War. While this is information you need, I feel there's a more pressing matter. Women.
Achan frowned. Is this about what I said to that peasant girl?
That and more. I managed to get word to her through Ressa that you are just learning the rules of courtesy and did not mean to flatter her so. But I can't keep doing that. I fear we must spend a great deal of time retraining you. I assume no man mentored you on your coming-of-age day?
Should someone have?
It's tradition. Under the circumstances of your upbringing, you've turned out much better than I could have hoped for. You carry yourself well, are brave, honorable, and loyal, all traits necessary for a good king. But I fear you came to these traits of your own will, therefore you'll always look at them through your own perspective. I must teach what no nobleman took the time to impart.
Achan steeled himself against whatever flaw concerned Sir Caleb, thankful the conversation would be silent between the two of them. Say what you must then.
When a boy becomes a page-with hopes of someday becoming a knight-he begins certain trainings. Aye, he learns to fight, but he also learns a code of conduct, for a knight is sworn to protect the weak and defenseless. Should a man accept this path, he must eat, sleep, and breathe loyalty, courage, and honor.
Exactly why Achan had craved knighthood.
Many knights ignore this and seek instead to exalt themselves through sport of tournament, philandering, exploits at war. But true knighthood isn't about exalting the knight. It's about the knight becoming a servant to his people. As king, you're to be the knight of all knights. Nobility is not a birthright. It's defined by one's actions. You've seen firsthand how Esek behaved in this position. You're nothing like him, yet it's easy for a man who suddenly gains fame and fortune to stumble. And the higher a man is exalted, the farther he has to fall. I seek only to help you navigate the righteous road ahead.
None of this surprised Achan. Very well. What must I know?
Now that you're a man, and a prince, you must not trust only your heart in matters of right and wrong. A man's heart is deceitful above all things. Your own heart will betray you if you don't guard it wisely.
That seemed a bit farfetched. But Sir Caleb hadn't known Achan very long. Maybe he feared Achan would start behaving like Esek. How do I guard myself?
My best advice is to wait on Arman in all matters.
What if he doesn't answer? He's a little spotty on the advice.
He always answers, my boy. Many times, the answer is simply no. But men complicate matters because they listen to their heart more than to Arman. Your ability to honor Arman and obey his will for your life and Er'Rets is what will set you apart as a good or bad king. Remember, his ways are not man's ways and are often confusing, especially when a man's heart is convinced something is right.
So how did I err in speaking with the peasant girl?
You played with her heart.
Did I? How?
Sir Caleb paused a long moment. Arman has created men and women differently.
And I thank him for it.
There's more to it than outward appearance. Our hearts are different. Women are more attentive to words and feelings than men. Aye, there's always an exception, but this is a general rule. When you speak fondly to a young woman, even if you're only being polite, she may conclude you're interested in her romantically. So you must choose your words and actions carefully in order to honor-but not mislead-each woman you meet. You want to leave them better off from having encountered you, not worse.
How could I have left her worse? She seemed to like the compliment I paid her.
You are the Crown Prince. Women will love you for that alone. You must be kind and courteous without encouraging their hearts to attach. And you must never take advantage of their eagerness to please you. If you indulge them, they'll only become more attached. The more attached, the more devastated they'll be when you don't make them your queen.
Achan huffed a dry laugh. I didn't think I got to choose my queen.
Your Highness, please. Do not take this lightly. This charm you have is a power you must not abuse.
Achan sighed. Then what would've been the proper way to respond to the young lady?
Your words were a bit inflated but would have been acceptable had you not kissed her hand. Only kiss a hand offered, which no peasant should do. Hand kissing originated as a sign of fealty, man to man, as in the kissing of a signet ring. Nowadays a lady might offer her hand in greeting, but only if her social status is equal to yours. For you to take a woman's hand when it's not offered signifies personal interest on your part. Remember, the greater the capacity for pleasure, the greater the capacity for pain. For the sake of Er'Rets, you must not be naive to temptations that could tarnish your name, your calling, and your future family.
Achan closed his eyes. His body swayed from side to side from the horse's movement. I do not relish my birthright. I'm terrified of ruling anyone, let alone all Er'Rets. I don't intend on doing anything rash and am thankful you're here to keep me from humiliating myself.
Ah, but it's the very things a man never intends to do that sneak up and ensnare him. I'll do all I can to keep you safe, but I pray you won't forget Arman is with you always and is your foremost advisor.
Sir Caleb went on to describe more etiquette regarding women of different classes. Then he added, to Achan's chagrin, another lecture on what kind of woman Achan could marry, as if he had forgotten. This only set Achan's sights on Lady Tara more, despite Sir Caleb's claim she wasn't prominent enough.
"Sir Caleb," Sparrow's audible voice startled Achan, "when might we practice sword fighting again?"
"When next we stop," Sir Caleb said. "And as you are nearing fifteen, we should be working to promote you to Achan's squire. To be officially declared a squire, you must go on a hunt. Darkness is not ideal for game. We could make an exception, allow you to hunt a gowzal."
"But I do not know how to hunt a gowzal." Sparrow's small voice made Achan smile.
"I'll teach you," Sir Caleb said.
Achan twisted around in his saddle, despite not being able to see. "No one taught me. Sir Gavin dropped me off in the forest with a knife and told me to walk back." Not that Achan had hunted fairly. He'd used his bloodvoice on the doe.
"We cannot use your training as a guide," Sir Caleb said. "Sir Gavin was…out of his element."
"How will I hunt what I cannot see?" Sparrow asked.
Sir Caleb hummed. "Setting a snare might work best."
Achan closed his eyes, seizing the moment to look in on Gren now that Sparrow had distracted Sir Caleb from his lectures on propriety. He found her walking in a forest-a field. Her gaze traveled over deep, green vines, past a cluster of tiny grapes, and back along the vines. A vineyard. The sun shone high in the pale blue sky. Achan's heart beat faster at the sight of such beauty and warmth on his skin, Gren's skin.
Gren laughed and the sound seemed to grab Achan's heart and squeeze.
It must have died. Gren glanced at the young man walking beside her. Bran Rennan. Achan would recognize that sunburned face anywhere. Bran stood only slightly taller than Gren. He had sandy brown hair and a wide smile, which he flashed at Gren, seeming pleased to have made her laugh.
On the contrary, madam. My Averella is quite the experimentalist. She rarely fails altogether. The duchess harvested her hybrid vines last season and had a special bottle of wine made for our wedding day.
That's so romantic. How long has she been gone?
It's been nearly nine months since last I saw her. We took a walk here in the vineyard, then I left Zerah Rock with Sir Rigil. When I returned, her mother told me she'd gone into hiding.
And you don't know where?
Only that she's safe. Prince Oren has assured me of that much.
Gren ran her fingers through the leaves on the vines as they walked along. I wonder if Achan's safe.
We saw him off in Mahanaim.
Gren's heart leapt and she searched Bran's eyes for any sign of bad tidings. How was he?
Shocked, I fear. We swore fealty to him, Sir Rigil and I. Prince Oren did as well.
I wish I could've been there. Gren's chest tightened and her eyes stung. I can't believe it's true. I mean, I can believe. I do. Achan's such a special person. I'm outraged at what they stole from him. You can't imagine the cruelty he suffered. Even as a stray he didn't deserve it, though he was a bit outspoken for a slave. That courage probably came from his royal blood. Achan's smiling face popped into Gren's mind, which almost made Achan disconnect. How strange to think fondly of his own appearance. The whole thing's a long tale. I keep waiting for the story to end, so life can go back to normal but…
Gren clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Tears squeezed past her eyelids, out of her control, and streamed down her cheeks. Achan wiped the tears off his own cheeks and tried to separate himself from her grief. Gren's chest heaved with sobs and she tried to suck in shallow breaths so she wouldn't look pathetic in front of this squire.
Bran gripped her elbow and pivoted to stand before her. Madam, please. I-
Stop calling me madam! Gren jerked away. I'm no one's wife.
Oh. I… Bran's throat bobbed. He opened his mouth, stammered, lowered his eyes. I-Forgive me. Please…please don't cry, Mad-Miss…Hoff.
Fire seared through Gren. She pushed Bran into the vines. One fell from the trellis onto his head. I'm not a Hoff! She stormed away, walking as fast as she could.
Achan squeezed his reins. How could Master Rennan misunderstand her feelings? And how could she have treated the handsome squire in such a fashion?
Achan blinked. Handsome squire? This connection grew more binding, confusing, awkward, but Achan held on.
Something wet and rank slapped against Gren's face, drawing Achan deep into her mind again. She screamed and shook her head. The moist mixture fell from her face and plopped to the ground. She hopped back to keep it from getting on her shoes.
Cow dung.
Achan's chest heaved with horror and fury. He breathed in and out with Gren through her mouth, trying not to smell it. Warbled sounds met her ears. Voices. Laughter. Yelling.
Master Rennan stood to Gren's left, before a narrow path shooting between two rows of vines.
I say, explain yourselves this instant!
Two boys, barely of age, stood well into the path, doubled over in laughter.
The taller of the two, skinny with black hair, straightened. We made your trollop a pie, Rennan. Now she smells as low as she stoops.
Master Rennan propped his hands on his hips. Barbarism! You will show a lady respect.
She's no lady, the boy said. I heard she's the prince's mistress.
The other boy guffawed. And now she's yours.
Master Rennan growled and took off down the path after the boys. Achan urged him on. The miscreants deserved every pounding Bran gave them.
Gren took a shaky breath, then let loose another long cry. She was a widow! Not a trollop or anyone's mistress. Rumor of her baby had spread. Most of Carmine believed she was Master Rennan's lover, that he had brought her here to provide for the baby, explain to Lady Averella, and beg forgiveness. This wretched falsehood made Gren despised, for the people of Carmine felt Master Rennan belonged with Lady Averella.
Sounds of a struggle rose out of the vineyard where Master Rennan had chased the boys. How unfair that he had to put up with Gren's problems. He was too kind for such an assignment.
A shadow shifted to Gren's right. A rawboned man crept through the vines, his legs and arms moving slowly, like the spider crabs she'd seen when Father had taken her to the sea.
Achan didn't like the gleam in the man's eyes. Run, Grenny.
Gren tilted her head and gasped. Achan?
Run!
Gren spun around to face a fourth man who'd been standing behind her. He was a boar, bulky and tall with arms like clubs.
He stared down through heavy-lidded eyes. You'll come with Mak and me, little morsel. He seemed to growl each word.
Queasiness flashed in Gren's stomach. I will not! She pivoted and stalked into the vines on her left, down the path Master Rennan had taken. One row to her right, she glimpsed Mak, the spider crab, creeping parallel through the vines.
Gren, please run, Achan said. Find Bran.
Gren started to jog. A hand snagged the ties of her apron and jerked her back. She twirled around and pushed the big man's bull-like chest, fire engulfing her limbs. Let go of me.
The man swung a fist. Gren screamed, ducked, and tore after Bran. Mak leaped in her path. She darted left, thrusting her body through the vines, and let her legs take over her swirling mind. Achan urged her on, his own heart pounding with the horror of Gren's reality.
Gren sprinted, darting from path to path toward the hedge wall that grew around the perimeter of the vineyard. Exits cut through hedge wall every so often. She had to find one. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed no one. She slowed to a stop, gulping in deep breaths, and listened. Leaves rustled. Had the noise come from behind her or…
Cetheria, great goddess of protection, shield me from those scoundrels. I beg you keep me safe. Lead me to the exit.
No, Gren, Achan said. Call on Arman.
Arman?
Mak stepped out of the vines and stood, legs apart, hands on his hips.
Gren wheeled around and plowed into the big man's chest again. Achan fumed. How could a man so huge sneak up on anyone?
Gren edged back, but this time the big man lunged forward and grabbed her wrists. With all the power her lungs contained, she screamed. Bran! Help. Two-
The man struck her and she crumpled to the ground, head ringing, throbbing. Her vision blurred, cloudy and strange. She couldn't concentrate. She must get up, right? A vague urgency nagged at the back of her mind.
Aye, Gren. Get up! Achan heard her groan but could no longer see. Her body scraped over leaves and dirt, her shoulders ached. Vines, leaves, and twigs slapped at her feet.
She stinks! the big man said.
The boys threw cow dung at her, Chod. Mak's voice, nasal and high-pitched grated on Achan's nerves.
Next time I'll pay them less if they can't hit the right target.
Gren! Grendolyn Fenny, wake up. What could Achan do, trapped in her mind? He concentrated on Mak's jarring voice and suddenly found himself in the young man's mind as he leered at Gren's limp body. Achan wanted to kill this man for the thoughts in his head.
Chod dropped Gren's feet and smiled at Mak with rotting teeth.
Achan attacked through Mak. He punched Chod twice, only seeming to hurt Mak's hand. Fire shot through Achan's.
Chod stared at Mak, sluggish eyes sad. What's that for?
Achan ripped down a trellis and broke the narrow board over his knee. He lunged, poking Chod in the chest. Chod snagged it away. Achan charged, but Mak's size was no match for Chod, who knocked Mak flying with one punch.
Achan's mind floated into the air, drifting, detached from any other. He looked down on the scene from above. Gren, Chod, and Mak in the center of the vineyard. A dozen rows away, Bran searched.
Achan blinked and found himself inside Bran's head. The squire was filled with a fury and fear that matched Achan's. Aye, Achan much preferred Bran's thoughts.
Achan concentrated in Gren's direction. She's that way.
Thank you, Arman! Bran took off, sprinting, ducking under trellises, dodging low vines, cutting across paths.
A scream tore through the air, and Bran poured on the speed, heart beating as though it might erupt.
You passed them! Achan concentrated harder on the location. Go back two rows and turn left.
Bran obeyed and found Gren and Chod rolling on the ground. Gren clawed at the big man's bloodied face. He tried to hold her down, but Gren kneed him and wriggled free.
Bran drew his sword, steel scraping over wood. Chod froze.
Pulse thudding in his ears, Bran's hands trembled, making his blade quiver. Get up!
Chod stared, heavy eyes sizing up his opponent.
I could kill you or let you rot the rest of your days in the dungeon. Decide now!
Chod pulled one knee up and pushed himself to-
Icy water doused Achan's head. He jerked and gasped. He lay on cold ground on a dark night. Shadowed men stood above him. How had he gotten here? Was this Chod's reality? In the dungeon?
"Achan, for Lightness sake, lad, speak to us!"
Achan pushed himself to one elbow. "Sir Gavin?"
The sound of a long sniff and sigh met his ears. "Welcome back, lad."
Achan clutched the frosty grass beneath him and shivered. "Gren." Bran had arrived in time. He relaxed but his throat tightened, his eyes flooded. He blinked rapidly, not in the mood for his emotions to best him. "I looked in on Gren." He panted, sniffed away his agitation. "All is well now."
"Tell us," Sir Caleb said.
So Achan did.
Inko groaned. "This is going to be the end of him. You're all knowing that, right? If he's not being taught the proper way to use his gift, we'll be losing him."
"How?" Achan asked. "What did I do?"
"'Tis my fault," Sir Gavin said. "I told him to look in on a friend the other night, to teach him to watch. I forgot to explain he shouldn't do it often."
"What Sir Gavin means," Sir Caleb said, "is you should never watch without someone staying with your body, to check on you. The longer you watch, the more comfortable you can get. You can forget to come back or be lost to the Veil-"
"Or be killed," Sir Gavin said. "'Tis happened plenty of times. Man gets too fond of watching and someone stabs him while he's out of his body."
"And you mustn't control others with your mind," Sir Caleb said. "That's not an ethical use of your gift."
"It is a dark use of your power," Sparrow said. "Macoun Hadar wanted to teach me. Thankfully I left before he could."
Achan recoiled under the weight of so many rebukes. Hot frustration took over. "But I was saving her! You don't know. You weren't there. I couldn't let them… What was I supposed to do?"
"You must focus on your task, in your own body," Sir Caleb said.
"There's nothing to focus on! We're riding through Darkness for days on end."
"The lady is not your responsibility," Sir Caleb said. "You must leave her to Sir Rigil and Master Rennan."
Achan fought to bottle his anger. "Sir Rigil wasn't present. Bran was easily fooled by dung-wielding rascals who got paid for their diversion. No offense to Bran, but he failed today."
"And he'll learn from this experience and next time be more prudent," Sir Caleb said. "These things happen to us all. It's part of learning how to-"
"I'll not risk Gren to his inexperience." Achan stood and brushed the wetness from his britches. "He should learn before being entrusted with a lady's well-being, not during."
Another long sniff and sigh from Sir Gavin. "Let's keep going and we'll talk more of this tonight at camp."
*
Vrell kept a close eye on Achan. She worried for him. All he'd lost. And now his guilt over putting Gren in harm's way. She could think of nothing to do but pray.
They found the Zamar River and followed it north. Their horses carried them over the first patches of snow. Sir Caleb gave Achan and Vrell capes he'd acquired in Mirrorstone. Then he taught Vrell to make a snare out of twine, though they blessedly never stopped long enough to try it. He also gave more swordplay lessons and lectured Achan and Vrell on technique. Vrell's confidence grew the more she learned, but she dreaded every rustle or creak as an impending battle she would fail to survive.
The weather got colder and, thankfully, there were no more mosquitoes. Vrell woke one morning to find fresh snow covering her bedroll. They were still a day or two from Berland and were not supplied for such weather. When they stopped the next night, Sir Gavin allowed Sir Caleb to build a campfire. Sir Caleb tried to talk Vrell into going hunting with him along the river, to sneak up on a gowzal nest. Vrell did not want to kill anything with a knife. She went to Sir Gavin and begged his help. Sir Gavin urged Sir Caleb to take Inko instead.
But once they had gone, Sir Gavin lectured her. "If Vrell Sparrow doesn't wish to be Achan's squire, he should be honest with Caleb about it. There's no shame in being a healer. 'Tis a noble profession for a young man. Squiredom isn't for everyone. Caleb will understand."
"I'll find a way to tell him." Vrell cleared a spot in the snow beside the fire and put out her bedroll, loathing the impending confession. She stared into the orange flames. Sir Caleb might understand why Vrell Sparrow did not want to be a squire, but would Achan?
Achan trudged through the snow into the small clearing the knights had dug out. Sparrow sat cross-legged on his bedroll, pink fingers outstretched toward the flames.
Achan crouched beside the boy, numb from the cold. He drew his cloak tighter. Sir Gavin stood by the horses, rummaging through his saddlebag. Inko and Sir Caleb were hunting. The day's ride had been long and tedious. He had to do something active or he'd freeze. Or go insane.
He glanced at Sparrow. Time for another lesson. He pounced, knocking the boy off his bedroll. Their heads sank beneath the snow edging the clearing. Sparrow squirmed like a fish on the bank and beat his fists on Achan's chest. Achan rolled to his knees, flipped the boy over, and straddled his waist. Sparrow was a feather, despite his chubby gut.
"Get off!" Sparrow yelled. "The snow is freezing."
Achan swung his leg off the boy and fell into the snow on his back. "You should be more aware of who's around you."
Sparrow crawled to his bedroll. "I was aware you were warming your hands, but I did not expect you to attack."
Achan sat up and shook the snow from his hair. "If you don't take this seriously, I'll have to replace you as my squire."
"I have been practicing hard-" Sparrow paused. "Ah, well, now that you mention it, I am certain another would be better qualified for your squire."
"Exactly my point. I don't want someone else, but you're a weakling. There must be a way to help you grow some muscle. Maybe you should start carrying Sir Gavin's pack."
"You are supposed to be a king, not a jester."
"I wasn't jesting. Sir Gavin made me do exercises to strengthen my arms. You should too. Come here."
"But I am cold."
Achan stood. Snow fell over the tops of his boots and melted down his legs. "Come here, Sparrow. Now."
Sparrow sighed and stood. He trudged through the snow and stopped before Achan, slouching, eyes rolled in defeat.
It amused Achan how well Sparrow obeyed. "Try the leg sweep again. Knock me down."
"I cannot do the leg sweep." Sparrow's voice warbled. "You know that."
"You can, you're just afraid. The trick is to get close and push. Best if I don't see it coming."
"But you do see it coming, you are telling me to."
"Then try to get me off balance another way, use my weight against me. See that rock by the river?"
"No. I see a lump of snow."
"It's a rock covered in snow, Sparrow. Stop being difficult." Achan positioned himself in front of the rock. "If we were fighting, you could back me up to the rock and I'd trip. Maybe fall in the river. Both are to your advantage."
"Thank you for the riveting advice, but I am cold and do not want to learn at the moment. Do not forget I bested Larken to save you from marrying Jaira. If the circumstances arose, I could do it again. But I do not respond to mock lessons."
Achan grabbed Sparrow's head in one hand and pulled it against his side. He pushed the boy's face down into the snow. "Mention Jaira again and you'll wish you hadn't."
Sparrow elbowed Achan in the abdomen, then twisted the skin on the back of his hand. Achan laughed and shoved Sparrow forward. The boy sprawled head-first into the snow. He rolled over, and Achan pounced, folding his arms over the boy's chest, pinning him again. "Watch where you swing those elbows, Sparrow. You almost crippled me."
Sparrow got one hand free and pulled Achan's braid. "I meant to," he said over a grunt.
"Oh ho?" Achan snagged Sparrow's hand and pushed it back in the snow. "If you're going to fight cheaply you best be prepared for the repercussions."
"I can take anything you throw at me."
"This said by the boy immobilized in the snow. That so?"
"Yes, Your Whininess."
The contempt in Sparrow's voice deserved a lasting lesson. Achan considered something painful but not debilitating. He brought up his knee-
"Achan!" Sir Gavin called. "I need you, lad."
Achan pushed off Sparrow. "Well, Luckyfox, fate has intervened and saved you from a world of hurt."
"Now, Achan!" Sir Gavin's tone seemed almost angry.
Achan scooped two handfuls of snow over Sparrow's face and backpedaled toward the horses, laughing. Sparrow sat up and shook his head like a wet dog, snow sizzling into the fire.
Achan trudged to Sir Gavin. "You need me?"
Sir Gavin clutched a dead gowzal by the feet. "You must go easy on the lad."
"Sparrow? I was only playing with him."
"Aye, but…some are natural fighters. Others…less so."
"That's my point. Sparrow's about as far from a warrior as a maiden at a joust."
"Aye, and there's reason for that. He…well, he, uh… He has a… condition."
Achan's enthusiasm sobered. "What? Like a weak heart?"
"Something like that."
Achan looked back to Sparrow at the fire. No wonder the boy was so scrawny. "That's the secret he's keeping?"
"Uh, sort of."
"Why doesn't he say so?"
"'Tis Vrell's decision, Achan. Let it be."
"But he wants to learn to fight. He asked me."
"You can teach him. Just be…gentle." Sir Gavin stepped past Achan, toward the campfire.
"Gentle?" Gentleness and fighting were as much a match as darkness and light. What fellowship could they possibly have with one another?
Sir Gavin approached Vrell carrying a dead gowzal by the feet. "Cooking has never been my strong suit. Inko handed me this, and he and Caleb are still hunting. Can you help?"
Vrell's eyes widened. "I do not think I can stomach eating a black spirit, Sir Gavin." Plus, she knew nothing of cooking.
"The creature is merely a bird. The spirit leaves it when it dies. Eating it now is perfectly safe." He dropped the beast at her feet and whispered, "Thank you, my lady. You've saved an old man from a terrifying ordeal." He walked back to the horses.
Vrell scanned the camp for ears, heart pattering at the sound of "my lady" spoken aloud. Achan and Sir Gavin stood by the horses. The others were hunting. Still, Sir Gavin's gutsyness unhinged her. She stared at the bird, hesitant to even touch it. She removed her knife from her satchel and crouched before the dead thing. She pinched a feather and sawed it off.
There must be an easier way. People spoke of plucking birds. Vrell held the beast down, grabbed a feather, and jerked. The sound of the shaft ripping from flesh sickened her. Her body inflated with tension. Being female did not mean she knew how to cook. Was it not enough that she had the stomach to heal grievous wounds? For the first time ever, she regretted having confided in the Great Tactless Whitewolf.
She grabbed another feather, winced, and yanked it out. She gripped another.
"What are you doing?" Achan's voice came from behind.
She pulled, the feather vane slipped through her fingers, and her fist whacked Achan's leg. "Sorry. Sir Gavin asked me to cook this, this…thing for dinner."
"Do you know how?" His words were laced with laughter.
Vrell held up a feather. "How difficult can it be?"
His hand stretched over her head. "Give me the knife."
Vrell handed it over. Achan carried the bird to the large mound of snow at the water's edge. He knelt and swiped off the mound with his forearm, baring a large, flat boulder. Vrell's posture slumped. She had truly believed it to be only snow.
Achan laid the gowzal on its back. "Plucking will take too long, and there's more to it than ripping out random feathers. Besides, we've no need to be fancy, so I'll skin it."
Vrell recoiled. "Skin a bird?"
"Sure." Achan turned the gowzal on its side and straightened its head. He cut the neck again and again until he was able to pull it free. The sound of ripping tendons grated worse on Vrell's nerves than feathers ripping out.
"First the head, then the feet." Achan set down the knife and took one leg in two hands. He twisted the leg at the knee, pulled and twisted until it hung by threads, then used the knife to sever the remaining tendons.
Vrell tried not to look, wincing at every snap and crack of the beast's dead body. Achan's lips curved slightly, as if he were actually enjoying himself.
He twisted off the wings next, rotated the bird to its back, smoothed the feathers aside, and cut the belly open. He slid his fingers in and pushed back the skin, feathers and all. Vrell's stomach lurched. She closed her eyes and stifled a whimper.
"See?" Achan said. "Not too hard. It might not look pretty for a feast, but it'll taste fine. All we have left is to gut it."
Vrell did not learn how to gut the bird because her eyes were closed. She hummed a chorus to drown the sounds of tendons ripping and skin tearing. When she opened her eyes, Achan pushed a pile of feathers and bloody goo to the side. The beast did look to have nice chunks of meat on it.
Achan washed the meat in the river. "Go get your sack."
Vrell hurried away and returned with her satchel that bulged with supplies from Ressa's apothecary friend. Movement in the distance caught her eye. Sir Caleb and Inko returned carrying three more gowzals. She cringed, hoping the men would not insist she learn this horrible skill. She appreciated Mother's cook more than ever.
