Lord Livna, a sturdy, red-faced man with white hair and a trim beard, met Achan and his party at the entrance to Lytton Hall and threw an arm around Achan's shoulders.
"You're welcome here, my boy. Very welcome. Glorious news to hear that arrogant vulgarian is not our king. And what a stir out at Ice Island! Never been such an escape in the history of the prison. Over a dozen have come looking to join your cause. Aw, but you must be tired. I declare we shall have the finest celebration tonight. The finest. Keep in mind, now, I've got three nieces who'd each make a handsome queen. Quite so. I'm sure these old schemers have advised you to choose a lady of greater title. You just keep your eyes open and see if one of my nieces doesn't steal your heart, you hear?"
Achan opened his mouth to respond, but Lord Livna said, "Wish I could have offered you Tara, but she recently wed Lord Gershom."
Mention of Lady Tara rekindled Achan's frustration. "I had the pleasure of meeting Lord Gershom this past week."
Lord Livna's blue eyes peered into Achan's, concerned, fearful. "Was she well, do you think?"
Achan grit his teeth. He wanted to say, "As well as a young lady wed to a grandsire could be," but held his tongue. If the man had doubts over his daughter's marriage, he should have entertained them before the ceremony, not after.
Sir Caleb rescued him. "She was very well, my lord. And Master Demry was there, making sure she remains safe."
Lord Livna nodded. "So far out and with her husband's age, I felt better knowing a fighting man was looking after her." His eyes went wide, focused over Achan's shoulder. "Well, quiver my timbers, Eagan? Is that you, my boy?"
"It is, my lord."
Lord Livna greeted Sir Eagan with a hearty embrace. "Eric still claims you swindled him of Rhomphaia. Where is it now?"
Sir Eagan gestured to Achan. "The prince wears it until he can reclaim Owr."
"Aw," Lord Livna beamed, "a more worthy owner I could not supply. Come, let me show you to your room."
Lytton Hall looked to be the dwelling of a champion hunter. The walls were built of logs and sea stone, with antlers and hides mounted on every wall. Much of the furniture had antler arms or legs. Lord Livna whisked them up a wooden staircase to the fourth floor and a short, wide hallway. Three narrow doors on the right and a set of double doors on the left.
"This whole floor is yours. The double doors lead to the prince's room. He should have a hot bath waiting. You men can decide between you how to use these other rooms, and Eagan can show you to the steams."
Kurtz grabbed Sparrow's chin. "What say you, Pacey? A shave for the minnow? We'll help him grow a beard yet."
Achan grinned. "Perfect."
Sparrow jerked his chin away. "I am not shaving."
"But the first one helps the whiskers grow, eh?" Kurtz reached for Sparrow again, but he ducked behind Sir Gavin.
"Leave Vrell be," Sir Gavin said. "He must check my leg. Lord Livna, might it be possible to have a tub brought to my room as well? I wouldn't ask, but my leg is injured."
"Should you like, Gavin, I'll have one brought up."
The men parted ways. Sir Caleb accompanied Achan into his chambers. The room had a simple oak bed covered in gold blankets and a hewn sideboard. A plank changing screen hid a hearth and a deep, wooden bathtub.
Achan bathed, scrubbing the flea bites on his legs and arms until his skin stung. The scratchy sponge eased the itch.
Sir Caleb had set out the outfit Lord Eli had made in Mirrorstone. Achan put on the blue tunic, black doublet, and black trousers, grumbling over the ridiculously long embroidered sleeves and the silver garters on the trousers.
Though he loathed to admit it, he said, "I need help, Sir Caleb." He came out from behind the changing screen to find Sir Caleb asleep on the bed. Achan fiddled with the ties at the neck of the tunic and the garters, but couldn't manage to work Sir Caleb's magic, especially with such long sleeves in his way.
The door to his room cracked open, revealing Inko's mole-covered face. He slipped inside and closed the door. "I am coming from having been watching the sparrow."
Achan knotted his left garter. "Go on, then."
"Sir Gavin was taking the boy into his bedchamber. They were being in there a moment then Sir Gavin was coming right back out and was standing."
Achan looked up from his absurd garters. "Doing what?"
"He was just standing like a guard." Inko withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. "Your Highness, you might be asking Lord Livna to be moving you to the third or fifth floors. Four is not the most favored num-"
Achan held up a hand. "Why do you suppose Sir Gavin stood outside the door?"
"I am not being able to guess, but when the door was opening again, the bird was flying out with wet hair."
Wet hair? Achan patted the man's shoulder. "Thank you, Inko. You're an amazing shadow informer. Keep it up."
Inko pointed at Achan's knees. "Are you wanting help to be tying those for you?"
Achan sighed and released the silver ties. "Please."
Inko crouched down, untied Achan's knot, and started over, looping the long strips of fabric into a tight bow. "So what are you thinking Vrell was doing?"
Achan scratched his temple. "Bathing, I suppose."
Inko stood and started in on the ties on Achan's shirt. "But why not be going to the steams like the rest of us?"
Achan didn't know. "Perhaps Sir Gavin wanted him dressed to match me?" But an hour later, that proved false. Achan sat on the edge of his bed while the rest of his party stood in his chamber, Sparrow wearing a black tunic with a grey linen vest.
Achan voiced his concerns aloud. "Why doesn't Sparrow wear his blue satin?"
"Because Vrell would rather be a healer than a squire." Sir Caleb said. "In a week or so, you'll have Shung as your Shield. You won't need a squire until we go to war. By then, I'm sure we'll find you another. Perhaps in Carmine."
Achan's stomach felt like it had been kicked. He frowned at Sparrow. "You don't want to be my squire?"
Sparrow cheeks flushed. "I am excellent with herbs and healing, but Arman has not called me to such violence."
"But you just need-"
"We need men called to both," Sir Caleb said. "I'm glad you know your heart, Vrell."
Sparrow smiled until he met Achan's eyes. Then he focused on his hands in his lap.
How could this be? Sparrow was deserting him?
"Don't feel obligated to dance tonight, Your Highness," Sir Caleb said. "We're here to recruit men, not inappropriate love interests, of which there will be plenty."
"I disagree," Sir Eagan said. "He must dance with every lady, for most have fathers who'll be pleased to see him pay their daughters mind and will support him because of it."
Sir Caleb sighed. "I suppose. But take care not to pay more attention to any one girl, Your Highness."
Achan's stomach flipped. No pressure there. "Wouldn't it be safer to skip the formality of a banquet and keep moving? I mean, since Esek is nearby, won't he come looking here?"
"We have voiced the same concern," Sir Gavin said. "But Lord Livna refuses to hear us. Tomorrow we'll meet with him and the captain of his guard to discuss when the army will assemble and depart for Carmine."
A tingling haze clouded Achan's mind as if this were all a dream. He could scarcely imagine that in two days' time, he'd lead a host of soldiers south with the intent of starting a war.
That evening, the guard stopped them before they could enter the great hall. "Wait to be announced."
To Achan's utter horror, a trumpet sounded and a herald cried out at the top of his lungs, "Make way for Prince Gidon Hadar and his royal Kingsguardsmen!"
The guard nodded and stepped aside.
Applause burst forth, bringing a chill over Achan's arms. "Gee, I wonder where that Achan fellow might be? No one will ever find him with that introduction."
Keep the sarcasm in your head, Your Highness, Sir Caleb said.
Achan took a deep breath and entered. The great hall stretched out before him, long and narrow built of rough hewn logs. A three-tier chandelier made of deer antlers and lit with dozens of stubby white candles hung in the center of the hammer beam roof. Flags bearing Tsaftown's gold and black crest hung from every other beam.
Achan stood on the center of a narrow platform that stretched the width of the hall. A half-dozen steps descended from it. A golden runner covered the floor under his boots, spilled down the center of the stairs, and ran all the way to the dais platform. A black and gold checkered cloth covered the high table that was only half occupied. A dagfish carved from wood was mounted in the center of the wall behind the high table. Antlers were mounted on either side of the dagfish.
Tables stretching the length of the hall were packed with food and people dressed in expensive, courtly attire, who all stood staring. The applause died down.
Sir Caleb's finger in Achan's back sent him walking forward, dream-like, down the stairs and up the center aisle. He briefly opened his mind and sensed overwhelming excitement and support. He also sensed a hint of deceit. He stopped where the golden rug split around the length of the dais and ran up a small stairs at each end of the platform.
An unpleasant feeling grew in the pit of Achan's stomach. He scanned the hall, seeking for the source of the deceit. Be ready, Achan said to Sir Gavin. I sense some trickery.
From Lord Livna?
Achan bowed to the Lord Livna, who stood behind his seat at the high table, and concentrated on the man's thoughts.
My, he looks like his father. Praise Arman, we'll be spared. Spared!
No, Achan said to Sir Gavin. Despite having sacrificed his daughter to a lunatic, Lord Livna is true.
Keep your grudge to yourself, Your Highness, Sir Caleb said. We need this man. His people are housing your army right now.
Lord Livna spoke. "I, and all of Tsaftown, wish to extend our support to you, My Prince, in all matters you may require. It is our fervent wish for you to occupy your father's throne without delay. I pledge my soldiers to aid you in this effort. I welcome you and swear to serve you in any way I can."
Achan bowed and quickly thought up a flowery reply. "You honor me with your loyalty to my father's throne."
"Come, sit beside me and be blessed."
Achan ascended the platform and sat beside Lord Livna, with Sir Gavin to his left, then Sir Caleb, Sir Eagan, and Inko. To Lord Livna's right sat his wife, Lady Revada; his son, Sir Eric; Sir Eric's wife, Lady Viola; and Captain Demry.
A line formed along the wall and up the right side of the dais. A valet stood at Achan's elbow and announced each person or group as they approached. Sir Caleb offered the occasional, private commentary.
Lord Livna and Lady Revada gave Achan a gilded helm and breastplate, etched and embossed with chams and vines.
"One can never have enough armor," Lord Livna said.
Especially armor that once belonged to Moul Rog the Great, Sir Caleb said. His bust is in Mahanaim's hall of greats.
Sir Eric Livna and his wife, Lady Viola, presented Achan with a long hooded hauberk of fine chain. "And my service. I'll ride with you when you depart."
"Captain Roxburg Demry; his wife, Madam Demry; and their daughter, Meneya."
Achan found Captain Demry's muscular build and dark eyes familiar. "I'm honored to pledge my Fighting Fifteen."
Who are excellent fighting men, Sir Caleb added, but have the tendency to drink themselves into hibernation. We met Captain Demry's little brother, Carmack, in Tsaftown, who used to be among the Fifteen. Apparently, he's been replaced.
Achan took in the strapping dark-haired man, recalled Carmack's grip on his throat, and was thankful the Demrys couldn't bloodvoice. What might Carmack have told his brother of Achan's blunder with Lady Tara?
"And this dagger." Meneya held out a black leather sheath with a carved ivory handle that resembled a leaping cham.
"My brother is a smith," Madam Demry said. "We thought this would fit you."
Achan gripped the handle and pulled the gleaming blade from the sheath. It was two hands long with a single raised rib that stretched along the double-edged blade to a sharp point.
His own knife, not on loan like Eagan's Elk. "Thank you."
The valet's voice sent the Demrys on their way. "Lady Merris, mother to Lord Livna."
And mother to Lord Gershom, the instigator of Lady Tara's unfortunate union.
The old woman cracked a wrinkled smile and curtsied. "I have several unwed granddaughters who would make suitable queens. I give you my blessing for any of them."
Can I tell her I'd chosen the one granddaughter she's forsaken?
Best to hold your tongue, Your Highness.
So Achan forced a smile. "I'm honored, Madam."
"Captain Freddel Wenk, his wife, Lady Wenk, his son Derby, and his daughters Julianna and Moriah." Captain Wenk offered his service, then hurried his daughters along as if he feared Achan might ruin them as Esek was known to do.
Achan received gifts of horses, food, ale, clothing, tents, and armor for his men.
"Master Webb Ricks and his son Matthias."
The man bowed. "I'm the local netmaker. My eldest son'll replace me someday. I've two other sons, five daughters, and little Matthias, here. He's a good boy, but took a bad frost to his hands. He can use 'em fine, just not for tying knots. I can barely feed my family, let alone pay for Matthias to apprentice in another trade. I'd like to give him to you, Your Highness."
Nine children. The dirty-faced tot was no more than seven. He had a thatch of blond hair over big brown eyes. Achan swallowed hard. "Y-You're giving me your son?"
Master Ricks plowed on, as if his very life hinged on Achan taking his son. "He's a bright lad, honest to a fault and quick. He'd make a good page or valet. Learns fast, he does."
Sir Caleb turned to Achan. What do you say, Your Majesty?
I cannot take this man's son. I'll not keep slaves.
He doesn't offer you a slave but an employee. He sacrifices his son to give the boy a bright future in the king's household.
Little Matthias blinked, his eyes wide and fearful.
You think we should take him with us?
Only if you'll be willing to let the lad learn to dress you.
Achan set his jaw. Perhaps he can become my advisor when I demote you to jester.
Perhaps. "Deliver the boy to Carmine within the month and we'll give him a position in His Majesty's household."
Master Ricks' eyes filled with tears. "Oh, thank you, Your Highness, thank you kindly!"
Achan watched the small boy walk away with Master Ricks as the valet announced, "Master Polk Mafellen."
A tanned man with cropped blond hair and round brown eyes knelt before Achan, reminding him of a baby chick. "I squired for the false prince 'til he fired me for winning a match with swords. I'm a strong swordsman, I can't help it, so you're getting a good man in me, Your Highness."
Achan could relate to Esek's cruelty, but Polk's pride ruffled him. "I thank you, Polk, and welcome your service."
Two familiar faces from IceIsland-Master Matar Bazmark and Master Brien Gebfly-pledged Achan their service.
Then Lord Livna's voice pulled his attention away. "The servants will take the personal gifts to your chambers, Your Highness. Let's have some dancing!"
Vrell watched from the end of the lowest table, with a critical eye, thankful this was formal, proper dancing, not that brazen groping Kurtz had forced her to witness in the tavern. Kurtz stood across the room, hovering over poor Julianna Wenk. He was supposed to be watching the entrance with Vrell, not sniffing around for a dance partner. He should take care. Julianna's father did not take kindly to men who spoke to his daughters without his permission.
Achan had danced with the highest ranking, married ladies first, who gave him opportunity to learn the steps before he had to dance with Grandmother Merris, a conniving old woman whom Vrell had never been fond of, despite their blood relationship. Now, the young women formed a line to bask in their moment of attention from the Crown Prince. Vrell recognized many of the commoners: Meneya, Julianna and Moriah, Christola, and Bettly.
But now Achan danced with Lady Lathia, Uncle Chantry's youngest girl of seventeen. Vrell trusted Cousin Lathia with Achan as much as she had trusted Beska, the serving wench.
Vrell forced her gaze away from Cousin Lathia to where her aunt and uncle danced. She had never been close to her uncle. Lord Livna was a man's man with little time for female relatives, Tara's unfortunate union a prime example. But Vrell adored Aunt Revada. She longed to confide the truth to her, and to ask about Tara's wedding, to get it from her aunt how such a thing had come to pass. Aunt Revada could not have given up Tara easily, Vrell knew that much.
She sighed. How strange to be in Lytton Hall and not be dancing, for there was little else to do in this place. She had visited countless times throughout her childhood, Tara and Lathia dragging her around by the arm to point out which new soldier they thought was most handsome.
Those days were gone to the Veil now.
*
For Achan, the dancing proved more difficult than in Berland. Everyone moved together in coordinated steps, exposing every slow and disoriented move Achan made. He walked about, pranced in circles, and at one point, had to grab the waist of his partner, lift her up, turn, and set her down on his other side.
He stumbled about with several forgiving ladies. Lady Revada. Lady Viola. Both safely married. Then came the unmarried girls, who showered him with flattery and smiles. He favored the shorter ones, for towering over them made him feel older, and the fact that he could lift them like feathers made him feel strong. Achan kept his eyes peeled for Sir Caleb, hoping he didn't accidentally cross the fine line between being cordial and giving false hope.
Finally the food came. Achan took his seat. The servants filed onto the dais holding jugs of drink and platters of rich-smelling food. Achan's stomach growled. He ate heartily, chatting with Lord Livna.
A young serving boy refilled Achan's plate when he ate all his fish and fricasses, then took his goblet away to refresh it.
Achan scanned the hall. He couldn't see Sparrow, but found the boy's mind easily. Are you certain you don't want that job? Clearing my dishes.
Quite.
Achan didn't want to admit how much it bothered him that Sparrow had deserted him. But it's mostly standing around.
Today. But tomorrow I might have to fight a battle to the death with daggers. I am sorry, Your Highness, but it is not for me.
Sir Eagan crouched behind Sir Caleb's chair. "It does not look good for the prince's servant to be sneaking gulps of wine when he is supposed to be filling his cup."
Achan looked over Sir Eagan's shoulder to see his serving boy crouched in the corner of the dais, gulping from his goblet.
Achan rolled his eyes. What in flames was the lad thinking? Achan would have been flogged for such a thing.
"Unbelievable!" Sir Caleb said. "Send him away, Eagan. I'll serve the prince myself."
"Patience, Caleb. I'll talk to him." Sir Eagan walked away.
Sir Caleb sighed. "Carmine, Your Majesty. I am certain we can find you a worthy page and squire in-"
Lady Revada cried out, "Oh! The boy! Help him!"
Lord Livna's wife gaped at a spot behind Achan with a panicked expression. He whipped his head around to see his serving boy lying on the floor, eyes glazed, Sir Eagan crouching at his side.
Achan dove from his chair and seized the boy's arm. "Boy! What's wrong?"
The boy's eyes flickered to Achan's.
Sir Eagan asked a white-haired serving man. "Was it the wine?"
Achan stared up at the servant, who nodded, clearly horrified at the implication in Achan's expression.
"I–I…only poured…th-this." He held out a large clay jug.
Sir Eagan snatched it and smelled the opening. Frowning, he sniffed again and set it on the floor. He shot the servant a dark look. "Don't touch that." He scrambled on his hands and knees along the dais, just above the steps, and grabbed the goblet that had rolled against the wall.
Achan lifted the boy's head into his lap. Sparrow! My serving boy has fallen. What can I do? He's not moving.
Has he a heartbeat?
Achan lowered his cheek to the boy's lips. He's breathing.
What did he eat? Sparrow asked.
He drank my wine. Help him.
The boy's body trembled, then shook violently. With the exception of the people staring on the dais, chatter filled the rest of the hall, the other guests oblivious to what was happening on the floor behind the head table.
Achan clutched the boy's shaking head. Sparrow!
At last, Sparrow slid between two guests and knelt at Achan's side. He set a hand to the boy's pallid face and leaned forward to look in his eyes.
Sir Eagan, now standing at Achan's side, handed him the goblet. "Look."
Achan accepted the cup. A soggy clump of olive green leaves clung to the bottom curve, leaking a froth of watery white slime, like wet sugar. Achan's breathing slowed. Poison?
Sir Eagan's voice drifted down, confirming Achan's fears. "A pellet containing poison. Someone must have put it in-"
"Cranberry verbarium!" A man shouted from afar.
"The pass code!" Lord Livna pulled out his chair. "An attack, my prince! You must escape."
Achan looked up, dazed, still clutching the cup. Escape?
Sir Eric fell to his knees and pushed back the edge of the gold carpet. He lifted a trapdoor, slid the wood cover onto the floor under Achan's chair, and jumped down into the hole.
He motioned Achan to follow. "You must hurry. Our guard has been compromised. This will lead you out."
Achan pushed the boy's rigid body toward Sir Eric, who pulled the boy down, feet first. Achan went next. Then Sparrow, Sir Gavin, Sir Caleb, Inko, and Sir Eagan.
The trapdoor closed, extinguishing all light but what filtered though the lattice wall of the dais. Achan crouched in the cavity under the platform, squeezing the goblet.
Someone had tried to kill him.
Chairs shifted above. Murmurs hummed beyond the lattice wall. A party oblivious to the attempted murder.
"Your Highness?" Sir Eric squatted in the back corner, his face shadowed. "The door out is here, come."
"But the boy." Achan knelt beside him, slapped his cheek lightly, whispered, "Boy, come back to us."
"Where's Kurtz?" Sir Gavin asked.
"He was sitting near the entrance with me," Sparrow said.
"He is still there," Sir Eagan said. "He tells me a squadron of New Kingsguard soldiers approaches the door."
Esek!
Achan dropped the cup and crawled before the holes in the lattice. He peered out into the great hall. Sir Eric knelt at Achan's side. Silence had fallen on the great hall. A pattering of distant boot steps on hard wood the only sound.
A crowd of men in black cloaks spilled onto the entry platform. A flash of red and a figure pushed to the front. Esek Nathak, wearing a red wool doublet, clumped down the steps and strode up the aisle, his black, knee-high boots seemingly filled with lead. Sir Kenton followed behind.
"Lord Livna. I have no time for niceties. Where are you keeping the stray?"
Footsteps clicked over the dais above, down the steps on the right, and Lord Livna passed before the lattice and met Esek halfway down the aisle.
Lord Livna blocked Achan's view of Esek and Sir Kenton. "You enter my home, uninvited, kill my guards, and interrupt a private gathering. Do not make demands of me."
Esek's voice sneered. "Am I king, old man? I answer to no one. Tell me what you have done with Achan Cham and his ancient knights, and I might let you live."
"You are king of nothing. Best take your pompous self out of here before you and your men end up in my dungeon."
A scrape of steel on wood, a flash of light, and a blade's point protruded from Lord Livna's back.
Women screamed. Men bolted to their feet. Guards along the wall drew their swords, only to have Esek's Kingsguards draw against them. No one struck. No one seemed to know what to do next.
Beside Achan, Sir Eric let out a small groan.
Esek jerked Owr free and Lord Livna slumped to the floor. Esek held the sword out to his side, the white steel blade streaked red. "Who is next in line to rule this shabby manor?"
A chair scraped back on the dais above. "My son, Sir Eric, is next in line," Lady Livna said in a commanding voice.
"And where is he?"
Sir Eric's arm trembled against Achan's, but Achan couldn't tear his eyes away from Owr's bloody blade. Esek still held it out to the side, a gruesome reminder of his power.
Lady Livna's answer brought Achan back to reality. "He is escorting our guests to Berland, Your Majesty."
Berland? She was attempting to throw Esek off his trail. Achan didn't deserve such devotion.
"Berland," Esek said. "Why there?"
Lady Livna's voice rang smooth and calm in spite of her husband's body, lying between her and Esek. "I do not know, but I overheard my husband and son talking of Lord Orson's invitation to host a celebration. It is my understanding that men intend to duel for rank in…Gidon Hadar's army."
Esek shifted his posture from one foot to the other, his face tinged pink. "There is no Gidon Hadar! The stray deceives you." He waved Owr's blood-streaked blade at the crowd. "Consider well what an alliance with such a man will get you." He kicked Lord Livna's body and spun around. "Chora!"
From the mob of Esek's guards on the entry platform, a voice called, "Let me pass. The king needs me."
Esek's men parted. Chora, Esek's valet, scurried down the steps, brown robes billowing. He swept beside Esek and took the bloody sword. As Chora wiped Owr clean with a handkerchief, Esek and Sir Kenton whispered to one another in the center of the great hall. Esek scanned the crowd. Did he think Achan would simply be cowering behind some woman?
Not that hiding under the dais was any braver. Achan wanted to go out and fight Esek, but he didn't dare make things worse for the Livna family. He would wait for Sir Eric's lead.
Esek strode from the room, Chora and Sir Kenton trailing behind. When he passed through the doorway, Sir Eric moved away from the lattice and croaked, "This way."
They crawled through a hole in the back wall. Achan paused to help Sparrow with the boy's body. Sir Eric pushed open a second door; a sliver of yellow light lit his face as he crawled out. Achan wriggled on his side, pulling the serving boy's body to the second door with Sparrow and Sir Eagan's help. Sir Eric reached through the door, grabbed the limp boy under the arms, and pulled him through.
