To Darkness Fled bok-2

by Jill Williamson

  The woman flowed off the bottom step like a petal on a stream. She wove around the others and stopped before Achan. How did she know what he looked like? She probably owned the painting of his father.

  So short, she looked up into his eyes. Achan felt like a giant. Her skin was like a porcelain vase. Not a blemish or wrinkle. She couldn't have lived more than thirty-five years. Hers eyes were green and bright, calculating yet kind.

  No wonder Sir Eagan loved this woman still.

  The duchess' silky and kind voice pulled Achan's attention to her lips. He knew this voice.

  "Your Highness, I am honored to finally meet you. You are most welcome at Granton Castle. My home is yours." She curtsied then held out her hand.

  A wave of heat rushed over him as he scrambled to remember what Sir Caleb had advised him to do and say. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Then a deep bow, keeping eye contact, while he released her hand. "It's I who am honored, my lady. I hear you have many concerns. I pray we're not a burden to you at this time."

  "You are anything but. I have been praying to meet you ever since I first heard your bloodvoice."

  Achan bowed his head again, comprehension dawning. He'd heard her so many times in his mind and hadn't known who she was. "I thank you for your kind words that day, my lady, for I feared I had lost my mind."

  "My heart aches for what you have suffered at the hands of Esek." She glanced at his arm. "Are you badly wounded?"

  "I am mending." He wanted to say something of Esek. "I hear Esek has plagued you as well. I'm troubled over the safety of your daughter, Lady Averella. Prince Oren informed me of her plight. Is there any way we might come to her aid?"

  "Thank you, no. She is well and safe, though unable to greet you this visit."

  Achan nodded, though his thoughts strayed. If the lady Averella ever made it home, how would she react when she discovered she'd lost her suitor to a peasant widow expecting a child? And if she were one of the candidates the knights thought might make for a good queen, he'd want to see if she looked like a horse or not. But he forced his mind back to business. "Has Lord Nathak caused any mischief for you recently?"

  "We have not seen him in weeks. It is my hope he has moved on to Armonguard."

  "There's much I have to share with you on that matter." Achan glanced at Sir Caleb. "Perhaps there will be a time later where we can talk privately with you and my men?"

  The duchess smiled and curtsied again. "Of course, Your Highness. Are you hungry?"

  "I'm sure my men could empty your kitchens in a day, my lady. We've brought provisions and don't wish to impose."

  "Nonsense."

  Offer your arm, Your Highness, Sir Caleb said.

  Achan spun to her side and held out his left arm so that his sword and sling would be away from her.

  She gripped his bicep with both hands and led him into the great hall. "How long do you plan to stay with us?"

  "A week, to recruit men to our cause."

  "You shall stay as long as you like. I offer Granton Castle as a base for you and your generals to plan your strategies."

  Generals? "Thank you, my lady. You're most generous."

  The duchess steered Achan up the center aisle toward the high table. They passed a host of servants and staff, including Sir Rigil, Bran, and Sir Eagan. Achan sensed each man's guilt and guessed the reasons. Sir Rigil for failing to keep an eye on Bran and Gren. Bran for his growing affection for Gren. Sir Eagan for taking Sparrow away.

  Bran could wait. But Achan stopped before Sir Eagan. "I must speak with you right away, Sir Eagan."

  Sir Eagan bowed. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

  "Forgive me, Duchess," Achan said, "I require a moment with my father's Shield."

  Duchess Amal released his arm and curtsied. "Of course, Your Majesty."

  Sir Caleb knocked, but Achan ignored it. He gripped Sir Eagan's arm and led him between two rough hewn tables, not bothering to lower his voice, though Sir Eagan's calm already poured into him. "Where did you take her?"

  "As far as the front door." Sir Eagan's blue eyes looked pained, as if he missed Sparrow too.

  Hope welled in Achan. "She is here, then? In Carmine?"

  "She could be, yes. She did not confide her plans to me."

  The crowd murmured. Achan sensed their curiosity. "Did she give any clue where she might go? Where she was from?"

  "Only that she had been living in Walden's Watch."

  "You think she plans to return there?"

  "I cannot say, Your Majesty."

