To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  Vrell tensed at the prick against her neck. Achan must have taken a weapon from the offerings.

  “Do you not love me?” Jaira asked.

  “More than my own breath.”

  “Why, then, do you question me?”

  Vrell drew in a long breath and refocused. Achan stood over her, facing Jaira. He clutched a long machete in one hand and had taken Jaira’s face in his other.

  “Forgive my foolishness. You’re more beautiful than the stars.” Then he kissed her.

  Fire shot through Vrell. She leapt up and yanked Achan’s braid.

  His head snapped back and he spun around. “You little fox!”

  “Kill him now!” Jaira screamed.

  The pontiff scurried back to the side door, glancing over his shoulder every few steps.

  Achan lifted the machete.

  A tremble seized Vrell. She inched back. Sir Gavin!

  “I told you. You can’t have her!” Achan swung the machete.

  We’re in the third floor corridor. Where are you?

  The temple!

  The blade passed so closely Vrell felt wind on her nose. She backed up two steps. Achan pressed forward. Vrell pulled out her own sword, sad as it was against the machete.

  Achan swung a powerful attack that knocked Vrell’s sword from her hands. It clanged on the flagstones. He swung again. Vrell jumped against the wall, knocking over several candles. The machete struck the gilded plaster, splintering a jagged gash in the smooth surface. Achan growled when the blade would not come out from the wall. He let go and gripped Vrell’s throat in one hand instead. He squeezed. A flame licked at the toe of Vrell’s boot.

  The door burst open. Sir Gavin, Sir Caleb, and Inko thundered inside. All three men drew their swords. Jaira screamed.

  Achan released Vrell, wrenched his machete from the wall, and backpedaled in front of Jaira. “No!” he cried. “She’s mine, I tell you. She’s pledged her love to me. If you’re not here to support our marriage, be gone or I’ll kill you all.”

  Sir Gavin scanned the room, brow furrowed in disbelief. “Enough foolishness, Achan. Lower the blade.”

  “To be making an alliance with Jaelport is being most unwise, Your Majesty,” Inko said.

  “This is no alliance,” Sir Caleb said. “This is Jaelportian mage magic. I can smell it.”

  Achan yelled and swung the machete at Sir Caleb. The knight blocked the attack and drew Achan away from Jaira. Sir Gavin snaked around Achan’s back and thumped him on the head with the pommel of his sword. Achan crumpled to the floor, writhing.

  “Get him out!” Jaira screamed. “I knew he held a grudge against me. I knew it!”

  Sir Gavin wheeled around, scanning the temple. “Who?”

  “This man! The prince!” She pointed a thin, black-gloved finger at Achan, whom Sir Caleb and Inko were trying to pick up. “He attacked me as I was trying to leave an offering.”

  “Do not be absurd,” Vrell said. “The pontiff and I saw the truth.”

  Jaira’s dark eyes flashed. “All night the prince begged for a moment alone, claiming he loved me. I refused. And when I finally withdrew for the evening, he followed me here. Before I could finish my prayers, he barged in and tried to attack me, in the temple of all places. I shall be surprised if Avenis does not strike him down.”

  Vrell stormed up to stand before Jaira. “You are a mage. You used a love powder on him. The same powder you blew in my face. The pontiff witnessed this as well.”

  “Ridiculous.” Jaira arrested Vrell with a cold stare. “You clearly have not suffered any powder.”

  Vrell poked a finger against the silky bodice of Jaira’s gown. “I know what you did and why. Give up this foolish quest. He will never marry you. You are beneath him in every way. He hates deceit and control and lies. All that the Hamartanos hold dear.”

  “Vrell.” Sir Gavin drew her name out in warning.

  “You think tricking him to marry you will make you queen? It only exposes your deceitful nature for all to see. We are not fooled. You seek to marry the prince while your sister seeks to marry Esek. Know this, there will never be a Hamartano queen. I will kill you first.”

  Jaira gasped and huffed. “How dare you threaten me, stray? Larkos! Where is Larkos?”

  “Larkos has been detained,” Vrell said. “And you will meet the same fate if you touch Achan again.”

  “Vrell!”

  Sir Gavin stood in the doorframe. Sir Caleb and Inko held Achan’s limp body between them, one of his arms over each of their shoulders.