Achan laid the meat on the rock. He scanned the ground near the water's edge and picked up a sturdy branch. Using Vrell's knife, he stripped bark from the branch and growled. "Is there no green wood in Darkness? I'm surprised the whole land hasn't gone up in flames."
Sir Caleb arrived and set his birds beside the rock. "What are you two doing?"
"Achan is teaching me to skin the bird," Vrell said, as if the idea fascinated her. "He says plucking will take too long."
"He's right on that account."
Achan sharpened the stick like a spear and handed it to Vrell. He rinsed his hands in the river and pointed at her satchel. "What have you got in there? To cook with, I mean?"
Vrell's mind raced. What herbs were good for cooking? "Um…cloves?"
Achan wrinkled his nose. "Not for fowl. What else?"
"Fennel?"
"Okay. What else?"
"Yarrow?"
Sir Caleb chuckled.
Achan's shoulders slumped. "Let me see."
Vrell handed him the bag. He set it in his lap and drew each bundle out one at a time and smelled them. "Rosemary. Is there any garlic in here?"
"Yes. At the bottom."
He handed her the satchel, but kept her bunch of rosemary. "Can you find it?"
She dug until she found a bulb of garlic wrapped in leather where it could not overpower the rest of her herbs.
Achan slicked open the bird's breast and shoved the rosemary inside. He took the clove of garlic from Vrell's hand and smacked it against the rock to knock the skin loose. He tucked a clove in with the rosemary and handed the rest back. "Sir Caleb, do you have any twine?"
Sir Caleb burst into a hearty laugh. "I think so. I'll go look." He trudged toward the horses, laughing all the way.
Vrell put away the garlic. The smell of rosemary and garlic masked the stench of blood. "Where did you learn to do this?"
Achan cocked an eyebrow. "Your first clue is on my back. Forgetfulfox."
Vrell flushed, the image of Achan's scarred back fresh in her mind. "Right. Sorry."
"I didn't hate Poril, you know. Deep down, for most my youth, I thought of him as my father. I never understood why he… Well, he'd beat me for the lightest transgression and show no remorse. Did your master ever beat you?"
Vrell glanced down at her hands. "No."
Achan huffed. "Luckyfox."
Sir Caleb returned with twine. Achan tied the breast to the stick to keep the spices in. He carried the stick to the campfire.
Vrell trudged after him.
"Not bad, Your Highness." Sir Caleb nodded at Achan's meat, now propped over the fire. "Care to see how I do it?"
Achan shrugged. "What other way is there?"
"The hunter's way." Sir Caleb walked to the riverbank, Achan and Inko at his heels. Vrell followed, uninterested in seeing another bird gutted, yet what other way could there be?
Sir Caleb set a gowzal on the ground on its back and spread the wings to the side. He stepped on them, pressing his boots against the body, grabbed the legs, and pulled. At first nothing happened. Then something popped inside the bird.
Vrell jumped and started at the dead bird, wincing.
Sir Caleb continued to pull, eliciting more cracks and tearing from the carcass. Suddenly, the feet ripped away from the rest of the body. Vrell shrieked and jumped back. The innards were still attached to the legs.
"Whoa!" Achan's eyes were wide, like he'd never seen anything so amazing.
Vrell did not think she could take much more.
"This gets you right to the meat." Sir Caleb held up the feet, dripping with guts. "All the innards are right here. And, see? The breast is bare. Just pull it out and cook."
Achan leaned forward to look. Vrell stayed put.
"Then strip back the innards over the leg…" Sir Caleb demonstrated. "Snap them off at the knee…and you've got two drumsticks ready to go. Toss the rest."
Achan reached for one of the other gowzals half-covered by snow. "Can I try?"
Vrell walked back toward the fire. "I shall keep watch on the one cooking."
Dinner warmed Achan's insides, but Sir Gavin extinguished the campfire and the darkness and cold returned.
Achan didn't feel like sleeping. He wanted to talk. "Do we follow the river all the way to Berland, Sir Gavin?"
"Nay. We'll leave the river here and head north."
"And follow your nose?" Achan asked.
"For a while."
Achan decided to look in on Gren, just to confirm her safety. Sparrow, I'm checking on Gren. Make sure no one stabs me.
Achan, you should tell one of the knights. Mocking them is not-
Achan closed his mind and concentrated on Gren's face. He saw nothing. Weariness gripped his limbs. She was sleeping.
On a whim, he sought out her father instead.
A dark room came into focus lit by a candle on a bedside table. Master Fenny lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
Don't say that, Master Fenny said. There's always hope.
It's false hope. Tears laced Gren's mother's voice. No man will marry a widow. We shouldn't have given her to Riga. She didn't want to marry him. It was a poor choice.
You blame me?
We should've let her marry Achan. She could be queen now.
Master Fenny snorted. They wouldn't have let him marry a weaver's daughter.
But don't you see? Had we given in, they would've wed already. She'd be queen by default. They wouldn't have taken his wife away.
We cannot live in the past, Frida. She married Riga and he's dead. We must look to the future. I for one will not give up hope. We have a new life here. Carmine has rich soil. And I've never met such kind people. You yourself said this morning how kind they are here.
I did. They are kind. To us. But to Gren…
We must put all our hopes in this young squire. He's been good to us, and I've seen him looking fondly at Grendolyn.
He's betrothed to the duchess' daughter. We cannot compete with nobility. If we're to find Gren another match, we must set our sights lower.
Master Fenny recalled his time in the fields with Master Rennan earlier that day. I think the man fancies her.
What does that matter? Prince Gidon fancied every girl in Sitna. Did that make him a good match for anyone?
Do not speak that name! I say, Achan should be named again. Really, for that boy to take on a name so tainted-
Achan pulled away, thoughts drifting. He wrinkled his nose. It felt stiff in the icy air.
Gren's parents wanted her to remarry. It would be best. Why hadn't Achan demanded Sir Gavin let him marry Gren? Shouldn't he have put up a fight? His heart didn't ache any less for what he and Gren had lost when she had married Riga.
Had Riga kept him silent? The baby? Achan didn't know.
Master Fenny suspected Bran had feelings for Gren. But Bran had spoken passionately to Gren about his betrothed, Lady Averella. Could the squire's feelings have changed in her absence? Master Fenny had likely read more into Bran's polite behavior. Besides, no man could help looking twice at Gren.
His eyes ached. Time to sleep. Sparrow? I'm back and alive, so stop worrying. I'm going to sleep now.
After a long pause, Sparrow said, Good night, Your Highness.
Achan felt he'd hardly slept when Sir Caleb shook him awake. They rode into a thick forest. The horses slowed to a lazy amble in the snow. The trees were so close together there seemed to be no room for the animals. Branches swiped at Achan's arms and face, knocking snow over his head and arms. He kept his wool cloak fastened tight, the hood up, but it wasn't enough to ward off the chill. His fingers were numb.
Before long Sparrow began to complain. "Are we unable to find the road?"
"There's no road to Berland." Sir Gavin's voice carried back. "This trail is narrow on purpose."
Achan breathed on his fingers, making them moist. "Then how does one travel to Berland?" Before they freeze?
"No outsider travels to Berland," Sir Gavin said. "They're brought there."
Sparrow's heavy sigh hissed from behind him. "But should Berlanders travel elsewhere, they must have a way home. Why can we not take their road?"
"This is their road. Berlanders train their horses for these narrow hunting trails. They don't want it widely known where their stronghold is located."
Achan shifted in his saddle, his bruised body aching and saddle sore. He guessed eleven days had passed since Mirrorstone. Three nights in Melas, and he'd walked two days to Barth, but the other six had been spent on horseback. What did Sir Gavin have in mind once they freed the men from IceIsland? A long stay in Tsaftown where Achan might court Lady Tara? The idea seized him with a thrill of excitement and fear.
They rode all day, ate lunch on horseback, and kept going. TherionForest made noises similar to those in NaharForest. Pecking, the occasional flutter of wings, snapping branches. Just as Achan was beginning to crave his bedroll, a loud click, click, click, click, click, click, click sounded from the trees above.
Achan tipped his head back to the blackness above. The sound was right above him.
Wump wump wump.
"Something's up there." A clump of soft snow fell in his eyes. He lowered his head and wiped the moisture away.
"Probably an animal," Sparrow said.
"That's what I'm afraid of." Achan pulled his hood tight. "Do you know what kinds of animals live around here? Do you know what a cham is?"
Sparrow tsked. "A cham would not make such a sound."
"How do you know what sound a cham would make? Have you seen one?" Achan really wanted to see a cham, but not in Darkness, though a fire would be nice.
Click, click, click, click, click, click, click.
"I think a cham would roar," Sparrow said. "And if he did, we would see his fire."
Chee wa. Cheeee wa. Chee wa. Cheeee wa.
Achan looked again to the blackness above, shielding his eyes with his hand. "Then what do you suppose that one was?"
Sparrow didn't answer.
Picka picka picka picka picka picka picka.
Click, click, click, click, click, click, click.
Shweeeeeeeee.
Balls of yellow light illuminated the forest around them. "Black knights?" Achan reached to draw his sword and found his scabbard empty. His stomach clenched. Had it fallen?
"Not black knights." Sir Gavin said, calming his horse. "Don't fight them. All will be well."
Achan twisted on his saddle, feeling for Eagan's Elk, squinting for the glint of the blade in the pale light. The multitude of strange sounds seemed to magnify.
Shweeeeeeeee.
A furry beast fell from the treetops, hovering to Achan's right. Achan cried out. Metal scraped over wood on his left. He swiveled in his saddle. A fur-clad man held Eagan's Elk to his throat. These weren't beasts. They were men in fur clothing.
Achan lifted his hands above his head. The chilled air snaked in the gap of his cloak and up his torso.
"Where you go to?" the man holding Eagan's Elk asked.
"We travel to Berland to seek the hospitality of Duke Orson," Sir Gavin yelled. "We are friends of Prince Oren. The young man behind me carries his ring."
The creature glided over the back of Achan's horse, somehow hanging mid-air. He grabbed Achan's hand and inspected Prince Oren's ring, then drew Achan's hands behind his back. Achan tried to jerk free, but the man holding Eagan's Elk pulled a burlap sack over Achan's head. Achan stood in his stirrups and tried to throw himself from Scout's back. Strong hands gripped his shoulders while another rope was threaded under his arms, bound around his chest. Achan's muscles tensed. What had Sir Gavin meant by "Don't fight them"?
A hand slapped Achan's back, a voice yelled, "Hay oh!" and his body zipped into the air. He screamed as he flew, feet swinging out behind, ripping past branches. He sucked in a breath and burlap filled his mouth. He spit it out, desperately wanting to grab something. Before he could think what to do, his flight slowed. Hands caught his arms, pulled him forward.
His feet landed on a wood plank. The rope around his chest tugged away, and he was ushered along a platform that swayed under his trembling steps. In the distance, Sparrow screamed. Achan couldn't help but smile. The little fox was flying.
His captors led him along the wooden bridge for some time, surrounded by the bedlam of clicking and drumming. His breathing heated up the bag on his head, moistening his face. Soon, voices rose above the percussion, chanting in low tones.
"Hey ya hey! Hey ya ho! Hey ya ha! Hey no no!"
Achan's guides stopped. His wrists were freed. The sack slipped from his head and cold air engulfed his sweaty face.
A man's hairy, familiar face looked down, framed by fat, black, frizzy braids and curly sideburns. A small bone ring looped through the top of his left ear.
Shung Noatak, a man Achan had fought at Esek's coming-of-age tournament, grinned and slung a cape of furs around Achan's shoulders, blanketing him in warmth. He held out Eagan's Elk. "Little Cham. We have been expecting you."
Achan gripped the log railing and took in the scene. An entire village lived in the trees, built on branches and platforms. Wattle and daub huts perched at a myriad of levels, connected by rickety split-log staircases and narrow bridges.
Two levels down, a wide, round platform had been built into a clearing of tree trunks. A log banister edged the platform, forming an outdoor great hall. In the center, a low, circular stone hearth held a bonfire. People dressed in fur and leather danced around it. Smoke curled up from the flames, drifting out of the clearing in the treetops above. In the surrounding trees, blazing glass balls of colored light in red, blue, green, and yellow dangled from branches, railings, or lampstands that stood along the bridges.
Achan pointed at the nearest glass ball. "What is that?"
"Come. Shung will show you."
He led Achan along the bridge, down a short staircase, and across another gangway to a blue ball that hung from a lamp stand on a chain like a lantern. It had a round opening that let out heat and smoke from a blue torchlight burning inside.
"We call luminaria. Pleasant, no?"
"Aye. Very."
"Let go of me!" Sparrow's voice carried from the trees across the platform. "I can walk myself!"
Shung chuckled. "The small one did not like lift."
Achan scanned the staircases and bridges but did not see the boy. Stop making so much noise, Sparrow. You'll call the chams.
These fur men nearly killed me, yanking me into the trees like a bag of meat. And those, those…singers are making more noise than I am. "I said, I can walk myself!"
Shung started back down the stairs. "Another little cham?"
Achan followed. "Naw. That one's a fox."
"I heard that!" Sparrow called out.
"Little Cham has come to Berland. Shung is glad."
Achan looked into Shung's dark eyes, recalling their sword match at Esek's tournament months ago. Shung had won, technically. He'd also promised if Achan ever came to Berland, he'd take him hunting. "Are we going to hunt a cham?"
Shung grunted. "Not this night, Little Cham. Come. The celebration awaits."
Shung guided Achan down a maze of stairs and bridges to a wider staircase that led to the center platform. Three thrones were arranged on one arc of the perimeter, facing the bonfire. A young man sat in the throne on the far left. He was as hairy as Shung, but slimmer. His tunic and trousers were made of short brown fur. Red fox tails hung around his neck like edging on a robe. It also circled around the tops of his deerskin boots. He wore a necklace dripping with at least two dozen cham claws.
The center, and largest, throne was empty. A matronly woman sat in the throne on the far right. She wore a tunic of white fur with matching boots and dark leather trousers. A white fur hat tied under her chin. Long salt-and-pepper braids spilled down into her lap.
The dancers and drummers were still chanting. "Hey ya hey! Hey ya ho! Hey ya ha! Hey no no!"
The young man stood and held up his hands, palms out. The drums trilled, voices warbled, all sounds increased. Achan shrank into himself at the noise level. The young man clenched his hands into fists and the noise stopped. He stared at Achan and spoke in a commanding voice. "Prince Gidon Hadar, also called Achan the Cham of Sitna. We welcome you to Berland, we do. We welcome you, our future king."
The man went down on one knee.
Beside Achan, Shung went to one knee. All around him fur-clad men, women, and children knelt. Across the platform, one boy still stood, looking lost. Sparrow.
Achan didn't bother hiding the grin in his voice. Still trembling after your flight?
Sparrow jumped, eyes darting everywhere but Achan's direction. Where are you?
The young leader stood and approached Achan. They were about the same height, but this man was several years older. He wore straight spears of white bone through each ear that looked to have been stabbed through and forgotten.
"I am called Koyukuk Orson. I am heir to Berland and Therion Duchy, I am. My father, Duke Orson, has not yet returned from Mahanaim where he attended Council." Koyukuk gripped Achan's shoulder and steered him before the matronly woman. "Please, meet my mother, Duchess Crysta."
Achan bowed. "I am honored, my lady."
The crowd cheered.
Koyukuk led Achan to a slender young woman standing beside his throne. "Please, meet my betrothed, Kumna Attu."
The woman curtsied. She wore a creamy suede tunic and trousers. White fur fluffed out of her neckline and cuffs. Dark braids twisted in a pile atop her head. She had wide eyes and full lips, yet a small loop of bone through the center of her nostrils gathered all Achan's attention.
"Kumna will be your first dance, she will," Koyukuk said. "In this you will show me honor."
Dance? Achan had never danced a day in his life. Gren had never been willing, afraid of getting in trouble. Achan tore his eyes away from Kumna's nose ring and took in the pretty woman. How fortunate for Koyukuk that all the women in Berland didn't look like his foreboding sister, Lady Gali, who had been among Esek's prospects to marry. Achan steeled himself. Did that mean Lady Gali was now among his prospects? The woman was as broad as a Kingsguard soldier.
Achan bowed and said, "Thank you," because he could think of nothing else to say to the gift of a dance.
Koyukuk led him to the center throne, cham claw necklace clacking. "Our guest of honor will sit in my father's chair."
Achan froze. Koyukuk wanted him to sit on a throne?
"You honor us to do so," Koyukuk said.
Achan reached for Sir Caleb's mind but guessed what the knight would say. He spit out a flowery response. "Thank you. You honor me with your offer."
Koyukuk smiled and gestured for Achan to sit.
Achan stared at the wooden throne. Could he really do this? Play king? It still felt like a game.
Sometime tonight, Your Highness, Sir Caleb said.
And here I thought you'd deserted me, Achan said.
You were doing fine until now.
Emphasis on "were"?
Sit.
Achan turned, lowered his eyes, and sat.
The forest filled with cheers. The drumming and chanting commenced. "Hey ya hey! Hey ya ho! Hey ya ha! Hey no no!"
A cluster of men wearing painted, wooden masks skipped out in front of the throne and began to dance and sing.
We come from land of forest,
Where kuon and cham roam free.
Sun fled far and took our stars,
And night will always be.
The Darkness tries to catch us,
And cause us all great fear.
No matter how it blinds us,
Arman is always near.
"Hey ya hey! Hey ya ho! Hey ya ha! Hey no no!"
The dancers scurried away, and the crowd formed a circle around the platform from one edge of the thrones to the other. Kumna pulled Achan from the chair. Her hands were small and warm, and the white fur on her cuffs tickled the tops of his hands. Achan's fur cape slid off his shoulders and landed in a heap by the throne. Cold air crept up his tunic. He tensed as Kumna drew his trembling form into the open space.
Everyone watched.
Kumna lifted their hands above their heads, stepped close, and stomped with one foot. Her dark eyes met his and she drew back, released his hands, and danced around to his back. He tried to turn, but she set a hand on his shoulder. "Stay."
She shimmied to his right and stomped her right foot, shimmied to his left and stomped her left foot. She danced her way around him until they faced each other again.
Achan merely had to stand still? No trouble there. But the couples pairing off around them proved the dance more complex. Not only did Achan have to stomp when Kumna did, he had to shimmy the opposite way, and when they finished the sequence, had to take the lead while she stood still.
Achan stumbled through the routine several times. Would this "song" ever end? Koyukuk appeared with a sweet-faced girl with wide, sparkling eyes and fat braids.
Koyukuk placed the new girl's hand in Achan's. "Yumikak is Kumna's little sister, she is. Very beautiful, yes?"
Achan bowed and met the girl's mischievous eyes. "She is indeed."
Yumikak rewarded him with a wide smile and slid her other hand into his. She started moving immediately as if she'd invented the dance. By now, Achan knew enough to keep up.
The tips of Yumikak's braids whipped Achan when she spun-a move she must have added since no other dancers were spinning. She also stomped with style. A double stomp. A stomp in slow motion. A stomp where both feet danced a jig. Achan tried to keep up, curious what she might do next.
Though he sensed no change in the drumming, Yumikak began a new dance. She twirled and rocked back and forth, whipping him repeatedly with her braids. He didn't mind-it didn't hurt-but could think of nothing to do but stand and watch.
Having fun?
Sparrow! Achan's gaze swept the crowd. Are you dancing?
She looks a bit young for you.
Does she? Achan smiled at Yumikak. I think she's charming.
Sparrow snorted. Of course you do.
Are you jealous? Sparrow didn't answer. Admit it, Sparrow: you want to dance with Yumikak, don't you?
I never dance with people whose names I cannot pronounce.
Achan gripped Yumikak's shoulders and yelled in her ear, "We must find my friend. He needs to dance but he's shy."
Yumikak's dark eyes widened. "Your friend? Some are over there, they are." She pointed to where Sir Gavin, Inko, and Sir Caleb were dancing with some older Berland women.
Achan laughed. "No, another boy. Short. Round face."
Yumikak grabbed Achan's hand and towed him through the mob of dancers to the perimeter. Sparrow sat on the bottom step of the main stairs. Yumikak abandoned Achan and dragged the wide-eyed Sparrow into a dance.
Achan sat on Sparrow's step and chuckled as Sparrow stood, blushing like a girl, flinching each time Yumikak's braids struck. Another young woman seized Achan's hand and pulled him back into the circle. Not long into the dance, Lady Gali interrupted, giving Achan the pleasure of dancing with a woman taller than him. More of a soldier than a lady, really. Her face was fierce, concentrating. Bone bangles circled her entire neck and she seemed… stretched.
The drumming slowed as did the chanting. Softer. Up down, high low. "Hey ya. Hey ya. Hey ya. Hey ya."
Lady Gali curtsied awkwardly and stalked away. Seconds later, Yumikak sidled up. She pulled Achan through the crowd, bobbing backwards in slow motion to the beat. Achan couldn't help but smile at her almost hypnotic movement. Feet from the bonfire, she put her hand against his chest to stop him, then pranced around him, trailing her fingers along his chest, his arm, his back, his other arm. When she faced him again, she flashed a coy smile, then strode away, leaving him standing before the blazing fire. His eyebrows sank as she approached Sparrow and pulled the boy over.
She performed the same little dance with Sparrow, strutting around him. Sparrow turned red as a beet. Achan folded his arms and smirked, hoping to make the boy more uncomfortable. You stole my dancing partner.
What is she doing?
I think she likes you.
But Yumikak danced her way back to Achan. She danced around him and sang in a soft, haunting voice.
View not my face, I am undone beside you
The beating of my heart will not cease
Whilst I am near you, whilst I am near you
Pity on my heart, from the day I first saw you
Your pleasing face burns my memories
Whenever we're apart, whenever we're apart
Though I am nothing to you, I love you, I do.
How shall I make it known, that I love you?
Yumikak leaned in and touched her nose to his cheek. Then she slinked toward Sparrow and sang the song to him, looking at Achan the whole time.
What in all Er'Rets?
I think she's trying to make you jealous, Your Highness.
But Achan didn't get to discover whether Sparrow spoke true. Koyukuk tapped his shoulder and escorted him back to Duke Orson's throne. A servant stood beside the chair with a platter of steaming food. Achan's stomach growled.
Koyukuk patted the throne's arm. "You have danced well, you have, and now you must eat."
Achan sat and the servant handed him a small knife. Achan helped himself to the food. Cedar-smoked salmon with maple sugar and cranberry sauce, slices of seasoned mushrooms, flaky pies filled with rich gravy and minced cham.
Koyukuk sat as well. "I have a gift for you, I do. Shung!"
Across the mob, Shung danced and laughed with Lady Gali. The hairy man bowed to Lady Gail, then weaved his way to Koyukuk's throne. He bowed to Koyukuk then Achan.
"I understand you have only knights to watch over you," Koyukuk said. "You must have shield. Shung is excellent swordsman. He also speaks blood voice. My gift to you. Shung. You honor me to accept."
Shung banged his foot on the floor, then went to one knee before Achan. "No man will touch you in Shung's presence."
Shield? Achan stared at Shung's shaggy braided head and swallowed the bite of mushroom still in his mouth. He couldn't take a man as a gift.
"Shung is old friend, he is," Koyukuk said. "I wish he remain in Berland until my wedding. Sir Gavin tells me you will go to Mitspah after Tsaftown. Shung will meet you there. Does this please you?"
"You spoke to Sir Gavin about this?"
"Sir Gavin says Shung will be great help to you."
Achan must have misunderstood. Shung would be joining their army, not serving as a slave. Achan bowed his head. "Thank you. This honor pleases me."
Koyukuk jerked his head to Shung, who bowed and darted back to Lady Gali's side. He swept her into the dancing crowd. Achan continued to eat, watching Shung and Lady Gali, amused at how fond they seemed to be of one another.
The drumming switched to a new beat and the dancers scattered, forming the outer circle again and joining in the chant. "Hey ya hey! Hey ya ho! Hey ya ha! Hey no no!"
A young man who resembled Koyukuk approached Achan's chair. He clapped to the beat then started to sing.
My name is Kotlik Orson.
I hunt the cham to eat.
They give us fur for clothing,
And much delicious meat.
Our land is dark and dreary.
Do not get lost out there.
If chams fail to roast your hide,
Charmice will take their share.
A cheer rang out. Achan clapped as well. Another man entered the circle and sang. This went on through ten or more men and women. Then Yumikak skipped into the circle, braids bouncing.
My name is Yumikak.
My homeland's very cold.
I should go to bed, I should,
And do what I am told.
But here's a mighty king,
A very handsome man.
I'll dance all night with him, I will,
If Father says I can.
The crowd went wild. Achan's temperature rose with the volume. Yumikak curtsied, eyes sparkling brighter than the luminaria. He grinned and hoped Sir Caleb wouldn't think he'd encouraged her affection. She skipped to a grey-bearded man and pressed her nose against his cheek.
Koyukuk danced his way before the throne next, his cham claw necklace swinging and clicking.
They call you Achan Cham.
You come from land afar.
You bear the mark of stray,
But your name is Hadar.
Chams bears are fierce and mighty.
They breathe chains of fire all day.
So will you bring back the sun,
And set the sky ablaze.
The cheers broke out again, so loud Achan's ears rang. People flooded back into the center of the platform and began dancing. Achan continued to eat.
A hand on Achan's shoulder jolted him awake. Sir Caleb stood before the throne holding a white luminary ball attached to a wire handle like a lantern. Shung stood beside him. Beyond, the platform was deserted and silent. Achan couldn't guess how long he'd been asleep.
"Let's find you a bed, shall we, Your Highness?" Sir Caleb asked.
Achan stood. Shung wrapped Achan's new fur cape around his shoulders and led them through the labyrinth of staircases and bridges. They creaked and swayed under their feet.
Achan yawned. "I don't suppose chams climb trees?"
"Only cubs," Shung said. "Sorry we will not hunt cham. Perhaps in Mitspah?"
"How do you kill one?" Achan asked.
"Pierce with arrow behind front shoulder, straight to core."
Achan frowned. "Is there no other way to hunt one? I've never used a bow."
"Sword could be thrust same place, though man so close to cham would fare better cutting off head."
"Why?"
"Chams thrash about and breathe fire when pierced. Man too close will burn."