  Achan wanted to harangue this man, despite his being so much older, but Arman had taken his anger. "I was prepared to heed your council, to let her go. I only wanted to say farewell."

  Sir Eagan's sympathetic gaze needled Achan. "Sometimes it is easier this way. Farewells can be difficult. Dangerous."

  "Perhaps, but I am not you, Sir Eagan."

  *

  After a hearty lunch with the duchess, Anillo ushered Achan to a bath and fitting. The duchess had insisted on providing Achan a new wardrobe. Maybe she doted on him because she was a woman with no sons, or maybe his clothing had been truly shabby for a king. He could hardly tell.

  Dinner followed. Achan wore a fancy gold and maroon outfit that reminded him of Esek so much he loathed wearing it. He met the duchess's four younger daughters, ages twelve, ten, seven, and four, and danced with them more than any other, though he feared encouraging the eldest, for there were several twelve-year-olds on his list of possible brides.

  Still, better to dance with twelve-year-old Gypsum Amal than the older, lesser nobles of Carmine who flaunted and flirted. He'd never seen a crowd of young women more bedecked, with the exception of Jaira Hamartano. Clearly these poor girls had been instructed to win his favor at any cost.

  When Achan finally fell into his bed on the fourth floor, he couldn't sleep. This room was bigger than two full cottages from Sitna. The bed itself could have slept six comfortably. He lay on his back and spread his arms and legs wide, gently stretching his sore arm and leg. He liked the silky feel of the sheets and the way his body sank into the featherbed.

  Shung's snore grumbled steadily from the pallet Sir Caleb had insisted be brought in. Achan felt safe. Peaceful. No fear of Esek or a traitor killing him in his sleep.

  Had Esek died? If so, Achan doubted Lord Nathak would report it right away, if ever. Achan shook the horrifying image of Esek's severed arm from his head and turned onto his side, burrowing into the mattress again.

  His stomach rumbled. It was truly no use. He supposed he find sleep by shadowing one of the sleeping knights. Or maybe he could wander a bit, perhaps find the kitchens and a snack.

  He climbed out of bed, put on an old tunic, and crept to the doors. Opening one a crack, he peeked out and sighed. Sure enough, three guards crouched at the end of the hall, next to the stairs, playing dice. More strangers willing to die for him because he was the Crown Prince. It still felt so awkward.

  He peeked the other way. No guards to the left. Had the guards broken ranks to play dice? Clearly they were not concerned about Achan's safety. If he could sneak to the corner without being seen, he could go down that stairwell.

  Achan slipped out of the room and pressed against the wall. Dice clattered over the wood floor and the guards erupted in a loud cheer. Achan sidestepped to the corner where a tower staircase stood. In Sitna, the kitchens were in the outer bailey. But this was a vast stronghold, similar to Mahanaim. The kitchens in Mahanaim had been in the basement.

  Achan descended the stairs, his bare feet cool on the stone. A sudden though made him wince. He should have dressed better, at least put on boots. If he were seen, Sir Caleb would berate him for not being properly dressed. Nothing could be done about it now. He was too far into his quest.

  He reached the bottom without seeing a soul and found himself in the corner of a damp passageway that stretched out like an L. Concentrating on what he remembered from outside, Achan tried to rebuild the stronghold i
n his mind. Logically, the kitchens would be near the great hall.

  He went right. At the next corner, the corridor turned left and led him past a laundry room, a bathhouse, a massive wine cellar, and a buttery.

  The smell of yeast and smoke urged him on. The walls fell away into a vast open area. Achan gaped. The kitchens in Sitna had consisted of two small rooms. This place was the size of the great hall above.

  Drum pillars rose to the ceiling every ten feet or so. Fat candelabras hung from thick iron chains. Baking ovens ran along the left wall, fireplaces along the right. Dozens of long tables filled the center, some covered with bowls, some empty, some stone with iron grills built into the surface. Achan saw no movement at the moment, but with the size of this castle, cooks and maids likely worked around the clock.