  Sir Gavin beckoned her with his hand. “Let’s go, lad.”

  Vrell shot one more glare at Jaira. “Stay away from Achan or you will regret it.” She spun away from Jaira and followed Sir Gavin out the door.

  11

  Achan woke, pulse pounding in this temples. He blinked until his bleary eyes focused.

  His body lay sunken in a featherbed, tucked under warm furs. Where was he? He pushed up onto his elbows, struggling to sit, but pain rushed through his head and his stomach heaved. He collapsed back onto the mattress and breathed deeply, looking up through the open canopy at the flickering firelight dancing across the dark ceiling. When the nausea passed, he reached a leaden arm up and drew the curtain aside. Orange coals smoldered in the hearth beside his bed, sprinkling shadows over the carved birds and vegetation that ensconced the marble hearth.

  This was his chamber at Mirrorstone. But he didn’t remember coming in. There had been wine at dinner, and later, when they were playing one hundred. One glass couldn’t have bested him, could it?

  Achan reached out to Sparrow’s mind for answers, but his head hurt too much to focus. He lifted a hand to caress his temple, but it was lost in his ridiculously long quilted sleeve. He rolled both sleeves to his elbows and traced the raw scar on his left cheek. A spicy scent lingered on his fingers. Jaira. Why did his hands reek of her? He’d barely touched her.

  An image of him holding Jaira’s face flitted though his mind’s eye.

  He sat upright and ripped back the curtains on the other side of the bed.

  Sparrow slept on the floor, slouched against the wall beside his bed, one knee pulled up to his chest, an arm draped across it.

  “Sparrow!”

  The boy twitched, and his arm fell to the floor. He blinked wildly and clutched his pathetic sword. “Is she here?”

  “Who?”

  “Jaira.” Sparrow jumped up and hurried to the bedside. He laid his sword on the bed and set his palm to Achan’s forehead. “Oh, Your Highness. Are you well?”

  “I feel ill. Fuddled, I think. I’ve never been fuddled, so I can’t be certain. Was there wine with dinner?”

  “There is always wine with dinner, but you are not drunk. You were poisoned.”

  Achan’s heart thudded. “I was?”

  Sparrow stepped back. “If you remember nothing of last night, perhaps that is best.”

  “No, tell me.” Achan leaned closer to examine a long purple bruise on the boy’s neck. “What happened to you?”

  “You professed your undying affection for Princess Jaira.”

  Achan grinned. “Very funny.”

  “She is a mage. All the Hamartano women are, I suspect. She asked you to smell a powder that robbed your mind and turned you into a sentimental fool. For her.”

  The look on Sparrow’s face sobered Achan quickly. Horror seeped up his spine, bolstered by the lingering scent of Jaira and the memory of the embrace. “Wh-What did I do?”

  Sparrow wrinkled his nose. “You proposed. And when I tried to stop you, you attacked me.”

  Achan rubbed his throat in the place where Sparrow’s throat was bruised. “I did?”

  “You were right, Your Highness. Passion does increase a man’s strength.”

  The door to Achan’s room inched open. Sir Caleb poked his shaggy head inside. “Good. You’re up.” He threw the door wide and he, Sir Gavin, and Inko lumbered in, carrying their packs as if they were ready to leave tha
t instant. They dropped them inside the chamber and surrounded Achan’s bed.

  Achan glanced briefly at the knights, then back at the bruises on Sparrow’s throat. “Sparrow, I…I’m sorry.”

  Sir Gavin raised a bushy eyebrow. “Vrell has told you, then? What went on last night?”

  Achan scratched behind his ear. “I don’t understand—”

  “There’s no need to relive it,” Sir Caleb said. “Get dressed. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready. Lord Eli doesn’t know what to believe. Queen Hamartano made her accusations before I could. The pontiff’s story doesn’t match Vrell’s, so he’s lying for whatever reason. We’d planned to go anyway. Leaving in secret might make you look guilty, but lingering to prove our case will only give more opportunity for attacks against you, and I’m not trained to fight Jaelportian mages. Are you well?”

  “Uh…my head. It…hurts. But I’ll love—” Achan pressed a hand to his neck as if a dry throat had caused that slip of the tongue. “I’ll live.”

  Inko poured a mug of water from a tray on the sideboard. Achan took it and drank.