Achan emerged from the bottom cupboard of a sideboard and onto a wool rug behind the desk in Lord Livna's study. He looked up to the shelves crammed with scrolls and books that filled two walls, the cold fireplace in the corner. He stood to see Sir Eric across the room, sliding a board into slats to bar the door. The boy lay on the floor in front of the desk, eyes open, lips parted. Achan closed his eyes and stepped back against the cold hearth so the desk obscured the still body.
The boy had saved his life. Died in his place.
The sideboard door slammed and Achan jumped. Sparrow climbed out, followed by Sir Eagan, Sir Gavin, Sir Caleb, and finally Inko.
"Any word from Kurtz?" Sir Gavin asked.
"He's says Esek and his men are mounting up in the bailey," Sir Eagan said. "He'll shadow, see where they go."
Achan caught sight of himself in a mirrorglass above the hearth. A closer look proved it wasn't a mirrorglass but a painting of a man in a gilded frame. The man, possibly in his thirties, had a walnut complexion, a square jaw, and stared back with sapphire eyes. Glossy, black, shoulder-length hair hung in neat ringlets beside his short black beard. A golden crown studded with rubies and emeralds sat on his head.
Achan recalled the IceIsland guard's mention of the painting in Lytton Hall. This was King Axel, Achan's father. He stood staring, unable to look away. An odd ache stabbed through the pressure already pushing on his stomach.
A hand on his shoulder sucked the pain and pressure away. He looked over to Sir Eagan's raised brows. "Every manor in Er'Rets was given such a painting after his coronation."
Little doubt as to why Sitna Manor had never displayed their painting where anyone could see it. "He looks older than I expected."
"Few kings are crowned as young as you. He was thirty-five at his coronation. Fifty-eight when you were born."
"So old?"
Sir Eagan smirked. "Even in IceIsland, I heard songs of King Axel's long-awaited son."
Achan tore himself away from his father's confident expression. He had not thought to connect the rhymes of bards to his own past. Perhaps Sir Caleb should teach him of his father's reign next.
Sir Eric slid down against the barred door. "We should stay until… Mother will come…" He put his head in his hands and his body shook with silent sobs.
Sir Eagan crouched beside the serving boy and sniffed. "Devil's porridge." He closed the boy's eyes and sat back on his haunches.
"What's that?" Achan asked.
"Hemlock." Sparrow looked over Sir Eagan's shoulder, tears pooling in his eyes. "It is very potent."
Achan squeezed his hands into fists and paced back a step, wishing he could draw Eagan's Elk and hack away at Lord Livna's desk. A glance at Sir Eric stilled him and he voiced his original question aloud. "How could this have happened? Whoever put the poison in likely got away."
"It couldn't have been the chief servant, Your Highness." Sir Eric's voice cracked but grew stronger. "Arne has been with my family for years. It doesn't make sense."
"The jug did not smell of hemlock," Sir Eagan said. "But there was a pellet in the prince's goblet. How much of your wine did you drink, Your Highness?"
Achan's jaw dropped. "Uh, I… Half a…not quite half. Then the food came."
"It had not dissolved enough to affect you, but by the time the boy took it to refill…" Sir Eagan heaved to his feet. "Someone dropped it in your goblet. Maybe during the gifts?"
"It should've been me," Achan said. "Someone was trying to kill me. The boy was a fool to drink from my cup."
"My guards did not permit just anyone into the great hall tonight," Sir Eric said. "Until…"
"But who could be vouching for all the servants?" Inko asked.
"My wife could, I expect. At least the servants who were stationed on the dais." Sir Eric frowned. "I'll question them all. Haddie too. She's our cook. My real concern is that this man might join your army. Continue to travel with you. Try again."
Achan lay awake that night overwhelmed by the evening's festivities. He wanted to help, to at least speak to Lady Livna-to offer his condolences. But the knights had locked him away in his chamber. If he were to be king, shouldn't he be able to make some decisions? Shouldn't he be able to tell the knights what to do? At least make suggestions?
Being cooped up in his chamber left him no viable task but to shadow the minds of the knights who weren't guarding the outside of his door. Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb met with Captain Demry to talk circles around the poisoning. Sir Eagan met with Sir Eric and Lady Livna, as he apparently spent much of his youth living here and was as grieved over Lord Livna's death as they were. Sparrow lay in bed, weeping over who knew what.
Achan had never considered how much people would sacrifice for their king. Treasures, merchandise, service, their own children.
All for a man locked in his chamber with no power whatsoever.
The next morning, the knights, Sir Eric, and Captain Demry came to Achan's chambers. Achan sat against the headboard on his bed, legs outstretched, ankles crossed. He wanted to take part in this discussion, to add something significant, but what would he say? He didn't know what they should do next.
Kurtz had returned from shadowing Esek's men and gave his report. "Esek and his soldiers-around ninety-exited the Tsaftown gates and rode for Berland."
"Roxburg, and as many men as I can spare, will join you on your journey," Sir Eric said. "I must stay to console my mother and rule Tsaftown until my brother returns from sea. Then I will join you."
Achan piped up before anyone else could. "We thank your mother for her diversion. How does she fare?"
"She is in seclusion. I will pass on your concern," Sir Eric said, as if he couldn't be bothered with any more emotion. "I know you plan to visit Carmine next, but it is unwise to set out until scouts check the way. Since you should not linger here, either, I suggest taking the hunting trail over the mountain to Mitspah. Send scouts on the dark and light roads to report what they see. By that time, if any of Esek's men block the road to Carmine, you could ask Duchess Amal to send aid."
"The pass will slow us down greatly," Sir Gavin said.
"Why not be sending scouts into Light now?" Inko asked. "If it's being safe, that direction is being quickest. The duchess could still be sending aid if we were to be needing it."
Sir Eric shook his head. "Lingering keeps your men open to attack. What's left of the IceIsland guard is searching for prisoners and traitors. The refugees are being housed all over the city. All are at risk until we can get you on your way."
People were in danger, hiding Achan's army in their homes. How many others had lost their lives for Achan's sake? Lord Livna. The serving boy. Achan's stomach lurched, queasy. He clenched his fists, willing away the soft emotions. They would do him no good.
Months ago Achan would have given anything to change his station. But king? He'd never dreamed of such a calling. It was too much. He missed his old life. Sleeping under the ale casks. Milking the goats. Chatting with Noam at the Corner. Sitting with Gren under the allown tree by the river.
Gren would know how to comfort him. But these men? Not one tear shed for that serving boy. Though he knew he shouldn't, Achan looked in on Gren.
— trying to put it through the strainer and into the jar, but it spilled. It took me hours to clean up. Gren stood looking at a table covered with jars of pickled apples. She reached behind her back and worked at the knot on her apron.
Smells good, though, Bran said.
Gren's heart raced. You're just being kind.
No, I love pickled apples, especially over lamb chops.
Gren fought the knot a second more, then stomped her foot. She turned her back to Bran, her skirt twirling around her legs. Help me untie this? My fingers are all prunes, and the knot is too tight. Bran's fingers tugged at the ties. I'm glad you came to visit.
Bran didn't answer right away. I'm glad you're liking the kitchens. It's safer in here, I think, with all the women. The apron loosened. Bran's hands fell away. There you are.
Thank you. She folded the apron and peered into the kitchen. Jespa, the cook, engrossed in trimming the pastry off the edges of a pie, paid them no mind.
Bran watched Gren with a crooked smile.
Her stomach zinged to her heart. What?
Nothing. He looked toward the stairwell. I should go. I need to get back to my post.
Gren blinked repeatedly, not wanting to cry. This had been the first time Master Rennan had come to visit in days. What could she do to make him stay longer? She brushed her finger against the side of his hand. He snagged her hand in his and released it just as quickly, but at least his eyes were locked with hers again. She inched closer, gazing into his brown eyes, willing him to care. He leaned forward, ever so slowly.
Achan jumped through Gren into Bran's mind and found himself aching to kiss Gren. No, he said to Bran, alarmed at the course this friendship had taken. Don't you dare.
Bran's chest swelled with a deep breath and he stepped back. I'll try and come again tomorrow. Farewell. He took two steps back, then darted up the servants' stairs.
Achan concentrated on Gren and returned to her head.
Farewell, she mumbled, sticking out her bottom lip. Surely Master Rennan cared more than he let on. She went back to her jars of pickled apples, started adding lids, but by the time she got to the third jar, she was crying.
Achan withdrew, but kept his eyes closed, struggling over what he'd seen. Clearly, Gren and Bran fancied each other. A pang of loneliness dug into his gut like a chisel. Any hope he harbored at reconciling with Gren was hopeless now. He pictured himself sitting on a throne, haggard, staring at his wife, a woman who despised him, who'd never wanted to marry him. Their children hid behind her skirt, afraid of the man Mother despised.
He coughed, choking on the rush of saliva in his throat. Darkness had a way of attacking whenever he pitied himself. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He had lost Gren long ago. No need to relive it.
Still, he worried. Bran shouldn't spend time with Gren when he was betrothed to another. Sir Caleb had spoken true. Gren's heart had attached to Bran because Bran hadn't guarded his actions toward her. It wasn't fair to either lady.
Achan hoped they got to Carmine soon. He'd like to have a word with Bran Rennan.
Betrayal fresh on his mind, an idea seized him. If a traitor existed amongst his newly formed army, he needed to find the man before anyone else lost their life. He could do this for himself, for his men, and for all Er'Rets. And he wouldn't stop until he succeeded.
Yet another myth come reality, Achan sat atop a massive white festrier, looking over the tops of every head around him. His new army-over three hundred, Sir Caleb had said-gathered in the courtyard outside Lytton Hall, preparing to depart.
The icy air smelled of pitch and dung. Lamp stands threw light and shadows over the mob of men and horses. The din of voices kept Achan on edge. Three hundred had not sounded like a large army, but now that he saw them he felt small perched above this crowd.
Scout, loaded down with gear, had been tethered behind Achan's new warhorse, Dove, a gift from Sir Eric. Whether or not Scout was bothered by his demotion to pack horse, guilt kept Achan talking to the animal. It would have been rude to say no, Scout. I can't imagine riding this beast all the time. You and I will still ride.
Dove heaved a sigh beneath Achan, as if he perceived the kinship between Achan and Scout and was exasperated by it. The movement rocked Achan in the saddle. He gripped the saddlehorn with his gloved hand and tried not to think about how it would feel if the animal took off running. The width of the beast's back stretched Achan's legs wider than he was used to. He felt like a child, boots dangling a league above the snowy ground. He hoped he'd be able to control the beast.
"Don't let his size fool you." Sir Eric patted Dove's neck. "He's as gentle as his name. A gift from Lord Dromos after Father took him on a fishing expedition."
Sir Eric's generosity and endurance amazed Achan. Sorrow sagged the man's expression and posture, bled into Achan's senses, yet Sir Eric plunged ahead with wisdom and energy. "Are you certain you can spare so many men? What if Esek should return?"
"Only sixty-five of my soldiers have joined you. The rest of these men are from IceIsland, be they former Kingsguards, former prison guards, or former prisoners. Does that concern you?"
"Not at all." Except that one of them was probably a traitor. Achan studied the motley recruits.
Captain Demry's men wore fur capes over gold and black armor and carried round shields emblazoned with dagfish, like the one Achan had used in the tournament last spring. The other men wore fur capes over peasant clothes. No one would suspect Brien Gebfly-the thief who'd used Achan's knife to spring the lock in the Pit-had been a prisoner. Even his scraggly beard blended in well.
"Thank you for dressing the men, I suspect that was you?"
Sir Eric nodded. "Most pardons come with clothing. You know, to the men who've accepted your offer, you've given them more than freedom. You've given them a purpose to live for. That makes a man stand tall. They respect you already. I see why Arman chose you to lead Er'Rets."
Achan flushed at the compliment. He'd come for the Kingsguard prisoners to form his army, but he hadn't freed the other prisoners with any forethought. It had all happened so quickly. And the prisoners could just as easily have killed him for his boots and knife than decide to sign on.
Polk stopped beside Dove and glanced up with his round, brown eyes. "I'm a good horseman, Your Highness. Should you need help caring for that animal, my father was a breeder."
The words were kind enough, but Achan sensed dishonesty in Polk, as if he were making the whole thing up to impress him. "Thank you, Polk. I shall keep that in mind."
The cavalry set off south toward Mitspah by way of Sir Eric's suggested hunting trail, though the men hadn't been told their destination in case a bloodvoice traitor was among them.
Achan blinked to keep his eyelashes from freezing, though he may as well keep his eyes closed for all he could see, despite the half dozen torches spaced along the line. Sir Gavin led the procession with Sir Eagan and Captain Demry. Each horse was tethered to the one before it. Achan, Dove, and Scout were in the middle of the procession with Sir Caleb and Kurtz before him and Inko and Sparrow on their mounts behind him.
The wind howled and pressed against Achan's back, reaching through his furs and skin to shake his bones. He knew not how long they journeyed before the procession stopped and dozens more torches flamed to life.
The soldiers cleared away a spot in the snow and erected Achan's tent first, a brown, double-pole pavilion made from yaks' wool. Achan tried to help, but the men wouldn't allow it.
Achan presented his concerns to Sir Caleb in his mind, where no one would overhear. I'm very capable of helping. I don't want to be treated like Esek.
But you're not simply one of the men, either, Your Highness. You're their future king, crowned or not. They want to serve you. They need to. It's their way of serving Arman.
I'm not a god.
No, but you're his emissary, his flesh on earth, so to speak. When you show the men approval, they'll soar, and when you scold them, they'll feel Arman's judgment. This is why you cannot act like a mere man. You must hold yourself to a higher standard. You must sacrifice your own wants and comforts to fill this role.
And since my comfort is to work, I must sacrifice that by sitting on my backside?
Exactly. And if you praise your men for their efforts they'll never tire of serving you.
Achan sighed and rubbed his gloved fingers against his temple. There must be something I can do?
Practice your reading and writing?
Achan groaned. In Tsaftown, Sir Caleb had given him ink, parchment, and a copy of a history text with the intent of furthering Achan's reading skills and teaching him to write.
Achan removed the saddlebag from Dove and carried it into his tent, thanking the men who'd erected it as he entered. Unfortunately, Polk had been one of them.
"I've set up tents before, Your Highness, all by myself. None were more complex that the fake prince's pavilion."
Achan forced a smile and entered his tent. The air inside smelled like a wet dog. A small campfire burned in an iron brazier directly under a hole in the center of the roof between the two peaks, filling the center room with light. Above his head, spokes fanned out from each pole like two, oversized wagon wheels on their sides. On the right, two brown, linen curtains hung from spokes, sectioning off a private room.
Sir Caleb followed him in. "Not a bad home, is it? This end room is for you. Us knights will sleep out here. Go in and relax. Kurtz and Bazmark are standing guard outside your walls, so you needn't fear anyone slipping under the edge."
Achan ducked between the curtains. Straw mats had been layered over a bed of frozen moss and twigs, Achan's bedroll arranged on top. An oil lamp atop a chunk of firewood at the foot of his bed cast dancing light over the walls and spokes.
Achan pulled off his gloves and sat on his bed. He removed the parchment and quill from his saddlebag. Even with the slight warmth from the fire, his fingers were too cold to pinch the quill. The ink was probably frozen too. He set the writing tools aside and leafed through the book.
The letters jumbled together. His mind drifted. One of his men had betrayed him. Could there be others? Working together? Or perhaps each with their own agenda? Maybe Achan could use bloodvoicing to monitor each man's thoughts and discover who'd tried to poison him.
But what about gifted men? They would guess their destination soon enough and could communicate the information to Esek-or someone else. Hadad, maybe? The person-was it a demon? a shadow mage? — who had visited him in the pit in Barth, what was his agenda? He had wanted Achan to join him, but to what end? Would Achan's death get Hadad the same goal, whatever that might be?
Supposedly, Achan was stronger than any other bloodvoicer, yet he didn't yet know how to push past a man's shields and enter his mind. What, then, was the best way to discover who could bloodvoice without having to probe every mind in camp?
Achan reached out to Sir Gavin. Is there a way I can tell which of our men can bloodvoice without having to look into each mind?
Sir Gavin took a moment to reply. It's difficult. We talked about a novice giving off a chill. A skilled bloodvoicer can focus in on that cold, but it takes practice, and you'd be leaving your body, which I'd rather you not try until we've had a chance to teach you more. Sir Eagan would be the best man for the task. I never did much reconnaissance.
Achan's first instinct was to beg Sir Gavin to help him anyway, wanting assistance from someone he knew well, but speaking with Sir Eagan would help him get to know the man. Sir Eagan, could you come to my tent when you have a moment? Please?
Achan scratched the back of his neck. The fleas were still with him. The stinky wool tent wouldn't help matters, apparently, neither would the cold.
A gust of icy air rustled the pages of the book. "Yes, Your Majesty?" Sir Eagan stood between the curtains.
Achan stopped scratching. "Come in and sit down."
Sir Eagan stepped out of view and returned with a tied bedroll. He dropped it beside the curtain and used it as a chair. His blue eyes pierced Achan's shield of comfort.
"Sir Gavin tells me you're the man to ask for help," Achan said. "I'd like to determine which of the new men possess the ability to bloodvoice. Sir Gavin says you can teach me how to leave my mind and focus in on those with the gift."
"You are wise to want to know who has the ability, but what you ask is a difficult task."
"Can you teach me?"
Sir Eagan pressed his lips together. "I can, but there is an easier way. A combination of logic and bookkeeping."
"Not a new bloodvoicing method?"
"Nothing so complicated, no, Your Highness. Simply look into every mind to see if you can. A gifted man would likely be trained to keep his mind closed. If you cannot see into a mind, you know that one is gifted."
"There's never a case where an ungifted man may be able to guard his mind?"
Sir Eagan shook his head. "It is impossible. You could keep a list of the men and note your discoveries by each name. Then you will learn who is gifted and who is not."
Achan knew all this already. "There are over three hundred. Is there a faster way? I am trying to find the traitor."
Sir Eagan frowned. "You believe he can bloodvoice?"
Achan took a deep, chilled, breath. "Esek did not look or sound as if he expected me dead, and his timing cannot be ignored. So there might be more than one traitor. Perhaps one man who seeks the reward for my death, operating apart from Esek, and another with the ability to bloodvoice Sir Kenton and keep Esek informed of our plans. I wish to determine who is capable of bloodvoicing so that I can monitor their thoughts."
"Sound deductions, Your Highness. The simplest way might be to ask the gifted men to come forward. Their good faith should set them apart from those who do not confess the gift. But the ability to bloodvoice is not enough to prove a man guilty. A traitor may have had other means of communicating with Esek. You need evidence and reason before accusing any man, for your accused could claim to have been daydreaming.
"I suggest you share your discoveries with Gavin or Caleb or myself so that we can verify your findings. Should you go pointing the finger without proof, you will quickly become an object of ridicule. That would be tragic."
Achan's shoulders slumped. Consumed by anger and fear-and his quest to be useful-he might have done just that. His stomach knotted. He didn't know how to be king. He'd be a laughingstock within a month.
A sudden calm wrapped him like a cloak cast upon him from above. He gasped at the contrast to how he'd just been feeling.
Sir Eagan smiled knowingly. "A little trick I learned, Your Highness. I hope you do not mind. I have always been sensitive to the emotions of those around me. Imagine walking by a hungry man and not offering him food. I feel cruel if I do not help."
"You calmed me? With your bloodvoice? Can you teach me?"
"I shall think on it. I am not entirely certain how I do it."
"Thank you, Sir Eagan." Achan reached for the ink, determined to start right away on part one of his plan: a roster of all his men. He'd have to get his ink thawed.
"My pleasure, Your Majesty." Sir Eagan stood and picked up his bedroll. "And I shall teach you how to leave your body once we are back in Light. It is much safer there."
Another thought drifted into Achan's mind. "Sir Eagan? Do you think it would be good if…" His face warmed. "I think I'd like to make some…appointments?"
Sir Eagan's lips curved in a small smile. "Yes, Your Majesty. But you might wait a few more days and get to know the men better. Time may inspire several assignments that have not yet occurred to you."
"Of course. You're very wise, Sir Eagan."
"Only because I have made many mistakes."
Achan's stomach clenched again. "I don't want to make mistakes."
"No man sets out to make mistakes. It is when he listens to his desires over what is true and right that he fails. Humility is a most difficult trait to develop. I am pleased to see you have a great deal of it already. For you shall be tempted more than any other."
Sir Eagan sighed, glanced at his hands. "Your Majesty, I am not a bold man, nor am I good with sentiments, but…" He lowered himself to his knees, his blue eyes intense. "I swear to you…" He paused to breathe, his eyes glistening. "As I served your father, I shall serve you with equal devotion.
"I swore over his dead body that I would avenge him. Kenton might have put me away for thirteen years, but he did not kill me. And only death could keep me from my vow. It is my life's purpose to serve you, to teach you all your father would have taught you. For there is no one to blame for his death but me." He squeezed his eyes shut. A tear leaked down his cheek. He forced himself to look at Achan again. "I alone am responsible. I was his Shield. I failed him. And you. I shall not fail again."
Sir Eagan helped compile Achan's roster by patrolling the camp. There were three hundred fifty-one men in their group. Sixty-five with Captain Demry, fifty-two ex-guards from IceIsland, two hundred eleven escaped Old Kingsguards, and only eighteen from the Prodotez. Sir Eagan indicated with small dots which men had confessed bloodvoice ability. There were eight on the list, not including Sir Gavin, Sir Caleb, Inko, Sparrow, and Achan. Fifteen confessed bloodvoicers in all.
That night, Achan scratched off another list of names. Sir Eagan had inspired him to practice wisdom before action. Achan dipped the quill into the ink-which had thawed at the edge of the fire-and set it to the parchment. He intended to add every possible suspect, including those he knew couldn't possibly be against him. Sir Eric Livna, for example. He also wrote down Lady Viola, Lady Revada, and Lady Merris.
Verdot Amal also concerned Achan, even though Sir Caleb had forgiven him. Someone had alerted Esek that they'd been heading to the prison. Merrygog McLennan could have had a man track them. Any of the missing prisoners from the Prodotez could have followed them as well. Achan racked his brain to remember as many as possible. This only frustrated him. It was impossible for this list to be thorough.
He couldn't stand to think that one of his companions might be deceiving him, but he'd lived long enough to know that even close friends sometimes had secrets they were unwilling to share.
Like Sparrow.
The boy's secret festered in light of recent events. Achan shook Sparrow from his thoughts and concentrated on his list.
It took time, but eventually he felt satisfied with it. The next task proved harder. Shadowing these men was the only way he might discover the traitor. He informed Sir Eagan of his plans-so he could check on Achan and make sure no one stabbed his body while his mind was elsewhere-then began the tedious quest of watching through the eyes of each name on his list, starting with Verdot Amal.
Vrell shivered. Her tent was so small and drafty. She had gotten used to the extra warmth her fake belly provided. She held it in her lap and reached inside to remove another handful of moldy wool. The pile at her feet filed her tent with a musty smell, reminding her of hemlock, which reminded her of the serving boy, which reminded her of her uncle.
Tears filled her eyes. She hadn't known Lord Livna well, but he had always been kind to her. She could still see his bulging eyes after Esek had-Stop. Mother had counseled Vrell on the long day's ride, made her promise not to relive the horrible scene.
Darkness was preying on her mind again. She focused on something more pleasant. Achan had changed since Tsaftown. Maybe it had been the trumpets, or the gifts, or the death of the serving boy and her uncle. But he walked around taller, brow furrowed, finally taking his birthright seriously.
She recalled Achan's expression when Sir Caleb said she would not serve as his squire. She had not meant to hurt his feelings. She shivered at the timing of her choice. Any other day it would have been Vrell standing behind Achan, fetching his wine. What if she had somehow tasted his wine?
She spilled out a fresh batch of tears over the circumstances as she finished empting her fake belly of the old, moldy wool. She grabbed a handful of the fresh fleece Sir Gavin had bought her in Tsaftown. She prayed it would make a difference in the smell.