  He veered toward the fireplaces on the right wall and lifted a bowl from a shelf as he passed. Only one fireplace still burned under a round, iron cauldron pot. Achan pulled his sleeve over his hand and lifted the lid on the pot. The smell of beefy, hot stew flooded his nostrils. He grinned and ladled his bowl to the brim, then carried it to a rack of fluffy rolls beside a drum pillar. He dunked a roll into the stew and bit down.

  Shamayim.

  Standing by the rack, he finished the first roll in three bites. He grabbed three more and walked toward a table surrounded by squat stools. Likely where the kitchen staff ate. He sat down and finished half his bowl when the sudden urge seized him to sit under the table. At Sitna Manor, when he hadn't wanted to be seen, he often sat under the tables.

  A prince probably shouldn't sit under a table like a dog.

  Despite the foolishness of the idea, he did it anyway. Crossing his legs, he pulled the stool in and set his bowl on top. He smiled as he ate, feeling at home for the first time in months. Silly considering his comfort was due to a life of deceit and cruelty at the hands of Lord Nathak and Poril. Still, no amount of fancy clothes, featherbeds, or "Your Highnesses" could change his past. Being a stray was a part of him.

  So engrossed in the stew, Achan didn't hear the light scuff of footsteps until it was too late. He sat motionless, hoping whoever it was would come and go quickly.

  The rustle of fabric drew near until soft blue velour brushed his left hand. He jerked it into his lap, staring at the gold satin slippers that had stopped by his left knee. Slippers so fancy could only belong to a noblewoman. He held his breath. What noblewoman would walk in the kitchens at such an hour? The duchess' lady in waiting sent to fetch a snack, perhaps?

  The layers of velvet rumpled as the woman crouched down, revealing inch by inch an immaculately embroidered robe and curling auburn hair cascading over her shoulders.

  "Duchess Amal." Achan scrambled back and bumped into another stool. He pushed a stool to get out, but her hand on his arm stopped him.

  "Why does the Crown Prince of Er'Rets sit under a table in my kitchen?"

  Achan's cheeks flushed. "I…was hungry."

  "Could you not call for a tray?"

  "I wanted…" Achan cast his eyes to the bowl of stew on the stool. How could he explain without insulting this woman? He swallowed but could not meet her eyes. "I could not sleep and thought a snack might help. Take no offense, my lady, but I'm not used to such gracious hospitality."

  "But not just a snack, Your Highness. Under the table? Why?"

  Achan's face burned. "As a boy, I spent many a night under the bread tables in the Sitna kitchens. Despite his best efforts, Sir Caleb has not been able to train the slave boy out of me entirely. I'm afraid I am still most comfortable in a kitchen. I know it must sound mad, but it… feels like home."

  To his great relief, the duchess smiled. Her green eyes flitted over his face, hair, cramped body, and bare feet. Sweat moistened his brow at her scrutiny. Something tickled his wrist. He glanced down to see a tiny black bug. He jumped, dropped his roll, swatted the bug away. Every muscle tense. He'd used Sparrow's pine juice. The fleas had been gone. He scratched his wrist, arm, shoulder, neck. They couldn't be back.

  The duchess chuckled. "It's only a few ants, Your Highness. I would think one so seasoned to eating on the floor would be used to them by now."

  Achan ran both hands through his hair, which was loose and not tied back. Oh, horror. Again he couldn't look at the duchess. What would she think? "I thought they were fleas." His breath hitched. Why had he said that? Fleas? Blazes!

  The lady raised a sculpted brow. "Did you enjoy your time with the soldiers?"

  He studied his father's ring. "Except for the fleas."

  "You'll go to war, then? And fight alongside your men?"

  "Should there be one, yes."

  "And your wife?"

  Achan blinked and met the lady's green eyes. "I have no wife, my lady."

  "But you will soon."

  Could this conversation become any more awkward? He picked up the roll and dropped it in the remainder of his stew. "I suppose I might."

  "And what will she do while you are at war?"

  Achan shrugged. "Whatever pleases her. If she's good with a sword, I'd welcome the company."

  The duchess smiled. "Ah, you are droll. But what if she is with child? When this war comes."

  Achan's lips parted, his cheeks filled with heat. He would not come to this kitchen again. He didn't appreciate Duchess Amal's midnight interrogation. She'd clearly thought more about his bride than he had.