  Sir Caleb pulled one of the wooden chairs over from the wall and sat beside the bed. “Never smell anything from the hand of a Jaelportian woman, Your Highness.”

  Achan groaned. “Now you tell me.”

  “Lord Eli was having a hand in this all, I’m being certain,” Inko said.

  “It simply proves my point,” Sir Caleb said. “Achan should marry soon.”

  Achan fell back and pulled the pelt over his head. He didn’t want to hear this again.

  “Please.” Sir Gavin sniffed long and hard. “Never in all my years of service have I seen anything like this. ’Tis nothing to fear will happen again once we’re away.”

  Achan hoped not. That a simple powder could make him declare love for Jaira Hamartano… He shuddered.

  Sir Caleb’s chair creaked. “But if he’s wed, there will be nothing to worry about.”

  “What is it you fear, Caleb?” Sir Gavin asked. “Once we leave, there will be no more danger of love dusts.”

  “I fear he falls for the wrong woman’s charm. A beautiful woman can be convincing without love dust. If he’s properly married, there’s no fear of—”

  “Many a king still finds beautiful women falling at his feet. His being married won’t keep that temptation from him.”

  “It should,” Sparrow said in his bossy tone.

  Achan wanted to agree, but his feelings for Gren hadn’t kept Lady Tara from his mind.

  “But if Jaelport wanted to steal his heir, a child with his gift could be trained against him,” Sir Caleb said.

  Child? Achan pulled down the pelt and opened his mouth to comment, but could think of nothing to interject into such a statement. His head still hurt, and the conversation didn’t help.

  Sir Gavin tugged at his beard braid. “If they could steal an heir now, they can steal an heir when he’s wed. What will be, will be, Caleb. Why worry over it?”

  Sir Caleb scoffed as if it were obvious. “Because his firstborn must be legitimate, of course. So no other child could make a claim.”

  “But should his firstborn be killed, the second could still make a claim, even if he were born out of wedlock.”

  Achan pushed himself to sitting. “Stop killing off children I don’t have! This is madness.” He threw off the pelt. He still wore his clothes from last night, but his boots had been removed. He wanted his own clothes, what Gren had made him, not this pompous garb. Besides, it reeked of Jaira.

  He slid from the bed, the wood floor cool under his bare feet. He spied Sir Gavin’s pack against the far wall and walked toward it, wincing at his throbbing head.

  “Your Highness,” Sir Caleb said, “as we’ve mentioned, a king is a target for much trickery and deceit. We second guess possibilities as our way of protecting you.”

  Achan threw up his hands. “But I wouldn’t…I could never… Why would you all assume I’d betray my wife?”

  “We cannot be knowing what you might be doing until you’ve done it,” Inko said.

  Accusation stabbed his heart. “None of you have faith in me to do what’s right?”

  “Truly we’re knowing little about you, Your Highness. It’ll be taking time to—”

  “Aw, ’tis more we don’t trust others not to take advantage of you,” Sir Gavin said. “Look what Jaira nearly accomplished.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Your Highness,” Sir Caleb said. “There’s a reason women rule in Jaelport. Magic is not taught to men there unless they become eunuchs. Remember, Queen Hamartano, not her husband, rules Jaelport.”

  Achan continued across the room, pitying Lord Hamartano.

  “Shouldn’t have left him unguarded,” Sir Gavin said.

  “We didn’t,” Sir Caleb said. “Vrell was to bloodvoice any threat, and he did his duty.”

  “His duty?” Sir Gavin’s voice rose in pitch. “One lad? To guard our prince? Vrell is untrained, unprepared for such responsibility.”

  “Since when do you care about a soldier’s skill level?” Sir Caleb asked.

  Sir Gavin gestured to Vrell. “The lad nearly died trying to protect his future king.”

  Achan recalled the ugly bruise on Sparrow’s neck. He didn’t feel worthy to have people willing to die for his stupidity. He opened Sir Gavin’s pack and dug for his clothes.

  Sir Caleb set a hand on Sparrow’s shoulder. “Vrell took out Larkos on his own, which was very well done, boy. He’s a hero who’ll someday make an excellent Kingsguard knight.”

  Achan glanced across the room to Sparrow. “You bested Larkos?”

  The boy’s cheeks flushed. “I caught him slightly unaware.”

  “So let us at least consider the prince’s options for matrimony,” Sir Caleb said.