That would make hunting more difficult. "Shung, why do you speak so differently than Koyukuk?"
"Shung is Wilderman."
"Berland was built by your ancestors, Your Highness," Sir Caleb said. " Koyukuk's accent is a combination of original Wilderman and the king's tongue. But many Wilderman still live in the forests."
They climbed up a steep spiral staircase, crossed a rope bridge, and climbed five more steps to a hut built on the upper branches of three massive trees.
Shung pulled aside a heavy leather drape. Sir Caleb ducked inside and Achan followed. Sir Caleb's luminary lit up the round space. The mud did not cover the twigs as much on the inside walls. Stripes of branches poked out of the walls like ribs. A wide, low pallet covered with furs hid most the clapboard floor.
"Do you need help with your boots, Your Highness?" Sir Caleb asked.
Achan shot a quick glare at the knight. "I think I can manage."
"I apologize if the question sounded strange. You'll soon have a valet whose sole employment will be to help you dress."
Achan pulled off the fur cape and his wool one and tossed them on the bed. "I don't need a man to dress me."
"It's not a question of need, Your Highness."
"Well, I don't want a man to dress me, then." He sat on the low pallet and pulled his boot, but the tall, fitted leather clung to his sweaty leg. Sir Caleb had helped him every night since Melas, when Trajen had given him the boots.
Achan struggled with the boot. Sir Caleb handed the luminary to Shung and pulled the boot off, then the second. Achan gritted his teeth. If they insisted he wear fancy clothes, perhaps he would need help getting dressed. How pleasing his old orange stray's tunic looked now.
"Shung and I will stand guard. Sir Gavin will relieve me later, but Shung will be outside all night should you need anything."
Achan glanced at Shung. "Thank you."
Shung nodded. He handed the luminary back to Sir Caleb and slipped past the drape.
"Sleep well, Your Highness," Sir Caleb said. "I shall wait until you're tucked in and take the light out with me."
Achan nodded. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on his capes. He shivered and crawled under the heavy furs. It would take a bit for the bed to warm.
Sir Caleb carried the luminary out the door and the leather curtain flopped back into place.
The dark room trembled. A bed in a tree was a sensation that would take time to get used to. He stared at the outline of light around the edges of the curtain. His eyes fell closed, and he forced them back open. He sensed excitement and fear that refused to let him sleep. Were people still celebrating?
He wished Sparrow were here. Achan hated having his own chambers.
Soft steps padded across wood. He tensed. Could animals get into these huts? The sound crept toward his pallet. He slipped backwards out of bed, onto the cold floor, heart racing, hand grasping for his sword. Where had he left it? A shadow darted past the light at the door, past the foot of his bed.
Achan sprang, quickly finding the intruder's neck with his hands. As Achan hit the floor, a girl's scream urged him to let go. He rose to his knees. The intruder ran away, room shaking.
The curtain whipped aside. Yellow light blinded Achan. He raised an arm up to block the luminary's glare.
Sir Caleb knelt beside him. "Did you fall? Are you hurt?"
"I, uh…had a guest." Achan nodded toward his pallet. The lump of fur blankets shifted.
Shung, short sword clutched in hand, approached the bed. "Who is there? Come out now." He pulled back the furs.
A small gasp and Yumikak's frizzy head poked out from the top of the furs.
"Blazes, Yumikak!" Achan said. "What were you thinking? I could've hurt you."
"I came to sing you to sleep, I did," she said in a meek voice.
Shung growled, his hairy eyebrows becoming one. "Did your father send you?"
Yumikak's eyes went wide. "Oh, no, Master Noatak. It was my idea, it was. Please do not tell my father."
"You shame us." Shung faced Achan and stomped one foot, shaking the hut. "Shung will take intruder to her father and return shortly."
Yumikak's head hung so low her chin touched her tunic. Shung steered her out the door by the scruff of her neck. The hut trembled. Sir Caleb helped Achan up. He climbed back into bed, hoping Yumikak wouldn't be in trouble for her actions. But why would she sneak into his room to sing to him?
"I see that in the future, it will be necessary to sweep your chambers before allowing you to bed," Sir Caleb said.
Achan rolled onto his side. "She wasn't trying to kill me."
"No, but had she been, she might have succeeded. It would also be wise to review the customs of each village before we arrive. It has been almost twenty years since I last visited Berland. I had forgotten."
"That women sing men to sleep? Or is that a special custom for visitors?"
Sir Caleb chuckled. "It's a special custom for a betrothed couple. It appears you have survived your second offer of marriage, Your Highness."
"Be moving over, boy!" Inko's bony elbow jammed into Vrell's side.
She gasped and fought the urge to elbow him back. "Where? To the floor?"
Inko did not answer, so Vrell rolled on her side and curled into a ball. How ridiculous! She couldn't believe Sir Gavin hadn't helped her make other arrangements when they were given this privy of a room. Granted, they were in a treetop. How big could the rooms be? But surely Achan had been given his own bed. Vrell would rather sleep on Achan's floor than cram into a bed with an old, crotchety-
You will tell me where they are.
Vrell gasped at the sound of Esek's voice in her mind. Sensing a connection with her mother, she closed her eyes and focused.
Mother stood behind the jade desk in her study. The sun streamed through the window and lit the colorful wall murals and niches. Beautiful sun.
Esek and Sir Kenton stood on the redwood floor before Mother's desk.
I do not know where she is, Mother said.
You are both gifted, Esek said. You must communicate.
When my daughter calls to me, we talk, but she has not done so in several days.
When did you last speak?
A week past.
And where was she?
Approaching Melas.
Esek's posture swelled. I know they are coming here. He means to marry her and take my throne.
Mother walked around her desk. My daughter is engaged to Master Bran Rennan. I have told you this numerous times.
Lady Averella is engaged to me. I shall have her with or without your permission.
Mother laughed. I think not, young man.
Sir Kenton slapped her. Do not disrespect your king.
Mother set her jaw and straightened before Sir Kenton, who towered over Mother's petite form. This man is no one's king. He bought his Council votes. Lord Nathak sat as my proxy because he killed my manservant and forged my name. The true Council will never crown this impostor.
The true Council, as you know it, is no more, Esek said.
Mother frowned and studied Esek's haughty face. What do you mean?
The Council has elected members to replace those charged with treason. Your membership on the Council has been revoked. You still rule Carm-until I wed your daughter and take it legally. Esek stepped up to the arched window overlooking the northern fields. But since you refuse to aid your king, I will burn your vineyards.
Mother's heart rate spiked. That is madness! You want control of Carm because it is vast and powerful. Without its vineyards it is nothing.
Then at least it will not stand in my way. Esek started for the door then paused. If you give me Wren, I shall spare your eastern vineyard.
Mother blinked. Who is Wren?
Esek spun around. The stray's lover, fool woman! Give her to me and your eastern vineyard will go unburned.
I have never met a woman named Wren.
Do not twist the truth, Duchess. I know she is here with Sir Rigil and that traitor giant. You have one hour to save your biggest crop. Send word to me before-Esek wheezed, his face purpling.
Your Highness? Are you well? Sir Kenton asked.
Esek fell to his knees, gripping his throat, eyes bulging. Release…my…
Sir Kenton crouched at Esek's side. With The Shield's back turned, Mother darted behind the changing screen to the left of her desk. Anillo beckoned Mother with an outstretched hand from the open secret doorway built into one of the niches. Vrell gasped, shocked to see Anillo alive after Mother had accused Lord Nathak of having killed him. As Mother slipped past, Vrell noticed a hideous fresh scar across Anillo's neck.
Never mind me, fool! Esek rasped. Where did-
Anillo shut the secret door on Esek's question. He and Mother swept soundlessly along the dark, cool passage, lit by the occasional arrow loop, and up the spiral staircase. Not until they had climbed five levels and exited into the gazebo-like top of the Ryson tower did Mother speak.
Are the troops ready, Anillo?
They are, my lady.
Attack, and show no mercy.
Yes, my lady. Anillo bowed and retreated down the stairs.
Mother leaned against the stone ledge. You will relay all this to Sir Gavin, Averella?
Yes, Mother.
Good. Now I am weak from having given you my strength and must rest. Be safe, my love.
Mother withdrew. Cold gripped Vrell's pores. The room spun. She slid off the edge of the bed onto the cold floor and faded into darkness.
Achan's jaw ached from relentless shivering. His cheeks and nose were numb. His shoulder snapped back a stiff branch, causing snow to dump over his head. Icy flakes fell through the neck of his fur cape and slid down his back. He squirmed so they'd melt faster and pulled the hood over his head.
They'd spent one night in Berland. Achan wanted to stay longer, but Sir Gavin received word from the Duchess of Carm that Esek had ridden north after a threatening visit. Sir Gavin wanted to get to Tsaftown as soon as possible. Achan doubted they stood a chance of beating Esek as slow as their horses moved through the snowy mountain pass.
Camping proved miserable. Sleeping on frozen ground, even with the furs and blankets Koyukuk had given them, was terribly uncomfortable. To keep their minds focused, Sir Caleb lectured on the reign of King Bole II.
But Achan couldn't keep his mind from spinning. Lady Tara. Yumikak's song. The gift of Shung's service. Riga's death. Gren's growing affection for Bran. Silvo pushing him off the platform in Barth. Jaira's spicy smell. His aching backside. Lady Tara.
His thoughts always circled back to Lady Tara. She alone had shown interest in Achan when he was nothing more than a stray squire. Surely the people of Er'Rets would accept a woman as beautiful and agreeable as she? He couldn't help but pray Arman would allow-
Achan's horse stopped and neighed. Achan nudged his flanks. "Come on, Scout. Got to keep moving or we'll freeze."
"Why did you stop?" Sparrow asked from behind.
Sir Gavin voice came from the front of the line. "The trail is blocked. Avalanche."
Achan's chest tightened. This would surely delay their arrival in Tsaftown.
"Can we go around?" Sir Caleb asked.
"Nay. I'm afraid we'll have to take an alternate route."
"Meribah?" Sir Caleb asked.
"Aye." Sir Gavin sniffed in a long breath. "Arman knows I'd rather not trespass upon Lord Gershom's…hospitality, yet it's the quickest route. Hopefully we'll find the man in good spirits."
"Being in his right mind, you're meaning?" Inko said.
"Is he ill?" Achan asked.
"He's suffered more than his share of misfortune," Sir Caleb said.
"He's being four times a widower, Your Highness," Inko said, "but having been blessed with no heirs, male or female, last I was hearing, he's seeking a fifth bride."
"At his age?" Sparrow said.
"The man has not yet reached his seventieth year, Vrell," Sir Gavin said. "Marriage is uncommon at such an age but not unheard of."
Sparrow gasped. "Oh, Sir Gavin, do not take offense. I did not mean to suggest you could not marry. I only meant-"
Sir Gavin chuckled long and hard, and Inko and Sir Caleb joined him.
When the men's laughter finally dwindled, Sir Gavin said, "I made my choice long ago, Vrell. I pledged my life to Arman and the throne. I'm his servant. I seek no other love in my life."
Nice one, Sparrow, Achan said. Insulting my Kingsguard commander… I wouldn't have expected such from you. You're normally so polite and well-mannered.
Achan's connection with Sparrow vanished. The little fox had pushed him out. He chuckled and let his laugh carry on longer than necessary. "Okay, Sparrow, I can take a hint."
*
The long and windy road to Meribah Corner added two nights to the journey. The wind seemed made of needles, piercing through to Vrell's bones. She could no longer feel her toes, fingers, nose, or ears. She prayed they were not black with frostbite. When she first caught sight of the lights of the stronghold, she thought she was seeing things.
Sir Gavin cleared the matter. "Meribah Corner, yonder."
Conflicting emotions pulled Vrell in two directions. She longed for warmth, but she did not relish seeing Lord Gershom again. All the times she had been blessed with his company, he had been irritable, insulting, and nearly insane. Her mother's uncle was a wanton man who gadded about as if he were forty years younger. The jest of Er'Retian court claimed that a girl truly came of age when Old Lord Gershom first proposed his undying affection.
Vrell shivered, recalling the slurred offer of marriage he'd made her when she was but thirteen. The chill in her bones prolonged her shiver, leaving her bones aching. She prayed Arman would get them to the stronghold before she froze.
The final leg of the journey seemed the longest. Despite the icy surroundings, Vrell caught the scent of salt in the cold air. They had reached the northwestern edge of Er'Rets.
The scratchy trees fell away and distant torchlight lit up their destination. Perched on an incline at the top of a cliff, Meribah Corner slowly took shape. The torches along the curtain wall formed a diamond, the wider side facing forward. Where the two walls met in the front corner, a gatehouse stood, half buried in a heaping snow drift.
The horses kept up their slow pace, unable to move faster on the steep slope. Why did Lord Gershom's men not clear the trail so close to the gate?
The curtain wall stood three levels high. A thick layer of snow edged the top and icicles draped over the sides like icing spilling over the edge of a cake. The torches on the sentry wall cast faint light over their party. The men's beards were covered in frost.
Sir Gavin reined his horse before the doors. "Lo! 'Tis Sir Gavin Lukos come to seek an audience with Lord Gershom." His deep voice echoed in the deathly quiet. The following silence sent a chill over Vrell's arms. After a long moment, Sir Gavin called again. "Hello! Is anyone there?"
Achan's voice filled Vrell's mind. Hello. Hello. Hello. Is anyone there? There? There?
Vrell smiled. Always a boy first. It would be interesting to see this boy become king of Er'Rets.
"Surely they wouldn't leave their gatehouse unguarded," Sir Caleb said.
"It appears they have," Sir Gavin sniffed and released a breath that hid his face in a white cloud, "unless something has happened here."
"But the torches are being lit. And Poroo are not coming this far north."
Sir Gavin called out again, and again received no answer. "Have you a boarding hook, Caleb?"
"Aye." Sir Caleb dismounted and drew his pack off the side of his horse.
"What are you going to do?" Achan asked.
"I'm going over." Sir Caleb drew out a wad of leather and unrolled a coil of rope with a three-hooked rod attached to one end. He turned his gaze to the wall and pulled the rope through his hands, unwinding it from the tangle. "I suppose it would be best to go up here."
Sir Gavin dismounted and untethered their horses. He took the reins of Sir Caleb's horse and his horse and walked them downhill, away from the gatehouse. "Achan, bring your animal back a bit, will you?"
Achan nudged his mount back beside Sir Gavin's.
Sir Caleb dropped the hook and line at his feet and stretched his arms up over his head. "I'm nearly too old for this, you know, Gavin."
"Not as old as the rest of us."
"I'll go," Achan said, grinning. "I'll try, anyway. I've never used a…rope hook."
"A boarding hook," Sir Caleb said, "used to board ships from a smaller craft. And thank you, Your Highness, but a prince is never the first man to enter any stronghold."
Achan folded his arms. Vrell could guess the stubborn thoughts raging through his mind. She tried to send a sarcastic comment, but his shields were fortified more than ever.
Sir Caleb picked up his hook and line and backed up five paces, facing the doors. He gripped the hook by the shaft, raised it above his head, and backed up a few more paces in the knee-high snow. Then, in one motion, he lowered his arm and tossed the hook up toward the wall. The metal clanked against the frosty ledge and fell back, bringing shards of broken icicles with it. The hook thumped deep into the snowdrift along the curtain wall.
Vrell jumped, thankful the hook had not fallen on Sir Caleb's head.
"Sorry." Sir Caleb pulled the rope until the hook flipped out of the hole in the snow and slid toward him. "It's been a while."
He lobbed the hook skyward again. It landed in the snow on top of the wall, but when Sir Caleb tugged, the hook hadn't snagged and plopped back to the snow. He growled.
"Three is being a lucky number, Caleb," Inko said. "Try again."
Vrell pursed her lips at Inko's ridiculous superstitions.
Sir Caleb tossed the hook quickly. This time it sailed over the top. He jerked the rope, which cut a deep slice in the snow on the curtain wall and answered with a muffled clank.
"See," Inko said. "Three is being a good number."
Vrell rolled her eyes.
Sir Caleb waded through the snowdrift. The closer he got to the wall, the deeper the snow. When the snow reached his waist, he jumped and, hand over hand, pulled himself up. Once his feet cleared the snowdrift, he set them against the wall and walked up, his boots slipping every so often on the icy stone.
Vrell held her breath, praying he would not fall. He had almost reached the top when a soldier peeked over the crenellation. Men's muffled voices rose, steel struck stone, and Sir Caleb fell, straight down, as if jumping feet first into a lake. His arms flailed a moment before his entire body vanished into the deep snowdrift.
Vrell clapped a hand over her mouth. A soldier with a bow appeared beside the first and shot an arrow where Sir Caleb had fallen. The first threw Sir Caleb's hook down.
Sir Gavin lifted his shield over his head. "Retreat to the tree line! Take the horses!" He ran to the snowdrift and dug with his free hand.
Vrell urged her horse downhill as fast as she dared. She reached the forest first. Achan and Inko rode in behind her, each leading an extra mount. Achan dismounted.
Inko caught him by the hood of his fur cape. "Be holding here, Your Highness." Inko drew his bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver hanging from his saddlebag. He did not let loose his arrow, however, but waited.
The guards looked down on Sir Gavin.
Vrell prayed. Arman, please let him be well, please, oh, please.
Inko kept his bow ready. "We're coming in peace," he shouted. "We are Kingsguard knights who are seeking an audience with Lord Gershom."
"Lord Gershom isn't interested in your business," the guard yelled back.
Vrell's mouth gaped. Of all the rude and cruel things to say to visitors…
"He'll be seeing us if you'll only be asking," Inko called.
"Lord Gershom don't like Barthians," the guard yelled. "Neither do I."
"I'm being but one servant of the crown of Er'Rets and being the only Barthian in our party. We're coming to be seeking shelter in the name of the king."
"There is no king!"
Sir Gavin had managed to dig out Sir Caleb and helped the knight to his feet. He held the shield above their heads like a sunshade. Vrell continued to pray, asking that they would make it to the trees unscathed.
"If you'll be relaying our message to your lordship, I'm assuring you he'll be changing his mind. We're having with us Prince Oren's signet ring."
The guard answered with his bow. The first arrow stuck the edge of Sir Gavin's shield. The second brought a cry from Sir Caleb.
"Oh!" Vrell dismounted. She dug her satchel out of her saddlebag so she would be ready to assist Sir Caleb.
Inko let his arrow fly. It struck the bowman's shoulder and the man collapsed out of sight.
"Nice shot," Achan said.
Sir Gavin arrived with Sir Caleb. "Help me, Achan."
Achan and Sir Gavin lowered Sir Caleb into the snow behind a wide tree trunk. Vrell knelt beside him. "Where are you hurt, Sir Caleb?"
Sir Caleb groaned. "I'm fine, just sore."
"And the arrow?"
"Nicked my shin. I'll live."
Vrell examined Sir Caleb's wound. A small tear on his pant leg revealed the scrape beneath. It could wait.
"What of these gatemen?" Sir Caleb asked. "Why attack after a declaration of peace?"
"Maybe they thought you were lying since you tried to scale the wall," Achan said.
"But why not answer in the first place? Why hide?"
"We cannot continue without aid." Sir Gavin tugged on his beard. "We had enough supplies to make it to Tsaftown, but this detour will leave us lacking."
"We can hunt and melt snow," Sir Caleb said. "We can make it."
"That's wide of the point. Lord Gershom should be an ally. Refusing us is to side against us." Sir Gavin picked up his shield. "Stay here. I'll make one more attempt at diplomacy."
Inko and Achan helped Sir Caleb stand.
Sir Gavin walked toward the gatehouse, holding the shield out to protect himself. "Lo! I'm Sir Gavin Lukos, Kingsguard commander to the Crown Prince. We stand outside your gates in peace with a message from the prince for your lord. Will you grant us entry?"
Sir Gavin's voice echoed in the silence. Then a series of arrows bit into the snow around him. At least three plunked into his shield.
Sir Gavin backpedaled, mumbling to himself. He reached the safety of the trees, slid onto his backside, and pulled the arrows from his shield one by one.
"What will we do now, Sir Gavin?" Achan asked. "Shall we go on to Tsaftown?"
"No, Achan. I'm going to seek out a mind inside. One I can get a message to who might report to Lord Gershom. I don't doubt the old man told his guards to turn away all visitors, but I also know that man, if in his right mind, would answer to a call from the prince." Sir Gavin closed his eyes.
Achan turned his concerned expression to Vrell. His voice barged into her mind. Some welcome for the prince, huh? Not nearly as nice as Berland, but at least you don't have to fly.
Must you always jest when the situation is dire?
Jesting is better than worrying. At least I don't give myself a stomachache and a sour expression on a daily basis.
Sir Gavin's eyes opened. He handed the arrows to Inko. "We'll wait here a moment longer."
"You were successful?" Achan asked.
"Aye. I found someone I know."
Vrell swelled with joy. "Really? Who?"
Sir Gavin shot Sir Caleb a knowing look. "An old friend."
A man's voice called out, "Sir Gavin?"
Sir Gavin stood but remained behind the shield. "Aye?"
"Stand by for the gates to open," the man said. "I'll meet you below."
That was all? "What assurances do they give that they will not attack us once we enter? Why should we trust them now?"
"It was a misunderstanding, Vrell. Do not fear."
Easy for Sir Gavin to say. If he would share who he spoke with, it might ease Vrell's apprehension.
Blessed Achan asked that very question. "Who was that?"
Sir Gavin slid his shield strap over his arm and grabbed his horse's reins. "Carmack is a young man from Tsaftown. I should like to know why he's here."
The name Carmack was familiar, though Vrell could not recall why.
Wood cracked as if a branch had been ripped from a tree. The right gatehouse door drew in, leaving a drift of snow between them and the bailey. Vrell took up her horse's reins and followed the men. By the time they reached the gate, three soldiers were shoveling the snow where it had caved in on the doorway. Sir Caleb went to retrieve his boarding hook.
Once the path was clear, Sir Gavin led the way, followed by Sir Caleb, Achan, and Inko. Vrell entered last. Snow covered the ground inside the bailey. Deep trenches crisscrossed one another like a spider's web, leading from dozens of wooden dwellings on the left of the keep to the larger outbuildings on the right.
The keep stood in the center, a dark shadow dotted with golden light gleaming from within through arrow loops and cracks in shutters. Windows also lit up each tiny wooden cottage. The scene reminded Vrell of a winter night in Carmine. A man's hearty voice drew Vrell's attention away from her surroundings. She'd heard that voice before.
"As I breathe, it's the Whitewolf himself. What brings you to Meribah Corner?"
A bear of a man approached the gate. He stood a hand taller than Achan and twice as wide. He wore a short bushy beard covered in a layer of frost, making it impossible for Vrell to guess his age. Vrell's mind spun trying to remember where she had heard his voice.
Sir Gavin greeted the man in a brief, fierce hug. "Carmack, 'tis good to see you. I feared your guardsmen might leave us to freeze if they didn't slay us first."
"Not my guardsmen, I'm afraid. But I do apologize. Lord Gershom is not himself. We've not had visitors since…well, not since I arrived."
"And why are you here, my boy, if not a guardsman? Did Lord Livna send you away?"
"Aye, in a sense. All will be explained soon enough. Let's get your horses to the stables and you all inside to thaw your beards. I wish we had the manpower to put your animals up ourselves, but…well, we're doing what we can to keep Meribah Corner on its feet."
The men took off toward the stables at a brisk pace. Vrell didn't blame them. The idea of sitting by a warm fireplace quickened her step as well.
The stables were thick with the familiar smell of hay and dung. Vrell led her horse in only to pass Achan, Sir Gavin, and Carmack coming out.
Vrell hurried inside to see Sir Caleb taking the saddle off Achan's mount.
"Help us with the horses, won't you, Vrell?" Sir Caleb asked. "We'll let Gavin and the prince get warm."
Vrell swallowed, ignoring the ache in her chest, and unbuckled her saddle. The Crown Prince should be taken in to get warm. Vrell traveled as his squire-his servant-nothing more. Putting up the horses was a squire's duty. Still, that Sir Gavin left her behind when he knew-
No. She chose this. No one had forced her to keep her identity a secret. She lifted a brush from the wall and worked it over her horse's back. It wouldn't be long until they reached Carmine. Then she could be pampered again. She just needed to keep reminding herself to stick to her plan.
Achan followed Carmack and Sir Gavin along narrow trenches cut through waist-high snow. His toes were numb, though walking warmed him some. He couldn't wait to take his boots off by a fire. And sleep in a bed, a real mattress, not the icy ground or a trembling tree.
Carmack opened a door on the side of the keep. They filed into a narrow, stone corridor, lit by a lone torch. The chill lessened despite the thick layer of frost that coated the outer wall. Carmack passed the torch that had burned to a stub. The flame danced about, seeming to reach out and grab at Achan.
Carmack stopped at a door just past the torch. His brown eyes met Achan's and he bowed without breaking eye contact. "You may wait in here, Your Majesty." He pulled open the door and it scraped over the stone floor.
Achan entered into the back of a warm solar through the servant's door. Iron sconces hung on timber plank walls. They held fat white candles that gave off the faint scent of jasmine and left the room smelling like a woman was nearby. Achan smiled at the thought.
He stood behind a round table. Across the room, a large pair of antlers was mounted above a simple stone fireplace that glowed with warmth. A sofa with a high, carved back faced the hearth, flanked by two matching chairs with brown cushions. There were no elaborate tapestries, no silver trays with grapes and tarts, no marble pillars or busts.
Achan liked this room a great deal.
Carmack closed the door before Sir Gavin could enter. Achan reached for the door handle. Sir Gavin!
All is well, lad. Warm yourself. I shall join you shortly.
Achan pulled off his mittens, shrugged off his cape, and set them on the tabletop. His fingers were pink. The crackling fire drew him around the sofa. He knelt beside a wrought iron poker stand and held out his hands.
"You intend to warm yourself by my fire without an introduction?"
Achan jumped up and whirled around, knocking the poker stand to the hearth with a terrible clank. A woman in a red gown sat in the center of the high-backed sofa, looking small, almost royal, as if sitting on a throne. Achan paused in shock at her familiar white-blond curls and blue eyes.
Lady Tara? He lunged forward to greet her, then remembered the poker stand. He spun around and righted it, mind fogged. He hadn't expected to see Lady Tara until Tsaftown.