Thankfully she would be home soon. Very soon.
Achan had been so preoccupied with his new army he had not seemed to notice that Vrell was missing from his tent. It was for the best. The busier he was, the easier she could sneak away in Carmine, unnoticed. The day might come when Achan would ask Sir Gavin, "Whatever became of Vrell Sparrow?" And Sir Gavin would say, "The lad wasn't cut out for war. Left us in Carmine to seek out an occupation as healer."
And that would be the end of it.
She was glad, really. It was Arman's will. Yet her heart ached, and her mind dwelled on mythical situations. A ball in Armonguard. Would Achan recognize her if she attended? Would he kiss her hand?
She shook the petty daydream aside. She would never have to attend a ball in Armonguard. She would be a married woman. Right?
Why pretend? Bran clearly no longer cared for her in such a way, and if she were honest, the same was true for her. Had time changed matters? Or had they simply fooled themselves into believing they were meant to be?
Maybe Tara was right. Maybe love really did not exist. Maybe it was purely a decision a person made, a business arrangement, a matter of who was available or had the largest inheritance? Vrell's heart told her otherwise, but as Sir Caleb said, "The heart is deceitful above all things."
Vrell certainly did not trust hers.
Achan lurched awake, parchment clutched in hand. He'd been looking in on Merrygog McLennan, hoping the old man would implicate himself, but apparently, the man had fallen asleep and taken Achan with him. A faint orange light glowed through the brown linen curtain separating Achan's bed from the knights. All must be sleeping here, too.
Achan found shadowing harder work than he'd imagined. After hours, Sir Eric and Lady Viola were the only names he'd crossed from his list. He had shadowed the minds of Lady Livna, Lady Merris, Arne, and Verdot Amal and discovered nothing, which meant he would have to continue shadowing their minds until he proved them innocent. Or guilty.
This could take a long time.
He yawned and took one last look at the list, with the intention of blowing out his lamp right after. He tapped his finger on the name that continued to haunt him.
Vrell Sparrow.
Achan had taken Sir Gavin at his word for weeks, accepting Sir Gavin's explanation despite his curiosity.
Until now.
A tiny voice inside disagreed. He should continue to trust Sir Gavin. But as the future king he had a job to do, however unpleasant, and would not be mocked behind his back because he'd been too naive to verify every possibility.
Sparrow's name was on the list. To complete his inquiry, he had to check at some point. His new resolve to do this job well demanded it. Kindness was his only objection, and he couldn't afford to give away kindness anymore. Not when the serving boy's life could have been spared. Not when more lives were at stake until the traitor was found.
Come to think of it, Sparrow had abandoned his post as Achan's squire just before that banquet.
Achan sat up on his bedroll and put his face in his hands.
He pictured Sparrow's chubby face, sensed the shield around his mind, and pushed. As usual, Sparrow's mind was shrouded in armor he couldn't penetrate. Yet if he were the strongest bloodvoicer, there should be a way. He just needed to figure out how.
The snowy hunting trail wound through the mountains, slowed the horses, and deepened Achan's frustration. He could walk faster than this. He hadn't realized they crossed the AstrapeRiver until Inko and Kurtz stopped to count the group and make sure no one had fallen through the ice. Their second night out from Tsaftown, they camped along the bank of the River Betsar, though Achan could hear or see no sign of a river, even when a bonfire was lit.
It should have been a three-day journey to Mitspah, but on day four, they still hadn't arrived, though there was less snow and the River Betsar was now flowing freely within its icy banks. That night they ate fresh fish.
Sir Caleb kept Achan's mind busy with a discussion of Mitspah. It's is a mining town. They bring in much income from wealthy travelers who come to see PazFalls and TempleArman.
Temple Arman? I thought Arman's temple was his followers.
True, but two temples to Arman exist in Er'Rets. One is in Armonguard, the other in Mitspah.
How interesting to see how this temple differed from Cetheria's temple in Sitna and Avenis' temple in Mirrorstone.
Achan peered up the line, then realized, despite the few torches men carried, he could see his surroundings. His heart quickened. He blinked at the sky. Though he could see no moon or stars, something lit the woods as if he were standing outside at night under a full moon.
He called up to Sir Gavin at the front of the line. I can see.
Aye, we're entering the Evenwall near Mitspah, though the trail will take us to the valley first. Then we'll come back up along the king's road.
Why must we go around?
'Tis far too dangerous to ford the river here. It's very rocky near the top of the falls. Therefore we'll continue down to the valley and cross there.
How much longer?
Two more days, I expect.
Achan groaned. Why, when they were so close, did their final destination seem so far?
As they descended the mountain trail, shapes in the landscape appeared like shadows at dusk. Achan fidgeted at the idea of sunlight. Leafy trees took shadowed form around him. His furs glistened as the mist of the Evenwall clung to the fibers. The men began to talk about the coming day until a restless energy took hold of the entire group.
Well, Sparrow, we entered Darkness and lived to tell the tale.
No answer came. Achan suddenly realized he hadn't spoken to the boy since the day Lord Livna had died. Too many days ago to count. Maybe Sparrow was upset. He tried again. Or maybe we haven't all lived. Are you still breathing, Sparrow?
I am. Do you need my assistance, Your Majesty?
Achan stiffened at Sparrow's lofty tone. Thank you, no. Not wanting to deal with the boy's attitude, Achan pushed him out.
The light grew brighter, the air clearer, then, as if a fog had lifted, Dove carried Achan beyond the chill of the Evenwall and into a warm breeze. His breath snagged at the view. They'd left the forest and were descending a trail that wound its way down the lush countryside.
A green valley spread to where it met the sky on the horizon, a bright, cloudless blue. Tufts of trees and the occasional cottage dotted the peaceful landscape. The dirt road under the horses' hooves was the color of Poril's ginger cake. The grasses alongside were as tall as Dove's knees and seasoned with yellow, lavender, and white blossoms. A mix of sweet and acrid fragrances filled the air.
His army had gone silent, wonder spread across each face. Ages had likely passed since many had seen such beauty.
The blessed sun beat down as they descended the mountains. Achan shrugged off his cloak and doublet. The warm breeze snaked up one sleeve to his armpit and he sighed at the comfort of creation.
When the river came into view again, the men broke the single-file formation, galloping their mounts to the water. Some dismounted and ran for the shallows, stripping off their clothing as they went. Others jumped in fully dressed. Achan grinned. The men had lost their senses. He could hardly blame them.
When Achan reached the river, he slid off Dove's back, stripped off his tunic, and knelt at the water's edge. The wide and shallow river had little current near the bank. The men laughed and splashed one another. Their horses drank.
Achan's reflection rippled in the water below him. Scruffy. How long had it been since the day he'd tried to shave?
He thrust his hands though his reflection until his palms lay flat on the sandy riverbed. He lowered his face to the water, as if to kiss it, then eased beneath the surface, nose first, then chin, cheeks, and ears. He pulled back and slurped the cool, refreshing water.
"It is never wise to duck your head under completely, Your Majesty," Sir Eagan said from behind him. "If I had wanted to kill you, it would have been all too easy."
Achan sat back on his haunches and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Sir Eagan seemed taller in the sun. He pointed along the riverbank. "Regard your men. Many have overindulged in-"
"Can you blame them?"
Sir Eagan's round cheeks balled up in a way that made Achan feel as though he had lived this moment before. "Hardly, but if you study their behavior, you can learn who might make the best soldiers. Take Bazmark, for instance. He scoops the water into his hand, keeping his head up so he can see not only who is before him, but any reflection that might come up behind him. He was a Kingsguard soldier, you know."
"I didn't." But he could bloodvoice, so it made sense, since gifted men were recruited. "He said he'd gone to prison for looking too long at the queen."
"Your mother was a beautiful woman. No man could avoid at least glancing at her when she passed, and your father would never imprison a man for that. Bazmark took it too far. Became obsessed."
"Did he shadow her?"
"With his mind. I am sure Sir Gavin has explained how inappropriate it is to use your gift to observe people's private moments." Sir Eagan raised a dark eyebrow.
"I see." Achan glanced back at Bazmark, frowning.
"Do not judge him for his past, for you have pardoned him. But do not forget his weakness, for once a man falls, it is often easy for him to fall again."
"You were saying I should study the men? You think it's time I make appointments?"
"Not yet, Your Majesty. Things will likely play out like this: Each lord who is loyal to you, if he has not already, will appoint his own captain to lead his soldiers. Those captains will take their orders from whomever you put over the army. Those from Tsaftown will follow Roxburg Demry until Sir Eric arrives. You might recommend that Roxburg promote Bazmark to a sergeant or lieutenant. Think about it."
"Okay."
"For now, Your Majesty, if you would like to swim, I shall see your back is covered."
"Thanks." Achan tugged off his boots and waded into the cool water. He couldn't remember the last time he swam for pleasure. The shallows were not deep enough to tread, so he floated on his back, staring at the bright blue sky. So beautiful.
Thank you, Arman.
Vrell steered her mount along behind Inko's, but her gaze wandered the landscape, each new sight stealing her breath. They were back in Light, home nearer than ever. And she had stopped twice to cut plants to replenish her kit. Once for clover and once for wild ginger.
She watched Achan from a distance, admiring how he had changed and how he had remained the same over the journey through Darkness. He looked no different than when she first met him. Tall and strong. But his confidence had grown some, though she bet he still doubted his ability to lead these men. Vrell could only imagine how he must feel. As if anyone should tell the Great Whitewolf what to do. But still, how exciting! Er'Rets would have a king. Arman's chosen.
Behind her, some men laughed. She tensed. Could they be laughing at her? Now that Darkness no longer aided her disguise, she felt awkward and exposed. She kept telling herself she had been fine before. Neither Lord Orthrop, Macoun, Carlani, Khai, or even Lord Levy had recognized her. But she could not help her apprehension. For one woman to travel with three hundred men…beyond inappropriate. Scandalous!
And that there might be a betrayer among them. The thought chilled her arms. If Esek had sent the spy, he would be looking for her as well as Achan. She should flee for Carmine now. At top speed, it would take a day and a half. She would only have to camp once. No reason to think she would not make it. She missed Mother so.
She would be vulnerable, though. If anyone untrustworthy happened upon her, she could not defend herself. She needed the protection of these men. It would not be much longer. Another week, perhaps? There was no reason for Achan and the army to linger in Mitspah. Maybe only be two or three days. She smiled. She could be home before the week's end.
And when they stopped tonight, she would pick some rue and make a juice for Achan to help with his fleas.
Achan and the soldiers followed the road until it split: north to Mitspah, south to Carmine. They headed north and soon passed one stone cottage after another, each with its own farm. Children ran alongside the horses waving and laughing, though their parents kept their distance. Some called their children back, casting suspicious glances at the soldiers.
The procession passed the last stretch of flatlands and started up a steep trail surrounded by thick trees and ferns. The trees and trail created a gap in the distance where a snowcapped mountain loomed, half-covered by Evenwall mist. Achan's stomach roiled at the sight. Hopefully Mitspah was far enough east that they would not have to enter Darkness again.
"I hear the falls," a soldier said.
Sure enough, the sound of water gushing over rock met Achan's ears. Each corner they rounded, Achan expected to see the falls-they sounded so close-yet the army zigzagged up the trail and didn't seem to get any closer.
The trail straightened but rose so steeply they dismounted and pulled their horses along. Achan led Dove over the crest of the hill and stopped. The road continued rolling over smaller hills, but he could see the Mitspah stronghold clearly.
"Nice, isn't it?" a breathless man said. "My great, great grandfather on my mother's side helped build it."
Achan swung around to see Polk gripping the reins of his horse, so drowned in sweat he looked like a wet animal.
Achan quickly led Dove down the hill a few paces, then remounted. Dove followed the other horses, and Achan was able to take in the magnificent stronghold.
Looming over a grassy bailey, the castle keep was built into a mountain cliff, the PazFalls spilling over the turrets, down the sides, and pooling into a moat as if the stronghold were a fountain. The cliff morphed with multicolored stone masonry. Moss and ivy clung to every surface.
Two large turrets of different heights stretched up on the left and right of the castle. There were two watchtowers, as well, at the center front and back. The front, a squat, circular inner gatehouse sat over the moat. The back, and highest point of Mitspah stronghold, protruded out of the mountain. It had a carved stone roof that curled so the river spilled off both sides into two waterfalls, each spilling to one of the turrets. The turret stone roofs had been carved in spirals that sent the water circling down until it spilled off the outside of each turret to the moat in a fantastic cascade.
The water collected at the base of the castle keep, forming a moat that was a tranquil pool on the left side of the castle. The current sailed from that pool, under the inner gatehouse's drawbridge, and along the left side of the keep until it passed through an iron grate in the stone curtain wall.
The wall stood three levels high topped with another three levels of spiked black iron fence. It arched out from the cliff in a wide half circle, encasing the vast, grassy bailey.
Soaked orange and silver checkered banners sagged from the top of each tower. Achan smiled at the cham bears emblazoned on each standard. He'd never seen a real one, and now with a war brewing, and his planning to journey south, he wondered if he ever would.
Far ahead, at the front of the line, Sir Gavin led the men under the portcullis and into the outer bailey, like a long line of garland. Would Mitspah have room for them all?
Once inside the bailey, Sir Caleb reined his horse around. "Your Highness, you and Vrell meet Sir Gavin at the inner gatehouse. Inko and Kurtz, come with me."
Sir Caleb rode off where the soldiers were milling in a group. "We will camp in the bailey," he yelled. "Pitch your tents along the curtain wall on the right. Their stables aren't large enough for all our horses, so tether your animals along the moat. Some guards are coming to set up a makeshift pen."
All around, men dismounted and unsaddle their horses. The clinking of iron chain turned Achan's head back to the inner gatehouse. The portcullis was rising.
Achan nudged Dove across the grassy bailey to the inner gatehouse where Sir Gavin and Sir Eagan had stopped their horses on the drawbridge.
Sir Gavin waved his hand overhead. "Achan, Vrell, you'll accompany us inside."
The quaint inner courtyard had more flowers than the temple gardens in Sitna. Ivy and moss wrapped around stone arches that led who knew where. Water seemed to drizzle over every inch of the castle walls, and mist filled the air-not foggy, like the Evenwall, but wet, like a spray of rain. The keep stood at the end of the courtyard. The entrance, two large board and batten doors, looked unnatural against all the nature.
"Little Cham!" a low voice called out from behind Achan.
Shung Noatak ducked under an archway in the courtyard.
Achan dismounted, smiling broadly. "Hello, Shung! When did you arrive?"
Shung tackled Achan in a bear hug. "Three days past."
Achan patted Shung's back. The Charmice tails on Shung's jerkin tickled his hand. "How was Koyukuk's wedding?"
"Fine celebration. You honor him to ask."
Sir Gavin dismounted. "Delighted to see you, Shung."
"You need Shung's sword?"
Sir Gavin chuckled. "That we do, Shung. That we do."
A man in a long brown cape stepped through the double doors. He had stringy brown hair, a close-cropped beard, broad shoulders, and the gate of a soldier. His robe puffed as he descended the steps, and Achan glimpsed a sword at his side. Achan rested his hand on the grip of Eagan's Elk.
Two men in orange tunics scurried behind the man in brown. One looked to be in his forties, the other, just a boy.
Strays.
The man in brown stopped by Sir Gavin's horse. "I'm Atul, Lord Yarden's steward. Our men'll put up yer horses 'n' bring yer things inside. Lord Yarden awaits yeh there."
Sir Gavin walked up to Atul. "Where is Winze?"
"Winze fell ill two weeks back. Lord Yarden granted him a leave 'n' the country 'til he recovers."
The stray man approached Dove and unhooked the saddlebag. When he got it free, he set it on the grass, then stepped toward Sir Eagan's horse.
The stray boy-about Sparrow's age, rail thin with choppy brown hair and freckled cheeks-patted Dove's nose.
"This one looks just like Dove, don't he?" The boy twisted around to the elder stray, but the man kept his head down and lugged Sir Eagan's saddlebag over to Sir Gavin's.
"Cole!" Atul slapped the boy's ear. "Shut yer yap and do yer job!"
Cole cowered and lifted both arms in front of his face.
Achan lunged between Atul and Cole. "It's all right." He gripped the back of Cole's neck and drew him into a one-armed hug, all the while staring Atul down. "This is Dove. A gift from Sir Eric Livna."
Atul's thick eyebrows scrunched into one bushy stripe over his eyes. "Sir Eric give away his father's horse? Why'd he do that? Somethin' happen?"
Achan swallowed and searched for Sir Gavin.
The knight was halfway to the door of the stronghold. "Come along, Your Majesty. We'll convey our message and intent to Lord Yarden."
"O' course yeh will." Atul sidestepped Achan, then hurried ahead and opened the door before Sir Gavin reached it.
Achan inspected Cole's ear and found it red and swollen. "Are you all right?"
"Cole!" The older stray had taken the reins to Sir Gavin and Eagan's mounts and was leading them across the courtyard. "See to the other horses."
"Yes, sir." Cole stepped away from Achan.
"Your Highness?" Sir Eagan stood in the open doorway at the top of the steps.
Achan needed to go inside. Lord Yarden would be waiting, though he hated to leave Cole. Long before Achan had known his true identity, he had considered fleeing to Mitspah to escape his own cruel fate. Had he come here, he and Cole might have been subject to the same masters.
Achan reluctantly headed for the entrance to the Mitspah stronghold. A shadow flanked his on the grass and he turned to see Shung one step behind him. Achan smiled and fell into step beside his new Shield.
They passed into a narrow hallway with a low ceiling he could easily touch without fully extending his arm. The castle smelled strongly of mildew and dogs. Atul led them over a wet stone floor covered in soggy rushes to the end of the hall and up a spiral stairwell that Achan guessed to be the rear tower.
On the second floor, they walked down a hall and passed a half dozen open doors to a great hall on the right. At the end of the hall, Atul opened a door on the left and they entered a warm receiving room, blanketed in damp tapestries.
A thin man with a face like a possum slouched on a throne-like chair opposite the door. He had fine grey hair, a large nose, and beady black eyes. Twin dogs-as big as colts-flanked the chair with better posture than their master. They were beige, with short fur and black faces.
Achan reached out to the one on the left. Hey, boy. The dog's eyes shifted to Achan's, his jaw dropped, he licked his mouth, and shifted.
Atul closed the door. "Your Highness, this here's Lord Yarden, Lord of Mitspah."
Lord Yarden nodded, slowly. His version of a bow? "I am relieved to see you well. We hear rumors, but facts come to me so late. Only two weeks have passed since word of this treachery with Lord Nathak reached me. I feared the worst."
Achan didn't want to do the talking, but it was time he started speaking for himself. "I'm well, Lord Yarden, though we do come bearing great sorrow."
"Go on," Lord Yarden said.
"While we were at Lytton Hall, Esek Nathak, the traitor prince, murdered Lord Livna."
Lord Yarden jumped to his feet. "What? How?"
"Stabbed during the dinner celebration."
"In front of witnesses? This is outrageous!" Lord Yarden said. "My poor, dear sister. What happened? Did they duel?"
Trust you to not to mince words, Your Highness, Sir Caleb said.
Achan had merely wanted to speak. He hadn't bothered to think of what he should say. I'm not as flowery as you, Sir Caleb.
Clearly, just don't forget compassion.
Achan chastened himself and went to his knees before Lord Yarden's throne. "The fault is mine entirely. Esek sought to kill me, but Lord Livna would not give me up. A servant boy was also lost that night-to poison intended for me."
Lord Yarden set a hand on Achan's shoulder. "Do not kneel before me, Your Highness, please. Esek is a traitor."
Achan looked up. "Still, I feel quite responsible."
"A concern you must push aside, Your Majesty. Had you been staying here, I would not have forsaken you either. Blame no one but that murderous fool who thinks he's king."
Achan stood, and Lord Yarden eased back into his chair, eyes downcast.
"Would you be willing to join us as we stand against him?" Sir Gavin asked. "He hunts us now. We do not wish to put your people in harm's way."
"I'd fight that cur even if no one else was! My son will want to fight as well. We are not many, but we'll stand with you." He turned to Atul. "Prepare rooms for the prince and his men, Atul, and arrange a feast."
"Right away, m' lord." Atul jerked his head in a quick nod and strode from the room.
*
Vrell sat at the back of the great hall with Kurtz, as she had in Tsaftown, assigned to entrance duty. Achan and the knights had been seated at the high table, though Achan, Shung, and Sir Caleb were standing, appearing to argue with Lord Yarden.
Cole, the young stray who'd taken care of their horses, stood against the wall, face pale. Since all three minds in her party were shielded, she looked through the boy's mind to listen in and found him filled with excitement, hope, and…dread?
The prince's nostrils flared. "I appreciate your gift, Lord Yarden, but no more innocents will die from my cup. Perhaps I could make use of Cole as a stableboy, as I have no one to help me with my horses."
Yes. Hope surged through Cole. He could do that, for sure. He could take care of Dove. He dared not hope this could be true. That he could serve the prince-a kind one too.
Lord Yarden looked down his huge nose at Cole and shrugged. "I care not what you do with the stray. I just don't want to see you poisoned, especially under my roof. I've done what I could to prevent it. You just take note of that."
"Shung will drink and eat for the little cham." The Shield banged a fist to his chest. He seemed almost eager to take some poison as if to prove he were strong enough to withstand it.
Cole wished he were as brave, but he'd heard rumors that a boy had died in Tsaftown, drinking from his Majesty's cup.
The prince glared at Shung. "I will not allow it."
Vrell shook her head and withdrew. Men. Achan stood no chance of negating Shung. When that's man's mind was made up…look out. At least people would think twice before challenging Achan with Shung at his side. Vrell smiled. Achan now had his own Shield, and, apparently, a horse boy.
To Vrell's relief, she did not have to make small talk with Kurtz. He poured all his attention on the blonde woman seated to his right, even feeding the lady food off the tip of his knife. Vrell tried to distract herself, but his overt declarations were hard to ignore.
"Arman give you health and joy, beautiful lady. He favors me tonight with your company, He does."
The lady batted her eyes and twirled her finger around a lock of her golden hair. "I apologize for the absence of my husband. He is a sailor aboard the Brierstar."
"He's a fool to leave you, he is." Kurtz leaned so close he may as well kiss the woman. "I would never. For if I turned my back on such a pretty face as yours, surely I'd die, I would."
The woman's cheeks flushed. "You flatter me, my lord."
"I love you, I do. Have mercy on my bleeding heart, eh?"
Vrell bit into her roll to hold her tongue.
The lady giggled. "Do not forget, good knight, I am married. Please do not ask anything of me that would soil the honor of myself or my lord husband."
Sir Kurtz lowered his voice. "Nothing would keep me from serving you all my life."
Vrell rolled her eyes. Dinner had long since ended, but Lord Yarden's wife liked to tell stories. Vrell had eaten in this hall before. All were forced to endure Lady Rubel until her husband ended it or she got so full she needed to lie down.
Unfortunately, Lord Yarden never seemed to tire of hearing the same tale time and again. Perhaps it was Lady Rubel's low, silky voice or the fact that her curvy figure drew even Vrell's attention. The woman had Chuma heritage; that could not be argued. Her black hair hung lustrous against her olive skin. She rambled on and on about how they had ordered cranberry wine but the spicy clove wine had come instead.
Vrell had never cared for clove wine. Wine should be sweet, not spicy. But no servant had bothered to bring water to her end of the table, so she had forced herself to drink the pungent liquid to wash down the dry fish. The best platters of everything always went to the high table. It would not be long until she had that pleasure again.
Vrell stared at a hound and a small terrier, watching them duck in and out from under the table opposite hers, sniffing and nibbling along the floor. The person sitting across the hall, opposite Vrell, had not moved in a long while. She blinked out of her trance and focused her eyes to the further distance.
It was Polk, and he was staring at her.
She straightened and gave him a half smile and a roll of the eyes. He must be equally bored by the tale of wine flavors. But instead of smiling in return, Polk lifted up the knife from his empty trencher and began to twirl it in his fingers.