  She pressed on. "I mean no disrespect, but these are things a man must consider when taking a bride. Many say you traveled with a woman. What will your wife think of her?"

  Achan sucked in a sharp breath. "Please. It wasn't like that, my lady, I promise you. Sparrow wasn't who she claimed to be. We all thought her a boy. Have you seen her? Did she pass through Carmine? Do you know where she lives?"

  "Why do you ask, Your Highness? I would think you better off without her presence tainting your reign."

  "Vrell could never taint anything. She's sweet and good and lovely-"

  "You care for her, then?"

  Achan thudded his head back against the table leg. "My feelings don't matter. She refused me, and Sir Gavin berated me for my recklessness and Sir Caleb for my carelessness and I for my foolishness and Caan for my selfishness. I'm a wretched prince. Far too impulsive. But I'll do my duty and marry whom they choose, and I'll love her as best I can. Does that satisfy your curiosity, my lady?"

  She smiled. "It does."

  Finally something had. "You know, I was freer as a stray."

  "I understand that feeling. I hadn't wanted to marry the duke. It was the loneliest time in my life. At first."

  Achan recalled Sir Eagan's tale of their past and decided she did understand. "Your intuition is right on target, my lady. I haven't once considered the inner workings of my future marriage past the identity of my bride. If it were my choice I'd marry Sparrow and live in a cottage in the mountains. I'd hunt and she'd keep a garden of herbs. We wouldn't be rich, but we'd have our freedom and each other."

  He sighed and met Duchess Amal's green eyes. "Alas, my life isn't mine to live. I've now given it freely to Arman. He appeared to me, you know. Fairly destroyed his own temple. He's my master now and I trust his plan, even if I can't understand it. I only wish my obedience didn't come so bitterly. I fear if he could, Arman would give me a sound flogging for my demeanor of servitude."

  Duchess Amal's eyes widened. "I think you misunderstand how Arman loves his people. He does not punish them."

  Such a statement didn't align with what Achan knew of masters. "I only mean that I've never been a very contrite servant. Ask Lord Nathak." Achan chuckled softly, then bowed his head low. "Forgive me, my lady. I must beg leave of your gracious company. I'm very tired and if I continue to prattle on, you'll think me drunk."

  "Of course." Duchess Amal stood, allowing Achan to crawl out from under the table. "Please do not go out alone again, Your Highness. You are welcome to sit under the table, but we recently had a traitor in our kitchens, and I would feel better knowing
you were not wandering alone. At least bring your Shield under the table with you next time."

  "As you wish." He scraped the contents of his bowl into the slop pail, rinsed the bowl, and set it on the drying rack. He bowed to the duchess again. "Good evening, my lady. You have a magnificent kitchen."

  "Thank you, Your Highness. Good night."

  41

  Vrell perched on a stool in the dark corridor and stared through the peephole. The five Old Kingsguard knights sat around an oval table in Achan's bedchamber. Achan had dragged his chair down to the fireplace at the end of the room, where he sat alone, staring into the flames.

  Sir Caleb held a parchment open on the table. "First we have Lady Tova Sigul of Hamonah, age fourteen. I still object to this offer. Hamonah worships Thalassa. We cannot consider anyone who does not follow Arman."

  "But Hamonah is being at war with Jaelport," Inko said. "They're being extremely rich and would be bringing an immense dowry. The diamonds alone would be buying weapons and armor to be fitting a thousand soldiers. Surely Achan could be teaching the girl about the Way."

  "Achan barely understands the Way himself." Sir Gavin said. "Don't burden him with an unbelieving spouse."

  "Arman forbids it," Sir Caleb said. "In the Book of Life."

  "Besides, 'tis too far away and unstable," Sir Gavin said. "And I trust Lord Sigul as much as I trust Queen Hamartano."

  "Agreed," Sir Caleb said. "What say you, Eagan?"

  Sir Eagan shrugged. "I say let him pick his own bride."

  "Thank you," Achan said.

  Sir Eagan continued, "But I would not marry him to any enemy, and I agree with Sir Caleb. He must wed a believer."

  "But it would make for an interesting relationship, it would," Kurtz said. "Lots of sparks, eh?"