He popped back to his feet only to snag his scabbard on the poker stand. It clattered to the stone hearth again, rattling Achan's nerves. He blew out a frustrated breath and righted it, stepping away more carefully this time.
"Lady Tara." He bowed, clueless what to say. "Wh-What…uh, what brings you to Meribah Corner?"
A slow smile spread across her face and she scooted to the edge of her seat. "Why, Master Cham. Meribah Corner is my home now, and I welcome you to it. Though I would ask the same of you. Why are you here?"
Her home? What about Tsaftown? Young nobles often lived in the household of a relative or friend to learn a trade-or perhaps Lord Gershom had taken her as a ward to earn a fief from her father. Achan's stomach twisted. His stay here might be his only opportunity to ask for her hand. How did a man ask such a thing of a woman he barely knew? And should he do it now, before Sir Gavin returned with the others and reminded him her rank wasn't high enough?
Lady Tara stood. Her gaze darted to the door he'd entered through, then to a larger door to the right of the table. "Do you travel with your prince, Master Cham? We had not received word that His Highness was coming or, I assure you, we would have prepared for his arrival. I hope he will not be too put out."
She didn't know of Lord Nathak's deceit? How could he explain such a thing? "No, my lady. I'm afraid…it turned out that…well…" Achan swallowed. "Haven't you heard?"
She laughed softly. "Only that your tongue is somewhat knotted, good sir. How can I ease your mind?"
Before Achan could answer, the servant's door opened. Carmack and Sir Gavin entered.
Sir Gavin strode before the sofa and bowed. "My lady. Thank you for permitting us to enter. We're in your debt."
Lady Tara curtsied. "As if Meribah Corner would refuse the Crown Prince. Please, think nothing of it, Sir Gavin. Lord Gershom is not himself of late. I pray you forgive his orders. Had he understood who sought entry… Well, I am glad you were able to message Carmack." She gestured to the chair on her left. "Please, Sir Gavin, won't you sit? Master Demry, could you inform Ghee we will have our dinner in the great hall?"
Carmack bowed. "Of course, my lady." He exited through the large door. Before it closed, Achan could see a vast great hall beyond.
"Master Cham?"
Achan met Lady Tara's tired eyes. They did not sparkle as they had when he first met her. With slouched posture and pale skin, Darkness clearly did not agree with her. "I'm sorry? Did you say something, my lady?"
"Won't you sit as well?" She motioned to the chair across from Sir Gavin.
"Yes, of course." Achan claimed the chair. He set his hands on his lap, shifted them to his sides, then back to his lap. What was the proper thing to do with one's hands? They trembled slightly. He squeezed them into fists and jerked his head up at the sound of his name.
Lady Tara stared, forehead wrinkled. "Did you hear me, Master Cham?"
"I'm sorry, my lady." He forced a smile. "I'm afraid my mind is preoccupied."
Her sculpted eyebrows sank. "Of course, you are concerned for your prince. Forgive me. He is welcome to this room, but we have an elegant receiving room opposite the great hall he would likely prefer. My staff is preparing it as we speak. He could relax there until dinner is served."
Achan leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. "My lady, Prince Gidon is not with us. He…"
Pig snout. How did one explain such a mess? His face flushed and he hoped she couldn't see his discomfort.
Sir Gavin raised an eyebrow at Achan. Allow me.
Thank you. Achan studied a knot on the floorboards between his boots. How might Lady Tara respond?
"Lord Nathak has deceived us all, my lady. Prince Gidon, as you knew him, is and always has been false. He's Lord Nathak's son. Shortly after King Axel and his queen were killed, Lord Nathak found the real Gidon Hadar. Before giving the prince to the Council, he switched the boy with his own."
Achan peeked up. Lady Tara brought her fingers to her gaping mouth.
"Aye, he hid the true Crown Prince all these years in the kitchens of Sitna Manor. Lost to all. But Arman exposed the treason. The man you see before you is the real Gidon Hadar, the rightful heir to the throne of Er'Rets."
Lady Tara's wide eyes brimmed with tears, then drooped, as did her hands. She gripped the edge of the sofa, slid off and onto her knees, head bowed.
Achan jumped up and grasped her elbow, pulling her back to her feet. "Please, my lady. Kneeling is not necessary. I've not yet been crowned. In fact, the Council voted Esek king, so until we challenge…" He helped Lady Tara sit on the sofa. The scent of jasmine flooded his senses. As he reclaimed his chair, his eyes darted to the candles he thought had held the scent.
Lady Tara's forehead wrinkled. "Who is Esek?"
"Nathak's son," Sir Gavin said. "The one we'd always thought was Gidon. The Council wasn't willing to give up control, you see. Since Esek has always been their puppet, they voted in his favor, four to three."
"So Master Cham is not king?"
"Not by the Council's ruling, no. But he's Arman's anointed despite what any man claims. Berland, Nesos, and Armonguard stand with us. We head for Tsaftown to gain your father's support, then on to Carmine to assemble an army."
"We are at war, then?"
"Aye, my lady, on the brink."
She turned to Achan, face pale. "Prince Oren supports you?"
Achan nodded and held up his hand bearing the signet ring.
"Do you have the kings' gift, then?"
Again Achan nodded. He sensed her overwhelming shock and reached out for her thoughts.
It is almost too much. That Gidon is false and this sweet creature… He's so young. Can he do what's necessary? To overthrow Darkness? If he has the king's gift… "Prince Gidon-I mean, Lord Nathak's son did not have the gift, you know. But my father said the prince had it as a…child." Lady Tara stared at Achan, sapphire eyes glazing. "What an answer to the prayers of your people, for we feared Arman had forsaken us with an evil king. I know you are a man worthy of such a calling."
Achan cast his gaze to the floor, overwhelmed by the pressure of such flattery. "You're too kind, my lady." But she'd thought him a sweet creature. That was a good sign, wasn't it?
"You will fight, then?"
"At some point we'll have to," Sir Gavin said. "We realize Lord Gershom may not want to take a political stand, but we'd like to ask for supplies to aid us on our journey to Tsaftown. And might we spend a night or two to rest? As of now, we have no way to compensate Lord Gershom's hospitality, but should Achan win the throne-"
"I beg of you, do not fret over compensation. You are welcome to stay here without recompense." She stood and smoothed out her skirt. "I will have our best rooms readied for you and your men. I-how many are in your party?"
Sir Gavin stood as well, so Achan did too. "Five, my lady," Sir Gavin said. "The others are settling the horses."
"I'll see that Ghee prepares a feast in your honor."
Sir Gavin bowed. "I thank you for your courtesy, my lady."
"As do I," Achan said.
Lady Tara's lips curled into a small smile. "Would you like a tour of the ground floor?"
She had asked the question of Achan. She now knew his rank was higher than Sir Gavin's and followed protocol by addressing him first. Achan needed to act his part if he hoped to impress her enough to want to marry him. The mere idea sent a wave of heat through his body.
"That would be nice, thank you." Achan offered his arm to his-he hoped-future bride.
Vrell stood inside the front doors to the diamond-shaped great hall with Sir Caleb and Inko. A wooden staircase wrapped around the right half of the room until it reached a door on the second level. The rough-hewn head table arched in a quarter circle from the wide corner of the room. Four long, wooden tables fanned out from it like sunbeams.
Servants trailed in and out, setting the tables. It appeared Lord Gershom would dine with them after all. She prayed he would let them stay a day or two. She longed to sleep in a real bed. Hopefully, one she would not have to share with Inko.
Achan and Sir Gavin had been gone a while. Where had Carmack taken them? Sir Caleb and Inko stood on the outside of the banister, whispering. Vrell did not care to eavesdrop. Those two argued over the pettiest concerns.
A woman's familiar giggle straightened Vrell's posture. Three figures entered the great hall through a door on the far wall. Sir Gavin, Achan, and Lady Tara Livna, who clung to Achan's arm like lint to wool.
Vrell emitted a small squeak and sat on the bottom step. Every muscle in her body tensed. What was her cousin doing in Meribah Corner, of all places? She peered between the banister railing, up between Inko and Sir Caleb's bodies. The trio had not yet reached them.
Sir Caleb muttered, "Well, well. What has our young prince found?"
"Trouble," Inko said. "I'm insisting Lady Tara is not being a wise choice. It'll be gaining us nothing we're not already having."
"But should he choose her, it is his choice, despite what we say," Sir Caleb said.
Inko propped a hand on the doorframe. "I am doubting he is knowing that. This choice will be affecting so much. We should not be allowing him to be making it alone."
Sir Gavin stopped beside Inko. "My lady, allow me to introduce Sir Caleb Agros and Inko son of Mopti, two fellow Kingsguardsmen. It's been our sole purpose these past years to find the true prince and see his birthright restored."
Vrell watched between Inko and Sir Gavin's arms.
Tara wore a stunning red gown and her white-blond curls were pinned up under a golden net. She curtsied. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance. I hope you will enjoy your stay at Meribah Corner."
"I'm sure we will, my lady," Sir Caleb said.
"If you will excuse me a moment, I would like to check on dinner, then I shall return and see you to your rooms."
Achan released her arm and bowed. "Your kindness is beyond measure. We've not been so welcomed in all Er'Rets."
Except when Koyukuk threw a ball in his honor. Vrell rolled her eyes. Achan had royal blood, all right. He could spread on charm like icing when a pretty woman was around.
Tara beamed, her cheeks as pink as the inside of a watermelon. Oh, yes. Vrell was familiar with the way Achan's smile could fluster a girl.
But Tara's good breeding didn't allow emotions to affect her perfectly polite response. "It is my humble pleasure, Your Highness." She curtsied again, and walked back the way she'd come, looking back over her shoulder twice before exiting the great hall.
"My, my, Your Highness," Sir Caleb said. "I see why you favor her so."
Achan sucked in a deep breath, seeming taller somehow. "She'd make a charming queen, wouldn't she?" He beamed, evidently quite pleased with himself.
Vrell snorted. "If you desire only beauty and polite conversation."
Achan leaned between Inko and Sir Caleb and peeked over the banister. "That's all you see, Sparrow? I don't discount her virtue, for we all can see that clearly. But I see much more. She is kind, wise, well-spoken-more so than I'll ever be. I'd even go so far as to call her a diplomat for having accepted us here in spite of Lord Gershom's refusal." He glanced at Sir Gavin. "Doesn't that show her strength of character and wit?"
Sir Gavin inhaled deeply. "Aye, Achan. She's a stunning woman, I'll grant you that."
"Plus she was kind to me when she thought me no more than a servant. Where else could I find such nobility of character amongst nobility? All the rest are like Jaira."
"That is unfair," Vrell said. "How many eligible noblewomen have you met, Achan? Four at my count. I don't trust Mandzee, though she is not as calculating as Jaira. But Lady Gali's kindness equaled Tara's."
Achan paled slightly. Vrell knew he loathed the idea of marrying Lady Gali.
Sir Caleb jumped in. "Try to see the bigger picture, Your Majesty. We've traveled hundreds of miles and only passed over a portion of your kingdom. A king must reach as many of his people as he can-all of them, should be your goal. Taking Lady Tara as a bride will help little. Meaning her no disrespect, but she's no one to the majority of your subjects."
That stung. The way these men spoke of a woman's future…as if any woman would be thrilled with whatever offer came her way. Vrell dressed as a boy because she refused to fall victim to the false Prince Gidon's demands. But she sympathized with Achan's desire to choose his own wife, even if he had set his sights on the most perfect-looking woman Vrell knew.
Achan's scowl told Vrell he understood and didn't like it. "And you would have me marry who? Lady Gali?"
"No," Sir Caleb said. "Someone of greater title than Lady Tara or Lady Gali."
"And what if this person doesn't want me? Should we suffer an unhappy life together?"
"For the sake of your kingdom? Yes," Sir Caleb said. "You're misled indeed if you think being king is a warrant to do whatever you please. A good king sacrifices his needs for those of his kingdom. A good queen would do the same."
"You're wanting to be a good king, are you not?"
Achan's smoldering glare fixated on Inko. "I never said I wanted to be king at all. Maybe I'll sign treaties with everyone and marry Gren." He pivoted on his heel and stalked away.
"Arman be helping us," Inko said.
Vrell hung her head. She wanted to be angry at Achan. Why, she couldn't say. Jealousy over the way he doted on Tara, her own cousin? She hated to think herself so catty. She hadn't wanted to marry Esek enough to go into hiding dressed as a boy. What if Achan fled as Vrell had? What would Er'Rets do without him? Esek would rule unchallenged.
Achan faced a terrible burden indeed. Vrell would not wish it on anyone.
True to her word, Tara showed them to their rooms. Before Vrell could follow Inko into the chamber, Sir Gavin drew her aside.
"I'm to follow Lady Tara downstairs to discuss what supplies we need. Would you like to speak with her privately regarding your situation? You're family, are you not?"
"She is my cousin. Do you think I should remain here?"
"If that's your wish, but I'd have to settle it with your mother first. I promised to see you safely home. For now, shall I speak to Lady Tara on your behalf?"
What would Tara think of Vrell traipsing across Er'Rets with a pack of men? "Yes, thank you, Sir Gavin."
She followed Sir Gavin down to a small solar with a crackling fireplace. Vrell waited in the doorway while Sir Gavin requested supplies. He sat beside Tara on a high-backed sofa. Carmack stood at Tara's side, recording Sir Gavin's requests. With his furs removed, Vrell recalled where she knew him. He had been a high-ranking soldier on Lord Livna's guard, a man Tara and their other cousin, Lathia, had fawned over on Vrell's many visits to Tsaftown. How strange to see him acting as Tara's servant. Why was he here? And why was Tara here?
Vrell's stomach clenched, heavy with dread. What if the knights permitted Achan his wish to marry Tara? She would make a lovely queen. She was so beautiful… So perfect.
Sir Gavin leaned close to Tara and whispered. Carmack straightened, his dark eyes boring into the top of Sir Gavin's back, clearly concerned for his mistress. Vrell's heart pounded. She licked her lips, praying Tara would not make a scene.
Sir Gavin bid farewell to Tara and winked his brown eye at Vrell on his way out.
Tara kept her eyes downcast. "Leave us a moment, Master Demry? Stand guard outside?"
Carmack's scowl flashed between Vrell and Tara. "Of course, my lady." He bowed and marched out the door, casting his stormy expression down on Vrell as he passed.
"Close the door, boy," Tara said.
Vrell obeyed, flushing at Tara's playful tone.
"Now come closer where I can get a good look at you."
Vrell took a deep breath and moved before the sofa.
Tara's narrowed eyes darted over every inch of Vrell. "Averella? This cannot be true!"
Despite Vrell's smile, tears gushed from her eyes. "Oh, Tara."
Tara stood and seized Vrell in a tight embrace. "Dear one, sit and tell me your tale. I had heard from your mother you were on holiday." Tara held Vrell's hand, sat on the sofa, and drew Vrell beside her. "Aunt Nitsa confessed Prince Gidon still sought your hand. I could not blame you for your refusal. I hid in this room trembling when I believed he had come here today. But what of it now? For I discover the stray squire in my solar and not the evil prince. I can scarcely believe it. Certainly that traitor no longer seeks you?"
"Oh, but he does." Vrell told Tara of Esek's warrant for her arrest, both as Vrell Sparrow and as Lady Averella Amal. "I only want to get home. Can you assist me?"
Tara's expression tightened. "I wish I could, but I am all alone here, as you can see. We have little funds, and I do not trust my husband's men-"
Vrell's breath snagged. "Your husband?"
"Lord Gershom." Tara held out her left hand to show a thick silver and jade ring. "My father made the match three weeks past."
Vrell clapped a hand over her mouth, but it did not stop the tears.
"Oh, Averella. Do not cry on my account. It is not so bad. He is rarely lucid and when he is, he forgets what he is doing and often falls asleep."
Vrell managed to squeak out, "Is he ill?"
Tara nodded. "He had a fever last year that left him altered. It still comes and goes. Sometimes he is quite pleasant, sometimes he is a tyrant, but mostly he is queer or sleeping."
"But you…are you well?" Vrell couldn't imagine anything so horrible. Arman, why?
Tara's expression softened. "I confess, I never imagined I would be the lady caught in Old Lord Gershom's web. But Mother sent Carmack as my guard. He makes sure I am safe. Do not dwell on my marital woes," she squeezed Vrell's hand and whispered, "for our marriage has yet to be consummated. Thank Arman for that-and Carmack. He manages to steer me and my husband in opposite directions every chance he gets."
Vrell threw her arms around her cousin. " Tara, I am so sorry I was not here for you."
Tara squeezed Vrell tight. "You are, and always will be, forgiven. Let us talk no more of my depressing life. What of you?" She raised her sculpted brows and grinned. "Traveling with the lost prince? How thrilling it must be. He is the most handsome young man I've ever met, and sweet too, don't you think? The story will undoubtedly go down in history, and you are in the midst of it all."
The heaviness left Vrell's stomach. Tara could not marry Achan. Joyful heart!
Then she squeezed her eyes shut. Arman forgive her! That she should be pleased with Tara's misfortune… She could hardly think straight.
" Tara. Achan…he…" She opened her eyes. "He seeks to marry you."
Tara gasped. "Me?"
"He doesn't know you are already wed. None of us did. Weeks ago, the knights told him he had to marry. Jaira tried to get her hands on him in Mirrorstone-it was the most disgusting display. But Achan thought of you instantly. You so enamored him at Esek's coming-of-age banquet. Sir Gavin and the knights said you were not the best match, and he has been cross ever since. He can be quite stubborn, Tara. I do not doubt he will go behind their backs and try to speak with you. Have you told Sir Gavin you are Lord Gershom's wife?"
"I did not." Tara reached under the sofa and pulled out a wicker basket. She drew out a handkerchief, dabbed her eyes, and fell back in the sofa, her golden curls spilling over the brown cushion. "What bad timing my life has had! Who will they choose for him then? You? It must be you, for I can think of no one else but Glassea, and she is a Hadar already."
Vrell shook her head. "Achan thinks me a boy-his squire, Tara, and a poor one at that. I do not wish him to know who I am. Not like this."
"But you are Lady Averella Amal, heir to Carm! Surely they would consider you. The traitor did."
Vrell sighed. "They have mentioned my name."
Tara grasped Vrell's knee. "You mean…they don't know you are you? They talk about you as if you're not there?"
"Not often. Sir Gavin is the only one who knows who I am. The rest believe I am a boy."
Tara sucked in a sharp breath. "Even Achan, the prince? He thinks you're a boy?" Tara's eyes sparkled, intoxicated with the juiciness of this information. "So they still might choose you."
"No. Maybe. Tara, even if they did, I would refuse. I love Bran, as you well know."
"Bran." Tara rolled her eyes and waved her handkerchief. "He is not to be king."
Vrell drew in a sharp breath. "I have been hiding nearly a year to avoid what has happened to you. The title of king means nothing to me. Achan is like a brother. And besides, he loves you."
Tara threw up her hands. "He cannot possibly love me. We've only spoken a total of five minutes in our life. No, he loves the idea of me, poor dear." She sniffled. "I am convinced, Averella, that true love is a myth. Still, I do hope you and Bran can make it work. And I pray whoever is chosen for Achan… well… that he will be happier than I." She reached out and stroked Vrell's hair. "Averella. You are disgusting. When did you last bathe?"
Vrell wrinkled her nose. "In Mirrorstone, and then the water was not fresh."
Tara clucked her tongue. "And how many days have passed since Mirrorstone?"
"Almost three weeks, I am afraid," Vrell whispered.
"Gracious! The men as well?"
"Oh, no. They have taken several baths, but… Oh, Tara. It has been such a trial. And men can be so revolting. They bathe together, often in a steam room or lake where I could not go. If not for bloodvoices, and Sir Gavin's help, I would have been discovered long ago."
Tara straightened. "You have the king's gift too? How could I not have known this?"
Vrell shrugged. "We only discovered it before I left for Walden's Watch."
"You went to Coraline?" Tara's eyes sparkled. "How did Shoal look?"
Vrell grinned. "Handsome as ever, and in love with a fisherman's daughter."
"Mercy. Let us speak no more of thwarted love." Tara dabbed her eyes again. "I may not be able to take you home, but I can help you bathe, at least. Go gather your things. I will have a bath drawn for you in this room. Tell Sir Gavin you are staying with me tonight, then come back here. If I have not returned, wait outside the door. I am going to fetch a few things from my room." She took Vrell's hand in hers and squeezed. "I will take care of you tonight, dearest."
Achan stood by the door of his bedchamber listening to Sir Gavin's heavy footsteps fade down the hall. He glanced at the tub, at the steam rising above the clear water. A bath would warm his very bones, but first…
He cracked open the door to an empty hallway and crept out, uncertain what he was looking for or how he'd know if he found it. He turned a corner and almost ran into Sparrow.
The boy frowned, his cat-like eyes scanning Achan. "I was told you were talking a bath."
"And?"
"Well…clearly you have not."
Achan narrowed his eyes. "Why do you care?"
"I simply… Well… I thought…"
Achan laughed. "Take my bath, Sparrow. Tell Sir Gavin I said so if he asks. Enjoy." He leaned close to Sparrow's ear. "I do believe they scented it with rose water." He waggled his eyebrows, stepped around the boy, and continued to the stairs.
"Achan."
He spun around.
"Please do not go to her."
Achan's muscles stiffened. "To who?"
"Lady Tara."
Achan gripped the boy's shoulder. "Are you reading my thoughts?"
Sparrow's eyes widened. "Of course not. I just know you. But you might save yourself the trouble and hear her thoughts first."
"I won't violate her mind." Again. "It isn't right."
Sparrow shook his head. "I only meant… Well… You do not have all the information."
"And you do?"
"I…I believe Lady Tara is married. She wears a ring on her finger."
Achan couldn't tolerate Sparrow's meddling today. "I wear a ring and I'm not married." Achan spun the boy around and shoved him toward his bedchamber. "Don't fret, Sparrow. Go, take my bath, enjoy it, smell like roses, and leave me be."
"But-"
"Now!" He winced at the level of his voice and added in a soft tone, "Please. I'll beat you if you insist." He grinned to make it clear he was only jesting, then walked to the stairs where he met a boy carrying a bolt of cloth.
"Boy? Can you tell me where I might find Lady Tara? I must speak with her."
"Aye, m' lord. I'll take you to her."
Achan followed the lad to a large wooden door on the third floor. The crest of Meribah Corner was carved into the wood with great care, the dagger fabulously ornate with jewels encrusted into the hilt. Odd that Lady Tara should have the best chamber in the house. Perhaps Lord Gershom slept in the garrison with his men as some captains did.
"Many thanks, boy."
The boy bowed and hurried back down the hall. Achan knocked on the door. After a long moment, the door swung in and a slender maid curtsied. "My lord?"
"I wish to speak with Lady Tara. Is she in?"
"One moment, my lord."
The maid shut the door in Achan's face. Hurried steps clumped inside the room followed by whispers and scurrying about. Again the door opened.
The maid said, "Lady Tara will see you now."
Achan stepped into a warm bedchamber. Tapestries hung over the timber walls, depicting the history of Meribah Corner. A dark wood sideboard ran along one wall, a large fireplace beside it. Two large windows, solid with tracery circles, filled another. A vast canopied bed with green and blue striped drapes trimmed in gold fringe dominated the third wall. Two white fur pelts covered the center of a red clay tile floor. A pair of man-sized slippers sat on a long footstool near the bedside. Achan frowned and found more signs of a man. Two swords hanging on the wall. A fur jerkin draped over a chair.
Yet there was also a standing embroidery frame and stool. Nearly complete, it depicted a large ship at sea.
"It's my brother's boat, the Brierstar." Lady Tara stood before the sideboard, wringing her hands.
Achan glanced at her fingers. Indeed, she wore a large gold ring. He swallowed. Sparrow couldn't be right, could he? There must be another explanation. Achan pushed aside his doubts and forged ahead with his plan.
He bowed low. "Lady Tara, I must speak with you." The maid who stood against the door watched him with narrowed eyes. "Alone, if that's permissible?"
The maid looked at the floor.
Lady Tara's cheeks darkened. "No, Your Highness. Forgive me, but that would be quite improper."
Of course. Achan's resolve shrank. He didn't know how to offer marriage properly. His heart galloped in his chest. He licked his chapped lips and took several short breaths.
"Are you well?" Lady Tara poured liquid into a mug and offered it with trembling hands. "Drink. The ale will settle your stomach. I hope Meribah Corner has not made you ill?"
Achan gulped the lukewarm ale and handed her the empty mug. "No, my lady. It's nerves alone that have upset me."
She set his mug on the sideboard, keeping her back to him. "Nerves, Your Highness?"
Achan didn't speak. He couldn't do this. Yet he clenched his fists, determined to try. He wouldn't marry a stranger. If he won Lady Tara's favor, surely Sir Gavin and the others wouldn't force him to go against his oath.
Lady Tara spun around. "You are a mystery. When first I met you, you were a squire. Later that evening, you donned a servant's uniform. The following days you were a Kingsguard knight. Now you are a prince. Tell me, what will you become next?"
One long step brought him within inches of her blue eyes. "Your husband, if you'll have me."
She clapped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.
The maid squeaked and ran out of the room.
Achan's heart raced. He should do something better, more dramatic. He knelt at Lady Tara's feet and grasped her free hand in both of his. She shook her head and tried to pull away but he held fast. "As heir to the throne I've been charged with choosing a bride. I would have none but you."
Tears snaked down her rosy cheeks. This wasn't going well. He reached up to dab her cheeks with his fingers.
She grasped his hand and squeezed. "Your Highness, I am desperately sorry, but-"
"Unhand her!" Boots stomped over the floor. Before Achan could turn, a strong hand gripped the neck of his doublet and dragged him back.
"Carmack, stop!" Lady Tara yelled.
Carmack flung Achan back through the embroidery frame. He skidded over the tile on a white pelt, rigid with shock.
Carmack rounded on him. He gripped his doublet with both fists, lifted him to his feet, and slammed him against the wall. "You have no right to be in here."
Achan shook his surprise away, trying not to look winded from the breath Carmack had knocked from his lungs. He sized up his opponent, trying to recall Sir Caleb's advice to Sparrow on attacking someone bigger than you.