Vrell had no more patience for men and their strange ways. Achan did not need her assistance. She slipped out the closest door, doubting anyone had noticed. She walked carefully over the wet floor and started up the stairwell. Sir Gavin had seen to it she had her own chamber on the fourth floor, and she looked forward to a bath.
A noise below prickled the hair on her arms. Lady Rubel must have finished her story. Vrell passed the third floor landing and started up the next flight.
"Vrell."
She spun around, hand clamped over her heart.
Polk dashed around the third floor landing and up to where she stood. He grinned, his tanned face wrinkling. "Pretty boring dinner, huh? They should have let me tell a story. I tell the best stories. No one ever gets bored."
What was Polk doing? Only the Old Kingsguard knights, Achan, Vrell, and Shung were being housed in the keep. Maybe Polk wanted to see Temple Arman at the-
Polk gripped Vrell's tunic in his fist and slammed her against the outer wall of the tower stairs. Pain poured through her head, freezing her breath. Polk lifted his other hand to her face and traced her cheek and jaw with the back of his fingers.
Vrell flushed, heart pounding. "What are you doing?"
Polk's face contorted into a gloating sneer. "I know the secret of your blush, fair Vrell."
Another wave of heat gripped her. "M-My blush?"
"You do, you know. Far more than any boy would."
Polk lifted her right hand. "Am I making you uncomfortable? I have that effect on ladies." He pressed her hand to his lips.
Vrell punched his cheek and gasped at the pain it caused her knuckles. She tried to duck under his arm, but he grabbed her arms and slammed her against the wall again. Voices and laughter filled the stairwell from below.
Polk dragged her up to the fourth floor. Vrell squatted, trying to twist out of his grip and dart under him.
His knees bent with hers. "Oh, no you don't."
She elbowed his thigh, stomped on his foot, and slipped on wet rushes. He caught her by her throat.
She reached out for Sir Gavin. Vrell Sparrow. Tears flooded her eyes, blurring Polk's stoic expression. She sucked in a diluted breath and sent a knock to Achan.
When no connection opened, she whimpered like a puppy. Why did no one answer?
She blinked to clear her blurry eyes and focus on Polk's face. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Wha-"
Polk clamped his hand over Sparrow's mouth, the other hand continued to squeeze her neck. "They can't hear you, can they, blossom? Surprised? Cloves have the same affect on aleh as mint does. Bet you didn't know that."
Sparrow pushed against Polk's chest with her free hand. She kicked him, kneed him, scratched his face.
Polk tugged her body, dragging her head along the stone wall, his strength far exceeding hers. "None of that, now. There's a price on your head I intend to collect. I've earned it."
Everything became clear. Polk was Esek's former squire. Had he been the one in the kitchens in Carmine? Who had drugged Mother? Had he poisoned Achan's goblet in Tsaftown? Switched the wines tonight so the aleh would not be detected? How could she have been so careless? Being close to home was no reason to let down her guard.
He kicked in the door to her room and hauled her inside. The door swung closed, blanketing the room in darkness. Polk towed Vrell across the small space. After a few steps, her eyes adjusted to the pale, grey twilight from the window, revealing the general shapes of the bed and sideboard. Firefox hung on the bedpost. Polk dragged her toward the sideboard. Her mind grappled to recall where she'd left her knife. He pushed her to the floor and a heavy weight crushed her back.
Vrell screamed. "Help me! The traitor-" A thick strip of leather tugged into her mouth. Polk cinched it back against her molars, so tightly the top edge knifed up under her cheekbones. She held her breath against the pain and reached out with her right hand. She opened one of the bottom cupboards of her sideboard. Her fingers grabbed for the first thing they could reach: a stone basin. She pulled it toward her. It fell off the ledge of the sideboard with a loud clunk.
"Good idea, blossom." The pressure on her back shifted as Polk leaned over and pulled her hands behind her back. He tied them with something think and itchy. Hemp, maybe? He quickly dug out the items from the bottom shelves of the sideboard. Linens flopped around her face and dishes clanked and rolled across the wooden floor.
He picked her up and shoved her in the bottom cupboard, face first, folding her feet up behind her. Her nose pressed against the unfinished oak. The cupboard doors clicked shut, blackening her vision. Something scraped the wood above.
"That ought to hold you." His voice was muffled now. "Be a good blossom and wait right there while I kill the prince. My clove wine was wasted on him tonight, for I never saw him take a sip."
Sobs rattled her frame. She gasped in short breaths, calming herself enough to send another knock to Sir Gavin.
Aleh didn't last forever.
*
Achan and Shung made their way up the stairs. The long dinner had exhausted him. He didn't feel up to searching for the traitor tonight. All his hours of watching had uncovered nothing sinister and left him feeling like a traitor himself, betraying his men's private thoughts.
The patter of footsteps above slowed Achan's steps. Shung pushed Achan behind him. Who was in such a hurry? A shadow preceded the answer.
Polk. Red-faced and out of breath. The man slowed, his eyes blinked wide, flashed to Shung, and he bowed, panting slightly. "Your Majesty, good evening."
Achan nodded his greeting, overcome by a sudden burst of excitement he sensed in Polk. "What brings you to this part of the castle, Polk?"
" Temple Arman is as I've always heard, Your Majesty. Glorious. I'm not even tired from the long hike."
Of course he wasn't. "I've not yet found the time to see it. Where is your belt, Polk?" For the man's tunic hung loose.
Polk patted his stomach. "Oh, well, you know, dinner was so good, I couldn't stop eating. My belt made things worse. I've had better feasts, though. Nothing like Poril's cooking, I'm sure you know."
Achan grimaced at the mention of his former master. "Sparrow might have something to settle your stomach."
"An excellent suggestion, Your Majesty," Polk said. "I pray you sleep well."
Achan nodded once more to the soldier. "You as well."
Polk's footsteps resumed their hurried speed, descending from where Achan stood. Achan met Shung's dark eyes and opened a connection.
Stand here with me a moment, Shung, I want to look in on Polk.
Shung will wait.
Achan concentrated on Polk and immediately looked out through his eyes. Polk circled round and round the stairwell and stepped off on the second floor. He walked down the corridor and entered the great hall. There were still a dozen or more people sitting at the tables. Lord Yarden stood behind his chair on the dais talking to Atul. Polk fell into a chair at the end of the table closest to the door and bit into a roll.
Polk watched Atul until the man glanced his way. A slight nod of acknowledgement from Atul, and Polk looked away and took another bite. His thoughts were curiously blank.
Achan left him there.
"See anything?" Shung asked.
"I don't think so." Achan headed up the stairs and to his chamber, filling Shung in on what Polk had done.
Shung entered Achan's chamber first and held the door open. "Strange he was full but ate more."
Achan walked inside and sat at his desk. "Yeah." The chair was upholstered in blue velvet, but the cushioning did not relieve his tailbone. After hours in the saddle days on end and a long, tedious dinner on a hard bench, he'd rather stand.
He scanned the list again. Some names he suspected more than others. He'd shadowed them all more than once. Who deserved another peek? Polk's name jumped out from the list.
Something was off with Polk. Why, Achan couldn't say. The fellow simply needled him, but so did Inko. Perhaps some people had a gift for being obnoxious.
Lady Rubel and her stories, for example.
But Polk was lying about being full, that much was certain. And why lie about that? Achan shook himself back to the task at hand. Polk. Then he'd try Verdot Amal again.
Polk no longer sat in the great hall. He crept along one of the castle corridors. The soft swish of his pant legs and the squish of his boots over soggy rushes increased his heartbeat. What was Polk still doing in the keep? He should have gone back to the tents by now.
A faint thought surfaced in Polk's mind. Soon all would be finished and he could get back to the good life. A single torch lit the hall. Polk lifted it from the ring and carried it with him.
Achan jumped up and opened his door, losing his connection with Polk. The hall on his floor was empty. Polk must be on another level.
"What is it, Little Cham?"
"Nothing, Shung. Sorry." Achan returned to his chair and found Polk again.
Polk stopped at a door. He looked both ways before pushing it open and slipping inside. All was dark but for Polk's torch. He walked across the room and stubbed his toe on something that rattled across the floor. Polk cursed and hopped on one foot. He squatted and the torch lit the floor of a chamber that looked to have been ransacked. Polk righted a heavy jug and slid the torch inside. He carried the jug to a sideboard and set it down.
His gaze fell onto a wooden spoon wedged between the handles on the lower cupboard doors. Polk's pulse increased. He slipped the spoon free. I've come back, little bird.
Polk opened the doors. Achan's heartbeat thudded in time with Polk's. Had the man trapped someone in a sideboard? Why? Achan should try to find Polk, yet if he started walking, he'd lose contact. He could watch or he could walk. Not both. Not yet.
He withdrew. Sir Gavin, Polk is up to some mischief on one of the floors. Can you go see?
A moment passed before a sleepy voice said, Aye, right away. Polk, you say? How do you-
Achan cut off the knight and focused back on Polk, who had pulled a body out from the sideboard. A great foreboding coiled in the pit of Achan's stomach.
Someone screamed.
Sparrow? Achan stood so fast he nearly knocked over his table. He would know that raspy screech anywhere.
What in all Er'Rets?
Polk pulled at something around Sparrow's throat. A belt. He wedged it back into Sparrow's mouth. Sparrow's eyes grew wide. He kicked Polk's chest with his feet, repeatedly, stampeding on the man's torso.
Polk threw himself onto Sparrow, squeezed the boy's throat with one hand. None of that, blossom. I've been waiting for some time to confront you. It's made me a bit…impatient.
Sparrow grew limp, stopped fighting. Had he blacked out? Polk dragged him by the feet, out of the pile of rubble.
Now, I've done real good work and I don't mind rewarding myself for all the trouble it's taken. Like I said before, I've earned it.
Polk slid his hand away and pressed his mouth over Sparrow's with a crushing force that revived the boy. Sparrow turned his head, then bashed it against Polk's forehead. Polk returned his hand to Sparrow's throat and held him down. The boy's small frame was no match for Polk's strength.
What in flames was that rat playing at? Achan pulled back, trembling. Sparrow! I'm coming. He blinked away from Polk. "Shung! Polk is attacking Sparrow!" Achan tore out the door, sprinted down the hall, down the spiral staircase, glancing into empty hallways before remembering Polk had entered a room. Had it been Sparrow's?
Sparrow? What room is yours? Where does he have you?
Sparrow didn't answer.
Sir Gavin! Where are you?
In the courtyard. I saw nothing in the halls, so I came out-
Sparrow's quarters, where are they?
On the fourth floor. Achan, what's wrong?
Polk is attacking Sparrow. Achan sprinted back to the stairwell and took the steps three at a time. He ran down the fourth floor. Unsure of which door to try, he skidded to a stop over the wet stone. Sparrow! Where are you?
When the boy still didn't answer, Achan found Polk's mind again and looked out through the deviant's eyes. Polk had pinned Sparrow to the floor, straddling the boy's body and arms. His thrill brought a scream to Achan's lips. He had no time to search every room. What could he do?
Polk! Stop, Achan commanded.
Polk froze, scanned the room, then reached back and pulled his boot knife. He held the small blade against Sparrow's cheek. Not a word, you hear? Or I'll slice you from top to bottom. No one skins an animal like I do.
He cut open Sparrow's tunic, baring a strange undershirt that blossomed bits of wool where the knife had cut.
Polk laughed. Let's see how you look without your fake fat, shall we? He slid the knife under the neckline of the disguise and started to cut.
Achan concentrated. He was Polk. His hands were Polk's hands. He was cutting.
He stopped cutting. He pulled the knife back.
Polk yelled, dropped the knife.
Achan forced Polk to stand, to walk to the door and open it.
A man stood at the other end of the hall, by the stairs. The Crown Prince. How had he-?
For the first time ever, Achan moved his own body without leaving Polk's mind. He walked slowly, boots slapping over the wet rushes. He reached Polk, released his mind.
Polk wheezed and cowered against the wall, staring, eyes wild. "What did you do to me? Are you a mage?"
Achan punched Polk in the face. Once. Twice. He pulled back to punch him again, but Polk, already unconscious, slid slowly to the floor. Achan took a long, calming breath, shook his throbbing hand, and pushed open Sparrow's door.
The torch in the jug had burned beneath the lip and lit the room with a dull glow. A narrow bed, the sideboard, a stool. The floor was littered in dishes and linens.
Where had Sparrow gone?
A shattered breath pulled Achan's gaze back to the sideboard. He spotted the boy wedged between the sideboard and bed, sitting in that small Sparrow way, knees against his chest. Achan approached him, stepped on something soft and looked down.
He moved his boot to reveal a wad of shorn wool. He squatted and picked it up, sniffed it. Mildew.
He held it up. "Sparrow, wh-what is this?"
Sparrow watched him with wide, bleary eyes.
Achan's heart was still pounding in his chest. "Are you hurt?" He held out a hand to help the boy up.
Sparrow's bottom lip protruded, trembled. He sniffled and released the most high-pitched moan Achan had ever heard, as if trying not to cry and failing miserably.
"Little Cham?" Shung stepped into the room, sword drawn.
Uncertain what to do, Achan waved a hand. "Sparrow, come out of there."
But Sparrow only cried harder.
"It's okay." Achan reached for him, grabbed his shoulders.
Sparrow tensed, shook his head. His hair, completely loose from its thong, fell over his eyes. "Please do not touch me."
"I'm not going to hurt you." Achan grabbed Sparrow's upper arms and pulled.
"No!" Sparrow tucked his chin against his knees, pushing his shoulders against the wall so Achan failed to lift him.
"Shung, help me."
Shung and Achan each grabbed an arm and hoisted Sparrow-kicking and screaming-out of the crack. They set him on his feet before the bed. The boy stood trembling, slouched, chin down. A leather belt hung around his neck. Polk's belt. His arms were bound behind him and his tunic hung open to reveal the padded undergarment, sliced down the belly and sprouting wisps of shorn wool.
Boot steps slapped stone in the corridor, growing nearer.
Achan could only stare at the fake belly Sparrow wore, his mind filled with questions but completely choked.
Sir Gavin ran inside and slid to a stop.
Achan finally managed to utter, "I don't understand."
"Shung does." Shung's bushy eyebrows cocked like two caterpillars. "The little fox is a vixen."
Achan's breath caught. Sparrow was a her? "I thought Polk…"
Sparrow's bottom lip protruded again. "He put me in the sideboard then went to kill you." Her voice cracked, morphing back into that keening whine.
"No, now…don't do that. Don't cry." A girl. A woman. All this time? "Blazes! Why?"
"Achan." Sir Gavin crossed to Sparrow's side. "We saw no reason to tell you."
"You knew. This is the big secret. Why Sparrow sneaks off in the woods, bathes in your room, cleans his teeth. Her teeth." Achan linked his fingers and set his hands on his head. What was he supposed to do with this information?
"Shung, bring Polk in and close the door." Sir Gavin loosed the belt from Sparrow's throat, removed his boot knife and cut the bonds on her wrists. She immediately hugged herself and burrowed her face against Sir Gavin's chest, weeping. The old knight wrapped an arm around her and patted her ear. "There now, child. He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"Me?" Achan's veins smoldered. Sir Gavin, I don't understand what this is all about.
Sir Gavin cocked an eyebrow at the door. Polk, Achan. I'm asking her if Polk violated her.
A chill turned the heat in Achan's veins to ice.
Shung dragged Polk into the room by his ankles and kicked the door shut.
"My mouth," Sparrow said. "The belt."
Sir Gavin took hold of Sparrow's ears and tipped her head back, eyes fixed on her face. "Aye, I see you'll have some bruises there. Anything else?"
"Throat."
As Sir Gavin examined Sparrow's neck, Achan stewed, wedged between overwhelming sympathy for this petrified creature and consuming disgust for her blubbering.
This was why the little fox had been acting so odd. Ever blushing. Sitting so small. The portly stomach and gangly limbs. Achan had discovered Vrell Sparrow's secret at last. That's why he'd been such an odd duck.
But what of it? Why go so far to conceal her gender? He supposed it was a horrible world for a stray woman. He had been treated badly, but the stories he knew of young stray girls-pretty ones, especially…
It made some sense, he supposed. The Kingsguards had come to take her to Master Hadar. A boy would have been safer traveling with men, especially a man like Khai Mageia.
Sparrow's voice pulled him from his mental tirade. "Achan saved me."
He studied Sparrow's face. Knowing now that he looked on a girl-an awkward thought as she wore trousers and that ridiculous fake belly-he could see Sparrow was a pretty little thing. Round face with porcelain skin and those ever-blushing cheeks, wide eyes, a small mouth that always seemed to be frowning slightly, likely due to all the worrisome thoughts under that mess of black hair.
Again, Sparrow spoke, pulling Achan out from the fog in his mind. "Polk said he was going to kill you. He poisoned your goblet in Tsaftown and slipped us all aleh tonight in the clove wine. Someone should sweep your room for poison."
Achan blinked. Poison? But before he could formulate a reply, Sir Gavin spoke.
"A blessing that I abhor clove wine, but the rest of our men are likely silenced. I'll go tell Caleb and Eagan to search Achan's chambers right away. Achan, you find Kurtz and Inko and ask them to take Polk to the dungeon. I'd like Shung to stay outside Vrell's room until we get this sorted out." Sir Gavin patted Sparrow's ear once more and stepped toward the door.
"Wait just a moment, Sir Gavin." Achan wasn't done with this. "I don't know why you deceived me. But tomorrow, Miss Sparrow will get herself a dress and come clean to everyone."
Sparrow's cheeks darkened. "You think you can tell me what to do because you are the Crown Prince?"
His gaze flitted from her eyes to the red welts across her cheeks. "No. Because I saved your hide."
Sparrow turned her head away, jaw set.
Sir Gavin shook his head. "That's unwise, Achan. We must keep Vrell's secret a while longer. Shung, I ask the same of you. 'Tis improper for an unmarried woman to travel alone with one man, let alone hundreds. Let's see her safely to Carmine-where she can start a new life. You tell everyone she's a woman, you bring her a whole host of trouble."
Achan shrugged. "I'll tell the men she's to be left alone."
"Ah, then it looks like you're claiming her as your own and that isn't proper. It'd also ruin both your reputations if it came out you'd been traveling together all this time."
Again Achan was making decisions without considering the repercussions. He should consult Sir Eagan on this matter. "But I don't feel comfortable with this." He gestured to that strange belly. "I'm afraid I'll be the one to bungle it."
Sparrow's green eyes met his. She straightened. "If you don't mind my asking, Your Highness, how did you find out?"
"Uh… I've been seeking the traitor. Shadowing people. I suspected Polk had sour motives." Achan scratched the back of his neck. "I'm truly glad you weren't the traitor, Sparrow."
A shaky breath blew past her lips. "How could you even consider that?
"In my experience, a man who-someone who lies once, lies about other things. What was I supposed to think?"
Sparrow's glare could freeze the waterfall overhead. Achan didn't care. Let her stew about this for a while.
"Achan, allow Vrell to play her role a bit longer," Sir Gavin said. "She'll stay away from you so you won't have to worry about a slip of the tongue."
Achan squeezed his hand into a fist. Sparrow was his friend. He didn't want her to stay away from him, and he didn't want her to go off and start a new life. He couldn't say that, though. Sir Caleb would have his hide for misleading a woman's heart. Still…
"She will not stay away. She'll come back to our chambers where she should've been all along. I realize you were trying to help, Sir Gavin, but by putting her out of our presence, you endangered her life. She'll take Sir Eagan and Kurtz's room. They can bunk with me or you."
"Do not blame Sir Gavin." Sparrow's raspy voice caught. "He is the only one who has looked out for me."
Achan clenched his teeth. "If you would have told me, I'd have done the same."
"Do you have any idea how hard this has been?" Sparrow asked. "For eight months I have been alone. I have kept my secret without a soul discovering it. Even Macoun Hadar could not pry it from me. But you…" She scowled at him as if he were some beast of Barth.
"I had a job to do," Achan said. "I'm sorry if your life has been hard, Miss Sparrow, but-"
"Oh, do not start with the sad tales of Achan Cham, the prince raised as a stray."
"— but I had thought we were friends."
"What happened to you was rotten, but it is all better now. You have nice clothes, handfuls of servants."
"And since I couldn't go back to Sitna, you became my only friend."
"People love you wherever you go. Women fall at your feet-"
"So forgive me if I'm a little upset that my friend not only lied to me-"
"— you are handsome and clever. You do not need me, or anyone else, to hold your hand."
"— but I can no longer spend time with my friend because it's improper."
"If you cannot comprehend why I refuse to marry a pig and be forced to bear him children, then you-"
"As a woman, you talk a lot. So forgive me, Miss Sparrow, but I liked you better a lad."
"— have a lot to-"
"Enough!" Sir Gavin stepped in between them. "These walls aren't thick enough to guard this conversation. If you two cannot speak peaceably, don't speak at all."
Sparrow folded her arms, turned her head, her nose tilted up, her eyes downcast.
Achan frowned. Sparrow's cheeks were pink from yelling. "You think I'm handsome?"
Sparrow rolled her eyes. "When you shave your face, comb your hair, and wear clean clothing. You do not think all these women throw themselves at you only because you are the prince?"
Actually, that's exactly what he'd thought. Either way, why should she care what other women- He propped a hand on his hip and laughed. "Oh, I see. All this time, all the strange things you've said on my behalf. Jaira, Ressa, Yumikak, Lady Tara, Beska. You were jealous."
Sparrow shot him a withering look. "I see being prince has brought on a new level of arrogance."
"You deny it?"
"Absolutely."
"Ha." Achan grinned and scratched behind his ear. "No, no, it all makes perfect sense."
Blood flushed to Sparrow's round face. She stepped up to Achan, eyes narrowed. "You. Are an arrogant pig."
Sir Gavin seized Achan's upper arm and pulled him back a step. "I can see the only way to end this madness is to drag one of you out. Achan, let's go see about your chamber."
Achan allowed Sir Gavin to tow him to the door, watching Sparrow closely, smirking as her anger melted.
She sent one more wide-eyed plea. "You will not tell?"
He bowed low and dramatically, fighting to conceal his smile. "Your gender is safe with me, Miss Sparrow."
She strode up to Achan, stopping inches from him. She gripped his bicep in one hand and pressed her finger over his lips with the other. He straightened, tense, and exhaled as if her finger were a switch that controlled his breathing. He could only stare into her green eyes, befuddled.
Her finger trailed down his chin, tapped his chest once, then she grabbed his shirt and elbow, and pushed. He fell back. Her leg hooked perfectly behind his knee, sweeping his foot out from under him.
His body twisted as it fell. He hit the floor on his left side, cracking his elbow against the wood. A tremor shot up his arm.
Sparrow looked down, her lips pursed in a thin smile. "Do not call me miss."
Sir Eagan and Sir Caleb discovered several poisons in Achan's chambers. A tray of tarts, a bottle of wine, the water pitcher, even his bed sheets had been dusted in a powder ground from a deadly coral Sir Eagan called rosh. Lord Yarden insisted Achan move across the hall into new chambers, just to be safe.
This room was identical to his previous one, except that it looked out over the eastern side of the stronghold rather than the western side. Sparrow had moved into the servants' quarters on the northern end of Achan's room with Sir Gavin. Sir Caleb, Sir Eagan, Inko, and Kurtz were using the larger servants' quarters on the southern end. Shung would sleep on a pallet in Achan's room.
Now they occupied a small meeting room on the second floor. Everyone but Achan sat crowded around a rectangular table, going over-yet again-the evening's events, with exception of Sparrow's secret, of course.
Achan stood at the window, glaring at the torchlights on the curtain wall. He couldn't sit at the table, for he couldn't stop staring at Sparrow. And now the discussion had somehow turned into a lecture, one he felt he did not deserve. "But if controlling a man's mind is the only way to save someone, why is it wrong?"
"Because it's immoral," Sir Eagan said. "Arman didn't give you the gift to force a man's free will."