  Achan groaned and went back to searching for his clothes.

  “The first question is being, an ally or an enemy?” Inko said. “A marriage that will be strengthening current alliances or one that will be forging new peace?”

  “Ally, of course,” Sir Caleb said. “Er’Rets isn’t strong enough to worry about making peace with known enemies. You see what people are willing to do to gain control.”

  “Then who is supporting our cause that we’re trusting?” Inko asked.

  “I can only guess,” Sir Caleb said, “but Xulon, Berland, Carmine, Zerah Rock. Probably Mitspah, as well, and Tsaftown. Armonguard, of course.”

  Achan found the shirt and jerkin Gren had made him. He lifted them to his nose and found them stinking of mildew. Sir Gavin’s pack must have gotten wet when they waded to shore. He switched the fancy blue shirt for Gren’s brown one anyway.

  “Does not Duchess Amal have a daughter?” Sir Caleb asked.

  “Several, I’m thinking.”

  “Now Carm,” Sir Caleb said. “She’d be our wisest ally. The North would rally behind a queen from Carm or even Therion.”

  “Wasn’t Esek planning the same?” Inko asked. “Wasn’t he trying to wed Averella Amal?”

  Achan slipped his jerkin on. “Bran’s lady? Didn’t Macoun Hadar capture her?”

  “Aye.” Sir Gavin’s eyes shifted. “But she escaped.”

  “Good.” Achan had been feeling responsible for the lady when the trade hadn’t happened. He started lacing his jerkin.

  “Gavin, you know the duchess,” Sir Caleb said. “Do you think she’d speak with us about a betrothal?”

  Sparrow squeaked.

  Betrothal? “Wait.” Achan dropped the laces. “I’ve never met Lady Averella. You can’t expect me to marry a stranger. Besides, she’s Bran’s girl.”

  Sir Caleb directed his eyes to Achan. “Kings do it all the time.”

  “Well, not me.”

  “This matter could be changing the course of who would be ruling Er’Rets,” Inko said.

  Achan scowled. “I’ll not steal a friend’s love or use any woman as barter in a war.”

  “Why ever not?” Sir Caleb asked.


  “I…” Achan ran a hand through his hair. “Why can’t I find my own bride?”

  “We haven’t time for you to comb the countryside in search of love,” Sir Caleb said. “Do you know any noblewomen who are heirs to a duchy and come with a large army? Is there another you’d prefer?”

  Achan wanted to scream. He didn’t want to be king or marry some woman he didn’t know. His head spun. He remembered sitting with Esek at his coming-of-age celebration observing the eligible maids of Er’Rets. Esek had found none of them desirable, but Achan had disagreed on one account.

  He hesitated. “She must be of noble birth?”

  “Aye,” Sir Gavin said.

  Lady Tara. He could think of no one else. He said in a small voice, “What of Lady Tara of Tsaftown?”

  “Tsaftown is at the end of Er’Rets. No one much cares who they support,” Sir Caleb said.

  “But I’ve met Lady Tara. I like her. She was kind to me when she thought me a stray. Plus, she’s beautiful.”

  “Ah. Forgive me, Your Highness,” Sir Caleb said. “I thought we were attempting to save all Er’Rets from Darkness and peril, but Arman forbid our prince marry someone plain.”

  “That’s unfair. I shouldn’t have to marry anyone.”

  “That’s the way of kings.”

  “Well, it’s also the way of kings to…to change things,” Achan sputtered. “To– to– to make new laws.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, boy,” Sir Caleb said.

  “Well…am I king?”

  Everyone went silent.

  Achan sucked in a sharp breath, horrified he’d used Esek’s pompous catchphrase. “I-I’m sorry.”

  “Have no fear, Your Highness.” Sir Gavin set a hand on Achan’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’ll not have to decide this day. It’ll be a month before we free our men and many more until we reach Armonguard. You have until then.”

  * * *

  Leather saddlebags creaked, hooves clomped, and tails swished at mosquitoes as the horses carried them through the dark void. North, supposedly. Sir Caleb had tethered the animals with his rope, so there was no need to steer. Still, it felt awkward to sit atop a horse again, especially in Darkness, but Achan liked Scout. The sleek black horse had a gentle disposition. Achan sensed he was eager to leave Mirrorstone.