"Carmack! Release him at once!" Lady Tara took a deep breath, her face a mask of fury, and laid her hand on Carmack's bulging bicep. "Please, Master Demry, there is no need. The prince simply came to inquire about my husband's well being."
Achan's shoulders slumped, though Carmack held him fast against the cool wall. Sparrow had been right, that little fox. How had he known?
Carmack glared at Achan. "He should not have come into your chambers."
"That may be true, but the girl was here until she fled just now. You will release him and wait outside. Now."
Carmack's eyebrows twitched. Clearly the man didn't relish leaving Achan alone with Lady Tara.
"Master Demry!"
Achan tensed at the volume of Lady Tara's voice.
Carmack released Achan but stared as though Achan were a pile of maggots in his soup. "Two minutes." He stormed past the maid, who stood trembling in the doorway.
Lady Tara ushered the maid out and closed the door. She released a shaky sigh and spoke over her tears. "I am already married, Your Highness, to Lord Gershom." She wrung a handkerchief in her dainty hands, baring the ring she wore.
Closer now, Achan could see the crest of Meribah Corner engraved into the gold. He swallowed his frustrated humiliation. He'd proposed to a married woman. They were in her chambers. Alone. Sir Caleb would berate him. One look at the lady's tear-streaked face and Achan couldn't help but whisper, "But you cannot possibly love Lord Gershom."
Lady Tara flushed. "This is not a world where one marries for love."
"It should be."
Lady Tara straightened, holding her chin high. "My father and my great aunt, Lady Merris, plotted this match. In exchange for my hand, Lord Gershom gave my father the northern cape of Therion Forest. His men can hunt there and bring their kills back along the coast by dogsled to the people. It is a good exchange for Tsaftown, they-"
"How could your father do this to you? His daughter?"
Lady Tara folded her arms. "My father has more concerns than my comfort. He has a village to feed and little to feed them. My marriage feeds Tsaftown indefinitely."
"There must have been another way."
Tara sniffled. "Had I but known I was favored in your eyes-who you truly were-I might have convinced my father to alter his plans." She scowled suddenly, wrinkling her slender nose. "Were you not taught that proposals of marriage are made to the father of a lady, not directly to her? A lady has no say in who she marries. This is terribly awkward and could have been avoided altogether. And why would you come to my chambers? I should not have let you in."
"Forgive me, Lady Tar-" He ran a hand over his hair and sighed. "Madame G-Gershom, please forgive me, for I'm still learning decorum. I'm afraid I've blundered terribly. I didn't know of your union, nor the best way to inquire about-"
A fist pounded on the door. "My lady?" At Carmack's dire tone, Achan wished for a second door through which to exit the room.
He could take no more. "Forgive me, madam. I was foolish." He strode past Lady Tara and pulled open the door. Carmack framed the doorway like a gate. Achan patted Carmack's shoulder as he slipped by. "Good man."
He fled down the stairs, praying Carmack wouldn't follow. Pausing on the second floor landing, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Of all the stupid, foolhardy, sentimental…
Vrell followed Achan to the ground floor, wondering what inspired his stiff posture and stormy gait, but suspecting she knew. He jerked a torch from a ring on the wall and slipped out the front doors.
Vrell clomped through the dark foyer and pushed open the doors. The cold seized her, stealing her breath. She scanned the dark bailey and spotted Achan's torso midway down one of the trenches, moving so fast each step nearly put out his torch.
"Achan, wait!" Vrell ran-boots crunching over the snow, icy air burning her lungs-until she reached his heels. "Are you… Where are you going?"
He half-glanced over his shoulder. "You're not my nursemaid, Sparrow. Stop following me around." He waved his arm. "Lo! Where is the firewood kept?"
Vrell leaned around Achan. A man carrying a load of kindling jerked his head toward to the side. "Behind the stables, my lord."
Achan surged down the trench, past the stables, then tottered down a narrow channel sprinkled with bits of bark, his breath a thin, grey cloud above his head in the torchlight.
He slowed in an icy clearing before a shelter filled with chunks of firewood. The air smelled of bitter sawdust. Vrell wrinkled her nose. What kinds of trees had these been? The core looked like regular wood, but the outer bark was black.
Achan jammed his torch into a ring on the side of the structure, wrenched an axe from a wide stump, and grabbed a piece of firewood with his other hand.
"Ahh." The wood slipped from his grip and clunked onto the icy ground. Achan grimaced at the black slime smudging his fingers. He wiped it on his trousers and picked up the wood again. "Cursed Darkness." He set the wood on a fat stump, twirled the axe in his left hand, and circled, glaring at the wood as if it were Jaira Hamartano. He swung the axe above his head and brought it down. Crack! Two chunks flew in different directions. Vrell twitched and she backed up a few steps.
Achan grabbed another piece of wood and chopped it.
Vrell wanted to speak, but no words came. Her heart ached to see him so angry. She watched helplessly as he split log after log. She sent a knock to Sir Caleb. If Achan would not speak to her, maybe Sir Caleb could help. Besides, Tara expected Vrell to come have a bath, which Vrell longed for.
But she didn't want to leave Achan alone.
Eight logs later, a hand gripped her shoulder. Sir Caleb stood beside her now, watching Achan with furrowed brows.
"How long has he been doing this?"
"He has chopped eighteen logs, sir."
Sir Caleb sat on a second chopping stump under the eaves of the woodshed. "You've still not bathed or changed?"
Achan brought the axe down, cleaving a sliver off the wood chunk. He rotated the chunk, heaved the axe over his head, and this time, chopped it in two. "Does it look like it?"
Sir Caleb folded his arms. "I'm sure Lord Gershom will appreciate your efforts to stock his firebox, but we're expected at dinner soon. The household will be waiting for you."
"You know what the worst is?"
"Canker sores?" Sir Caleb asked.
Vrell smiled.
Achan let the axe swing to the ground, the head scraping over the snow and woodchips as he stood, panting. "I would have loved them well." He yanked another piece of wood from the shed. Two more fell to the ground. Achan set it on the stump and twirled the axe in his left hand, circling.
"Loved who, Your Majesty. Or am I to guess?"
"Gren. Tara. They deserve better." He brought down the axe and the wood split. One piece tumbled to Vrell's feet.
"Better than what?"
Vrell knew she should go now, but Achan's words had ensnared her.
He reached back and snagged one of the fallen wood chunks. "Than pigs. Lazy men who love only themselves."
"You would love them both?"
He swiped the back of his forearm over his forehead. "Yes-no. I don't know."
Sir Caleb sighed. "You're too young for this burden. If you'd been trained all your life, things would be different. But for now, Achan, let us take this kingship one day at a time."
"I'm trying. But it's not fair."
"What's not, Your Highness?"
"Everything. Why did my parents have to die? Why did Nathak do this to me? Why did Poril beat me? Why did Gren have to marry Riga? Riga! Of all the men in Sitna, why him? And now he's dead and she's alone with child. An outcast. And Tara's father has married her to an insane man almost four times her senior. Why?"
"Lady Tara has wed Lord Gershom?" Sir Caleb rubbed his short beard and sighed. "You ask questions I cannot answer, and even if I could, would it matter? It's the way of the world. What's done is done. The past cannot be changed."
Achan let the axe fall to the ground and buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever for?"
"I'm headstrong. Foolish. Know nothing of being a prince."
"You will learn."
"I don't listen very well."
"How so?"
"I asked Lady Tara to marry me."
Sir Caleb uttered an, "Ahh," as if discovering the answer to a riddle long pondered.
Achan straightened. "I know you think me foolish, but I thought… Well… I hoped…"
"That she would love you?"
Achan kicked the log at his feet and sent it rolling. "I was certain she might…given time. She seemed so agreeable. I'm agreeable."
"Achan, whomever you marry will grow to love you."
"How do you know? Look what happened to Gren. Look at Tara. Will she grow to love her husband?"
"Perhaps."
"How can you say that?"
"Because I've lived longer than you. I've seen things that would surprise you greatly." Sir Caleb set his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. "Gavin and I, we had a friend like you. Passionate about everything. He fell in love with a woman whose father had other ideas."
"What happened?"
"In the end, she obeyed her father and married another. And I can tell you she did grow to love her husband. They raised several wonderful children."
"And your friend? What became of him?"
"Ah, well. I'll let him tell you himself. He's one of the prisoners we'll free from IceIsland."
"He's in IceIsland? That is your story of comfort?"
"Your Highness, I know this is difficult, but you and I are called to something bigger than ourselves. Er'Rets is depending on us to deliver them from Darkness. We're talking about the life and death of a world. Can you try to understand that?"
"Aye." Achan slammed the axe into the stump and left it there. His next words were so soft, Vrell almost couldn't hear them. "I just don't want to be alone anymore."
Sir Caleb stood and came to Achan's side. He put a hand on the scruff of his neck. "I know we're old men, but we're your friends. And you've got Arman."
"And Sparrow."
"Aye, you've got Sparrow as well."
At the mention of her name, Vrell snapped to her senses. She returned to the keep for a bath and Tara's side of this story.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sir Caleb didn't leave Achan's side, grooming him, encouraging him. Achan appreciated his efforts but found it patronizing.
Dinner's full course of awkward conversation didn't help matters. Carmack seated Achan to Lord Gershom's right. The man was a child's stick drawing-frail and withered-who reeked of body odor and rotting teeth. Lady Tara introduced him to Achan, but he didn't respond, simply stared straight ahead, a dab of drool at the corner of his mouth.
Then, halfway through dessert, he revived and yelled at the servants, accusing them of trying to kill him. He threw his cobbler at Lady Tara, knocked over the wine, and tried to choke Carmack.
The whole scene only depressed Achan further.
At breakfast the next morning, Achan sat at the arched high table with Sparrow, staring at his food, half asleep. Thoughts of his blunder the day before flitted through his mind like a dream. He shoved it away. His eyes drooped, then popped open in time to see Sparrow snag a slice of bacon off his trencher. The boy shoved the bacon into his mouth.
Achan scowled. "Thief."
Sparrow shrugged and grinned, cheeks bulging.
Achan elbowed him. Sparrow fell off the bench and crashed onto the floor.
Achan slid in front of Sparrow's trencher. He lifted the boy's honey bread and smiled. "Thanks for the seat."
As Achan bit into the bread, Sparrow scrambled to his feet and pounced. Achan laughed as he tumbled off the bench. Sparrow landed on top, and Achan shoved the remaining honey bread against Sparrow's cheek. Sparrow reached for the bread, but Achan flipped him onto his back before he could grab it. He pinned Sparrow's arms above his head with one hand. He peeled the honey bread from Sparrow's cheek and took a huge bite, over half the slice, and chewed slowly.
"Mmm. Thanks for sharing." He squished the remaining bread back on Sparrow's face and stood. As he stepped over the boy, Sparrow grabbed his boot, causing Achan to slip. His chin nearly whacked the tabletop, but he managed to get a hand on the bench and hop on one foot to catch his balance.
Sparrow let go and scurried back to Achan's place at the table. So Achan claimed Sparrow's spot. The boy fought to keep a straight face as he ate another slice of Achan's bacon as if nothing were amiss, bread still stuck to his cheek.
Achan reached over and peeled the honey bread away. He shoved the whole thing into his mouth.
"Really! Is this how the Crown Prince and his squire behave in a foreign stronghold?"
Achan's chewing slowed. His gaze flickered to Lady Tara, who stood beside Sparrow, her scowl fully devoted to the boy. Sparrow grinned sheepishly, face as pink as the bacon.
"Vrell!" Sir Gavin stood at the entrance of the great hall, waving Sparrow over.
Sparrow stood, bowed to Lady Tara, said, "Good morning, my lady," and scurried away.
Achan wanted to ignore Lady Tara but supposed that, after all his mistakes yesterday, a little decorum might go a long way. He stood and gave her a small bow. "Lady Tara."
She pressed her fingers to her lips, then pointed at his face. "You have some bread on your chin, Your Highness."
Achan rubbed his prickly chin and pulled away a sticky crumb of honey bread. "Thank you."
"Your Highness, I am grieved our last words were unpleasant. I wanted to encourage you. I see a day none too far in the future that finds you happily married. I trust Arman will give you a dear friend for a wife."
Achan stared at his plate, stiff with discomfort. What compelled her to discuss this further? "I've no female friends, save you and Gren who-" He stopped himself from whining like a child. If he didn't speak, perhaps she would leave.
Lady Tara smiled, as if she knew a secret he did not. "You only have to open your eyes to see she is with you always."
Achan huffed a laugh. Was Lady Tara poking fun at him or being philosophical? "I've never been good with poetry, my lady, but I thank you for your kind words."
She curtsied. "Good day, Your Majesty."
Achan fell back to the bench and stared at his cold food. He hadn't been hungry anyway. Inko stumbled to the table and sat on his other side, looking as if he hadn't slept a wink either.
"Are you awake, Inko?"
"Been sleeping too long, I guess. Sir Caleb is saying we're leaving today. I am wishing we could be staying longer. I am not looking forward to more cold."
After a lifetime in Barth, where the air made one sweat, Achan could imagine the cold would be an unwelcome change. "How long did you live in Barth?"
"My village was being pillaged when I was being five years aged. Since all my family was being killed, I was being taken to Meneton and sold as a slave. It is being warm there as well."
Achan blinked, suddenly filled with compassion for this cranky, paranoid old knight. He wanted to know more, but Inko shoveled food into his mouth as if he were starved, so Achan settled on polite conversation.
"At least you got to sleep in. You must be refreshed."
Inko snorted. "You would be thinking so, Your Highness, but you were not having to share a bed with young Vrell."
"What's the problem?"
"Always that boy is talking in his sleep, calling out to his mother, making his nightmares mine."
Achan frowned, but Inko wasn't finished venting his frustrations.
"The first night we were staying in Berland, he was falling out of bed. I was jumping up to see if he was being ill or drunk, then Sir Gavin was making me leave. I am still not understanding this. I was having to stand out in the cold air until Sir Gavin was allowing me to be coming back inside."
Achan made no sense of this. "Inko, should you witness other strange behavior regarding Sparrow, would you tell me?"
Inko smiled. "You are thinking he is being a traitor? I am not trusting his eyes, Your Highness. Green is being the color of jealousy. Not being a good trait for a servant to the king."
Achan only wanted to discover what Sir Gavin and Sparrow were hiding, not hang the boy for his green eyes. "I only wish to know anything odd."
"I will be shadowing the boy for you, Your Highness. Do not be worrying."
Achan wasn't worried and felt a little sore for sicking Inko on Sparrow. But he didn't doubt Inko could be a fox when he set his mind to it. Perhaps it would take a bigger fox to catch a smaller one. "Thanks, Inko."
*
For three days they rode through frigid Darkness. Achan no longer cared what happened next. His goal had always been to see Lady Tara. Now that he'd lost that objective, there was nothing to do but let the knights dictate his life. Still, he couldn't bring himself to accept his birthright. What was the point if he acted like a puppet? They may as well have Esek.
But if you want the girl, you should have her. You are king, not these knights. I would always let you have your way.
Achan tensed at the serpentine voice. Hadad? He fortified his mind, uncertain whether he had really let down his guard or if Darkness was taunting him.
Lights winked into view. A squat city glimmered to the right. To the left, torches illuminated another stronghold, some burning far above the others. Could that be a tower?
"We're on the Benjen cliffs." Sir Gavin's voice came from ahead. "Yonder lies Tsaftown."
Achan peered into the darkness, the icy air pricking his eyes. "Is that the stronghold to the left?"
"That is IceIsland. See the torches in the sky? They top the Pillar. 'Tis what we must penetrate to rescue our men."
Fabulous. This town, this mission…it no longer had any pull without the hope of Lady Tara. The doom of his station hung heavy on his shoulders. "How will we get there?"
"Sled dogs," Sir Gavin said.
"Sled wolves, is more like it," Sir Caleb said.
Apprehension gripped Achan. Soon he'd have to make a choice. He would not be a puppet. They'd come all this way to free his army. Fine. Achan would do his part, then he'd have to decide to take charge or refuse the call to be king.
Sir Gavin led them through the city gate without incident. Their horses carried them down roads slick with ice, around log cottages blanketed in snow. Torchlight shone through cracks on shuttered windows. Families were home and warm.
"It must be night," Sparrow said.
Frost glistened in Sir Gavin's beard. "Seems to be."
Sir Gavin stopped at an inn. The wide building stood three levels high. Two steps up from the street, a long, narrow porch stretched across the face of the building, its sloping shed roof covered in snow. Lanterns and icicles hung from the eaves. A wide oak door divided the porch with two long, frost-covered windows on either side. Music and voices spilled out from the building, but Achan could only see shapes of people through the frosty glass. Dozens of chimneys stuck out from the roof, pouring silver smoke into the black sky.
A painted sign hung above the door. The Ivory Spit: Tavern and Inn.
"Really, Gavin? This place?" Inko said. "We should be going to Lytton Hall."
"Lytton Hall is being watched. Besides, Old Merrygog McLennan's got the tightest lips in Tsaftown."
Inko lowered his voice. "You are thinking it is being wise to be bringing Kurtz here after years being in the Prodotez?"
"Wise or not, 'tis our only option." Sir Gavin climbed the steps and went inside.
"What's the Prodotez?" Achan asked.
"The king's personal prison in Ice Island," Sir Caleb said. "The Fisherman's Quarter has ears. Hold your questions until we're inside."
Sir Gavin returned and tossed a key to Sparrow. "Third floor. Our rooms have a dagfish and a stag on the door. We'll take the back stairs to avoid the tavern."
They led their horses after Sir Gavin, down the side of the building to a stable where they unlatched their packs. "Inko and Vrell, put up the horses and meet us upstairs."
A rickety staircase zigzagged up the back of the inn. They climbed up two levels and entered a door on the third floor into a narrow hall. Three pairs of snowy boots clumped over the worn plank floor, leaving wet footprints on the wood. They passed doors on both sides, each with an image painted on the door, faded from age. A reekat, a charmouse, a cham…
Sir Gavin's key opened the door with a stag. The room stretched out, long and narrow, with a small fireplace at the end. No windows. Two pallets with straw mattresses and a table with two chairs lined the left wall, leaving only the width of a man to navigate down the right. A single door hung open on the right at the end of the room.
Sir Gavin ducked through the interior door and returned just as quickly. "Leads to our other room. Achan, you're not to leave without one of us knights. Vrell doesn't count."
Why would he even try?
Sir Gavin sniffed long and exhaled a sigh. "We'll wait for Inko, then go over our plan."
*
Vrell and Inko found the door with the dagfish empty. Raised voices carried through an open door in the back. Vrell walked past the fireplace, where a stack of kindling and logs sat ready to be used. She entered the other room and found it identical to hers. A crackling fire beside the adjoining door warmed her face. The men sat at two tables wedged together near the fireplace, pouring over a piece of parchment between them. It seemed they had taken the table and chairs from Vrell's room to make a larger one.
"It looks like Meribah Corner," Achan said.
"Aye, both were designed and built by Livnas." Sir Gavin met Vrell's gaze. "Good, you're here. Where is Inko?"
"Unpacking, I believe," she said.
"Well, call him in."
She rolled her eyes and went back to find Inko removing items from his pack. "Inko, Sir Gavin needs you in his room."
Inko heaved a dramatic sigh as if it were bad luck not to unpack his belongings straightaway and Sir Gavin's orders could doom them all.
Vrell ducked back into the room and stood behind Sir Caleb, where she could see the parchment clearly.
It appeared to be a sketch of Ice Island. A painting of the prison hung in Mother's study, which used to be Father's study. Father's brother served as warden of Ice Island. Vrell had always wondered why Mother had kept the horrible painting around. Who wanted to look on a prison all day?
"Inko!" Sir Gavin yelled. "Put some effort into it, will you? We're waiting."
Inko ambled though the doorway and stood beside Sir Gavin. "What are you needing?"
"I need you to stand here and listen. Now, Verdot will meet us at Stormwatch tomorrow with the dogs and sleds."
Vrell's interest piqued. Her uncle was going to help them?
Sir Caleb huffed and leaned back in his chair. Though his hair was blond, his short beard had grown in red. "You always do this, Gavin. You tell no one your scheme until there is no time to change it. When did you plan this?"
"Over the past few weeks. Nitsa helped me arrange it."
"Figures." Sir Caleb slapped his palm on the table and stood. "This is really for her, then? Risking our future king for a childhood romance is-"
"You know full well that's not why we're here." Sir Gavin's bushy eyebrows scrunched together. "If you'd been sent to Ice Island, you'd hope someone would come for you."
Vrell watched the men, mouth gaping. How did this situation involve her mother?
Sir Caleb glared, his eyes so wild Vrell inched back. "None of our men would have gone to Ice Island if Verdot Amal wasn't a coward."
"That was years ago. Nitsa assures me the man is changed. Guilt can change a man."
"That may be, but I still do not trust him."
Achan voiced the very question that plagued Vrell. "What are you talking about?"
Sir Caleb shoved his chair. "You tell him, Gavin." He stomped into the other room.
Sir Gavin stroked his beard. "When your father died, I told you Kenton and his men had drugged us…I knew this because I had a witness. He saw Kenton and his men. He tried to rouse me, and managed, with a lot of water, to succeed."
"But is was too late."
"Aye. My point is, when it came time to testify before the Council of Seven, Verdot refused. Kenton had threatened him, bribed him, who knows, but Kenton and his men went free, their false story went unchallenged, and there you have it."
" Eagan, Kurtz, and the rest of our men in Ice Island these past thirteen years." Sir Caleb leaned against the adjoining doorframe.
Her uncle had let so many good men go to prison?
"What about the childhood romance?" Achan asked.
"Remember the friend I told you about, the man who lost his love to a higher-ranking man? Eagan's lady was Nitsa Amal."
"And she wants him rescued."
"I don't doubt it. Duke Amal has been dead for years."
Vrell swallowed, tears pricking her eyes, throat burning. She knew of Mother's heartbreak with Sir Eagan, but she never thought Mother still cared for the man. After all this time?
"Caleb." Sir Gavin leveled a glance at his friend. "Verdot is a good man who got scared. I trust him."
Sir Caleb huffed and disappeared back to Vrell's room.
"Wait." Achan frowned. " Eagan? Like my sword?"
"Aye, the sword is his, lad."
Now Achan looked as forlorn as Sir Caleb. "How can Verdot help us?"
"He is warden of Ice Island and brother to Pinot Amal, Nitsa's late husband." Sir Gavin glanced at Vrell. "He owes the duchess a favor and has agreed to help."
"Gavin, Verdot would be making us a party of six. Five or seven people would be giving us stronger favor."
Achan spoke over Inko's comment as if he did not hear it. "If he's warden, why can't he simply free the prisoners?"
"Because he cannot do it alone. Our men are spread out over thirteen levels. Tomorrow, he scheduled all the guards who openly oppose Esek's claim. They plan to free our men. Since he cannot get to the Prodotez, that's where we will go. Everything will happen at once, which will also create a diversion for our escape. These men are Kingsguard soldiers trained by me and Caleb. We need their help to win Armonguard. We cannot wait. Caleb?"
Sir Caleb's voice came from the other room. "I'll hear your plan. That's all I promise."
Sir Gavin set his weathered finger on Stormwatch. "We'll ready ourselves here and take sleds over the water, northeast of the stronghold." He pushed his finger over the paper and stopped at an X marked above the stronghold.
"Over the water?" Achan asked.
"The sea is being frozen solid for miles," Inko said.
Sir Gavin tapped the X by the words drop off. "We'll leave Inko and Verdot here with the dogs. Achan, Sir Caleb, and I will enter through Northgate under the guise of bounty hunters delivering a criminal to the Prodotez. I'll go by the name Vindo Relz. Sir Caleb will be Wil Markson."
"What criminal?" Vrell prayed the answer was not what she feared. "Me?"
"No, Achan." Sir Gavin's mustache formed a straight line. "The only way we can get into the Prodotez unchallenged is to have a high priority prisoner. Verdot has already sent word to Mahanaim that Achan has been captured."
Achan straightened. "You're turning me in?"
"Under pretense only. No one has ever escaped Ice Island without inside help. We have to be…creative."
"You tell us this now?" Achan said.
"I saw no reason to burden you with details until you required them."
Sir Caleb sighed from the doorway. "Now this also vexes me. Not even two hundred are worth the expense of my king."
Vrell couldn't blame Sir Caleb for his concern. How could Sir Gavin even consider using Achan as bait?
Sir Gavin leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. "Caleb, Arman has called Achan. He will protect him."
Sir Caleb banged his fist on the wall and Vrell jumped. "Then why must we continually come to his rescue? Arman has trusted him to our care. Why knowingly endanger him?"
"I want to do it." Achan's voice turned every head. "I can do it, whatever it is. I can."
Sir Caleb glared into the fire and released a shaky sigh. The flames flickered in his eyes.
"The Prodotez is a dungeon in the Pillar, this tower here." Sir Gavin smoothed out the map and tapped the center diamond. "It's twelve levels high. The only way up is the north or south towers. The only way down is the east or west towers. There's no other entrance. We must go up and over."
"You're going to pretend you're taking me to the Prodotez in order to break out your Old Kingsguard companions?"
"Aye. I've no doubt we'll succeed in getting in. My concern is the trip back out."
"Will we go out the way we came in?" Achan asked.
"No. The guards will be taking our men out the main gate on dogsleds. But I feel that is too risky for us. So, Inko and Verdot will wait with the dogs outside the southeastern curtain wall. We'll free my generals and return to this point." He tapped an X on the Pillar. "Caleb will toss his boarding hook to Inko and we'll slide down."
Achan's eyes bulged. "To the ground?"
"Over the curtain wall, aye. Caleb, show them what you've worked out."
Sir Caleb stared at Achan, then walked to the closest bed. Chairs scraped the floor as the others followed. Five iron hooks lay on the bed. They were shaped like a letter J with a one-sided barb on the hook end and a fat eye-hole at the top. The hooks were two hands long. Each had a length of thick rope threaded through the eye with the ends tied together.
"You're fortunate Carmack gave me an extra." Sir Caleb picked up a hook and shook it at Sir Gavin. "I still think this plan is reckless. The prince should stay out of Ice Island at all costs." He ran a hand through his shaggy hair, making it stand on end. "After I throw the boarding hook and Inko and Verdot secure the end, we'll each tie one of these to our belts. We all need a thick rope belt. I have extras if anyone has need."