Achan spun to face Sir Eagan. "Yet it's okay to physically harm him? Bind him, lock him up. Even torture is allowed, but not controlling his mind? Making him stop hurting someone? Why would Arman give me the ability if he didn't want me to use it?"
Sir Gavin sighed out his nose. "Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial. Achan, I'll not tell you how to use your gifts, but I will always hold you accountable."
"Gifted men have gotten accustomed to this kind of control so that they do it without even realizing they are manipulating others," Sir Eagan said. "You might think, in exasperation, that your valet go jump off a cliff for advising you to wear fancy clothes, only to find that he has done just that, subconsciously unable to disobey your command. Few men have such bloodvoicing power, but it is plain that you do. Controlling others will not make you a better man."
"We worry for you, Your Highness," Sir Caleb said, "that you'll become addicted to this control without realizing it."
"He needs proper training by someone powerful enough and young enough to keep up with him," Sir Gavin said.
Achan lowered himself onto the wooden bench, which creaked under his weight.
My, what have we been eating, Your Highness? Sparrow asked, instantly drawing his eyes to her face.
Achan closed his mind, startled he'd forgotten to keep his defenses up.
"Sorry," Sparrow said from across the table.
She wore her fake belly again and the effect confused Achan's thoughts. She so looked like a boy-yet he knew better now. You startled me. I hadn't realized I'd left myself unprotected again. How do you remember to guard so well?
Sparrow shrugged, cheeks darkening so her complexion looked like marbled opal and rose. Achan forced his eyes and mind away from Sparrow's appearance. How was he to deal with her teasing now that he knew she was a woman?
"Why cannot you be teaching him, Eagan?"
"I am quite rusty, Inko. I suggest Duchess Amal."
"A logical suggestion," Sir Gavin said. "I'll ask her when we arrive. We'll leave in two days."
Achan's attention flitted back to the men. Who was asking who what?
"And what shall we do with Polk?" Sir Caleb asked.
"He cannot bloodvoice," Sir Eagan said. "It stands to reason he has a partner who can."
"Why? If he's Esek's man, or even a greedy man seeking a fat reward, he could be working alone, eh?" Kurtz said.
Sir Gavin sighed and stroked his beard braid. "Achan and I will question him."
Achan followed Sir Gavin to the dungeons, which smelled worse than any Achan had even seen. The moisture must add more mildew than usual. The guard led them into Polk's cell. Achan stood inside the doorway and folded his arms.
Sir Gavin approached the wall where Polk sat chained and nudged his leg with the toe of his boot. "Get up."
"I'm trying to sleep."
Achan had no desire to play this game. He'd been a prisoner himself several times and knew every prisoner justified their behavior somehow. Polk would be no different.
He sighed. "Going into his mind will be much faster."
"You only think so because you have never tried," Sir Gavin said. "What you don't understand is that truth cannot be taken from any man's mind. He must give it freely. If he is able to concentrate on other things, you can only read those thoughts, not the ones you want. There is no way to force his mind to remember something you have never experienced. He must allow it."
"Will you keep it down?" Polk said. "I thought I had my own cell."
Achan wanted to shove his fist through Polk's head. "Why do you help Esek? He was horrible to you."
"How'd you know?"
"Because I served as his squire longer than anyone should have to."
"I only left him four months ago. How long could you have served?"
Achan scratched his arm. "A few weeks. And that was too long. He's a madman."
Polk lowered his head and mumbled, "You wouldn't understand."
"Hmm. Let me guess. He has your mother, brother, sister, or lover locked away. If you don't do exactly what he asks…"
Polk met Achan's eyes.
"Esek is lying," Achan said. "He'll keep using you as long as you let him. And then he'll kill your loved one anyway."
Polk shook his head. "I have to try."
Achan supposed he'd have said the same. "Just tell me if there are any more of Esek's minions in my army."
Polk met Achan's gaze. "There's one, but I don't know who he is. He can do that mind thing, though, like you."
Achan straightened. His list would finally come in useful. "Thank you, Polk. That narrows it down quite a bit."
*
Achan spent the next three days watching the eight bloodvoicers, barely leaving his room. He'd nearly failed Sparrow, just as Bran had almost failed Gren. It would not happen again. He stared at Polk's name on the list circled in bleeding black ink. Why could he discover nothing of the second traitor? Had Polk sent him on a bootless errand?
When Achan entered the Great Hall for lunch, followed by Kurtz, his temporary shield while Shung was in the bathhouse, he overheard a servant tell another that the prince was ill and not to get too close.
Perhaps he had spent too much time in his chambers.
So many stared at him in the great hall he took his chicken leg outside, not bothering to take Kurtz away from his new, red-haired lady friend.
Kingsguards and servants roamed the bailey. Achan sighed, in the mood for brainless banter. If he found any of the knights, they'd only make him think about being a king. Except for Shung, who was taking a well-deserved break. Achan strolled across the south side of the bailey lawn and bit into his chicken leg, scanning the men for a familiar face. He spotted Sparrow, sitting alone by the moat, boots on the grass, bare feet in the water, staring up at the waterfall that spilled over the southern tower.
He snuck up behind her and steeled himself. Mindless banter? Or another fight? "You know the privies empty into the moat, don't you?" he said.
Sparrow didn't move a muscle. "Not in this castle. The privies empty into an underground stream that merges with the Betsar a ways down."
Achan fell onto his backside next to Sparrow and bit into his chicken leg. The wind blew a strand of her hair across her cheek. Her green eyes were fixed on the waterfall, reflecting the shifting water in miniature. Achan swallowed, heart pounding like Berland drummers. What in all Er'Rets was wrong with him? "I–I've missed you." Missed her? That didn't come out right. What happened to his plan for mindless banter?
Her eyes widened. "Missed me? Whatever for?"
He forced himself to look away and managed to gather his senses again. "Oh, I don't know. Everyone is so serious all the time. At least you jest."
"There has been little to jest about of late."
"Aye. For the longest time, I truly believed an older, wiser man would step in and be king and I'd be able to go off and build my cabin in the woods. Then suddenly-and I can hardly remember when-I just accepted it."
"That is good."
Her praise made his heart beat faster. "You think so?" He glanced back and her eyes threw off his composure again. He looked at the ground and scratched the back of his neck. Blasted fleas. "I must admit-though don't tell anyone or I'll have to beat you-I'm quite nervous."
"A natural feeling, I am sure."
Perhaps. "But what if I mess up? What if I fail?"
"I am certain you will mess up, but you cannot fail."
He wanted to defend himself. He intended to make no mistakes. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because Arman does not fail."
"Right. I keep forgetting."
"It takes time."
"What? Becoming a good king?"
"That too, but I mean, getting to know Arman."
Hmm. "Ever been to Carmine?"
"Sure I-" She choked on her words. "I mean…yes. I have. Before Walden's Watch. It is a lovely place."
He bumped his arm against hers. "Do you have any concerns for me? Any premonitions of young married women I might accidentally propose to?"
She laughed and her voice, that throaty sound…how convenient for her to have such a voice. It had aided her disguise well. Lady Tara couldn't have pretended to be a boy even for five minutes.
"No," Sparrow said, "but the Carmine vineyards are the prettiest land in all Er'Rets. On a summer day like this, when the sky is so clear and blue and it meets the endless green vineyards on the edge of the horizon as far as you can see in all directions…" She sighed, head tipped back to stare at the sky. "It's the most peaceful, breathtaking view."
Achan stifled a smile. Sitting with Sparrow like this, as much as she talked, Achan couldn't believe it had never occurred to him that she was a girl.
He remembered the drumstick in his hand and bit into it, the meat now turning cold. "So. You don't want to marry a guy like Lady Tara's husband, and I want to marry a woman like Lady Tara. Why can't we figure this whole thing out?"
She faced him, eyebrows pinched together. "What would Sir Caleb say if he saw you talking with half a chicken leg in your mouth?"
How like a woman to be so critical. At least the mystery of Sparrow's moodiness had been resolved. He ripped off another chunk of meat with his teeth and forced himself to burp.
Sparrow turned away. "Charming."
"I'm serious, though. Do you think we'll end up miserable despite all our protests?"
Sparrow stirred her feet in the water. "I think you will probably war until you are forty. Then you shall finally move into Armonguard and take a bride of twelve."
"Take a bride… Sparrow, I tried to find a bride my age. I failed." He took the last of the meat off the chicken leg and spoke over a full mouth. "Perhaps I'll wed thrice my elder."
Sparrow giggled. "And what good would it do you to have no heir?"
"Who says I won't have an heir?"
Her cheeks pinked, and she straightened, prim and proper. "Old women cannot bear children, Your Highness. Their seeds have all dried up."
Achan frowned. "Really?"
Sparrow shook her head and poked out her bottom lip. "Such a fool is to be our king?"
"Watch your tongue, Master Sparrow, or I shall have to best you. You know I can."
She rolled her eyes. They were silent for a while. The sun cast a golden glow atop Sparrow's black hair. It had grown since Achan had met her, now long enough to tie back in a tail, the way Achan wore his. Was it soft like Gren's hair?
Her voice jolted him away from his drifting. "Did you love her dearly? Lady Tara?"
"Love her?" Achan shrugged and tossed the chicken bone into the moat. "I don't know. No. I loved the idea of her. When first I met her, she treated me kindly in spite of my station. It was like a test of character that she passed so well. I knew she was worthy through and through. And she could ride a horse like a man. And, of course, she is not painful to look upon. I could think of no better combination." He sighed. "I knew I'd never marry-who would have me?"
"Another stray?"
"Ah, well, I'm sure you know most are taken as mistresses. No, Sparrow. Marriage wasn't for me, and I didn't mind so much. I had Gren and Noam, two excellent friends." He paused, picturing Gren's warming smile. "Now Gren I loved."
"Might Sir Gavin allow…?"
"He's already told me no."
"I am sorry."
"Though I must say I'm surprised how short a time it's taken me to give up that fight. Perhaps it's because of Riga. Or the baby. Or both. Plus, I fear Gren is smitten with Bran Rennan. I cannot decide how I feel about that. Part of me is vexed. Bran duty was to protect Gren, not woo her. Yet, no one knows the pull Grendolyn Fenny has on a man better than I. So, I suppose I cannot blame Bran for being what he is."
Sparrow snorted. "Too foolhardy to realize a woman is flaunting herself before him?"
Achan straightened. "Gren doesn't flaunt."
Sparrow turned her angry eyes on him. "A beautiful woman hardly has to. Am I to pity all you men who can barely hold onto your hearts every time a pretty girl enters the room?"
"Our hearts? That's woman's talk, Sparrow. It's harder than you would think."
She scoffed. "And now you see why I would rather play a man. A man is not disdained for admiring more than one woman. A man is not expected to fight off unwelcome advances at every turn. And no one thinks poorly of a man who is not wed before he is twenty. As Vrell Sparrow, I am safe from men."
"Save Polk." She didn't answer, so Achan went on. "I'd agree what you suggest is true of most men. But not all are free to love who they choose." Achan scratched the back of his neck. "We're two of a kind, Sparrow, you and I. Both masquerading as something we're not. You're not a man, and I'm not a king."
Her nose wrinkled in a disdainful scowl. "And you never will be with such an attitude. I can prove I am not a man, but you are to be king despite your whining sarcasm. If you do not start believing it, you shall be a bad king, a weak king, and someone will kill you in your sleep." She cocked an eyebrow. "A stray mistress perhaps?"
Achan couldn't resist teasing her back. "You're volunteering to be my mistress?"
Sparrow glanced away, rosy cheeks darkening. "You may dream, Your Majesty."
Achan scratched a flea bite on his arm. "Actually, I cannot. Ever since I've started shadowing my army, I haven't slept well. Plus, Sir Caleb has forbidden I ever consider a mistress. You know me. Until his advice, I had been planning to take hundreds."
"I do not find your jesting humorous."
My, she had an arrogant way about her. "I thank you, Sparrow, for your insight and scruples. You've chastised me well and good, but you forget your place. I have six men to advise my every breath. I don't need lectures from you too." He stared at a leaf sailing past in the moat's current. "I should warn you, if you want to play the boy, I'm afraid you must get tousled like one. It's all part of the deception, after all."
He grabbed her shoulders and pushed. Sparrow squealed and splashed into the moat. Achan started to laugh, but his leg jerked forward and his backside slid right off the bank. The cold water shocked him as he sank beneath the surface. His boots found the bottom and he popped to his feet and gasped.
Water splashed over his back from behind. He spun around in time for Sparrow to splash him again. The breeze wrapped around him, making him shiver. He spit out a mouthful of water and dove toward her. After losing her twice, he managed to tuck her head inside his elbow and drag them both beneath the current.
A few sharp finger-jabs to his ribs, and Achan released her head. He stood, shivering in the breeze. Where had she gone? Movement snagged his gaze to the waterfall. A dark shape shifted behind the spray. Achan dove under the water and opened his eyes, thankful the privies didn't drain into the moat.
All he could see was froth from the waterfall. He swam around the falls until a pair of brown trousers came into view. He glided to her legs and popped up before her.
Sparrow squealed and backed against the stone wall, water dripping down her face, off her jaw. They stood in a pocket the waterfall created with the castle. The cascading wall of water behind Achan stroked Sparrow's face in moving bits of shadow and light. Her chest heaved with the heavy breaths fogging slightly from her lips.
She splashed him again but he didn't move. It was as if he had never seen Vrell Sparrow before. Everything about her in this moment seized him, sent his heart banging a tribal rhythm again. The shape of her face, the lock of ebony hair plastered to her cheek, her piercing green eyes.
"Hey, Sparrow." He set his hands on her shoulders and leaned down until his forehead settled against hers. Her eyes were so close, so deep, shifting back and forth to focus on his. Droplets of water trailed down the bridge of her nose, ran under her eyes and down her cheeks.
Achan pushed all rational thought aside, tilted his head. But her hand on his chest caused him to pull back. She ducked down, sinking beneath the water. The dark shape of her body shot away like an arrow.
Pig snout. He'd missed his chance.
He walked under the falls, letting the water beat down on his head and back for a moment before wading into stiller waters. No sign of the little vixen. Moments later he saw her climb onto the bank, shove her feet into her boots, and walk away, headed toward the inner gatehouse.
Achan slogged to the shore and hoisted himself out. He jogged up behind her, soggy boots squishing over the lawn, and was just about to pounce, when Sparrow spun around, her sword pointed at his chest. A stream of water drizzled off the cheap crossguard.
"Please don't strike me." Achan cowered behind his hands in mock fear. Water trickled down his arms. He peeked between his fingers. "Uh, did you ever learn to use that thing?"
She thrust the blade forward and it poked him in the stomach.
"Ow!" Achan stepped back and rubbed his gut. "Put that away before you hurt someone." He waved at a group of soldiers who had started coming their way. The men stopped, but continued to watch them. He lowered his voice. "Or before you get arrested for attacking the Crown Prince."
"I am merely practicing., Your Highness. How else will I learn?" Sparrow pursed her lips and thrust Firefox at him again. This time he darted aside and grabbed her wrist. He pressed his thumb between the fine bones, gently at first, then harder. My, Sparrow was stubborn little thing.
She grimaced-trying to be tough? — but finally yelped and opened her hand. Her sword clunked to the ground.
Achan grabbed it and tucked it under his arm. "I might have to keep this until you learn some manners. I mean, pulling a sword on your future king? Honestly!"
Her nose wrinkled as she scowled. "You do not even want to be king!"
"Now, that's not the point, Miss Sparrow, and I've-"
Sparrow shoved him and whispered, "Do not call me that! Someone might hear."
He chuckled. "Very well. That's not the point, Lady Sparrow."
She heaved a sigh. "I suppose you think you are clever?"
Achan grinned. "I do, actually."
She folded her arms, lips turned down, pouting. "You would never treat Lady Tara the way you treat me."
"Don't be silly. Lady Tara is a noblewoman. You're just…well…" He shrugged. "One of the men."
Her wet face flamed. She bounced toward him and punched him in the eye.
"Ahh!" Pain stabbed his eye. She'd punctured his eyeball. "Blazes, Sparrow!" He palmed his left eye and cried, "Ahh!" again. He squinted through his right eye. "What did you do that for?"
She shrugged. "Jest bein' one o' th' men, Yer Highnuss. We men like t' brawl, yeh know." She spun on her heel and marched away.
He yelled after her retreating form, "Next time you'll get one in return and don't think you won't!" He squatted beside the moat and scooped up cold water to put on his stinging eye.
Blazes!
He released his eye and tried to open it, but it was already swollen shut. He couldn't see. Those tiny little fists… They fit right into his eye where a man's fist couldn't possibly reach.
"Y'all right, Yer Hignuss?"
Achan spun around to see Brien, his scraggly thief from IceIsland, shadowed by three others. Heat flooded into Achan's face. Caught being bested by a woman.
"You want I should teach that healer lad a lesson?" Brien asked.
Achan relaxed and reminded himself that no one knew Sparrow was a woman. "No. Thank you, Brien. The lad is finally growing into his boots. Been trying to toughen him up for a while now."
Brien and the soldiers chuckled and wandered off. Achan stewed beside the moat until his violent shivering forced him inside. He stormed though the dank keep and up to his room, adding his own small river to the damp floors.
Everyone was already there.
One look from Sir Gavin and the old knight rushed forward. "What happened? Did you fall in the moat too?"
Achan studied Sparrow out of the corner of his eyes. She stood by the window, hugging her shivering arms. He unlaced his doublet and pried it off, doing his best to act nonchalant. "Sparrow bested me. For the first and last time, mind you." He peeled his tunic over his head, wadded it into a ball, and pitched it at Sparrow. It whacked her in the face and she squeaked. "Well done, Sparrow."
"Yes, well done, minnow!" Kurtz said.
"Gracious, don't kill him, Vrell." Sir Gavin's mustache curled. "We can't show up in Armonguard with a black and blue prince. Go easy next time."
Laughter rang out.
Achan shot Sir Gavin a bland look. "Fear not for my well being. It is I who'll no longer be going easy on Sparrow." He spun around the room, trying to locate his pack with one working eye. He fixated on Sparrow's pale face and cast her a challenging, one-eyed stare.
She grinned, a smile that vitalized her whole face despite her tangled, wet hair and dirty cheeks. Achan's stomach zinged.
"I assure you, Your Majesty," she said, "I do not need you to go easy on me. I can take anything you toss my way."
For an hour that afternoon, the knights and Achan discussed the future. The plans for leaving the next day, what would happen in Carmine, and of course, more discussion over Achan's future bride. The knights talked, actually. Achan simply sat, overwhelmed, stewing and daydreaming-even dozing at one point. Thankfully, Sir Gavin dismissed him early. Achan entered into his chamber to see Sparrow standing at the window that overlooked the courtyard below.
Her eyes widened. "Forgive me. My new room does not have a window. I thought you were meeting with the knights, so…"
Achan closed his eyes and peeked through Sir Gavin.
He is too young to marry, Sir Eagan said. Why not focus on a long betrothal? Give him time to get used to the idea a bit more.
What's to get used to? He can figure it out, he can. If he needs help, he's got me, eh?
Thank you, Kurtz, for your offer, but that is not what concerns me.
Achan pulled away from the discussion and sighed. "Aye, they're still…talking. Sir Gavin excused me. The conversation had begun to annoy." He didn't want to explain the ongoing debate over who he should marry. For here stood Sparrow and he could no longer see her as anything but a pretty young woman in trousers. A breeze from the window blew a wisp of ebony hair across her alabaster cheek.
She smiled and brushed the strand away.
What folly. Why was he such a fool where women were concerned? Why did he continually choose the wrong ones? Why couldn't he simply accept his position with grace and marry whomever the knights ordained would be best?
He recalled what Poril had always said of his stubborn spirit. Ah, yer a fool, yeh are, boy. Had to smart off. Had to fight back.
Achan had never liked being ordered around.
"Are you well, Your Highness?"
Sparrow moved to the center of the room. Her wide green eyes were fixed on him, her slender eyebrows pinched together.
"As well as anyone in my position would be, I suppose," he mumbled.
She walked toward him, toward the door. She was leaving? Achan reached out and grabbed her elbow. He let his grip slide down her arm and caught her hand. A tingle danced up his arm. "Where are you going?"
"I- " Her cheeks tinged pink. "I–I should not be…"
Achan pulled her close and reached up with his free hand to tug out the thong in her hair. With both hands, he combed her silky hair around her sweet face.
Her lips parted, her breath a tremor on his neck. He held her warm cheeks in his hands and drew his thumb over her lips, marveling at the softness of her skin.
What could she be thinking? He didn't dare look inside, for fear it would ruin this moment.
He tilted his face down and closed his eyes. She inhaled a sharp breath and tensed beneath his hands. His lips pressed against hers. They were soft and sweet like honey. Warmth shuddered through him as her breath mingled with his, entered his mouth and seized his soul.
She grabbed two fistfuls of his tunic and tugged him closer, deepening the kiss. Her hands snaked up the back of his neck, into his hair, and held tight.
A door clicked shut. Sparrow turned to stone in his arms. Achan broke away and found no one there. He frowned, uncertain if the noise had come from the door to his room or Sir Caleb's. He turned back barely in time to see Sparrow's hand flying toward him. It struck his cheek with the force of a cham bear. He staggered sideways to keep his balance.
He set his hand to his cheek and found the skin hot. "What was that for?"
She blushed, her eyes liquid with tears. "I would think it would be obvious."
He sucked in a deep breath but could think of no obvious answer. "First my eye, now this? For not wanting to kill, you're a violent woman, Sparrow."
She propped her hands on her hips. "Never kiss a girl without asking first."
"Why not?" He massaged his smarting cheek.
"Well…because…it is rude. She might not want you to."
"How am I supposed to know that? I've never kissed anyone at my own instigation."
Sparrow raised her eyebrows. "You kissed Jaira."
Curse Jaira Hamartano to the Lowerworld forever. "That doesn't count."
"Beska?"
"She kissed me." Looking back, something occurred to him. Sparrow had been jealous.
Her voice wavered. "Not even Gren?"
Achan shook his head slightly, feeling odd to be speaking of Gren. Why did girls have to talk so much? He met her eyes and grinned. "May I kiss you, then?"
She shrank back. "Absolutely not!"
He stiffened, as if she'd slapped him again. "Is this because I spared Polk? I'm sorry, Sparrow. Prison is fairer than death. Esek had been threatening his family."
Her scowl faded. "You have a kind heart. It is not a thing to apologize for."
"Why, then?"
Her brows pinched. "Because I am not a wanton woman. I explained that fully out-"
"It was only a kiss. Don't get your britches in a bind."
She pursed her lips and huffed through her nose. "My britches are not in a bind. I do not expect you to understand having been raised by… Well, I am simply not the kind of girl who kisses a man she does not intend to marry."
Marry? Could he marry Sparrow? It was laughable. He could imagine Sir Caleb's response to the idea. "Well, what if-"
She held up a finger. "Do not say things you are not permitted to say."
He straightened to his full height. "I can say what I want."
"Then do not waste your breath saying things we shall both regret."
"I won't regret it."
"This is utterly inappropriate. You should never have entered a room with a woman alone. Have you no propriety?"
"Me? This is my room, Sparrow. And you're the woman running around in trousers. I'm no expert at propriety, but I'd say you were in violation first."
"I was simply looking out your window, as my room does not have one. I will leave. Good day, Your Highness."
"Sparrow, wait."
But she stormed past like a winter wind and jerked the door shut behind her.
Pig snout. Achan fell back on his bed and stared at the low timber ceiling. It had been going so well there for a moment. Hadn't she kissed him back? A moment of abandon-bah! No doubting it. He was a miserable failure at romance.
The door to Sir Caleb's room scraped open. Achan twisted his head to see Kurtz closing the door behind him, a handful of clothing under his arm.
Achan sat up, heart thumping wildly. Had Kurtz entered back when Achan heard the click? Back when…?
Kurtz crept to Achan's door, eyes shifting slightly as he reached for the handle.
Achan jumped to his feet. "Kurtz!"
The knight paused, facing the door.