He looped the circle of rope onto his belt and cinched his belt under his armpits. "Might as well start it here. As soon as the hook takes your weight the belt will ride up anyway."
"What kind of hooks are these?" Achan picked up a hook and pretended to snag Vrell in the neck.
Vrell jumped back, caught her breath, and rolled her eyes.
"Dagfish hooks," Sir Caleb said.
Achan tossed the hook back on the bed. It clanked against another. "Must be a big fish."
"Most are twice your size." Sir Caleb lifted the hook above his head. "Once your belt is secure, hang your hook on the line and sail away. I've sanded and oiled the crook of each hook so they won't snag. If you stop, pull yourself along. It's such a steep descent, I doubt that will happen. Try to face the sentry wall, and, before you hit, catch yourself with your feet." He tapped the sole of his boot against the wall.
Vrell frowned at the hooks. "You are certain these will not fall off the rope?"
"Not holding a man's weight. They'll carry us to the sentry walk. Then we'll climb over and take the rope down to Inko."
"Won't there be guards on the sentry walk?" Achan asked.
"Aye. Inko will pick off any trouble-makers with his bow."
"I guess just taking over the mind of the gatekeeper and having him unlock every cell for us is out of the question, huh?" Achan asked.
"We can confuse their minds, but not control them," Sir Gavin said.
Vrell found this whole plan insane. "What will you do once you are all down?"
"Take the sleds back to Stormwatch. No guards there. The towers have been closed since Darkness came."
"And what about me?" Vrell asked. "What will I do?"
Sir Gavin sniffed in a long breath. "You'll wait here. Should we not return, inform Merrygog McLennan in the tavern. I've instructed him to send word to Lord Livna, who'll collect you here."
"But I want to help," Vrell said.
Inko clapped a hand on Vrell's shoulder and beamed. "Five is being a much stronger number, boy. If you are staying behind, you are doing your prince a service."
Vrell scowled at Inko. Sir Gavin's words gave her a more reasonable purpose for staying behind.
"Should we fail, Vrell, word must be given to the right people. Prince Oren, the Duchess of Carm."
"Yes, sir." But Vrell did not like it. What if they failed?
"Achan should be the one to stay behind," Sir Caleb said.
Vrell did not want to be the prisoner. "Can you pretend Sir Caleb is Achan? We cannot risk Achan getting lost."
"I said I'm going." Achan's eyes dared anyone to tell him no. "I'll be fine. No chains have managed to hold me yet."
Vrell huffed. "Not due to your own strength."
"Exactly. Someone will come for me."
"And how long will that take?" Sir Caleb said. "The men we seek to rescue have been imprisoned thirteen years."
Achan stared Sir Caleb in the eye. "I'll be fine."
Vrell could not believe his recklessness. "Do you never worry about anything?"
"I worry about whether or not Sparrow will nag me."
"Enough!" Sir Gavin rolled up the map. "We must trust Arman to protect us. 'Tis his will Achan be king, and his will always triumphs."
Vrell did not doubt that, but faith did not always keep fear from circling.
Achan's eyes watered as the sled whooshed over the snow-covered sea. He marveled at how fast the sleds went. Faster than a horse, maybe. A much smoother ride, anyway.
He and Sir Caleb were tucked under pelts beside one another in the bed of the dogsled. Behind them, Sir Gavin stood on the runners and navigated the dogs after the other sled, driven by Verdot Amal. Inko rode in Verdot's sled.
Verdot Amal, a short, round man with white hair, had provided two sleds with dogs hitched in tandem and furs to burrow under on the ride. He had also brought two extra horses for his generals in the Prodotez. Verdot had spoken only to Sir Gavin, ignoring Inko and Sir Caleb as much as they ignored him.
The knights' differing opinions over involving Verdot Amal drenched Achan in doubt. Was he wrong to agree to this plan? What if he did get caught? They were about to enter the strongest prison in all Er'Rets-one that had not only marked Achan a wanted man, but believed he'd been captured. They probably had a cell all ready to put him in. What if he had to live on Ice Island forever?
Before they'd left Stormwatch, Sir Caleb had clamped shackles onto Achan's wrists and ankles. Even though Achan wore the key on a string around his neck, and even though Sir Caleb put them on loose, the feel of iron on Achan's limbs reminded him of the other times he'd been captured, tortured, and nearly executed. He tried not to think about them.
Achan's ear twitched. He reached a mittened hand up to scratch, irons clinking, but could find no way into the layers of fur. "I think my furs have fleas."
"It's always a possibility," Sir Caleb said.
Achan groaned. He'd been joking. No matter how many times he had fleas over the years, he never got used to them. Maybe due to Gren. She always refused to be near him until they were gone.
Achan faced Sir Caleb, but the knight was looking at the torchlights of Ice Island. Achan's stomach roiled. The lights were so high up. How could they ever succeed?
He sensed Sir Caleb's fear and again agonized over the situation. He understood Sir Caleb's desire to keep him safe, but Achan couldn't sit around and mope over Lady Tara's marriage to Lord Gershom. This insane mission not only preoccupied his mind, it affirmed him. He had made a choice.
His first royal command, perhaps?
He pulled his knees up. The dagfish hook in his trousers slid from his knee to his thigh. Sir Caleb had insisted they wear their hooks from the start to save time. This way they could fix their belts under their arms and fly.
But Achan didn't want to think about that. Nor the fact that he'd left Eagan's Elk back at the inn, the sword that would no longer belong to him after today. His only weapon was Inko's small, leather-wrapped knife hidden inside his boot.
When the sleds stopped, Inko climbed out and took Sir Gavin's place on their sled.
Sir Gavin helped Achan stand, torch burning strong in his hand. "You've got Inko's knife?"
Standing up made his feet sink into knee-deep snow and invited frigid air up his fur cape. Achan shivered. "Aye."
"Let's go, then."
Inko and Verdot drove the sleds away to their position east of the stronghold. Ice Island stood before them, black but for the torches outlining the massive watchtower and surrounding curtain wall, casting pockets of light onto grey stone. Achan trudged toward the imposing fortress between Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb, dragging his leg chains through the snow. With each step, snow fell over the tops of his boots and melted down to his ankles. The dagfish hook slid back and forth, scratching his kneecap every so often with its barbed hook.
"Keep your shields up to all but us." Sir Gavin's breath spewed from his nose like a cham bear. "The prisoners are given aleh, but there may be guards with the ability."
Achan repeated the instruction to himself. His cheeks stung from the cold, his nose and ears were numb. He should've put up his hood. Too late now.
They stopped before Northgate, twin towers that loomed five levels high, connected by a black iron portcullis. The curtain wall shot away from each tower. All was dark but for the randomly spaced torches along the parapet and the sporadic arrow loops glowing with light from each tower.
A nasal voice called through the gate. "Who are you and what do you want?"
"Markson Will and Vindo Relz with a prisoner for the Prodotez," Sir Gavin yelled.
"Prisoner's name?"
"Achan Cham. Also known as Gidon Hadar."
Achan's stomach swayed. How long might it take for Esek to get word he had arrived? Hopefully, Esek had gone south from Carmine and not north like the duchess suspected.
With a soft clank, an iron gate swung open from within the portcullis. Sweat broke out over Achan despite being half frozen. Two guards, all but their eyes clad in pelts, stepped outside, swords raised, and beckoned them enter. The knights tugged Achan forward and they entered the bailey of the prison.
Achan glanced at the guard on his right. Their eyes met and Achan sensed conflicting emotions. Hope and despair.
Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb pulled Achan along as if they knew exactly where they were going. His chains slid over a slippery stone ground. The snow in the bailey had been piled against the curtain walls in huge mounds. Achan tipped back his head to see the towering Pillar. Icy wind snaked down the neck of his tunic. He hunched down, sniffing his watery nose.
Every guard seemed to stare. Achan opened his mind and a vast array of emotions washed over him. Like the guard at Northgate, the guardsmen seemed conflicted by his presence. Some were a part of tonight's escape plan. Some were not.
Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb led Achan into the northern tower of the Pillar and started up the spiraling staircase, deserted and dark but for torches and a guard or two on the landing of each level. It was just as cold in the tower as it had been outside and smelled oddly like dirt. The stomping of three sets of boots and chain banging on the steps echoed in the stairwell.
Careful to shield his mind, Achan opened to the lone guard on level four.
The man's deer-like eyes never blinked. He's the mirror image of the painting in Lytton Hall.
Achan let go, curious about this painting.
The guard on the fifth level turned his back to Achan. We can't keep him here. We mustn't.
On level six, two guards stood together, necks twisting together like twin owls. Achan tried to peek at both minds but only managed to hear:
Ahh. This one's too young to be…
…live to see the day.
On seven, the guard's mind was closed. Achan glanced over his shoulder to get a better look at the dark-bearded man, but the continually curling staircase swept him away.
Achan's legs ached. He pulled against Sir Gavin's grip. Can we stop a moment? This hook keeps scraping my knee.
Sir Gavin slowed his pace. Sorry. I'm a bit on edge. I expected to have to declare you to more than the men at the gate.
Seems odd, Achan said.
Aye. Keep your eye out. And remember, Eagan and Kurtz will answer to Chion.
The name of Sir Gavin's old wolf dog had apparently been a password amongst the Old Kingsguardsmen.
The eighth floor guardsman leaned on his sword like a cane. He won't last the month.
The ninth floor guard sneered like an angry dog and had an equally comforting thought. Prisoners'll chew him up.
The guard on ten had closed his mind. He spat tobacco juice on the floor as they swept past.
The guard on eleven stared like a starved wolf. Will King Esek give me the bounty if I kill him myself?
The twelfth level hit Achan with a blast of icy wind that blew open his cape and knifed through his tunic. The roof. Sir Gavin barged past the guards standing there and moved along the northeastern wall toward the eastern tower.
Sir Caleb ducked his head against the wind. Surprising no one's spoken to us yet.
Aye. Sir Gavin sniffed a short breath. 'Tis a mite peculiar.
They entered the eastern tower, Achan's chains rattling on the stone steps. This tower had no exits on any levels. No doors or arrow loops. It simply twisted down, an endless spiral lit by an occasional torch. A rank combination of mildew, urine, and torch smoke turned Achan's stomach. His head began to feel light. His mouth filled with saliva. I'm getting dizzy.
Almost there, Sir Gavin said.
They finally spilled out into a stone chamber that sat on the diagonal. Two narrow passages stretched out, left and right, from the stairwell's corner. A slack-faced guard with shaggy, salt-and-pepper hair reclined with his feet on a wooden table, carving lines into the table with a long knife. Behind him, a wall of stone slats each held a scroll and a key on a ring.
The guard let his feet fall to the floor and stabbed the knife into the table's surface. "What you got here?"
"New prisoner," Sir Gavin said.
The guard's gaze traveled up and down Achan. "Roiz!"
Pattering footsteps from the right corridor preceded a scrawny old man, hunched and balding. He wore a tattered brown cape. The man grinned, rotten teeth darkening his smile.
"Where they assign 'im to?" the big guard asked.
"Prodotez," Sir Gavin said.
The guard snorted. "Get that, Roiz?"
"Old as I may be, Beck, I ain't deaf." Roiz drew his hand along the stone slats, counting in a whisper. He pulled out a scroll and key, tossed it down on the table, then pointed up to a jar of ink. "Get my ink and quill for me?"
Beck glared at Roiz, as if standing wasn't part of his job. But he heaved himself off the chair and handed the ink and a thin, white feather down to Roiz.
Roiz unrolled the scroll and weighted down the top with the key ring. "Name?"
"Gidon Hadar," Sir Gavin said.
The old man wrinkled his nose. "You tryin' to be funny?"
"Certainly not." Sir Gavin's eyebrows met in one shaggy white line. "There's a bounty on this man's head. We've caught him. We want the credit and the gold and we'll be on our way."
Roiz dropped the quill and circled the table. He waved a hand. "You can let go o' him. He ain't goin' nowheres."
Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb released Achan's arms.
Roiz peered into Achan's eyes, pulled off his fur cape and mittens, and tossed them on the table. "These'll only get you hurt. Prisoners fight over clothin'. Gimme that knife, Beck."
Beck jerked the knife from the tabletop and flipped it around, handle out.
Roiz took it, waved the blade at Achan. "Turn 'round."
Achan obeyed, chains grating over the stone floor. What was Roiz going to do? The man's cold fingers slid across the back of Achan's neck, pushing his ponytail aside. Achan's fingers twitched. Every reflex wanted to move, to pull the knife from his boot. His gaze flicked to the stone-faced knights. They'd step in if he were in danger, wouldn't they?
Roiz clamped a wiry hand on Achan's shoulder. "Stay put. This won't hurt." Roiz's fingers gripped the back neck of Achan's shirt. The linen ripped in an instant.
Sir Caleb lunged forward a step. Roiz didn't notice. He dropped the knife to the table, his cold fingers folded back Achan's tunic, and Sir Caleb's posture relaxed.
"Well, I'll be the son o' Thalessa. You see this, Beck? It's just like they said."
Beck shrugged. "He's a stray. So what?"
Roiz scratched his balding head. "Prodotez, you say? We call that the Pit 'round here." He picked up the scroll and studied it. "Men who kill your pappy 'r' in the Pit, boy." He snorted. "Cetheria's got a dark sense o' justice, she has. After thirteen years, I bet these men'll like to have a word with you." He chuckled. "All right, then. Bring 'im along. This way."
Roiz lifted a torch from a ring beside the slats and started down the left corridor, brown cape flapping behind. Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb followed, leading Achan after him.
The dark and cold corridor seemed to stretch on forever. They passed narrow doors on both sides with iron grates at the bottom, staggered, so no two faced one another across the hall. Chains clanked inside each cell. Filthy fingers wiggled out the grates. Voices called out, but Achan couldn't make out words over the sound of his own chains dragging over the stone.
Roiz turned right down a short corridor and they stepped into a diamond-shaped atrium. They stood at one wide angle. To their left, in the narrow corner, two fur-clad guards looked their way. A diamond-shaped grate covered the center floor with a narrow stone path around it. Achan blinked and leaned forward. Dozens of sets of eyes stared back from below.
"Hold him right there." Roiz whistled, and the fur-clad guards approached from the end of the diamond.
The knights stopped. Achan looked up. He could see all the way to the roof, twelve levels above, and each floor in between. Torches, mounted between each narrow cell door, lit up the inner cavity of the Pillar. From the second level to the roof, iron grates covered the open ledges.
Roiz stomped on the floor grate. "Back, you vermin. Back, I say."
The fur-clad guards flanked Roiz, swords drawn. The old man crouched and inserted the key into the grate. He swung the door open until it clanged against the grate on the other side. The noise echoed to the ceiling.
Roiz waved a hand. "Bring 'im over."
Sir Gavin gripped Achan's elbow but didn't move.
Achan stared at the glinting eyes peering up from below. That's the Prodotez?
Looks to be, Sir Caleb said. Gavin, we can't let them put the prince down there.
Sir Gavin released Achan's elbow. Achan, back against the wall.
Achan inched backwards. His leg chains sounded so loud, scraping over the metal grate.
Sir Gavin crept forward, hand on his hilt. Caleb, draw on my command. You take the shorter guard and Roiz, I'll take-
"Hold," a lofty voice spoke from the corridor behind them.
Achan twisted around to find a sword pointed at his chest. His gaze traveled up the blade to Sir Kenton's pale face and curtain of long black hair. Behind Sir Kenton, Esek Nathak strode into the atrium, wrapped in a thick red wool cloak.
Pig snout!
Sir Gavin drew his sword.
"Really, Sir Gavin?" Esek shot Sir Gavin a scathing look. "Do you honestly think you stand a chance of escape?"
Esek's soldiers spilled into the center hold from every corridor, swords drawn, wearing the black capes of the New Kingsguard.
"Put it away, Sir Gavin," Esek strolled, one step at a time, posture straight, nose in the air, "and I might let the stray live."
A chill washed over Achan. How'd they get here so fast?
Verdot told them we were coming, Sir Caleb said.
Sir Gavin sheathed his sword. You can't know that, Caleb.
I can. Sir Caleb glared at Sir Gavin.
Any one of Verdot's guards could have passed on the information.
Esek locked eyes with Achan. "I see you are still trying to hide your scars with this pathetic excuse for a beard. I thank you for putting yourself into prison. Saved me a lot of trouble."
Achan clasped his hands, ducked under Sir Kenton's blade, and bashed him in the temple.
Sir Kenton staggered long enough for Achan to lunge past and tackle Esek, knocking them both to the stone floor. Achan landed on top. He gripped the chain on his shackles in both hands and pressed it over Esek's neck.
Esek's face flushed. Achan pushed harder, furious this coward had tried to hurt Gren. Esek croaked.
A hand grabbed Achan's hair and lifted. Achan flailed for a decent foothold. His attacker threw him backwards.
He tumbled over the grate and met the eyes of a prisoner below. He flipped over in time to take Sir Kenton's boot to the chest. The kick knocked the air from his lungs. Another kick rolled him to his side.
Sir Kenton grabbed the back of Achan's tunic and lifted. His cut tunic ripped further, and he fell back to the grate. Sir Kenton snagged the back of Achan's belt and swung him forward.
Achan flew-inches over the grate floor-then sailed headfirst through the door of the pit.
The prisoners broke his fall. Several sets of hands caught him, set him on his feet in a dark, rank, chamber. Someone tackled him, knocking him onto the cold, sticky stone floor that reeked of human waste.
Hands grabbed his foot and wrenched. Achan's skidded over the floor on his rear. He put his hands down to balance himself and bent his knee, trying to free his foot. But his boot slowly slipped down his leg, under the loose shackle, and popped off.
Achan fell onto his back. "Hey!"
He could barely see the shape of a man step into his boot, then lunge forward and grab Achan's other foot.
Achan sat up and kicked the man with his bare foot, but the man held fast until the second boot tugged free. The boot knife clumped to the dark floor.
Achan dove for it, unwrapped it, and held it out. He pushed to his feet and turned in a circle, his bare feet tacky on the cold stone floor.
"Back away, all of you!" he yelled.
Several prisoners laughed.
"Home at last?" Esek's voice carried down into the pit. The open door in the grate above framed his pompous face.
"If you fight me alone, without the aid of your overgrown shadow, I'll kill you," Achan said. "But you know that, don't you? Which is why you're unwilling to give me that chance."
"You're not worth my effort." Esek pulled his head back, and the grate door slammed shut.
Achan trembled and lowered his gaze to those around him. A shadow shifted to his left and Achan jerked his knife that way. "Stay back!"
"What's your name, boy?" a deep voice asked.
Sir Gavin? What's happening?
We're going to fight Esek's men. The guards are freeing prisoners and giving them weapons to join us. Find my men. They'll protect you.
Shouts broke out above. Swords clashed and a dozen guards trampled over the grate. Achan cringed at the sound it made in the pit. The footsteps receded until there was silence.
Achan inched forward, knife ready, until the faint grid of torchlight fell over a group of haggard, hairy men. Most had beards as long as Sir Gavin's, many of them grey or white, though Achan spotted some dark hair in the bunch.
He swallowed and released a shaky breath. "I've come for the friends of Chion."
A man cackled, the sound a cross between a gowzal call and a woodpecker. Achan waved his knife and backed up.
"I wouldn't do that," the nasal voice said.
Achan sidestepped toward the wall. He didn't want anyone sneaking up behind him. But as he reached it, his right foot fell into a trench. He caught himself with his right hand and found the wall as moist and sticky as the floor. He pulled his foot up and it scraped the sides, coated with cold wetness.
Snickers rang out.
"He found the pot!" a man yelled. The cackler. He broke out into another jarring fit of laughter. Achan cringed.
"Privy's along the perimeter, it is," another man said. "Two-foot wide trench. No one knows how deep it goes before it drains out, eh?"
"'Cept those we've thrown in," the cackler said.
Achan scraped his foot over the floor, not that it probably made much difference. He faced the crowd, shaken at the squalor these men endured. "What crime does a man commit to end up here?"
"Murdering children," the cackler said. "Give me that knife and I'll show you."
"Murdering men."
"Stealing from the king."
"Destroying a temple."
"Forcing women to love me."
The cackler chittered long and loud at this confession.
"Arson."
"Perjury to Lord Levy."
"Poisoning my customers."
"Looking too long at the queen." A bearded version of Sir Kenton stepped out of the crowd. His ratty, black hair hung like twigs around his face. He'd tucked his braided beard into his tunic. "You look like him, you know. And a bit like her."
The crowd murmured.
"Bazmark's right," another man said. "That other one was a fake."
"You King Axel's son?" the deep voice asked.
"So I've been told," Achan said.
"You got the mark of the stray?"
"Yeah."
"And the birthmark?" Bazmark asked.
"Yeah."
"Let's see it, eh?"
"We can't see anything down here," the nasal voice said.
"If he moves to the center we can."
"Come into the light."
"Let us see."
"Why?" Achan asked. "My father put you all here. You want to kill me because of it?"
"Levy put me in here," the deep voice said.
A raspy voice came from behind the crowd. "Most who were sentenced by your father have long since died, boy."
"How many are still here?" Achan asked. "Speak up."
The cackler hooted.
"Oh, shut up, fool," the nasal voice said.
"There are five left whom your father imprisoned," the raspy voice said, well-spoken, formal. "The other twenty-seven were sent by the Council. Some deservedly so, some not."
"Who're you to say who deserves this place, Elk?"
"My pointing fingers does not change the truth."
Achan searched the crowd for the man called Elk, suspecting he must be Sir Eagan, but could find no face to match the raspy voice. He needed to get these men on his side before they hurt him.
"Believe what you will, but Arman, the One God, has spoken to me, appointed me king in Er'Rets. I've come to free my comrades, and though I've come to the Prodotez for two in particular, I'll pardon each of you, give you a second chance to serve your king. Darkness is growing as the corrupt Council and Esek rule. I must amass an army, quickly. Hundreds of men are escaping tonight to join us. I would welcome your service. Or you may rot here. The choice is yours."
The cackler chittered, but he was the only one.
Achan continued his plea, clueless what else he could do. "You saw the false prince. Help me stand against him. If my father wronged any of you, if the Council did, I beg your forgiveness. I cannot offer you more than an apology and your freedom."
"What if we did wrong?"
"You're pardoned. I leave your judgment to Arman. Join me and fight. Just know, if you go back to your old ways, I'll not be so forgiving next time."
"'Tis too late for me. Arman would never forgive."
"I cannot speak for Arman, but it's never too late to be noble."
"We can't get out."
"There's always a way," Achan said.
"Show us the birthmark."
Achan squeezed the knife. "I'd rather not turn my back to you. You stole my boots."
"You ask us to trust you," the nasal voice said. "Trust us."
*
Vrell sat alone at the table, staring into the flames in the hearth. She paced the room a few times, then lay on her pallet. Cobwebs had gathered where the timber ceiling slats met the wall. A broad-bellied spider wrapped a fly in pale web. Vrell's thoughts flashed back to the day Achan had been struck with arrows and she had used spider's webs to pack his wounds.
Please, Arman, keep him safe.
No need to dwell. She forced her thoughts to Bran. It had been too long since they'd spoken. It wouldn't hurt to look on him, would it? If she passed out, at least she was in bed.
Closing her eyes, she focused on Bran Rennan.
It's not my fault! Bran stood outside a cottage. Vineyards filled the landscape behind him, green and lush. What would you have me do? She must have protection. This is not the first attack. I'm ashamed to be a Carminian. The people have been merciless.
Sir Rigil stood before a small garden in the cottage's yard, arms crossed, his demeanor calm yet reproachful. Regardless, it is inappropriate for you to continue to be her protector.
Could we move her elsewhere?
Her father does not want to relocate again. I fear I must move you.
Bran's posture slumped. He had served beside Sir Rigil since his eleventh year. He did not want to be dismissed before he became a knight. Where will I go?
The stronghold. The duchess desires more guards in the manor since Esek's last infiltration. I will tell Madam Hoff you have been reassigned and will watch her myself until I can find an old, married replacement.
Bran sighed, relief stretching through his veins. He would not lose his position with Sir Rigil. Can I at least bid her farewell?
That is unwise, Bran.
I'm her only friend. If I were to vanish without a word…it's cruel.
Very well, but I will accompany you.
Bran nodded and entered the cottage. Sir Rigil followed.
Gren? Bran called.
Sir Rigil glared at him.
She asked me to call her Gren, Bran whispered.
Gren entered the room from the bedroom doorway. The right side of her face was bruised, purple and grey. When she met Bran's eyes, her face lit up. Hello.
Bran's heart tightened. If only he could protect her. His failure boasted every time he looked on her beautiful face.
Vrell tensed. Beautiful face?
Madame Hoff, Sir Rigil said. We must discuss an unfortunate matter. I apologize that you have become a target here in Carmine. I feel Master Rennan is part of the problem, since people seem to think there is something clandestine between you two.
Gren's face flushed and she wrung her hands. I assure you, sir, Bran has always treated me real nice.
I do not doubt Master Rennan's character, or yours. I simply must do what I can to protect both your reputations. Ideally, it would be best if you did not go out for a while, but-
You intend to cage me? All I've done is lose my husband. How's this fair?
Please, you misunderstand me. I only suggest keeping to the cottage as an extra precaution, but if you do go out, you must have a female companion.
I only have my mother.
She will do perfectly.
But she has her own work.
Then I will speak to the duchess about finding you a companion.
Gren bowed her head. Thank you, sir.
Master Rennan will be taking a new post in the stronghold. I will take over his position here until we can find a suitable replacement.
Gren's brown eyes shot to Bran's, glistening. She straightened and held her head high. Thank you for telling me about this change. I know Master Rennan has to think about his reputation and betrothal. I never meant to harm either.
I thank you for your understanding, madam. Sir Rigil nodded at Bran, then walked to the door.
Bran crossed the room. Gren, I'm sorry.
She shook her head and a single tear dropped to her chin. Don't apologize. I appreciate all you've done for me.
Bran glanced back at Sir Rigil, then stepped closer and lowered his voice. I'll miss talking to you, Gren. This isn't my idea, you know. I only want to do what's best, and Sir Rigil says-
She pressed a finger to his lips. I forgive you, Bran.
He gripped her hand, held it to his cheek, then kissed her fingertips. Thank you.
Vrell's throat stung.
Sir Rigil cleared his throat.
Bran let go. I'll see you around.
Gren smiled. I hope so.
Sir Rigil opened the door and Bran exited.
I'll be outside, madam, should you need anything, Sir Rigil said. He closed the door behind him and slapped the back of Bran's head. What was that?
Bran shrank back. I don't know.
You don't know. Well, you'd better start thinking before you act.
You're always kissing maiden's hands. At least four or five a day.
I am not betrothed to the duchess's eldest daughter and heir.
Nor am I. Bran blew a gust of air out his nose. The duchess never gave her blessing.
The villagers believe it. Your attention to Miss Fenny fuels their hatred of her. They feel you betray Lady Averella in her absence.
I miss Averella terribly, but what if she never returns? What if Arman sent Gren to me because he knew I'd lost Averella? I've never been worthy of her, anyway. And Gren needs someone. She's all alone.
Sir Rigil set his jaw. Lady Averella is coming back.
Then why has she not sent word?
Jax tells me she is in Tsaftown, so it won't be long now.
She sends word to everyone but me. Either her messages aren't genuine and she is truly lost, or she cares too little to send word to me.
Regardless, you will remain faithful until her return. Then if you must, break your engagement in person, like a man. I will not employ a coward.
Vrell blinked away from Bran's mind, taking deep, calming breaths. In over eight months she had never send word to Bran. Why had it not occurred to her? She focused on the spider in the web. Had Gren caught Bran in her web? Or could it be that Bran and Vrell had never truly loved one another as much as they had claimed?
And why did this realization not bother Vrell more?
Turning his back to these criminals could get Achan killed. Sir Gavin's men hadn't come forward. Who could he trust? He still held them all at knifepoint, rotating slowly.
TRUST ME. I WILL PROTECT YOU.
Achan gasped at the swell of heat that accompanied conversation with Arman. It's been awhile since I've heard from you.
YOU HAVE BEEN TOO FOCUSED ON YOU TO HEAR ME.
Achan supposed he had been busy, but surely he couldn't have missed it if Arman had spoken. A lot has been going on.
TRUST ME. I WILL PROTECT YOU.
Okay… "This is hardly a shirt anymore anyway." He pulled out the cord from around his neck and unlocked the shackles on his wrists. He tossed them against the wall. They clattered down the privy trench. Silence reigned a long time before a soft clink echoed from below. "Blazes."
Achan unlocked the shackles on his ankles. He tugged his scrap of a shirt over his head and dropped it. Gripping the knife tightly, he stepped to the center of the pit and turned.
Bare feet shuffled over the sticky stone floor. Achan cringed inwardly as stale breath wafted over his neck and clammy fingers pawed at him. The crowd murmured.
"It's on the wrong side," the nasal voice said.
"Lord Nathak branded me over my birthmark in an effort to hide it."
"Lord Nathak's a snake."
"Won't argue with you there," Achan said.
The prisoners were silent a moment. Whispers rose to murmurs. Achan turned to see them hashing it out, grappling with the facts, deciding whether they agreed with one another.
Finally, a man in the back said, "I'll stand with you."
"And I."
"I will."
"Me too, eh?"
A chorus of affirmatives rose out of the darkness. Achan held back his smile, determined to look the part of a leader. He thrust the knife above his head. "For Arman!"
"Arman!" the crowd yelled.
Achan lowered the blade. "Now, who is my master thief? I have a knife and a lock to pick."
Bazmark, the big man who'd been imprisoned for looking too long at the queen, became the designated booster. He hoisted Brien, a sliver of a man, to stand on his shoulders and gripped the man's ankles. Brien made quick work of the lock. He silently flipped back the grate door and climbed out. The men cheered. Then several mobbed Bazmark, trying to climb up his body. He growled and threw one man to the floor.
"Quiet!" Achan said. "We must not call attention to ourselves or none of us will get free."
Brien's thin face peered down through the open grate. "I don't see no guards."
Bazmark waved Achan over.
It went against instinct to say it, but he forced himself. "I'll go last." He needed to look out for his people, after all.
Liquid dripped against stone. Every eye stared. Achan pushed a man toward Bazmark. "Go. Let's go."
"I can help too, I can." A broad-shouldered, blond man, who was as hairy as Shung, stepped forward.
"What's your name, man?" Achan asked.
"I'm called Kurtz, I am. I'm a friend of Chion, eh?" Kurtz grinned, his cheeks dimpling under his bushy beard.
Excellent. Hopefully Sir Gavin's other man would come forward soon. Kurtz started hoisting men alongside Bazmark. For over forty in the pit, they made quick time of it.
Achan checked in with Sir Gavin. What's happening?
Insurrection. Our men, along with most of the other prisoners and the guards who released them, are fighting Esek's men with us. We're on the roof. It may be awhile until we can get back down to you. How do you fare?
We're coming up but have no weapons. Am I leading these men to their deaths?
My Kingsguardsmen know how to fight with their fists.
Sir Gavin, these men are rail thin. Yours have been here thirteen years. Some others not as long, but I doubt many will have the strength.
Others?
I freed all the men from the Pit.
Eben's breath, lad. Be careful.
You as well.
Bazmark hoisted up Kurtz, which left only him and Achan in the pit. "I doubt you can lift me, Your Highness."
"Perhaps we can lower that other fellow down or…" Achan scanned the dark floor for his leg shackles, thankful he hadn't tossed them down the trench. He draped them around his neck and gasped as the cold chain fell against his skin.
Bazmark bent down, fingers interlaced. Achan stepped into his hands and jumped at the same time Bazmark lifted. He flew up through the air, barely managing to get his other foot on Bazmark's shoulder. He would have fallen back, but a hand from above grasped his and pulled him up. More hands grabbed his arms and torso and set him on his feet.
A man with a weathered face and deep, brown eyes set Achan's boots at his feet. "Forgive me, Your Majesty."
Achan set a hand on the back of the man's head. "You're forgiven. Now stand and help me lift Bazmark."
They lowered the chain to Bazmark and pulled him out. When all stood in the center hold, Achan slipped the grate door closed. The cackling man, tall and red-haired, loped along the cells, banging on the doors and laughing.
Achan groaned. "Someone stop him."
Bazmark took off after the cackler.
Achan peered up the tower and found the corridors empty. "Strange no guards stayed behind."
"There are usually only two in the center hold, Your Majesty," a raspy voice said from behind him. "And it appears they have gone elsewhere."
Achan turned to a dark-haired man with lazy, blue eyes. He might have been Achan's height if not for his hunched posture. His once-white shirt was so thin Achan could see his chest hair through the weave. A tattered black beard covered his round face. He had a hooked nose-once broken, perhaps?
"My fellow Kinsman," Achan said, "you are called?"
"The prisoners call me Elk. Kurtz and I are friends of Chion. The false prince spoke Gavin Lukos' name. Is he here?"
Elk. Of course. This must be Eagan Elk, the owner of the sword. "We came together and will hopefully leave together."
"You came to rescue us?"
"Sir Gavin says we cannot take Armonguard without you. All of you."
Elk lowered his eyes. "Thirteen years have passed, Your Highness. I am not the soldier I was."
Achan set a hand on Elk's shoulder. "Let us focus on escape for now."
Achan waved the men close. Bazmark hauled the red-haired cackler to Achan's side. The stench seemed worse now that cleaner air surrounded him. The prisoners stared. Their long beards made them appear wise and intimidating.
Arman, help me. He took a deep breath, unsure what to do. "We'll take the western tower." He glanced from face to face, unsure why he'd said this. Thankfully, no one questioned him.
The weathered man offered Achan his boots again.
Achan shook his head. "You need them more than I."
The man's eyes widened. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Achan flushed, coming back to himself. How could he lead these men? These prisoners? Was he mad?
Brien handed Inko's knife back, handle first. This Achan accepted gratefully. "Thank you, Brien. We're going up, armed with only this." He held up his knife. "Stay together and pray."
Sir Gavin? I've found your men. We climb the western stairs. Can someone meet the other men and show them where to join our army?
I'll send someone. Look for a man whose fur cloak is reversed. You go meet Caleb on the roof. Grab a torch to signal Inko if you can.
Achan jogged to the western tower, dagfish hook scraping his knee. He took the stairs two at a time, but the prisoners didn't have his stamina. He slowed until they lessened the gap. Few torches burned in the tower and Achan missed steps repeatedly, whacking his toes. He'd thought the steps long when they'd come down, but the journey up seemed endless. Frigid air and frosty steps beneath his feet preceded the exit. He jerked the next torch out of its ring and slowed.
He held the torch back and peeked out onto the roof. Only a dozen men battled here and there, swords clanking, boots slipping over the icy roof. Achan scanned the melee. No sign of the knights. At least he didn't see Esek or Sir Kenton.
A guard with a frosted beard stepped into the stairwell. His fur cloak was turned suede side out.
"I'm Fin," the guard said. "You friends of Chion?"
"Aye." Achan spun around. "Here we must part. There's a battle taking place. I urge you all to be careful. Fin will lead you out. I need Elk and Kurtz with me." Achan turned to Fin.
The man stepped into the doorway. "If you get separated, the northern and southern towers will take you down. If you can find warmer clothes, our men are wearing their capes inside out as a sign of which side they are on. I urge you to do the same. We are running sleds out of Smokegate. Meet there for a ride. In two days time, meet at Lytton Hall. Let's go!"
Fin jogged across the icy roof. The prisoners shot after him, two by two. Achan patted several on the back as they went, saying, "Arman be with you." He winced as many had no shoes and thin clothes. He prayed they wouldn't freeze.
Shortly, only he, Elk, and Kurtz remained.
Achan took a deep breath. "Stay close." Sir Caleb?
Your Highness! Gavin tells me you're free. Where are you?
Just inside the stairwell on the western tower.
I'm behind you, close to where we will toss the boarding hook.
Achan crossed the doorway and peeked the other way in time to see Sir Caleb strike a soldier's leg. The soldier screamed and swung one last desperate swipe, but Sir Caleb finished the man with a stab to the chest. He shrugged off his pack.
"Come on." Achan darted out of the tower and over the icy roof. Every few steps, his feet stuck to the roof and ripped free, leaving his feet smarting. How daft to have given his boots away. He thrust the torch to Sir Caleb, dropped his knife, and fell beside the dead guard, clawing at the man's boots.
Sir Caleb waved the torch, sweeping it from side to side. "What happened to your-" He looked above Achan's head, eyes wide, and dropped the torch. "Well, I'll be ransomed."
"Hello, Caleb," Elk said.
The men embraced in a fierce hug. Achan shoved his right foot into the boot. It was too small, but better than the alternative. While Sir Caleb shook Kurtz's hand, Achan tugged on the other boot then tossed the dead man's fur cape to Elk.
Achan passed the guard's sword to Kurtz. "Keep watch, will you?" For now they had the entire southeastern wall to themselves, but it might not last.
Sir Caleb seized his pack and dumped a coil of rope onto the roof. "I'll toss the hook to Inko-see his light?"
Achan squinted out over the curtain wall. A single torch burned in the darkness. In the bailey below, a massive melee was underway. Achan's stomach tightened at the idea of going over the side of the tower while men were fighting underneath.
Sir Caleb arranged the coil of rope by his feet. "Achan, show the men how to attach their hooks."
Achan pulled the strap and hook out of his trousers and moved his belt up under his armpits, then imitated how he would set his hook on the line.
"Stand back now." Sir Caleb backed up, the boarding hook in his right hand. "Achan, hold the end, just in case?"
Achan snagged the end of the rope poking out from under the huge pile.
Sir Caleb skipped forward and pitched the boarding hook toward the distant torchlight. At first it appeared right on target. The rope in the pile beside Achan spun away as the hook sailed toward Inko, but the hook fell before it passed over the snowy white sentry wall. Halfway down, it clunked against the wall and bounced back into the snow.
Sir Caleb sighed. "Nothing to do but pull it quickly." He grabbed the line and started to bring it up.
The hook tugged through the snow, flew onto a patch of ice and slid and bounced about. It neared a group of fighting men. One of the guards unknowingly straddled the rope.
Move, Achan thought.
The man lunged forward with his sword just as the boarding hook slid past.
The hook lifted off the ground and up along the side of the tower. Achan blew out a steamy breath.
Sir Caleb gripped the boarding hook again. "How many tries did it take me at Meribah Corner, Your Highness?"
"Three."
Sir Caleb hummed. "Better get it in two or I'll never hear the end of the lucky number three from Inko."
Achan grinned. "Good plan."
This time Sir Caleb lobbed the hook much higher. The aim was off a bit-Inko would have to play fetch-but the hook sailed over the wall with several feet to spare.
"Nicely done, Sir Caleb."
"Thank you." Sir Caleb took the end from Achan, looped it around the nearest crenellation, and tied a complicated-looking knot. The rope bounced over the air like a wave.
"Do you think he's got it?" Achan asked.
"Aye, but thinking isn't good enough. He'll light the blue torch, then we'll know."
Achan stared at the yellow flame in the distance until it blurred. He blinked and it focused back to a small dot. Suddenly another flame appeared beside it, blue and bright. The yellow torch went out.
"Okay, Your Highness, that's our signal. You ready?"
"If I may." Elk held his dagfish hook in one fist. "Allow me to go first. If something were to happen, let it be to me."
Achan shrank with such an offer. "You're a brave man."
Elk smirked. "To be the first one to escape? Perhaps I'm only selfish, Your Majesty."
"You there, what're you doing?" A man strode toward them, his fur cape rising and falling with each step.
"Watching the action, we are," Kurtz said.
"Of all the lazy…hey!" The man drew his sword. "Prisoners escaping on the roof! Prisoners esca-"
Kurtz ran him through before the man could even raise his weapon. "Not a bad sword," he said, jerking it out. The guard slumped over onto his side. Kurtz swiped the blade on the guard's trousers. "Think I'll keep it, I will."
Elk set his hook over the line and straddled the parapet. His breath clouded in front of his round face. "This is a bit intimidating."
"Help me lift him over, Your Highness," Sir Caleb said.
Achan gripped Elk's right hand, Sir Caleb his left. Elk swung his other leg over the wall and they lowered him. When their arms stretched as far as possible, Elk's rope still had some slack.
"You're going to fall a bit." Sir Caleb grunted. "Just a few inches, but it will likely be a bit of a scare. Achan, let go first."
Achan released Elk's hand. Elk gripped the eye of the hook, his knuckles white. He took another deep breath then nodded at Sir Caleb.
Sir Caleb let go. Elk fell down and away, legs flailing. He seemed to be trying to stifle a scream as a loud groan slid away with him. A V notched into the cable where Elk's hook propelled down the line.
"I forgot to tell him to put out his feet," Sir Caleb said.
Achan winced as Elk slammed into the sentry wall. He struggled a moment, like a fish on a line, then managed to pull himself up. His body vanished as he fell over the parapet. A moment later he stood and lifted a hand.
"It's absolutely insane, it is," Kurtz said. "I love it."
Sir Caleb clapped Achan on the shoulder. "Okay, Your Highness. You're next."
Achan's gut clenched. He pulled his hook into his shaky hands and set it over the cable.
"Wait! Take these, eh?" Kurtz slapped a pair of leather gloves against Achan's arms. "A gift from my dead guard."
"Thanks." Achan slipped the gloves on, disturbed to find them still warm.
"Help me lift him over, Kurtz," Sir Caleb said.
Achan straddled the parapet, as Elk had done. Sir Caleb and Kurtz lowered him down. His forearms twitched, muscles tight. Short breaths puffed out of his mouth like steam from a soup pot. Sir Caleb let go first. Achan's hand flew to the eye of the hook. A shadow fell over Kurtz's back.
"Behind you," Achan yelled.
Kurtz glanced back and lost hold of Achan's hand.
Achan's insides seemed to fly up and out of his mouth. He fell, weightless, away from the Pillar, screaming louder than he ever had, not falling any longer, but shooting along on the cable. He strained to see how the men fared on the Pillar, then remembered he needed to turn around.
He swung his leg out and spun in a complete circle. Maybe he could slow himself down before trying to turn. He lifted his left hand to the cable but jerked it away at the smell of burning leather. Another attempt to swing himself around and-
SLAM.
His back struck the wall. Pain flashed over him, stealing his breath. He hung limp, unable to move, and focused on the fighting below. Amazing that no one had seen or heard him.
"Your Highness?" Elk called from above.
Hands gripped under Achan's arms and pulled. His too-tight boots scraped up the stone wall. His body slipped over the parapet. He lay on his back on the sentry walk, staring at the black sky, sucking in long breaths of icy air.
Elk leaned over him, his wispy beard tickling Achan's chin. "Are you well, Your Highness?"
Achan nodded and rolled onto his hands and knees. He sat back and pulled his hook off the cable, barely able to see where the other end of the rope attached to the parapet atop the Pillar. "That's very high."
Elk laughed. "I cannot believe I did it either. Climb down the rope to-wait. Here comes Kurtz. Help me steady this."
Achan gripped the cable, which was already quite taut. Kurtz hung like a dead man, and for a moment, Achan feared something horrible had happened with the shadow on the roof. The cable sank awfully low with Kurtz's weight. About halfway down, Kurtz kicked a leg out, trying to spin, no doubt.
Sir Gavin Lukos.
Achan opened the connection at once. Where are you?
Almost up the south tower, with Sir Kenton on my heels. Where are you?
Kurtz's weight slowed him to a stop before he hit the wall. Elk reached out to pull him the last few feet.
I'm on the outer sentry wall with Elk and Kurtz.
Praise Arman. You three return to Stormwatch. Get a start on us.
Achan and Elk helped pull Kurtz over the parapet. Not until I see you on this wall.
This is not a negotiation. You might be the prince, but you cannot argue when it comes to your safety. Go. We'll be right behind.
Achan closed his mind and stood. The rope jerked sideways and nearly tripped him.
Elk reached for it. "Help me!"
Achan and Kurtz grabbed the rope and held it steady. Sir Caleb soared backwards, his short, frizzy hair billowing out to reveal a bald spot.
Like Achan, Sir Caleb's remained backwards, though with three sets of hands extended to catch him, he didn't hit hard.
Sir Caleb panted, his face pink. "Achan, down you go. Kurtz, go back to Stormwatch with him and wait for us."
"Is Sir Gavin coming?" Achan asked.
"He said he was almost to the roof and to go."
"You should've waited for him," Achan said. "What if he needed help?"
"He said Sir Kenton and his men were chasing him. My waiting would only have slowed down our escape. Now when he gets to the cable, he simply needs to come."
"Time to go, eh?" Kurtz snaked one arm around Achan's waist and carried him to the outer edge where the rope dangled to the ground. Inko and Verdot stood holding the end.
"Will any of you be coming down finally?" Inko asked.
Achan lowered himself over the edge. He tried to walk down the wall, but his boots had no traction on the icy stone. So he went hand over hand for a moment, then slid the rest of the way, thankful for the leather gloves.
Inko caught him at the bottom and shoved him to the dogsled. Kurtz hit the ground seconds later, then Elk. The two men hurried to the sled. Elk took the reins. "Sit, Your Highness. Kurtz, run with me."
Elk said, "Hike!" He and Kurtz ran and pushed the sled over the snow. The dogs took off.
Achan watched Ice Island as they slid into the darkness, barely able to glimpse the rope stretched between the Pillar and the outer wall before it faded from sight.
They arrived at Stormwatch and waited. Sir Gavin didn't answer Achan's knocks, so he called out to Inko instead.
I'm approaching Stormwatch now.
What about Sir Gavin?
He was hitting his head on the wall, but is breathing.
The second sled arrived. Sir Caleb, face drawn, jumped from the bed and pulled Sir Gavin limply to his feet.
Achan ran forward to help. He positioned himself under Sir Gavin's arm and supported the weight on his right side. "What happened?"
Sir Caleb started toward the horses. "He struck his head on the wall."
Inko untied Sir Gavin's horse. "Be helping us to be boosting Gavin up."
Achan panted under Sir Gavin's weight. The knight could not ride alone. "Inko, take Scout. I'll ride with Sir Gavin."
Achan handed Sir Gavin's arm off to Elk and mounted Sir Gavin's horse. Elk, Sir Caleb, and Verdot lifted Sir Gavin up. Achan grabbed him under the arms and pulled while Elk pushed Sir Gavin's leg over. Achan settled the knight onto the saddle in front of him and held him in his arms.
Sir Gavin? Don't leave us, now.
The men all mounted the horses. Achan itched to ride, to get Sir Gavin to a bed to rest, but Sir Caleb spoke. "Thank you, Verdot, for helping us."
Verdot nodded. "It does not repay my mistakes."
"Your mistakes are in the past."
"I do not deserve such mercy, Caleb."
"Neither did most the men in the Prodotez, eh? But the prince pardoned their crimes, he did," Kurtz said.
"And I pardon you as well," Achan said.
Verdot's face glowed crimson in the wavering torchlight. He bowed to Achan. "Best of blessings, Your Highness."
Achan nodded.
Sir Caleb looked to Elk. "To the Ivory Spit. Do you remember the way?"
"Like I remember my own name," Kurtz said.
Sir Caleb nodded. "We'll split up then. You two take the east gate, Inko and Achan come with me."
"I will be riding with Kurtz," Inko said. "Three and three are being more favored numbers than two and four."
"Fine." Sir Caleb nudged his horse toward the distant lights of Tsaftown. "Stable your horses, then come to the room with a stag on the door. Do not stop in the tavern, Kurtz."
"Wouldn't dream of it, eh?" Kurtz said. "Not without a bath first."
The warmth of their room in The Ivory Spit hit Achan like a word from Arman. He and Sir Caleb laid Sir Gavin on the bed by the fireplace. Sir Gavin moaned but did not open his eyes.
Sparrow poked his head in through the adjoining door. "Praise Arman! I feared you were-what has happened?"
"I'm not certain," Sir Caleb said. "He hit his head, I know."
Sparrow's green eyes flitted over Sir Gavin and the boy darted back into his room.
Achan fell to his rear before the fire, pulled off the too-tight boots, and stretched his toes. He held his pink, stinging fingers toward the flames.
Sparrow scampered back into the room with his satchel.
"What do you see?" Sir Caleb said.
"His leg is bleeding," Sparrow said. "Could you go to the tavern and see if they have any clean linen we could purchase?"
Sir Caleb shot back out the door.
Achan examined Sir Gavin's trousers. They were soaked from the snow, like everyone else's. How did Sparrow see-
"Help me get his clothing off," Sparrow said. "I shall need water too. There is a kettle on the hearth in the other room."
Achan jumped up, darted for the door, then jerked back to help Sparrow with Sir Gavin's clothes. Balls of snow and ice clinging to the fur tunic had started to melt, dripping water onto the bedspread. Achan draped the tunic over one of the chairs and came back to Sir Gavin's side. The man was lethargic, eyes partially open, mouth gaping.
"Sir Gavin," Sparrow said. "Sir Gavin, look at me."
The old man's eyes flicked to meet Sparrow's.
"Good. Can you speak? Tell me your full name."
"Theowin Gavin Leofrick," came, barely a whisper.
Sparrow frowned. "I think he is stunned."
Achan snorted. "What gave it away?"
"I mean, his mind is frozen with the shock of pain to his body. It happens sometimes, physically. It happened to you with the Poroo arrows."
Achan had little memory of that day. "Oh."
Sparrow dug in his satchel. "His boots, Achan, please?"
Achan tugged off Sir Gavin's boots, then his trousers, which streaked blood down the old man's leg. At first Achan couldn't see where the wound was, then he saw black seeping into the green blanket just above Sir Gavin's right knee.
Sparrow stood. "Help me turn him over."
Achan jumped around to the other side of the pallet, and he and Sparrow rolled Sir Gavin to his stomach. A dark hole bored into Sir Gavin's right thigh. Blood trickled down his inner leg and pooled in a new place on the bedspread.
"The water, Achan," Sparrow said. "There is a basin of cold beside my hearth. Add hot water from the kettle until it is warm to your fingers."
Achan ran to the other room and did as Sparrow asked. He heard the front door scrape over the floor in the next room and several sets of boots clump over the wooden floor.
"I'm glad you've booked rooms above The Ivory Spit, I am," Kurtz said. "I nearly died for lack of ale and female companionship in the Pit all those-"
"What is wrong with him?" Elk's voice.
"A barbed arrowhead is buried in his thigh." Sparrow's voice, eerily calm.
"Ouch, eh?"
"Do you have an arrowspoon?" Elk asked.
"I do not," Sparrow said.
Achan carried the basin to the floor beside Sparrow. The boy held Sir Gavin's wadded trousers against the wound.
Elk stood looking over Sparrow's shoulder. "What are you planning to do?"
"Stopper up the bleeding until Sir Caleb returns with linen."
Elk nodded.
Inko stood on the other side of Sir Gavin's bed, eyes wide as he took in the scene. "How is he being?"
"He has lost much blood." Sparrow glanced up at the faces watching him. "Is anyone else wounded?"
"A bit scraped up," Kurtz said. "We'll manage, eh?"
Elk peeled off his guard's fur cloak and slung it over an empty chair. "I was once a healer. Would you like assistance?"
"Have you ever removed a barbed arrowhead?"
Elk raised his dark eyebrows. "I have. Many times."
Sparrow sighed. "Praise be to Arman, then, for I have only ever removed bodkin arrows."
Elk tucked his beard into the neck of his shirt. "You are young to have accomplished such a feat." He took a small bowl off the mantle. He dipped it in Achan's basin of water and set it on the table, then plunged his hands in to wash them. "I shall need two small blades I can sterilize in the fire."
"I'm having some in my pack." Inko slipped past Achan and into the other room.
Sir Caleb burst through the door carrying a stack of white linens.
Elk took them from him. "All of you go into the other room to clean up. Allow us some room to work."
Achan cast one more concerned glance at Sir Gavin's leg and retreated with the others. Inko sat on the bed nearest the door. Sir Caleb sat on the edge of the other bed which Kurtz lay on. Achan squatted before the fireplace and held out his numb hands. He slapped at a twitch behind his ear and searched for the cursed mosquito. Wasn't it too cold for mosquitoes?
"Whoo!" Kurtz screamed.
Achan spun around on his toes, still squatting.
Elk appeared in the adjoining doorway. "Do you mind?"
Kurtz turned on his side, head propped on one hand. "We're free, Elk. Free, we are!"