"Kurtz…uh…please sit a moment." Achan swallowed, for his mouth had gone quite dry. "It, um…what you saw…it wasn't what it looked like. I can explain. Sparrow's not-"
Kurtz pulled open the door and spoke to the floor. "Your business is your own, it is." He swept out the door as fast as Sparrow had.
Achan groaned and fell back onto his bed.
Pig snout!
Vrell fled down the stairs, trying unsuccessfully to stopper her tears. Her boot caught and she stumbled down the last four steps. She caught herself on the door jamb at the foot of the stairwell and held tight, gripping the stone as if doing so might remove the last few minutes of her life.
How could she have been so foolish! She had convinced herself that she had misunderstood Achan's behavior at the waterfall. How wrong she had been! Had she encouraged him? But they had been playing games since they had entered Darkness. She turned her back to the curve of the tower and sank, weeping to the floor. Silent wails shook her.
Approaching footsteps in the hallway broke her tirade. She gasped in short breaths, calming herself, hoping the person would pass right up the stairs without seeing her. She smoothed her hair back behind her head, twisting it into a tail, though she no longer had a thong to fasten it.
A brown rope swept through the door jamb, followed by Atul's weathered face. As if he knew she were there already, he immediately looked down. "Master Sparrow, just the person I was lookin' fer."
"Me, Atul?" She sniffled and lifted her chin. "How can I assist you?"
He held a hand out. "Need approval on 'n alteration. Fer the prince's wardrobe."
"But that is something to ask Sir Caleb. He supervises the prince's wardrobe." She tucked her hair into the neck of her tunic and accepted his hand. A chill combed her spine when he pulled her to her feet.
"Sir Caleb's 'n a meetin'. 'Tis a simple matter. But my seamstress don't wanna proceed without a go-ahead o' some kind. Won't yeh take a look?"
"Of course." Vrell followed Atul to a room on the first level, attempting to keep the memory of Achan's kiss from kindling more tears. Atul held open the door.
Vrell walked inside. The long and narrow room was lined with shelves that were loaded with folded fabric. A small candle burned in an iron sconce mounted beside the door, muting the many colors of fabric to dull, earthy tones.
There were no seamstresses here.
The door clicked shut. Vrell spun around. Atul grabbed her and clamped a moist cloth over her mouth. The familiar, bark-like scent called forth panic from every nerve in Vrell's body. This was the same substance Macoun Hadar had given her outside the Council meeting. She seized Atul's robes and pushed him, hooking his leg at the same time. His dark eyes flew wide as he thudded to the stone floor.
Vrell leaped over him, but Atul grabbed her ankle and she tripped. Her hands scraped down the bottom half of the door. She winced at the stinging splinters in her palms and tried to push herself up despite the pain. A fog settled over her mind, blunting her movements. She tried to focus, to call out to Achan, but even her mind had been crippled by the soporific.
She could hear Atul moving, feel him pulling her across the moist floor by her boots, then all went dark.
Vrell moaned, stretched her stiff back. Her head throbbed. She tried to stretch her arms, but they did not move. She pulled harder, opened her eyes to discern the problem.
A thick knot of hemp bound her wrists in front. A swell of nausea gripped her at the memory of Atul the traitor. She lifted her head and looked around. She was in a single-pole, circular pavilion. A small fire blazed in a bronze brazier in the center of the room, lighting the extravagant tapestries on the walls. The smoke trailed out a hole in the roof into a dark sky.
It must be night.
She lay on a burgundy silk blanket that covered a pallet of goose down. A table, two chairs, and three massive trunks sat to the right of the bed. A changing screen hid the left side of the tent from view. An elaborate red and blue gown hung over the side of the screen. Could this be a woman's tent?
She needed to bloodvoice Achan, to tell him Atul was a traitor and had taken her. But what if it were a trap to lure him here? Perhaps she should at least discover where she was before contacting him.
Men's voices grew outside the tent, drawing near.
"It will take me three days to prepare more. Why didn't you tell me you were out?" The familiar, raspy voice brought a shiver over Vrell. Khai Mageia.
"I never had none to be out of." This bad grammar belonged to Atul. "Polk was s'posed to give me some, but Sir Gavin took all Polk's gear. What could I of done?"
"You could've asked me to make you more days ago."
"Enough. This matters not. If she calls to the stray, he'll come for her."
Esek Nathak's snide, condescending voice brought tears to Vrell's eyes. Caught, after all this time, by the very man she had been hiding from. Arman, why?
"Send scouts to watch for him, Sir Kenton-but not you. You ride with me."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Footsteps faded out of earshot.
A gust of cold air swept into the tent. "Still she sleeps? I have no time for this. You said it wouldn't last long, Mageia."
Strong hands grabbed Vrell's waist and rolled her over. Khai Mageia's dark eyes stared through his flop of greasy brown hair. His wild mustache twitched, baring yellowed teeth in a malicious smile. "She's awake, Your Majesty."
Esek Nathak peeked over Khai's shoulder, sending a chill up Vrell's spine that coated her palms in sweat. She tensed at how much Esek resembled Achan. Blue eyes, tanned skin, and dark hair… They could be brothers.
Esek's nose wrinkled in a disdainful grimace. "She smells like rot. Are you certain this is Lady Averella?"
"Positive," Khai said.
Esek grunted. "I'll have to have that coverlet aired. Stand her up so I can get a good look."
Khai pulled Vrell off the bed. She wanted to struggle, but her head pounded so much she found it difficult to focus. The next thing she knew, she stood before the bed facing Esek, Khai, and Atul.
Esek wore a long, red, wool cape bucked at his throat with a ruby and gold cabochon the size of her fist, black trousers, and black boots. A thin gold crown sank into his oily black hair that had been slicked back into a braided tail. His beard had thickened since she last saw him and made his jaw and chin look like it was trimmed in black rabbit fur.
Esek's blue eyes met hers. "Really, my dear, am I so revolting you would sink to this level just to avoid me?"
"Just kill me," Vrell said, though she did not want him to.
He slid his bejeweled fingers over his short, black beard. "But you are to be my bride. I marry you to keep tabs on the north. And I'm quite fond of grapes."
Vrell tried to spit at Esek, but her saliva dribbled down her chin. Her face flamed. How did men always spit so far?
"Ug!" Esek shrank back. "The things I do for this land. I recall having seen you quite fetching, my lady. Do tell me you have not forgotten how to wear a dress?"
"I will die before I marry you."
"Yes, well, I cannot allow that. But you are welcome to death anytime after the wedding."
"You honestly think Carm would fight for you if you took me without my or my mother's consent?"
"I care not. Frankly, I've no time to chat, my dear. I am at war with Mitspah. My men are weakening the stronghold as we speak. Get yourself presentable and you may bid me farewell." He turned and strode from the pavilion.
Vrell seethed. "I care not whether you leave!" She focused her gaze on Khai and Atul. "What do you want?"
"You're to wear this." Atul skirted the bed and walked to the changing screen. "I took it from Lady Rubel's closet."
Vrell snorted a laugh. "If you think for a moment that Lady Rubel's gown will fit me, you are blind."
Atul draped the gown over the bed. The beaded bodice and skirt sparkled in the firelight. Khai stepped forward and drew a dagger from a leg sheath. Vrell drew back.
"I'm to cut your bindings, my lady."
"Oh." No sense arguing there. Vrell held out her wrists.
Khai sawed through the hemp. "The tent is surrounded. Do not bother trying to escape. I will return in five minutes, my lady. If you are not dressed, I will do it myself."
*
Vrell felt ridiculous in such a gown. It was as fine as many of her own, but the fit mocked her insufficiencies. As promised, Khai returned and escorted her from the tent.
Esek's camp was in a clearing beside a dirt road. Torch posts held lanterns and torches, filling the air with the smell of pitch. New Kingsguard soldiers scurried around, armor jangling beneath their black capes. There appeared to be at least fifty armed men here, though it was difficult to count with so many tents. Horses whinnied and snorted. Khai led her past a tent where men were laughing around a game of dice.
The smell of horses reached her before she saw Esek in the gloom. He stood with Sir Kenton and Chora beside his ebony courser. In the torchlight she could see that the animal was draped in red banners embroidered with the crest of Armonguard.
She scowled. Armonguard's crest should appear on a purple background, not red. She reached out for Achan and sent a knock. No answer.
"Ah, a vast improvement." Esek twirled his finger in the air. "Turn around. Let's see."
The audacity of this man, barking orders as if she were his property. She folded her arms and stared him down.
A sharp point pricked her back. Stale breath blew hot in her ear. "Obey your king, my lady."
Vrell darted around to see Khai holding his dagger out.
He waved it forward. "All the way, my lady."
She blew out an bitter breath and twirled. The beaded skirt funneled, sucking a chilled draft up her trouser-clad legs.
"Better. Though something doesn't quite fit." Esek reached out for the bodice of the gown.
Vrell slapped his hand away.
He chuckled. "Atul tells me the stray is unaware of who you are." He raised a dark eyebrow. "Oh, yes, my lady, you and I are of the same mold, I see. Why do you fight it?"
Vrell sent another knock to Achan. His lack of response ignited a fear in her mind. Did he lie bleeding on the grassy lawn of the Mitspah bailey, a sword protruding from his heart? She gasped as the familiar fear settled into her veins, inspiring one disturbing image after another.
This was not night. This was Darkness! How far from the castle was she?
She sent a knock to Sir Gavin.
Sir Gavin's voice came and went in a breath. A moment, Vrell. Mitspah is under attack.
She groaned inside and sent a knock to Achan again.
Esek held up his arms. Chora buckled a belt and sword around his waist. Owr. Achan's rightful sword. "This moment my Kingsguards are weakening the stray's so-called army. Can you believe he wasted all this time freeing a legion of withered grandsires?"
Esek laughed. "Now I will ride, find the stray, and cut him down once and for all. Once he is dead, I return for our wedding. But you are disappointed, my lady. Yes, I too would prefer something more elegant and formal, but since your mother refuses to cooperate, I shall take what I can get."
Esek tapped his cheek with his black-gloved finger. A row of rings glimmered over the leather. "A little kiss? For luck?"
Khai's dagger found Vrell's waist again. Her stomach coiled as she inched toward Esek's inclined head. She grabbed his face and bit down, sinking her teeth into his hairy cheek.
The familiar pressure of Achan's mind pressed in. Yes, Miss Sparrow? You seem quite determined to get my attention this afternoon. Have you reconsidered hearing me out?
Esek growled, the sound increasing to a full-on yell. His leather glove squeezed Vrell's neck, pushing her away.
Vrell released her bite. Achan! Are you hurt? Esek has taken me captive to his camp in Darkness. He said his men have attacked-she screamed, but Esek's strong fingers silenced her, cutting off her air. He held her at arm's length, still squeezing. He bashed his other hand against her cheek. Her legs crumpled under her, and Esek, now holding her up by her neck, lowered her to her knees.
Her released his grip some, leaned down, and tenderly kissed her cheek. "Oh, yes. You and I will have a splendid wedding night." He pushed her down, stomped on her face, and all went black.
Vrell Sparrow.
Achan opened his eyes to the low, timber ceiling. Sunlight beamed through the slats on the shutters, painting stripes of light across his wall. It must be late afternoon. He sat up, vision hazy, left eye still tender. He scratched his leg and sighed.
He'd been trying to watch the eight bloodvoicers again. He must have fallen asleep.
His head ached. Could bloodvoicing leave such an aftereffect? He reached for his list. Of the eight, Achan had solid feelings about Bazmark, Joab, and Nevon. He should cross those three men off and focus on the remaining five.
Another throb stabbed his temple. He clutched the scroll and lay back on his bed. Ahh. Maybe he should see if Sparrow had any tea for headaches.
Wait. Sparrow loathed him because he'd kissed her. Of all the foolhardy things. He could barely stand to relive the wondrous and horrifying moment.
And how much had Kurtz overheard? If he still thought Sparrow a lad… This might be awkward. Achan knew he would be the one to bungle Sparrow's secret, but this…
Sir Gavin had rebuked him for having tussled with Sparrow earlier. Said it was inappropriate and that Achan might have hurt her. Well, Sir Gavin would likely tar and feather him when Kurtz told him what he'd seen. Sir Caleb more so.
It wasn't entirely fair, the way they'd harped. He was the one with the black eye. And Sparrow had been the one to draw her sword in the bailey, though Achan had probably set things off by pushing her into the moat.
A shallow moat at that. More of a wading pool, really. There were no beasts in there. Maybe minnows. Like Sparrow. He smiled at Kurtz's nickname. What would the love-crazy knight do when he knew Sparrow was female? The idea of Kurtz admiring Sparrow filled Achan's chest with heat. Sparrow had been right about men. Kurtz a prime example. And now Achan had proved her right as well. After all she'd done to hide from men, how could he have let himself take advantage? What if she never forgave him?
Vrell Sparrow.
Oh. Apparently Sparrow was the reason for Achan's pounding skull. She never had gotten the hint how painful this kind of persistence was.
Achan rubbed his temple and opened his mind. Yes, Miss Sparrow? You seem quite determined to get my attention this afternoon. Have you reconsidered hearing me out?
Achan! Are you hurt? Esek is holding me at his camp in Darkness. He said his men have attacked-Sparrow's ragged scream filled his mind.
Achan swung his legs off the bed. Sparrow?
But the connection had vanished. He reached out, looked through her mind and found darkness. Surely she couldn't have fallen asleep in mid-sentence.
Had someone killed her?
A man's scream brought him back from the dark place. He jumped off his bed and ran to the window. The bailey smoldered with grey smoke. Achan could barely make out the shapes of men fighting. His men against black-cloaked New Kingsguard knights.
Sir Gavin! Why didn't you tell me we were under attack?
Shung told me you were sleeping. I felt it best to leave you. Stay in your chambers, Your Highness. We will deal with this rabble.
Unbelievable. If Achan's men heard he had slept through a battle, they might lose any thread of respect he had fought to earn. He ran into Sir Caleb's room and found the trunk containing his new armor. He had no way of securing the breastplate by himself, but he could manage the chain coat. He lifted the heavy chain out of the trunk.
Cole! Ready Dove and Shung's horse to ride.
Your Majesty? Cole sounded confused. Where are you?
In my chambers. Achan carried the chain coat back to his chamber and spread it out on his bed. Cole likely thought he was going mad. Do not fear, Cole. I am speaking to you with bloodvoices. I will meet you at the stables in a moment.
Uh, okay, Your Majesty.
Achan scrunched up the chain and ducked his head through the neck opening. His hair snagged and the chain hung heavy around his neck. He struggled and finally managed to get it on. It hung heavy over his clothing. He should probably put on another shirt, but there was no time. He seized Eagan's Elk from and the knife from the Roxburg family. He threaded the knife's sheath onto the belt and buckled it around his waist.
Achan prayed Sparrow hadn't been hurt. He pulled open the door to find Shung standing outside. "Let's go, Shung. We've a battle to join."
Achan and Shung exited into the castle courtyard. The air was thick with smoke. Cole stood outside the stables between their horses. Achan started toward him.
"Your Highness!" Sir Eagan's head peeked over the top of the inner gatehouse, looking down. "Come up and take a look."
"I've no time for that. Atul has taken Sparrow captive. He's holding her at Esek's camp. Shung and I must ride."
Sir Eagan raised an eyebrow. "Her?"
"Please. She's not answering my bloodvoice calls."
"That is wide of the point, Your Majesty. We cannot open the gate just yet. Come up to the tower and you will understand."
Achan blew out an angry breath. Every second he lingered, Sparrow could be dying. He stormed to the gatehouse, Shung at his heels, and up the narrow, spiral stone staircase to the tower roof above the inner portcullis.
Sir Eagan stood with Sir Gavin looking over the crenellations. From here, Achan could see the entire bailey. Three tents along the southeastern curtain wall were on fire. The outer gate was shut. The forest outside the curtain wall blazed. But the wooden structures within the stone stronghold had not caught fire. Too moist, perhaps. The smoke had faded, leaving only a few pockets coiling up into the sky, burning the shaft of arrows they flew in on.
Dozens of men lay on the ground, some motionless, some writhing, some with arrows protruding from their bodies.
"It is over?" Achan asked.
"Not yet," Sir Gavin said. "We've pushed them down the road and they have retreated somewhat. Yet their cavalry has yet to come. Once our men are ready, we'll take the battle to them."
Achan watched his army readying their horses. "What happened?"
"When we left Tsaftown, we sent scouts ahead. Those who went to Carmine tell Gavin they've seen no sign of Esek's men. Those to Berland have not reported. Without their eyes, we could not know how close Esek's men were."
"Take my hand, Your Highness," Sir Eagan said. "I will show you."
"I don't understand."
"Open your mind and you will."
Achan held out his hand and opened a connection with the knight. He felt Sir Eagan's fingers grip his palm. Images flooded his mind's eye.
Sir Eagan explained what Achan was seeing. "I was returning from TempleArman, paused at the northern tower, and saw men climbing onto the sentry walk. While I notified Gavin, they took out the guards at the outer gatehouse."
Achan saw the scene unfold, felt Sir Eagan's racing heart and sense of urgency.
"I befuddled a few with bloodvoicing, but many of them had shielded their minds. Gifted."
In the recitation of the event in his mind, Achan saw the New Kingsguard knights lower their weapons and look up to the sky in a daze.
"By the time Gavin made it out here, our men had already taken arms against the intruders. We took back the gatehouse before they managed to raise the portcullis."
Achan watched his men sprint across the lawn and enter the gatehouse. He recognized Bazmark at the front of the pack.
"Archers shot fire arrows over the wall. I moved down here with Gavin and searched the minds of the attackers to see what I could learn. A squadron-likely the ninety-plus men Kurtz saw leaving Tsaftown-came upon us unaware from the north. From Darkness."
Sir Eagan released Achan's hand.
Achan shivered as Sir Eagan's memories faded. "How did you do that? Give me your memories?"
"You saw my thoughts, but I chose which to show you."
"I too have looked into the minds of these men," Sir Gavin said. "From what I can tell, Esek is not with them. They answer to a Captain Keuper."
"I know him," Sir Eagan said. "He trained under Sir Kenton. Arrogant fellow."
"He's a fool," Sir Gavin said. "Why does Kenton not point out that shooting fire at Mitspah is a bootless errand?"
"Is Sir Kenton out there?" Achan asked.
"Not that we can sense," Sir Eagan said. "Nor is Lord Nathak. A shame, really. Many good men fight for Esek. I sensed their discord with this mission."
"Why do they fight for him if they are conflicted?"
"It is their job. It feeds their families. A man must think twice before leaving his only source of income and trailing after a rogue king."
"That's me? A rogue king."
"We have no coin to pay soldiers. For a man to leave his job and join you, he would have to believe the cause was worth the sacrifice his family would be making. Esek sabotages himself, though. He asks his men to die for his personal agenda. Killing you. I am surprised Sir Kenton allows this."
"Indeed. Something is amiss. Kenton, at least, would know better than to shoot fire at Mitspah stronghold."
Achan concentrated on Sparrow's face. Blackness. Hysteria gripped him. Arman, please don't let her be dead. He could tarry no longer. He darted between the men and grabbed each of their wrists, opened a connection, and remembered Sparrow's message, her scream, and how she went silent.
He opened his eyes to see Sir Gavin pale. "She called out to me. Eben's breath: I told her to wait."
"What are your orders, Your Majesty?" Sir Eagan said.
Achan glanced at Shung. "We must take the road north, into Darkness. She's at Esek's camp."
Sir Gavin frowned. "Achan, we cannot allow you to go."
"I am not asking permission, Sir Gavin. Arman will protect me. I will take Shung."
"And me," Sir Eagan said. "I will go with you."
"Thank you," Achan said.
"Gavin, we will ride out with the men, ride through as they attack."
Sir Gavin sighed. "I'll inform Caleb. He won't be pleased."
"You could have put on your helmet, Your Majesty." Sir Caleb looked like a sullen child standing at Dove's side.
"Do not worry, Sir Caleb. I am wearing my chain armor. And my Shield and my father's Shield are with me."
"That's one more Shield than Esek has," Sir Eagan said.
Achan grinned. "See? All will be well, you shall see."
Sir Caleb's nostrils flared. He nodded, walked to the gate, and mounted his steed. Kurtz sat atop his horse beside Sir Caleb, looking fierce in armor.
Sir Caleb heaved his sword into the air and bellowed, "For King Axel and his queen!"
In response, the men raised their swords and echoed Sir Caleb's cry. "King Axel and his queen!"
The portcullis rose. Achan's heart raced, expecting to see a melee already in place or arrows flying his way. But the road was deserted. The army rode out behind Sir Caleb and Kurtz, and turned south along the road.
Then Achan saw them. In the distance, Esek's men, on horseback, riding toward them. Two in the lead fell from their mounts. Achan glanced back to see archers on the sentry wall of Mitspah letting their arrows fly to hold back the enemy.
Kurtz roared, raised his sword, and his horse galloped into the lead. Dove raced along in the cavalry. Achan reached out for Sparrow again and received no answer. His muscles clenched at the thought of losing her. How could he feel so strongly, having only known she was a woman a few days? He knew only that his life would not be the same without her quirky comments, her easy banter, even watching her clean her teeth.
The realization struck him like a gauntlet to the gut. She was the one for him. No matter what, he had to bring Vrell Sparrow back. He saw it as clearly as if it had been there all the time. He had to make her his, despite what Sir Caleb or any of the other knights had to say.
Sir Caleb, Kurtz, and Bazmark led the fray. They peeled aside one by one to engage the enemy. Achan, Shung, and Sir Eagan rode straight through.
A familiar voice cut through the clatter of hooves and swords. "There he goes, Sir Kenton! The white horse! The big one!"
Esek would give chase. Achan spurred Dove on. Faster, boy. We must go faster.
Twilight had fallen and the trees filtered most of the remaining light. Dove did not slow until a mist coated Achan's arm. The horse flattened his ears, his apprehension prickling Achan's arms.
Achan agreed with Dove. He loathed the idea of entering Darkness again. I know, boy, but we must go back in. Sparrow is there.
Dove slowed to a trot, tossing his head in protest. Achan urged him on, patting his mane.
Yellow light flamed behind him. Sir Eagan now held a torch in one hand.
Achan nodded, holding Dove back so Sir Eagan could lead. "Make haste, if you can. I'm sure Esek is not far behind."
Sir Eagan spurred his mount through the mist, torch fire streaming. Achan and Shung followed.
They found Esek's camp just past the Evenwall, a couple dozen tents erected in a clearing beside the road lit by torches mounted on wooden stakes. Sir Eagan rode into the camp and dismounted where two horses were tethered by a squat tree. Achan and Shung dismounted as well.
They weaved between two tents and stopped before a large, round pavilion that glowed with firelight from within. Judging by the drab tents surrounding it, this extravagant one had to belong to Esek.
Two armed New Kingsguardsmen stood at the entrance, swords drawn. Achan recognized both immediately. Atul and Khai. Achan drew Eagan's Elk.
An itch to Achan's temple preceded a knock. Eagan.
Achan opened his mind. What's your plan?
Shung and I will lure these guards aside. Achan will go in and free Vrell. Keep your minds open to each other.
Shung nodded. Apparently Sir Eagan had forged a connection with him as well.
Achan hung back while Sir Eagan and Shung approached the guards.
"Atul, you dog," Sir Eagan said. "The punishment for treason is death, you know."
"I serve my king faithfully."
"Ah, but Esek is no one's king. He is just a poor sap like you. So who is the bigger fool? The insane man who thinks he is king or the man who follows him?"
"It ain't crazy to follow the Council's anointed."
"Again, if the Council is filled with deranged men, I have to disagree. We have come for Sparrow. We believe you took her. Mind if we take a look in that fancy tent?"
"We do mind, actually," Khai said.
"A shame. For we shall have to kill you then." Sir Eagan's battle cry ripped through the quiet.
Steel clashed, feet scuffled over the moist dirt. Sir Eagan instantly drove Atul away from the entrance. Achan kept back, waiting for Shung to get Khai out of the way.
But why wait?
Achan charged and chopped Eagan's Elk at Khai's back. It grated against the chain he wore underneath his cape. Khai spun, swinging his gargantuan sword Achan's way. Achan ducked. The sword slashed into the canvas wall of the tent. Khai grunted and pulled it out, but Shung knocked him out with a crack to the back of his head.
Well done, Shung! Achan sheathed his sword and ran inside. Incense filled his lungs. A brazier crackled in the center of the round room. A small form lay curled on a bed on the other side of the brazier. Achan raced to the bedside. It was indeed Sparrow. She was wearing a red and blue dress. The deep colors against her fair skin made her look like a goddess, though her face was swollen in two places: below her left eye and on the left side of her forehead.
He scooped her onto his lap and tucked her head under his chin, stroking her soft hair, inhaling her rosewater scent. She felt so small in his arms. Warm. That was good, right? Warm meant alive.
"Sparrow." He shook her gently. "Wake up." He heaved to his feet, holding her against his chest. Her long skirt draped over his left hand and down to his knees, the beads on the skirt rattling against his chain armor as he carried her to the door.
Shung stood in the doorway, holding the curtain open. Achan turned sideways to duck past, shielding Sparrow's head with his own. He paused outside to adjust his grip, and Sir Eagan's posture sent a shock of cold through him.
The man stood, crouched, sword ready, facing two men who were dismounting.
Esek Nathak and his Shield, Sir Kenton.
Esek cried out. "Atul! This is not finishing him!"
Sparrow moaned, shifted in his arms, opened her eyes.
Praise Arman! "Oh, Sparrow. I feared the worst. If anything had-"
She squirmed in his grip. "Achan, we must hurry. Put me down."
"It's too late to run, Sparrow." He set her on her feet, keeping one protective arm around her shoulders, holding her against his side. "Look."
Her face seemed to pale further in the surrounding torchlight. He took her hand and squeezed.
Dove is just beyond those tents. Achan nodded toward the tents behind Esek and Sir Kenton. Get to him and ride as fast as you can back to Mitspah.
She shook her head. We go together, please.
If we all run, Esek gives chase. If it's just you… He looked down on her face. It's me he wants. Let me fight him, distract him while you get away.
I will not leave you.
Achan paused to knit this information together in his brain. She did care for him.
Sparrow. I have two Shields and Esek only has one. I will be safe. When the fighting starts, you run for Dove? Do you understand?
She nodded, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.
"Here we are again, stray." Esek sighed. "This does grow old. I abhor all this traveling. Why won't you simply die?"
"Arman will not let me die." Achan took in his surroundings. Sir Eagan stood before Esek and Sir Kenton. Shung stood on Achan's left, Sparrow on his right, clutching his hand. Atul lay gasping by the tent opposite Esek's.
Achan scanned the area. Were did Khai go? His sword is gone. I thought he was unconscious.
Shung did not see.
He ran off, Sir Eagan said. Must not have hit him hard enough, Shung.
Esek snorted. "Arman, indeed. Sir Kenton, finish the gnat. I am tired of his charmed existence."
Achan pushed Sparrow behind him and drew his sword.
But Sir Kenton hadn't moved. "I'll tire him for you, toy with him if you like, Your Majesty, but I won't kill him."
Esek's eyes widened. "Explain yourself, Sir Kenton."
"I'm your Shield, true, but I serve Lord Nathak. He's my master and he ordered me not to let this man be killed."
Esek's posture swelled. "Have you always informed Lord Nathak of my plans?"
Sir Kenton bowed his head. "I have."
"Of all the insolent-" Esek thrust an arm in Achan's direction. "He is the only one who stands in my way. If he is dead, the throne is mine!"
Sir Kenton shook his head. "Do you honestly think your father would have let him live without good reason?"
Esek narrowed his eyes. "Do not refer to that man as my father."
Go, Sparrow, while they argue. Now!
She released his hand, and he heard her soft footsteps retreat around the back of the tent.
Sir Eagan's order came next. Shung, you take Esek, I'll take Kenton. Your Majesty, stay back.
Sir Eagan and Shung attacked. Achan stood, furious at being coddled yet again. Sparrow's raspy scream stifled his anger. Khai!
Achan ran around the tent, the way Sparrow had gone.
*
Of all the men to catch her! Khai?
His strong hand gripped Vrell's arm. A sharp point pricked the back of her neck. "Silence, my lady."
The clash of swords sounded from the other side of the pavilion. The men were fighting, but Vrell had failed to escape.
Khai's stale breath blew hot in her ear. "You and I will wait right here while the king kills your pathetic hero."
But Achan raced around the curve of the pavilion, sword in hand. He stopped a few paces away. "Let her go."
"Or perhaps I will kill your pathetic hero." Khai's knife punctured her skin. Vrell released a ragged breath at the prick of pain. "You must give up this charade, boy. The Council's word is law, unfair as it may be. Esek is king and you are not. If you want to see this girl live, give yourself up. That's all it will take."
Khai's grip slipped suddenly. Vrell ripped free.
Khai groaned to a yell. "No!" He stumbled and dropped his knife on the moist dirt, limbs shaking, face twisted in fury.
Vrell darted forward and snatched it up.
Run, Sparrow! Achan's brow furrowed, eyes focused on Khai.
"You think you can control my mind?" Khai panted. "I may not have your strength there, but I have skills you do not." He reached out a hand, palm facing the dark sky. "Rabab rebabah rabah yarad. Ruwach aphar mayim esh, machmad parar."
Green light sparked in Khai's palm. Realization dumfounded Vrell. Khai was a black knight. All the time, on the journey to Mahanaim. What Jax had called his witchcraft.
Achan's gaze was so intense he looked pained. Go!
But she had tarried too long. Khai had triplicated himself. He and his apparitions drew their monstrously long swords. His apparitions advanced on Achan.
Vrell steeled herself, darted forward, and plunged the knife into the real Khai's back. She shrieked, horrified at what she had done.
The apparitions vanished.
Khai wheeled around and stabbed. His sword pierced her side. She felt it enter her flesh, gasped, but the pain didn't come until the Khai withdrew the weapon. Her knees buckled.
"No!" Achan rushed forward and arrived barely in time to catch her.
Khai fell to his knees, dropped his sword. Achan carried Vrell around the weasely man, past a long, dark tent. A cramp seized her side. She pressed her hand over it, holding her breath. Achan spoke, but she couldn't understand his muffled, slow voice. Her vision blurred, flashed, her senses reeled.
Arman, help me.
She smelled horses. Achan lifted her higher, pressing her against Dove's saddle. Her side screamed at her to fall, to rest, but she reached for the saddlehorn, amazed at the animal's girth.
Her cheek rubbed against the wooden saddle. She pulled. Her body rose like she weighed nothing. Achan hoisting her up, no doubt.
She wanted to speak, to beg him to ride with her, but her mind and mouth were not in harmony.
Dove tossed his head. Vrell dragged her right leg over so that she lay in the saddle, slumped against Dove's white mane. She hugged his neck and, without a word, he galloped away.
Good boy. Certain the animal wouldn't stop until the Mitspah gate, Achan released Dove's mind then sent word to Sir Gavin that Sparrow was coming.
"After her!"
Sir Kenton mounted his black destrier and gave chase. More of Esek's men had arrived. Sir Eagan and Shung now battled four New Kingsguards.
Achan found the mind of Sir Kenton's horse and asked its help. The animal was more than happy to assist Achan, who promised to feed him all the oats he wanted if he would carry his rider the opposite way. Hopefully Achan would have the chance to make good on his promise.
"What is he doing?" Esek cried out. "She went the other way, you fool!"
Achan stepped toward Khai. He should perhaps bind him before helping Sir Eagan and Shung. But Khai lay on the ground, chest barely moving. He wouldn't be alive for long.
"Fine! I will go after her, then." Esek strode toward the horses. "I can see I have no one else who will serve me."
Achan cut off his path. "You will let her go."
Esek withdrew Owr. "Stray, we must work all this out. If you agree to simply die, all will be well."
"Arman has spoken. I cannot refuse him."
Esek snorted a laugh. "Arman, indeed. He is the reason I don't rule already. Lord Nathak fears his useless prophecies." Esek circled, Owr gleaming like a star in one hand.
Three of Esek's men approached, swords ready.
"No!" Esek said. "This time I will kill him and prove to you all he is not invincible."
Esek jabbed Owr forward. Achan barely jumped back in time to keep from being stabbed. Esek cleaved from high guard, inviting a horizontal parry from Achan's blade. Their swords clashed, jarring Achan's weary arms all the way to his teeth. Esek came on strong with a series of cuts: side guard, back guard, low guard. He'd been practicing since Achan fought him last. Achan could only parry… parry… parry.
"I have never seen proof that any god exists," Esek said, swinging for Achan's feet, "let alone one who protects strays."
Achan jumped back and yelled. He took a deep breath and swung his sword at Esek's neck.
Esek parried Achan's strike and thrust for Achan's heart.
Achan sidestepped, spun back and nicked Esek's shoulder.
Esek yelled and stumbled back, then swung for Achan's arm. Achan parried, but Esek dropped under Achan's parry and nicked Achan's side.
Achan winced and drew back to middle guard. Esek swung from side guard. Achan moved to parry, but Esek faked, pulled Owr back, and stabbed one armed, slipping his grip to reach farther.
Owr pierced Achan's left thigh. He roared and snapped his sword down from high guard over Esek's extended arm, wincing as his blade severed Esek's limb above the elbow.
Esek shrieked and stared at the bleeding stump.
Achan's trembling arm fell limp at his side. He dropped his sword, horrified. His leg throbbed, hot pain gripping every nerve. Esek collapsed in a heap or red wool. Fainted? Dead?
"No!" Chora rushed forward and removed his cape. He balled it up and held it to Esek's gushing stump.
Achan fell back onto his rear and clutched the underside of his thigh. Blood oozed from the dark center of the wound and stained his britches. Panting through his teeth, he reached up his chain shirt and tugged his rope belt free. He pulled it under his leg and tied it above his wound.
A burning sensation rose from Achan's chest.
TAKE YOUR SWORD AND GO.
Achan obeyed. He hefted himself onto his good leg, picked up Eagan's Elk, and limped toward the horses.
YOUR FATHER'S SWORD.
Achan wheeled around and reached for Owr. He had to kick Esek's gloved hand off the grip. His father's ring caught his eye, wide and gold against the black leather glove. He dropped both weapons and pulled it from Esek's finger.
Achan jammed the ring on his thumb, picked up the swords, and staggered back, glancing from the severed arm to Esek and Chora, to the circle of onlookers. "Give up this fight. You cannot resist Arman's will. I don't wish to harm anyone, but continue to attack me and you'll suffer the consequences, no matter how…v-vile. Sir Eagan, Shung, we ride."
Achan stepped over Khai's body and approached the horses. His wounded leg shook beyond his control and he tried to keep his weight on his good leg. He clipped both swords to the saddlebag on Esek's courser. Shung and Sir Eagan helped him mount the horse, who, compared to Dove, seemed small and bony. Achan spurred the horse away, east, toward Light.
Sir Gavin, has Sparrow arrived?
They are just opening the outer portcullis for her now.
She is wounded. We're on our way.
Shung and Sir Eagan slowed their horses alongside Achan.
"How is your leg?" Sir Eagan asked.
"I've had worse." The light faded fast as they left the camp behind them. "No torch?"
Sir Eagan pushed a hand though his loose hair. "Didn't think to grab one."
"Should we be concerned?" Achan had cinched his belt so tightly his leg had numbed. He loosened the knot.
"I doubt anyone will follow. You defeated their leader."
Achan pulled the belt free and tied it around his waist, leg tingling with feeling now. "Think he's dead?"
"Depends on whether they have a healer nearby."
Achan closed his eyes, still shaken from the sight of Esek's bleeding arm. I'm sorry, Arman.
But was he? Esek had been trying to kill him, had taken Sparrow. It was the fool's own fault for never wearing armor. Still, Achan could have finished him rather than leave him to suffer such a death.
When he opened his eyes, the torchlight from Esek's camp had faded. Achan's horse tensed; Achan could feel the anxiety running through the animal. He rubbed the horse's neck, patting him down. In the woods on his left, something rustled. Achan's horse stutter-stepped and turned. Achan held the reins tight, hoping to keep the animal on the road.
The other horses neighed and stomped their feet. One set of hooves trampled away.
"Whoa!" Sir Eagan called out in the distance. The hoof beats slowed on the dirt.
What is it? Achan's horse rocked back on his haunches and whinnied.
Likely a wild animal, Sir Eagan said.
"Easy, boy." Achan patted the horse's neck and urged him on. "It's just some deer."
The rustling increased. The courser whinnied, trying to turn back. Achan held fast to the saddle horn and fought to keep his balance. His left leg proved useless to steady him. Maybe Esek had trained the animal and it knew it belonged elsewhere. Achan connected with the animal's mind. Fear overwhelmed him. He thought calming thoughts, hoping to somehow evoke Sir Eagan's gift of calming emotions.
But the horse continued to panic. Achan's heart thudded, unsure of what might spook a horse so.
The Darkness lifted suddenly to a dim twilight. Evenwall mist coated Achan's face. He had never been so relieved to enter this place. Shung rode just ahead on the right edge of the road, almost in the brush. Achan could see Sir Eagan stopped up ahead, looking back, his horse sideways on the road.
"You are well?"
"I'm fi-"
Something slammed into the side of his horse, knocking Achan into a pine tree. The sharp limbs snapped against his chain coat as he fell through branches to the fern-covered ground, landing on his back. Orange light flashed on the road. A terrible roar stifled the horses' whinnying. Achan scooted back on his elbows and right foot, dragging his sore leg.
Sir Eagan's panicked voice burst in Achan's mind. Your Highness! Where are you?
Achan paused under a patch of charcoal sky. He could see the dark shapes of Esek's half-downed, half-bucking horse and a massive animal. I'm okay. I'm in the woods. Another sudden burst of orange flame caused the horse to utter an unnatural scream and illuminated the beast. Achan lost his breath.
Arman help him. It was a cham bear, and his swords were with the horse.
Shung cannot connect with its mind.
Can you, Sir Eagan? Can you calm it? Achan asked.
A moment of silence passed. Achan squinted at the scene on the road. The cham roared again, ears flat, eyes flashing in its own orange fire. It seemed intimidated by the bucking horse, though Achan could see the large gash in the horse's side. It smelled oddly like roasted venison.
Sir Eagan finally answered. Someone controls it.
What? Who?
I know not, but its mind is shielded. An animal cannot do that.
Achan's shaking arms gave way, elbows bucking. He picked himself back up and stared at the road. The cham's dark eyes focused his way. Bile snaked its way up his throat. His movement had gained the cham's attention.
The beast crept toward him, illuminated in a flash of twilight between the trees. It was the size of a bull, shaggy, with matted, brown fur. Its paws looked as big as Achan's head.
He reached out, felt the shields around the cham's mind, and pushed past them.
Hello, Yer Majesty. Yer not the only one who can master an animal's mind, Atul said.
Achan withdrew, concerned Atul might be able to storm him. Atul controls it. Should I run? Climb a tree?
No! Shung's deep voice resounded. Stay still. Curl into ball. Back facing the beast. We hunt it.
Achan rolled to his side, wounded leg down, and tucked his head, thankful Shung, the cham hunter, was here. He held his breath, listening, praying the animal would bound past, into the woods, after a deer or fox, some more common meal, though he knew deep down that the cham would obey Atul.
He gagged at the smell of sweaty fur and dung. Hot breath wafted over his neck as teeth sank around his right shoulder. Multiple throbs pierced through the chain armor as the cham clenched down and dragged Achan's left side over roots and thorny bushes. His whole body burned from within, but he stayed still, hoping compliance would at least keep the cham from charring him with a burst of flame.
His chain coat snagged. The cham jerked its head. When Achan's body didn't budge, the cham tugged again. Achan's mind got lost in the blinding pain. A man screamed. Or had that been him?
Sir Gavin's voice came first. Achan, what's happening?
Be closing your mind, boy! Inko said.
Who are you?
You're hurting me. Please close your mind.
Dear one, a kind woman said, you must shield yourself.
Your Majesty, you must relax. Sir Eagan sent his calm and the pain faded some. We are right behind it.
Shield yourself, eh Pacey? Kurtz said.
The cham let go. A roar vibrated Achan's eardrums. Orange light flashed. Shung screamed. A sword entered flesh. Something thumped. Branches cracked. A man grunted.
Sir Eagan? What happened? Shung?
Somewhere behind Achan, Shung groaned.
The cham bit Achan's shoulder again. Achan's head swam with agony. Darkness closed around his vision.
Achan! Sir Gavin said. Your guard is down and you're spilling out. You must focus. Tell me what's happening. What's wrong?
If Achan was dying, he didn't want every bloodvoicer in Er'Rets privy to it. He drew up his shields and fixated on Sir Gavin's voice. A cham. Sir Eagan and Shung are trying to fight it.
Call on Arman, Sir Gavin said.
Achan's cheeks flushed at this obvious conclusion. He closed his eyes and recited the words Sir Gavin had taught him, knowing in his heart Arman could help him. But would he?
Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad. Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman.
Achan had to act. For all he knew the cham had roasted Shung. He reached his trembling left hand to his chain armor and slipped the rings free from a root. The next time the cham tugged, Achan's body scraped easily over the forest floor.
He felt for the sheath that held his dagger. It took more patience than he liked to cajole his trembling fingers to the right place, but he managed to draw it. He clutched it to his chest, squeezing the ivory grip. He'd only get one try. If he missed, the bear would roast him.
Shung had suggested the way to kill a cham was an arrow to the side, behind the shoulder. The knife wouldn't go deep enough to reach any vital organs. He needed to cut its throat.
The bear pawed him, its massive claws clicking over the chain. It clamped down on Achan's torso, just under his arm. Its teeth seemed made to pierce chain armor. The pain made Achan so lightheaded he almost blacked out. He squeezed the handle of his knife and mumbled, "Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad," a half dozen times, waiting for his moment, praying he'd have the strength.
The bear released him. Achan rolled onto his back, onto a furry paw, brought the knife up over his opposite shoulder, and slashed back across the bear's neck, screaming as he did.
Hot blood spurted over Achan's face and chest. His breath hitched. He clamped his mouth shut. The bear groaned, thrashed in the brush, and loped away. Achan rolled the opposite direction until his body hit a tree trunk. He struggled to maneuver behind it, unable to see the bear. Off in the forest ferns rustled, twigs snapped, and a keening moan gave Achan hope.
Sir Eagan! Where are you? Shung?
A cool breeze filtered past the trees and Achan shivered. Saliva and blood matted his shirt to his shoulder and chest. His right arm hung limp. His shoulder and torso throbbed. His thigh still ached. Should he stay put? Esek's horse was likely dead. Should he climb a tree to get out of the bear's reach? What had Shung said about chams climbing trees?
Sir Gavin's panicked voice burst in Achan's head. Achan! The cham?
I dunno. I think I killed it.
A man groaned nearby.
Shung? Sir Eagan? Achan's voice came slow in his head.
Little Cham?
Shung! Are you hurt?
Shung will live. The cham burned Shung's arm.
What of Sir Eagan? He doesn't answer.
"Did I kill it?" Sir Eagan's voice sounded groggy.
The cham knocked Elk into a tree. Footsteps crunched and Shung's hairy shadow crouched before Achan.
"I'm fine," Achan said. "Check Sir Eagan."
"No need." Movement swished past Achan's boots. "A little dizzy, but I'll live."
With Shung and Sir Eagan's help, Achan staggered to his feet and limped to the road. He could see the dark shape of Esek's horse. Dead. Achan's limbs trembled, his body cold and sweaty.
Sir Eagan and Shung boosted Achan up to Sir Eagan's horse. His right side seized, and he held his breath to keep from crying out. He wanted to lie down. His body throbbed. The smells of saliva and blood sickened him.
Shung moved to the other side of the horse and tucked Achan's boot into the stirrup. "Where's the beast?"
Achan jerked his head to the side and his neck muscles cried out. "Back through…trees."
"Shung will come back tonight with men and light. Make frame to haul back."
Achan panted. "See if…you can find… m' knife."
Sir Eagan mounted up behind Achan. "And my sword."
A thrill seized Achan. "M' swords! On th' dead h'rse."
"Shung will get them."
Owr was finally his. "Yeh can have yer sword back now, S'r Eag'n. I've tak'n Owr."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Moments later the horses took off, galloping at top speed for Mitspah stronghold. Each hoofbeat jarred Achan's wounds so much that he lost consciousness.
Vrell awoke in her bed in Mitspah under a pile of blankets. A fire crackled in the hearth, warming her right side. She drew her hand along her middle and found she wore one of her boy's tunics. Strips of linen bound her waist.
A wave of heat passed over her. She'd left her undergarment in Esek's tent! Who had dressed her wounds?
Voices murmured nearby. She blinked and her room in Mitspah took shape. Men were speaking in Achan's room. The adjoining door stood open.
"Well, I'll be stormed, I will! What a relief, eh? I'd thought the lad was double-"
"Enough, Kurtz!" a man said. Sir Caleb. "Gavin, how long have you known?"
Sir Gavin drew a long breath through his nose. "Since the night we first defeated the black knights."
"I'm not liking it at all. It's being bad luck to be having a woman in camp."
"Does Achan know?" Sir Caleb asked.
Kurtz honked a loud laugh. "I'll say. If you'd seen wh-"
"Aye," Sir Gavin said. "But only since our first night in Mitspah."
"And you didn't bother to tell us?" Sir Caleb asked.
"Stingy lad wanted her all to himself, he did." Kurtz snorted. "Royalty, eh?"
"It was her decision to tell," Sir Gavin said. "It still is."
The memory of the day's events brought a gasp to her lips-or was this a new day now? — Khai had stabbed her. And she'd stabbed him back. Was he dead?
Achan!
She sat up. Fiery pain stabbed her side and she cried out.
A shadow shifted on the wall. Sir Eagan rose from a chair in the corner of her room and walked toward her. "Lay back, Vrell. You've been stabbed, though I suspect you remember."
"Achan is in trouble."
Sir Eagan stopped beside her bed. "Achan is here. He is wounded and moving slow, but he shall recover."
Vrell sighed. Praise Arman.
Kurtz stepped into the doorway and grinned. His lengthy stare made her uncomfortable. She pulled the blankets to her chin. She should lie down, but what if she could not sit up again? She wanted to go to Achan. He might need care.
"Kurtz, would you leave us a moment?" Sir Eagan asked.
Kurtz straightened. "Why would I do that, eh?"
"So I can check my patient's wounds.
Vrell stared at Sir Eagan with wide eyes. He did not smile but held her gaze.
"Bah," Kurtz said. "Nothing I haven't seen before, eh?"
Vrell's cheeks warmed.
"Stand guard outside," Sir Eagan said.
Kurtz growled and pulled the door closed behind him.
Sir Eagan sat on the edge of her bed. "Removing your gown was necessary to treat your wound. Forgive my invasion of your privacy. Sir Gavin insisted I not call a woman healer."
Vrell looked down at the bulges at the end of the blanket that were her feet.
Sir Eagan went on. "As I worked on your wound, I could not help but notice you do not bear this mark of the stray as Achan does. I have a theory, my lady, that might offend if I am mistaken. But if I am not…well…I must know. Might you be Lady Averella Amal of Carmine?"
Vrell's eyes swelled. "Sir Gavin told you?"
He grinned. "Nay, my lady. My strength has always been observing. Since the day we met, I knew you were not a man and most definitely not a stray."
"How?" Vrell thought of how Jax mi Katt had said, You do not smell like a man.
"You are elegant. Even when you try to be clumsy it is gracefully done. Your skin is fair, clearly not lived a lifetime of hard labor in the sun. You are petite, and I have never met a boy of fourteen who was not all arms and legs. You could not stomach being in the room where Achan was bathing. And though you sometimes try to doctor your speech, having lived my whole life as heir to my father's household, your highborn tongue is hard to hide.