"I realize that. Do try to keep it down." He closed the door with a soft clump.
Kurtz sat up. "Going off that tower…thought I was dead. But then I flew, eh?"
"I thought I was dead when you dropped me," Achan said. "Again when I hit the wall."
"I could not stop myself either," Sir Caleb said. "Perhaps the hooks did not need oil."
They talked more about the rescue. Kurtz's glowing rendition of Achan's time in the Pit so enhanced the story it sounded like something a minstrel might turn into a song.
Kurtz jerked his head to the door. "Who's the minnow, eh?"
"Vrell Sparrow joined us in Mahanaim," Sir Caleb said. "He's a bit of a healer."
Kurtz's brown eyes raked Achan up and down. "And you're the mirrorglass image of your old man, you are. Couldn't tell so much in the pit, but here…"
"Aye," Sir Caleb paused to look at Achan. "I thought the same when I first saw him."
Kurtz grinned and folded his arms across his broad chest. "I'm sure you've heard many tales of me, eh?"
Achan scratched behind his ear. "Nothing, actually."
Kurtz clapped a hairy hand over his chest. "Caleb, you wound me. How could you not tell him of the Chazir, eh?"
"I didn't want to give the lad nightmares."
"Bah." Kurtz stood. "I'm starved, I am. Let's go down to the tavern, eh?"
"No, Kurtz," Sir Caleb said. "There will be no tavern."
"But tavern food is hot, it is. And I can dance while I wait."
Achan scoffed. "I can't imagine any woman would look at you. You look like a scavenger."
Sir Kurtz clapped his hands. "The prince raises a good point, he does. We need water in here for a shave, eh?"
Sir Caleb walked to the door. "I'll have some food brought here. After we eat, we'll go to the bathhouse. No tavern."
Achan went to check on Sir Gavin while Sir Caleb was gone, but Sir Eagan and Sparrow looked to be in deep concentration, so he left them to their work.
Sir Caleb returned with two serving girls dressed in white blouses and red skirts. One carried a smoking pot, which she hung on an iron hook above the fire. The other held a stack of wooden bowls. "Where's your table?"
Inko took the bowls. "It's being in the next room. We'll be bringing it back before we are leaving."
"Try these." Sir Caleb handed a pair of brown leather boots to Achan. He turned to the girl at the door. "Might you bring up a bathing tub next?"
"Aye, but that'd be too much water to haul for all you men. Wouldn't you rather use the bathhouse?"
"We will. But we have a sick man who'll need a tub."
Achan pulled on the boots. They didn't fit as nicely as the pair Trajen had given him, but they would do. He wasn't picky.
The women left and Sir Caleb dished up a bowl of stew for each of the men and set out a stack of clean clothing for Achan. After everyone ate, Kurtz, Sir Caleb, and Inko left to go down to the bathhouse. Achan, not permitted to leave the room, was to bathe in the tub as soon as it arrived.
Achan found Eagan's Elk under Inko's bed and started to polish it as Sir Caleb had taught him. He may as well return it to its owner in pristine condition.
The women delivered the tub and filled it with hot water. Once they had gone, Achan stripped off his clothes and inspected the scrapes on his knee from the dagfish hook. No more than cat scratches, really, but they stung when he settled his bruised body into the warm water. Dozens of mosquito bites peppered his chest and arms and itched something fierce. He was scrubbing his neck with a brick of honeysuckle soap when Sparrow opened the adjoining door.
Sparrow's eyes popped wide and his cheeks flushed.
Achan asked, "How is Sir Gavin?" but Sparrow backed right out of the room. Odd duck.
Elk came through a moment later, face completely shaven. With his round face and dark hair, he looked no older than forty. "Everyone has gone?"
"To the bathhouse," Achan said. "How is Sir Gavin?"
"Sleeping. We were able to extract the arrowhead and have wrapped the wound. I am confident he will make a full…" Elk's gaze dropped to the floor beside the tub where Achan had shed his clothes. "Is that your sword?"
Achan scratched his shoulder. "I suspect it's yours. Sir Gavin gave it to me. It's called Eagan's Elk."
Elk pressed his lips in a straight line.
The door opened and Sir Caleb entered, followed by Kurtz and Inko. "I don't care. The answer is no."
"One hour, eh?" Kurtz had trimmed his scraggly beard short and combed his bushy hair into a tail. He looked twenty years younger, like a slender, blond version of Shung.
"No one goes out again tonight, Kurtz," Sir Caleb said. "Esek's men might be anywhere."
The men resituated themselves on the pallets. Elk still stood staring at Achan's sword.
"Eagan's Elk is yours, isn't it?" Achan asked. "Sir Gavin said it belonged to you."
"Achan," Sir Caleb said, "this is Sir Eagan Elk, former heir to the lordship of Zerah Rock."
Achan straightened in the tub. "But…isn't Elk a stray name? How could you have been heir to Zerah Rock? And why the dagfish? That's Tsaftown's crest."
Sir Eagan's brown knit. "A stray name?"
"Ten years ago, no such practice of naming strays existed," Sir Caleb said. "Back then an animal surname labeled one disowned by his family. Eagan's father-"
"My father did not approve of my serving the king as a soldier. He wanted me as Lord of Zerah Rock, nothing less. He did not understand. Rhomphaia originally belonged to one of Lord Livna's uncles. I squired for him in my youth."
"Rhomphaia." Achan stared at the ivory pommel, wishing he weren't in the tub so he could hand the blade over properly. His heart ached that he would have to give it up.
Sir Caleb jumped in with a change of subject. "Are you hungry, Eagan? We have stew."
Sir Eagan called through the cracked door, "Boy, come have dinner," then sat beside Kurtz on the bed nearest Achan.
Sparrow poked his head through the doorway, glanced over the room, and disappeared again.
Achan wished he'd bathed faster. How awkward to dress in front of so many spectators. He turned as he stood, facing the wall, water trickling into the tub. He stepped out, dried quickly, then pulled on his clean undershorts and trousers. He pulled his shirt over his head, and, finding nowhere to sit, slid down against the wall in the corner.
"What do we do next?" Achan asked.
"If Gavin is not up to it, I'll go to Lytton Hall tomorrow, first thing," Sir Caleb said. "He intended to officially ask for Tsaftown's support. It's my guess Lord Livna will throw a banquet in your honor tomorrow night. If I know Tsaftown, the celebration will last several days."
Kurtz rubbed his hands together. "Excellent."
Sparrow opened the door, peeked in, and entered fully. Sir Eagan dished the boy up a bowl of stew and handed it over.
Sparrow beamed. "Thank you, sir."
Kurtz pointed at Sparrow. "You and the minnow have the same face, Elk."
Sparrow paled and stared at Sir Eagan, who quirked an eyebrow at Kurtz. Sparrow and Sir Eagan stood awkwardly, glancing between one another.
Achan tipped his head to the side. Kurtz spoke truth. Sir Eagan and Sparrow both had round faces, thin lips, and fine, black hair. Easily mistaken for relatives.
"Do you know your father?" Achan asked Sparrow. Many strays knew the identity of one parent. Sparrow bloodvoiced his mother, but if he didn't know his father's identity…
Sparrow swallowed and croaked out, "I do."
Sir Eagan chuckled. "I fathered no son, Kurtz, as you well know. And Rigil would be much older than this boy."
"I've met Sir Rigil," Achan said. "He's a fine knight."
Sir Eagan snorted. "Is he now? Last I saw him he was eleven and begging to be my page."
"I hear he excels at the joust," Achan said.
Sir Eagan snorted again. "That does not surprise me."
"He swore fealty to Achan," Sir Caleb said.
"Did he?" Sir Eagan slapped his arm, then scratched it.
"The mosquitoes got me bad, too," Achan said.
Sir Eagan laughed. "Fleas, Your Highness."
Blood seemed to slow in Achan's veins. "Fleas?" He glanced at Sir Caleb. "From the furs on the sled?"
Sir Caleb wrinkled his nose. "So it would seem."
"And from the squalor of the Pit, eh," Kurtz said. "Fleas have been our companions these past years."
Achan sighed and scratched a red bite on his arm. At least there were no women around to complain.
"What time do you suppose it is now, eh?" Kurtz asked.
"You're not going to the tavern, Kurtz," Sir Caleb said. "We cannot risk our king for a night of mead and dancing."
"But we've been in prison thirteen years, we have. We've earned a night out, eh, Eagan?"
"Leave me out of your escapades, Kurtz," Sir Eagan said. "I am enjoying the quiet."
"But it's just downstairs. And The Ivory Spit's a classy tavern, it is. A tavern fit for a king." Kurtz winked at Achan. "What say you, Highness, eh? Fancy a mug of mead?"
"Absolutely not!" Inko said. "He's only being sixteen years of age and I-"
Kurtz puffed out his chest. "Sixteen's a man, it is."
"Being out gallivanting with you isn't being fit behavior for a king."
Kurtz swung his legs off the pallet. "What's wrong with my behavior, eh?"
"I'm remembering a time when you were being thrown out of The Ivory Spit."
"Once, when I first joined the Kingsguard." Kurtz shrugged it off as if it were nothing. "They didn't like me dancing on the tables."
Achan stifled a laugh.
Inko glared at Kurtz. "Be imagining that."
"Do you dance, Highness?" Kurtz asked.
Achan winced, recalling his awkwardness with Yumikak. "Not really, no."
"That settles it, it does. You can't introduce him at court if he can't dance. What will the maidens think, eh?"
"Achan is a quick study," Sir Caleb said. "And Tsaftown is hardly court."
"Livna is a noble lord, he is. Sounds like court to me."
"Enough, Kurtz," Sir Eagan said. "We stay indoors tonight. Let us hear no more of it."
"Bah!" Kurtz fell back onto the bed and tucked his arms behind his head.
"Vrell?" a voice whispered.
Vrell opened her eyes. A shadow crouched beside the bed she shared with Sir Gavin. In the pale glow from the coals in the fireplace, Sir Eagan's face glowed.
The man's familiarity unhinged her. And Kurtz's pointing out their similar looks prayed on her mind. Darkness had no doubt been the cause. She should have stayed in the other room where the conversation would have distracted her mind.
"What time is it?" She sat up and glanced at Sir Gavin, whose breathing rumbled a steady snore.
"It is late. Kurtz snuck out to the tavern and took the prince with him."
Vrell jumped out of bed. "What?"
"Shh." Sir Eagan set a finger to his lips. "I do not want to wake everyone. I hoped you could help me convince him to come back to bed without a scene."
"Achan is not a drinking man." Vrell knew that much. But what could he be thinking? These men had sacrificed so much for him. He would endanger that for a night in a tavern?
Vrell snuck out of the room with Sir Eagan and down the interior steps. Voices grew as they descended, then music and laughter. As they neared the first floor, light spilled into the stairwell, shadows bobbing inside it.
Vrell followed Sir Eagan into a stifling room crowded with at least three dozen people. Worn square tables lined each wall. Those in the center had been pushed haphazardly into one another to create a small dancing area. The walls were paneled timber, decorated with antlers, carvings of fish, and various hooks and sconces. Iron candelabras with three fat candles each hung from the ceiling. In the far corner, a band played an upbeat tune. The band consisted of three men dressed in blue tunics. One played a lute, one played a flute, and the third beat on a tabor drum.
Those dancing were not behaving with any decorum whatsoever. Each couple danced in their own fashion, separate from the rest, not in a line as Vrell was used to. This was not a proper place for a lady to spend time, nor a prince.
She tore her eyes away from the tawdry display. "Do you see them?"
Sir Eagan pointed to a table before a frosty window. Achan and Kurtz sat alone, a large pitcher between them. Achan wore a burgundy head scarf over his hair like some sort of marauder. Kurtz wore one in navy blue.
Sir Kurtz met Vrell's reprimanding stare and whispered in Achan's ear. Achan looked up, a big grin on his face, and waved Vrell over.
Foolish boy.
Sir Eagan and Vrell wove around the tables, past the lively dancers, and stopped before the table.
"Kurtz, I see you have decided to disobey Caleb," Sir Eagan said, "Not the best way to resume your service to the crown."
Kurtz waved a hand to the two empty chairs at their table. "Join us, eh?"
Vrell rolled her eyes. "Achan, we must-"
"No," Kurtz whispered. "I'm Hal Rackham, I am. Sailor aboard the Mirfak, just into port from Hamonah. And this here's one of our oarsmen, Pacey."
I'm an oarsman, Achan told Vrell. That means I row.
Oarsman. Really, Vrell scolded.
But Achan grinned so wide Vrell couldn't help but smile.
Sir Eagan drew in a groaning breath and claimed the seat beside Kurtz. "You will finish your drink and we will go."
"But we've already ordered more, we have," Kurtz said. "Pie and a dance."
Vrell sat next to Achan. "You ordered a dance?"
"Two ladies," Achan said in an amused tone.
Vrell cast a scathing glare at Kurtz.
Kurtz leaned across the table toward Vrell. "Barmaids, Minnow. Friendliest women in all Er'Rets, you wait and see. Told them we're celebrating Pacey's coming-of-age day."
Achan winked at Vrell.
"What are you hoping to accomplish on this outing?" Vrell asked. "A chance to get drunk, or something more?"
"Blazes, boy! I've been in prison for thirteen years, I have. The prime of my life lost! I deserve some fun. Besides, our future king should see the master at work, eh? I'll teach him a thing or two about attracting a female."
Vrell gritted her teeth. As if Achan needed help with that. "Sir Eagan, you deem this noble behavior?"
Sir Eagan's expression remained somber. "I do not."
"Bah!" Kurtz leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. "Well, Pacey, it seems Mother and Father found us, eh? What mischief can we get into while they're watching?"
Vrell did not understand Kurtz's motivation. "You claim to follow Arman, Kurtz? Can he possibly be pleased with your deceiving Sir Caleb and endangering Ach-Pacey?"
"I'm not in danger," Achan said.
Kurtz leaned across the table, his sour breath wafting over Vrell's face. "Me and Arman, we got us an understandin', boy. I'm a work in progress, I am."
"Thirteen years in prison and your work in progress has progressed little," Sir Eagan said.
A barmaid stopped at the table and set two plates of a dark berry pie in front of Achan and Kurtz. She had long brown hair tied back in a long plait and a kind face. "There you are, boys."
"Thank you, Darri."
Vrell pursed her lips. Kurtz would already be on a first-name basis with the barmaid. Thankfully, the woman was old enough to be Achan's mother. Round in all the right places for Kurtz' attention, she wore a sleeveless corset top and a long red skirt.
Darri cast her brown eyes from Vrell to Sir Eagan. "And what can I get fer you two?"
Sir Eagan smiled. "Nothing, th-"
"Another round, eh?" Kurtz pushed the jug to the edge of the table.
"Will do. And I found some willing partners for you and your young lad, here." Darri raised her eyebrows at Achan, a coy smile curling her lips. "They'll be right out."
"Heh hay!" Kurtz sipped his mead. "Now the fun begins, eh?"
"Achan, please come back to the room where you will be safe," Vrell said.
Kurtz sighed. "I say we ditch the minnow, Pacey. He's already poor company, eh?"
Achan shoved a large bite of pie into his mouth and licked his fingers. He pushed the plate toward her with his other hand. "Want some?"
"I do not."
Darri approached the table again. In one hand she held a pitcher frothing over with amber liquid, in the other, two empty mugs. She plunked a mug before Sir Eagan and Vrell, filled them with mead, re-filled Kurtz's mug, and set the pitcher down in the center of the table.
A small consolation, Achan was so preoccupied with the pie, he hadn't seemed to have touched his mug.
Two women flanked Darri and she introduced them. "This here is my sister, Meldeen, and her daughter Beska."
Vrell's insides coiled. Meldeen was Darri's age, but Beska, a tall, slender woman with long, dirty blond hair, appeared to be in her early twenties. They were both dressed in corset-laced white tops and red sweeping skirts like Darri's.
"What's it yer wantin'?" Meldeen asked, a suspicious gleam in her eyes.
"Only a dance or two, lassie." Kurtz grabbed the scruff of Achan's neck. "Pacey here turned sixteen. Needs to learn to move his feet, eh?"
"And a handsome one he is," Meldeen said. "Best wishes to yeh on yer comin'-of-age, Master Pacey. May Thalassa bless yeh and bring yeh endless joy."
Achan grinned. "Thank you, ma'am."
Sir Kurtz stood and stepped past Sir Eagan's chair.
"Wait," Achan said, shoving the last bite of pie in his mouth and he stood and inched past Vrell's chair.
"Thirteen years," Kurtz whispered. "Pick up the pace, eh? I need to dance, I do."
Vrell disapproved of this. "Are you not married, ma'am?"
Meldeen scowled down on Vrell. "What's that yer business?"
Vrell glanced at Beska in accusation.
"Don't yeh worry, lad," Meldeen said. "We won't taint yer pa 'n' brother. An' if yer sweet, Beska might dance with yeh, too."
Vrell's cheeks blazed. As if she wanted to dance with…
Kurtz barreled between Meldeen and Beska, grabbed both their hands, and tugged them to the dance floor.
Achan chuckled and kicked Vrell's boot. "You're sure you don't want to come?"
"What good could come of this, Ach-" She pursed her lips, not wanting to speak Achan's name aloud. She whispered, "Do you serve Arman or your flesh?"
Achan blinked, his smile fading. "It's just a dance, Sparrow. Have you never wanted to be just one of the men?" He placed his hands on the table and leaned down to speak in her ear. "I'm not a fool. My life is changing before I've had much chance to live it. I only want to relax for a few hours. Be nobody. Won't you come dance with us?"
Vrell shook her head. "Thank you, but I shall watch from here with Sir Eagan. Someone must act as your conscience if things go sour."
Achan's cheeks darkened. "I don't need a nursemaid."
"You do not need a barmaid, either," Vrell said.
"Fine." Achan shrugged. "Miss all the fun if you like." He strode to where Sir Kurtz and the women were dancing.
Sir Eagan wrinkled his nose. "That went well."
Vrell glared at Sir Eagan. "You had little to say."
"We shall give them their dance, then end it."
Vrell folded her arms and glowered at the dancing mob. Kurtz and Meldeen held hands and skipped from side to side, a harmless enough dance, though they plowed through others without bothering to apologize or tame their steps.
Beska and Achan, however…that woman led with brazen confidence. She held his hands above her head and twirled before him, drew closer and stomped her feet to the beat. Achan's cheeks reddened three times during the first song alone. That and his novice dance skills made him even more charming. Vrell sighed. If given the chance, he would dazzle every eligible noblewoman in Er'Rets.
To her dismay, the song slowed. Beska wrapped her arms around Achan's neck and pressed against him in ways no noblewoman would deem proper.
She caught Sir Eagan's stare from across the table. Why did he watch her instead of Achan and Kurtz? Did he find her familiar too? How? He had been on Ice Island since Vrell was four. She wanted to ask Mother about him. After all, it was due to their thwarted love that Mother had agreed to consider allowing Vrell and Bran to marry despite his lesser noble status.
But Vrell did not understand Sir Caleb's comments about Mother wanting Sir Eagan freed. Did Mother plan to rekindle her old relationship? That should not bother Vrell.
But the color of Sir Eagan's hair did. Black as a raven. A plain, common color to be sure, but her mother's hair was auburn and her sisters were all blonde like her father. He used to tease that Vrell was a child of the gods. The direful facts of Mother and Sir Eagan's past, and Mother's forced marriage to Duke Amal, haunted her.
But such a thing could not be true! Mother had always been incorruptibly dutiful.
Yet Vrell had assumed the same about Achan, and there he stood cavorting with a woman who could very well be a strumpet. She glanced back across the room. Beska slid her hand up the back of Achan's neck and kissed him.
Vrell stood up so fast her chair fell back. "Do you see this, Sir Eagan? Why does the band play only slow songs? If I give them a coin, might they pick up the tempo? Do you have any?"
Sir Eagan's mouth twisted into a crooked grin. "I have no money. Do not fret, Vrell. One kiss will not shatter his virtue."
Vrell pursed her lips and took a deep, Sir Gavin-like breath through her nose. "Sir Caleb might disagree."
Sir Eagan chuckled. "No doubt he would."
Vrell righted her chair and fell into it, glaring at Achan, who now, to her delight, held Beska at arm's length.
Oh, much better.
I'm doing my best, Sparrow. Why don't you come try?
Achan's voice in her mind made her jump. She frightens me.
Achan twirled Beska under his arm. Did you see her kiss me?
Vrell rolled her eyes. How could I have missed it? She is probably after your coin purse. She has been feeling for it since she met you.
Achan laughed in his head. Well, I haven't got a coin purse, so it's her loss and my gain.
Taking advantage of a woman is never a gain to her, even if she is too dim or drunk to see it.
I didn't take advantage, and Beska isn't drunk.
The song ended. Achan bowed his head to Beska and thanked her for the dance, earning a look of surprise. Apparently the girl was not used to being treated kindly. Achan returned to the table and took a long drink from his mug.
He wrinkled his nose. "An odd concoction. Bitter and sweet at the same time." He set the mug down and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest like a sullen child. "Sparrow, I can't read you. Sometimes you're more naive than a babe, other times, you're an old man passing out proverbs of wisdom. Why must you spoil my fun? These knights are going to marry me to a stranger. It's refreshing to be looked at as a man with no crown. Beska kissed me for me, not for my title."
"A great sacrifice, I am certain."
"What do you think, Sir Eagan?" Achan asked.
"That you dance well, Your Highness, but I do not think such behavior noble."
"Esek would," Vrell said.
This earned her a nasty glare from Achan, and she instantly regretted her words. She wanted Achan back upstairs where he belonged, but she did not want him cross with her.
But then Achan sighed. "Aye. You've nailed it, Sparrow. I don't want to be Esek. Not even a bit. Ever." He stood and pushed in his chair. "Think we can tear Sir Kurtz away?"
Sir Eagan smiled at Vrell. "Well, there are three of us and one of him. I think we stand an excellent chance."
Vrell woke and found Sir Gavin in good spirits, though pained and limping terribly. No one seemed aware of Achan and Kurtz's late-night visit to the tavern.
Sir Gavin insisted on going to Lord Livna himself. He rebraided his beard, tied off the end with a bit of twine, then he and Sir Caleb left while the rest of the men slept.
A short while later, a serving woman knocked on the door. She hung a pot of porridge over the fireplace in exchange for the dirty stew pot.
The men got up and ate. Vrell told them Sir Gavin wanted them packed and ready when he returned. It did not take long.
Kurtz tried to sneak out to the tavern again, which prompted an argument between him and Inko as to why he could not.
"But, Inko. The number five is favored over the number six." Kurtz's determined brow looked sincere, but Vrell knew better. "If I go out, the prince will be safer."
Inko's dark eyes shifted. Was he actually pondering this nonsense?
Kurtz inched toward the door. "Not letting me go could curse us all, eh?"
Achan's lips pursed as if trying to hold in his laughter.
"Do not think I'll be falling for your mocking me." Inko pulled a chair from the table and set it in front of the door. He sat down and quirked an eyebrow at Kurtz.
"Bah!" Kurtz fell onto his bed. "I always said this bunch were duller than a blind dowager, Highness. I urge you to appoint yourself a Kingsguard with a bit more spirit, eh?"
Achan laughed. "I didn't know I'd get to appoint anyone."
Kurtz didn't answer. He stared into space, a look of awe relaxing his scowl.
"As king, you will be needing to be appointing your staff eventually," Inko said.
"I'll be stormed!" Kurtz bounded from the bed. "It's back!"
"What?" Vrell asked.
"Elk bloodvoiced me. It's been so long, I forgot to even try, I did. The aleh must have worn off, eh?"
"You must be bloodvoicing the prince next," Inko said. "I am betting you will be surprised at his strength."
The men practiced bloodvoicing. Vrell, content to watch and not wanting to weaken herself before the ride to Lytton hall, did not participate.
When Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb returned, Sir Caleb said, "We will leave right away. Lord Livna has agreed to host us."
"We are ready," Vrell said. "I would like to check Sir Gavin's leg first."
Sir Gavin fell into a chair at the table, groaned, and brushed the frost off his beard. "You can check it later. Lytton Hall is but a short ride."
Vrell scowled but had no intention of arguing with Sir Gavin.
Achan held out his sword to Sir Eagan. "I return your sword with gratitude. It has served me well."
Sir Eagan blanched. "Oh, no, Your Highness. I do not have the strength to wield it. Please, use it well."
"But it's yours."
"And what of Owr?"
Achan frowned. "Esek has it."
Sir Eagan reached over his shoulder to scratch his back. "Then you must use Rhomphaia until you get Owr back."
Achan nodded. "Thank you." He strapped the jeweled belt around his waist. He seemed to stand taller whenever he wore it. "I had forgotten Owr should be mine."
"Oh, yes," Sir Eagan said. "Owr belongs to the anointed king of Er'Rets." He nudged Achan, approached the table where Sir Gavin sat, and winked at Vrell. "Gavin, you gave the prince my sword?"
Sir Gavin's mustache twitched, curling down at the ends. "You weren't using it."
"Because I was rotting away in an icy prison. What was wrong with your sword?"
"Nothing." Sir Gavin patted the weapon on his belt. "Which is why I didn't see reason to give it away."
"And you told him the sword was called Eagan's Elk?"
Sir Gavin shrugged. "He asked its name and I couldn't remember. I figured, if all went well, at least your name might be honored, defeating many in the hands of the king."
Sir Eagan cocked one eyebrow at Achan. "That good with a sword, is he?"
Achan shook his head. "No, sir. I'm not."
"But he is," Vrell said. "He killed a dozen Poroo protecting Esek."
Achan groaned. "Sparrow, I told you, Poroo are hardly swordsmen."
"That's like killing a dozen women, eh?" Kurtz yelled from the other room.
Vrell scowled. She could hear Kurtz cackling in the other room. As if women were incapable of protecting themselves. Well…most were quite helpless, actually. But not her.
Sir Eagan sobered. "That I might be known for having killed a dozen female Poroo…" He bowed deeply to Achan. "You do me great honor, Your Majesty." He bowed to Sir Gavin. "And you, Gavin. Now that I have been given a second chance at life, I shall try to live up to my heroic reputation."
How could Sir Eagan dare mock Achan's bravery? But she glanced at Achan and found him shaking with silent laughter.