"Of course, there is also the fact the duchess and I are…old friends. There are parts of you that look very much like her." He reached out and cupped the side of her face with his hand. "And parts of you that look…"
Tears flooded Vrell's eyes. It could not be as she had suspected. It could not.
He lowered his hand. "Have no fear, my lady. I mean you no ill will. Only, would you not be safer in your mother's household?"
Vrell released a shaky breath, thankful Sir Eagan had not voiced her fear. "Sir Gavin said we travel to Carmine next."
"And what of Achan? Does he know your real name?"
Vrell shook her head. "Please do not tell him. I never meant to deceive him so. Prince Gidon-Esek-he wanted to marry me, to control Carm. I would rather have died than marry him for any reason. Mother helped me hide in Walden's Watch with Lady Coraline."
"My aunt."
"Oh!" Vrell wrinkled her nose, mind spinning. "But…is she not younger than you?"
Sir Eagan nodded. "Life is funny that way sometimes."
"Yes." How could Vrell be so calm? Talk so easily to Sir Eagan? He was practically a stranger, yet-dare she think it? — maybe so much more. A peaceful calm compelled her to go on.
"The Kingsguards took me from Walden's Watch to train under Master Hadar. I was trapped until Achan came. I fled with him and the knights into Darkness. I knew he suspected something. My lies were becoming too complicated for him not to catch on. He is quite smart when he is using his head."
Sir Eagan raised his eyebrows.
Vrell pulled her hand to her lips. "Oh, I meant no disrespect. But Achan often gets so caught up in his plans, he becomes obsessed."
Sir Eagan nodded. "It is a trait his father had as well. Both blessing and curse."
Vrell studied the thick weave of her wool blanket. "Achan told Sir Gavin that I was hiding something. Sir Gavin cornered me the second night of our journey and demanded the truth or he would leave me behind."
Sir Eagan scowled. "Horrible brute."
Vrell cracked a smile. "He was only doing his duty. And once I confessed, Sir Gavin was a great help."
Sir Eagan chuckled and patted her hand. "It is hard to imagine Gavin as your only confidant. How awkward it must have been for you all these months."
"Yes. Yes, it was awkward, but…"
"You love Achan."
Sir Eagan simple declaration brought a rush of heat to Vrell's head. An overwhelming ache seized her at the memory of his kiss, his intense eyes, the way he'll held her in his arms. "No, my lord. I… betrothed…" Her voice cracked. "Bran Rennan of Carmine." Tears swelled in her eyes. Bran did not love her, if he ever really had. Could anyone really? She was so plain and skinny, with a voice like a mule.
She continued trying to convince Sir Eagan, distract him from his train of thought. "Bran squires for your brother, you know. He and Sir Rigil are both working in Carmine."
"You do know Achan loves you?"
Vrell sniffled. "You are mistaken, my lord. He is like a brother to me." Achan was simply confused. Soon he would meet a beautiful woman like Tara or Gren. One the knights would approve of. Then he would forget about Vrell.
Sir Eagan offered a sympathetic smile. "When Achan returned, he limped outside your door, bleeding all over the floor, until the hops tea I forced him to drink bested him." Sir Eagan took her hand again. Calm stretched over her body like another blanket. "Will you not miss your brother when you are home and he moves on?"
"It matters not." Tears overflowed Vrell's eyes and coursed down her cheeks. "I will not let him think I betrayed him or did not trust him."
"Forgive me, my lady, but is that not what you have been doing all along? Why not confess?"
"Because I…I did not want to be one more liar in his life. I know it is deceitful. Please, I beg you. Let him know me as Vrell Sparrow, a stray girl who simply refused to be anyone's mistress. And let him meet Averella Amal in another life."
"If that is your wish, my lady, I promise to hold your secret safe. Though I have never found secrets make life easier."
"That is my burden to bear."
"Very well." He squeezed her hand and let go. "I will take you home myself. Tomorrow, if you are feeling up to the ride."
Tears flooded Vrell's eyes. "You would do that?"
"Yes. I would very much like to see your mother again. It has been far too long."
Vrell stared up at Sir Eagan. Could he also be suffering from a secret long kept? She wanted to ask if he was her father, but did she really want to know?
Regardless, the words would not come.
"Achan will shadow my mind, I suspect. I can do nothing to hide from him."
"There is a way, actually. I could teach you the trick, though it will not work forever. He is too strong. Eventually someone will teach him the way around our trick." He stood. "Tomorrow, my lady, I shall teach you. For now, try to sleep. You must rest if we are to travel."
"Please do not tell Achan we are leaving."
"Sir Gavin will have to know."
Vrell nodded. "Thank you, Sir Eagan. Going home will bring me great comfort."
"I am happy to serve any way I-"
"I said, let me in!" Achan's muffled voice yelled from outside the door.
"Strike me as much as you like, Pacey," Kurtz answered in an overly loud voice. "Beat me, club me, flog me, torture me, eh? But my orders come from the master surgeon, they do."
Sir Eagan winced. "Our star dramatist hard at work. Shall we let our prince in to see you or shall I say you are sleeping? I may not be able to stop him either way."
Vrell swallowed. "It is all right. He may enter."
"Very well." Sir Eagan walked to the door. He opened it and patted Kurtz on the shoulder. "Kurtz, you and I are needed elsewhere."
Kurtz stepped aside with regal posture and bowed. His bottom lip had swollen as if he had been-Vrell's hand shot to her lips. Oh, Achan. Angry men could be so foolish.
Achan pushed past Kurtz, who winked at Vrell before closing the door. Achan stopped just inside as if he did not know where to go now that he had finally gained entry. He looked a mess. His hair frizzed out all over, bruises blackened his face and neck, scratches covered his face, dried blood caked around his left ear, and fresh blood soaked through his fresh white tunic in two places under his arm.
She shifted-her side ached-and clutched her blankets back up around her neck. "Are you hurt, Your Highness?"
"Barely," he mumbled. "You?"
"I am well."
He let out a long breath and limped forward three steps. His wince proved that every move pained him.
Stubborn as he was, she dared not point it out. "What happened at Esek's camp?"
"I believe you killed Khai."
Vrell clapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh, I did not mean to. I only wanted to help you."
Achan laughed silently, then crinkled his brow and stopped as if even silent laughter aggrieved his wounds. "You helped me fine."
"But I…" She had stabbed him only once. "I have never killed anyone."
Achan sighed. "It's not a pleasant feeling, is it? Even in regards to a man like Khai."
It did not seem real. "What else happened?"
Achan cast his blue eyes her way. He opened his mouth but did not speak. He limped the rest of the way to her bedside, seeming so much taller standing over her. He pursed his lips and, wincing, lowered himself to his right knee. Her pallet was so low to the ground his face was level with hers.
"I've learned a new trick. Open your mind." He reached out and slid his hand over the back of her hand, tucking his fingers between hers. He closed his eyes.
She tensed at the intimate way he held her hand, but her thoughts were interrupted by his. Flashes of activity flitted through her mind. His memories. Achan riding into Darkness on Dove, he and Shung fighting Khai, lifting Sparrow off Esek's bed, carrying her out of the pavilion, hearing her scream, watching her through Khai's apparitions, catching her as she fell from Khai's sword, carrying her to Dove.
Her chest swelled with the memory of his feelings and emotions, but it all moved so fast she could not stop to think about one thing in particular. Pain shot through her thigh when Esek's sword struck true. She was with him as he cut down Esek, took Owr and his father's ring.
Then Achan slumped on a horse. She experienced his agony and surprise at the cham bear's attack. Its teeth. Defeating it. Returning to Mitspah. Trying to see Vrell. Tiring. Sir Eagan looking over his wounds.
Vrell's mind became her own again. She opened her eyes to see Achan smiling. What reason could he have to smile? "Oh, Achan, a cham! How horrifying!"
His smile faded. "Aye, it wasn't pleasant. Glad I wore my chain armor."
She met his eyes. "Where did you learn to do that? Show me your memories?"
"Sir Eagan." Achan focused on their interlocked fingers and rubbed his thumb over the back of hers. "I may have killed Esek. I hadn't intended…he was in a bad position when I…"
Vrell stared at his pained face. From his memories, she knew exactly what he was thinking, reliving, regretting.
Achan licked his chapped lips. "Sparrow, I want to…I must speak with you about…. Sir Gavin tells me you intend to leave us soon."
She wanted to stop him from saying things they would both regret, but the intensity of his gaze kept her from protesting. "I do not belong here, Achan. You must understand that much."
"You belong with me. I need you."
"Whatever for? Sir Eagan has proven an excellent healer."
His blue eyes pierced her defenses, chipped away at the shield around her heart. He opened his mouth twice to speak, but said nothing. His tongue-tiedness set her pulse racing. "My heart does not beat for Sir Eagan."
She wilted. "No, Achan. None of that."
His brows furrowed. "Why do you fight it? I promised myself I would marry you no matter what anyone says."
She tried to pull her hands from his, but he held tight. "We are from different worlds, you and I. This can never be." Yet Lady Averella could certainly marry the prince. Would her lies never cease? How had everything gotten so twisted?
His eyes pleaded. "Don't say that, Sparrow, please don't. I want you here. I…"
She wanted to believe him, but how could it be true? "You wanted Tara a short time ago."
He puffed out a long breath. "I wanted Tara over a stranger, though she nearly was one."
"And Gren before that."
"But she… But you are different. You are my dearest friend."
Unlike Esek, and the other suitors over the years, Vrell knew Achan did not seek her inheritance, for he knew nothing about it. Still, Vrell pulled her hand from his grip. "You fall in love with every girl who crosses your path. I will not forget how you stared at Beska or Yumikak. Even Lady Lathia."
"Those silly girls are nothing like you."
She set her jaw. "Precisely. I will never be pretty enough for your arm." Even Bran had deserted Vrell for Gren-a peasant! — because she was prettier. "For three months we've known each other, you never once suspected me to be a woman-I mean, look at me." Tears gathered in Vrell's eyes, blurring Achan's face. "I am a shapeless, pale…twig! With hair like, uh…like tree lichen! I am as feminine as a broomstick. And a voice like a mule. I may as well be an adolescent boy."
He rose onto his knees, eyebrows puckered in sympathy. See? He agreed! He could see plainly that she was everything she knew she was.
But then he took the sides of her face in his hands and brushed away her tears with his thumbs. "No, Vrell."
He had never called her Vrell before.
"You were never a very good boy. There was always something bafflingly odd about you. I never cared for any of those other girls. You are so smart and tough. And you are beautiful."
She shook her head.
"Yes. You're a flower. You have the sweetest face. Your hair is like black corn silk." He pushed his fingers back through her hair. "You always smell like rosewater and have made me crave the smell. And what I love best about you-besides how soft you feel-is how your eyes pierce me every time you look my way, like I'm your target and your arrow struck true, bringing me to my knees. And the only way I can live is to look on those life-sustaining green eyes."
Her resistance dissolved at the tender honesty of his words. Joyous heart! He did care. Without a word, she brushed her lips against his.
His kiss was soft, hesitant this time. She felt their minds connect, sensed his caution, his exhilaration. His hands massaged her head, then one moved to her waist and he pulled her to the edge of the bed. His movement jarred her wounded side. He pulled back his face and gasped with her, feeling her pain.
Sorry.
He moved his hand back to her face, kissed her forehead, then hugged her head to his chest. She could hear his heart drumming. His thoughts spilled into her mind like water from a jug.
I never wanted to hurt Sparrow. Never. She means too much to me. Losing her was proof of that. But how can I keep her? What would Sir Caleb say? He recalled Sparrow's joke of a stray mistress. Could she have meant that? Been hinting? Lots of noblemen took mistresses. Maybe my wife-from Sir Caleb's arranged marriage-could have her own space, and I could keep Sparrow with me, always.
Fire coursed through Vrell's veins. She pushed away, closing her mind and sucking in a long breath to keep herself from crying. "I knew it! You are no different."
His wide eyes were unfathomable, as if he were innocent. "What'd I do?"
If Achan truly knew Arman, he would know that yoking himself to multiple women would ruin them all. "This matters more than any feelings we may have for one another. You do not love Arman. You only love yourself."
He pulled back, though not far enough to give her room to escape. "I–I love you. I told you so. I meant it."
"No, Achan. You think you can keep me in a room in your castle, to be your, your…" She blew out another furious breath. "Ladylove!" She seized her pillow and struck him with it, gasping at the pain stabbing her side. "Get out!" She struck him again and let her pillow fall to the floor. She panted, whispered, "Leave this chamber, now."
"I'm sorry!" He groaned to his feet, drew back a step. "I didn't mean those thoughts. They were for me alone. Just me. Just… thinking. W-We don't have to be together. No one even has to know you're a woman. Or you could be the prince's chosen sister. Wise female advisor. We could-"
"Achan, such a thing could not be done. It would be scandalous."
"I don't care. We could be the pair who changed their stations in life. W-We'll vow to abolish strays from all Er'Rets. Grant peasant rights to everyone." He stared at the floor. All was still, the crackling fireplace the only sound. "And if you grew to love me…"
She wished he would let go of his scheming. It took all her effort not to look at him, his eyes, his lips. Her throat burned. "Achan, I became a man to avoid marriage."
"To someone horrible. I'm not so bad, right?" He grinned, but it did not reach his eyes. "And I love you. So it won't be like marrying a man thrice your elder or one who only means to use you."
"It would be worse."
Achan pulled back farther as if she had slapped him. "You don't care, even a little?"
"Your own thoughts betrayed you, Achan. You must marry a noblewoman." And he would never know her real name. She decided that then and there. She should never have let down her guard. He could not be trusted.
Pain flashed through his pale eyes.
How could she make him understand? "For you, it can never be about love. A king is not free to love. Too many things distract. His realm must always come first."
"But a king can do what he wants."
"You sound like Esek, demanding your way."
He huffed, eyebrows sinking over his eyes. "I'll not lose you."
"You do not have me to lose."
"Tell me you don't love me."
Vrell had no idea where she got the courage to answer so calmly. "I do not love you. And I do not see how you can honestly love me. You have known I am a woman three days."
Achan set his jaw. Pouting.
She swallowed her threatening tears. "Achan, what you call love is your craving for love. And I do love you like a brother. But I will not be a convenience to any man's fears of loneliness. Let me go. Learn to be king. Take a real queen. Serve Arman and your kingdom. That is your purpose."
"A purpose I'll serve better with you at my side."
"It cannot be. Despite all the obvious reasons why we could not be together, I will not be a crutch for you to hide from Arman. He seeks your full heart, and you must face him."
"You kissed me back."
She glanced down at her hands, squeezed them, and forced cold words past her swollen throat. "It was a mistake."
His jaw jutted out and his gaze seemed to burn into her. "I don't believe you."
"Believe what you must. I apologize if I misled you."
Achan's eyes glazed. He seemed to shrink. He limped toward the door, turned back, ran a hand over his head, and shuddered a sigh. "Forgive me, I-" Still limping, he fled from the room, the door swinging in his wake.
Vrell eased back down to her back and rolled on her side, finally allowing the tears to come.
Iron gauntlets squeezed Achan's chest. He limp-skipped out of the inner gate and across the lawn to the edge of the pool side of the moat, seeking a tree to destroy. A small cluster of pine trees stood between the curtain wall and the curve of the pool. His right arm hung slack at his side. At least the injury wouldn't hinder him as much, being left-handed.
He squeezed Owr's suede-wrapped grip in his left hand. A thin pine tree at the edge of the moat stream volunteered its service. Achan hacked into it. Owr, sharper than Eagan's Elk, peeled back a long swatch of bark, baring the white inner wood.
An image of Gren sitting under the allown tree flooded his mind, the day she'd watched him attack the wilted poplar with his waster. A great fury rose in his chest, and he sliced into the tree again and again, wanting to hurt it, wanting to make it look the way he felt. Broken, useless, vile, unlovable.
His blade cleaved deep into the trunk, and he screamed in frustration as he ripped it free. A sudden calm oozed over his fury. His arm fell to his side. Owr's tip swished through the grass. He stepped back, blinked at the mutilated tree, and recoiled.
"If it is firewood you seek, there are better ways."
Achan spun around to face Sir Eagan. Now he understood his sudden calm. He scowled, knowing Sir Eagan had used his bloodvoicing trick to pacify Achan's emotions. "Withdraw from my mind or I'll force you out."
Sir Eagan tipped his head to one side and smiled. "Only if you promise to let the tree go."
Achan choked up a knot of phlegm and spit it out. "This tree is helping me cope with my latest prison."
"It is not the tree that concerns me, Your Highness, but my sword. You shall dull the blade using it as an axe. I am certain we could find you an axe if you must chop, though I do not recommend such physical labor with your wounds."
"This isn't your sword. It's Owr. I took it from Esek after I cut off his arm. You may have Eagan's Elk back."
"Rhomphaia."
"Whatever." Achan lifted Owr in front of him and studied the gleaming crossguard. It was so beautiful, but had caused so much pain. Would it continue to kill at his direction? He tossed it onto the grass. A sudden ache seized his right shoulder and his body tensed against the pain. Gloom hung heavy on his body, like clothing drenched from rain.
Sir Eagan must have withdrawn his calming thoughts. Achan lowered himself to the wet grass, groaning, and leaned back on the mutilated tree. Spray from the waterfall misted him and he welcomed the coolness.
Sir Eagan slid is boot a step closer over the slick grass. "Care to talk about it?"
Achan's lips parted. "There's nothing to say."
"Maybe not. But confession is often like steam from a kettle. Without a place to release, it will explode."
Achan gestured at the tree. "That's why I chop."
"Are you certain I cannot help?"
Achan shook his head. "You wouldn't understand."
"No?" Sir Eagan sighed. "In your infinite wisdom of-what is it, fifteen years?"
"Sixteen."
"Beg your pardon, sixteen years. By your aged wisdom, you must have a detailed account of my life, is that correct, Your Highness?"
"No."
"Then do not assume you know me. I loved a woman in my youth. We were younger than you when we met. Known each other since our births, really, but it was not until I moved to Tsaftown to squire for Lord Livna that she captured my heart. Lady Nitsa Livna. Some know her today as-"
"The Duchess of Carm," Achan said. "I know. Sir Caleb told me."
"Aye. Then she was merely a lesser noblewoman from Tsaftown, and I was a lesser nobleman from Zerah Rock. I knew the gods had blessed me. We were perfect for each other. I spent the summer courting her with all my efforts. It worked quite well. She professed her love for me daily, and I her."
"But her father refused?"
"Her father did not care either way, until Duke Amal saw her at a banquet that fall. He saw her and wanted her. He was older, richer, and Duke of Carm. Nitsa's father gave his blessing that night. That night, my boy. Amal did not love her. He had never even spoken to her. But he snagged her from me and there was nothing I could do. I begged her to run away, of course, but she would not desert her family. They were married a month later.
"My father expected me to go on like nothing had changed. 'Pick another girl,' he told me over and over. But I did not want another girl. And I refused to go to court and pretend I did not see Nitsa by his side…then Averella."
"Averella? That's the lady Esek wishes to marry."
Sir Eagan met Achan's eyes. "What do you know of that story, for I have heard little?"
"Oh, I know little, as well. Esek wanted to marry her to gain control of Carm. So she went into hiding. She's betrothed to a friend of mine. Bran Rennan is your brother's squire."
"He is a nobleman?"
"The cousin of one, I think. Yet I fear Bran's feelings have changed." Achan frowned at the thought of Bran and Gren but forced himself to stay on topic. The conversation distracted his pain. "Both Esek and Lord Nathak have been trying to take Carm by marriage. Esek to the lady Averella and Lord Nathak to the duchess. He's been asking for her hand for the past few years. Before Duke Amal was in the ground, they say."
"Duke Amal is dead?" Eagan gripped Achan's wounded arm. "Are you certain?"
Achan cried out. "Careful!"
Sir Eagan released Achan's arm. "Forgive me. I forgot."
Achan cradled his arm until the throb lessened. "The duke died three or four years back. From a fever, I think."
Eagan exhaled. "Perhaps there is still hope."
"For what?"
"That after all this time, almost eighteen years…that Arman might reunite me with my family. This old man might find love yet."
Achan studied Sir Eagan's wistful expression. "Then you do understand."
"I do, my boy."
"But I've loved two women and both denied me."
"Two women and only sixteen years of age? My, you are wise to protect your heart so."
"You mock me?"
"I seek only to lighten your melancholy. You are a prince. You cannot marry just anyone, nor should you pledge your heart or body to anyone until you do marry. And frankly, Your Highness, I do not recommend taking multiple wives and mistresses. It is not how Arman designed it. I know kings have different views on such things, but-"
"I would never." Sparrow's horror had been enough to strike that idea from his mind. What might Gren say about such a thing? Would she agree with Sparrow?
Sir Eagan patted Achan's shoulder. "An admirable declaration now, but when the desire comes into your heart and you have the power to have anything you want… Temptation is a cruel thing. I urge you to understand: love is much more than what you feel. That, Your Highness, is the desire of a man for a woman. You would be wise to discern the difference before those feelings best you."
"Then what is love?"
"For you to love Vrell? Love is sacrifice, letting her go because it is her choice and the right thing to do."
But Achan had done that for Gren. He had arranged her marriage to Riga to keep her safe from Esek. And what good had come of it? Riga was dead. Gren with child. And Achan was still alone. "How can you say your sacrifice was right when your lady didn't wish to marry the duke?"
"Because I have lived through my pain to see the other side. Duty calls men and women to all kinds of sacrifice. But when the lusts of our hearts blinds us, we sacrifice goodness to get what we want. In anger I turned away from my birthright, I gave it up to wallow in my pity of losing Nitsa. Now I discover my father's second son has pledged his service to you. So who will rule Zerah Rock when my father dies? He has no other heir. Some minor noble will likely take the stronghold. Maybe he will be true to the Barak heritage, maybe he will not.
"And Zerah Rock is but a small city in a distant corner of your kingdom." Sir Eagan poked Achan lightly in the chest. "It means little in the scheme of things. But consequences are often more far-reaching than any man realizes. Should you forsake your birthright to chase after the love of your heart, what will become of Er'Rets? Who will rule in your stead? Esek? Lord Nathak? Who will protect your people? Each faction will attack the other. They will take the land in small bites until all is devoured by Darkness. Innocent men, women, and children will die."
Achan stared at Owr, partially hidden by the short grass.
Sir Eagan went on. "Whether you like it or not, Arman has chosen you. This is the highest calling a man can receive. So ask yourself, my prince, what price is the love of your heart worth? The death of your father and mother? Lord Livna? Fifteen men in battle yesterday? How many would you allow to die for nothing so you and the love of your heart can be together? You may not like the meal you have been served, but will you at least show yourself worthy of it? Many have given their lives to see you to this place. Would you forsake their sacrifice for your own?"
"Why can't I have both?"
"You will, someday, find what you seek. Arman will give you the desire of your heart when his timing is right."
Achan searched his memory for his least-favorable match on Sir Caleb's list. "Lady Halona of Nesos? She's twelve."
"She will grow. Girls do, you know, grow into women."
"But she's not my choice."
"No. And for that, I am sorry, and I do understand. You need only say the word 'sacrifice' to me and I shall spirit you and Owr away to the nearest forest and you shall attack whatever trees you see fit, if that will help you with the pain. But I assure you, my prince, from a man who understands your pain, destroying trees will not help. Only Arman can."
Achan lay in bed that night staring at the low tinder ceiling and listening to the waterfall pound on the roof like rain, the perfect cadence for his mood. Sir Eagan's words rang true in his heart.
But how could he let Sparrow walk away? What if he never saw her again? He couldn't lose another friend. He didn't have many, considering the scores of people who now surrounded him on a daily basis.
Shung. He did have Shung.
He'd go to Sparrow tomorrow and beg her forgiveness. He'd do his duty and let her go, but not before finding out where she lived. If she'd fled from a horrible place, it might not be safe for her to go back. Perhaps he could find her a better place to live.
A place where he could visit from time to time.
He'd revoke the declarations of his heart, even if that was a lie and against his nature. But he would not give up his friend.