To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  Vrell’s eyes widened. Bran with Gren? Achan had looked in on Gren and saw Bran… Vrell’s breath caught. That was Achan’s Gren?

  Sir Gavin grimaced and shifted on the stool. “Aw, I’m sorry, lad. Prince Oren bid me tell you when I found the right moment, only we have been running since I got the message. I planned to tell you—this night, actually, once we were alone.”

  The floor seemed to fall out from under Vrell. “Would you like me to leave?”

  “No.” Achan lifted his chin. “There’s no need.”

  Sir Gavin nodded. “When you escaped from Mahanaim, Esek sent Lord Nathak back to Sitna to keep an eye on the Duchess of Carm and Gren’s family. Leverage over the two things he wants most. Control of Carm and control of you.”

  Achan stood up as if he planned to run out the door and save Gren.

  Sir Gavin clutched the hem of Achan’s tunic. “Esek sent Khai into Darkness to track you. But Macoun Hadar had his own agenda. Since Khai also works for him and was already following you for Esek, Macoun sent Jax to Sitna to kidnap Gren before Lord Nathak got to her. Macoun, of course, is hoping to use Gren as leverage against you as well.”

  “Pig snout.” Achan dropped back to the pallet.

  Sir Gavin continued, “As you both know, Jax is a Mârad spy, loyal to Prince Oren and to us. Prince Oren asked Jax to move Gren’s family to a safe place. Sir Rigil and his squire, Bran Rennan—” Sir Gavin peered at Vrell—“were already in Carmine since they had gone to aid the duchess. Jax met Sir Rigil and his men outside Sitna Manor.

  “Bran, being the least intimidating of the group, was sent to initiate contact with Gren’s family. But Gren’s father rejected Bran’s warning, so Bran went to speak with Riga. He didn’t listen either. Sitna has been overrun with thieves since Lord Nathak left. The people trust no one for fear of being swindled. Sir Rigil made a second attempt to contact Gren’s father but found the Fenny home deserted. When he knocked at the Hoff home, he was arrested.”

  Vrell’s breath hitched. She hoped nothing had happened to Sir Rigil.

  “When Sir Rigil didn’t return, Bran managed to find out from the local peasants that both families had been arrested. He and Jax broke into the Sitna dungeons and rescued all but Riga Hoff, who died trying to defend his wife.”

  Achan’s eyes grew as wide as full moons. “Riga’s dead?”

  “Aye. I’m sorry, Achan.”

  “Trying to save Gren?”

  “That’s right. Sir Rigil said he took a sword for her, during the rescue attempt, I believe.”

  “Riga was her baby?” Achan’s brow crinkled and he sank back on his elbows.

  Vrell pulled her knees to her chest. The poor girl. To be married to a man she didn’t love, then to see him killed…

  “Yesterday on the sandbar,” Achan’s voice broke. He cleared his throat. “I heard Gren crying about her baby, thought she’d lost a child. It seemed so real, yet I thought Darkness had twisted my mind.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, Gren is expecting a child. Her mother informed Sir Rigil once they settled in Carmine, which happened a few days ago.”

  “Oh!” Vrell clapped a hand over her mouth. Sir Gavin could have delivered that bit of information at another time. Not heap it all on poor Achan at once. Did the man not see how weighed down Achan already was?

  Sir Gavin focused on Vrell. “So, that’s that. Vrell, were you successful with your attempt to watch?”

  Vrell nodded but refused to elaborate. She wanted to respect Achan’s moment of grief and not run over it as Sir Gavin appeared willing to do.

  Achan only stared past Vrell’s left ear with a dazed look.

  * * *

  Achan meandered out to the front room, limping on his bandaged feet. His muscles were tight and stiff. Sir Caleb and Inko sat at the table, playing a dice game.

  “Want to join us, Your Highness?” Sir Caleb asked.

  “No thanks.” Dice reminded him of Lord Eli and Jaira.

  He paced to the door, then doubled back and plopped in the middle of one of the sofas. He disliked this house. Too cramped. He wanted to be outside—not in Darkness but by the allown tree in Sitna, watching the clouds sail across the blue sky. His body throbbed. He inspected the welts on his wrists again, the most visible of his injuries besides his cheeks.

  As he pondered how long it might take until his beard hid the scars on his cheeks, Ressa walked out from the hallway carrying one of the babies. Achan couldn’t tell the boy from the girl. The child turned its wide, brown eyes on Achan and all he could see was Gren and her child, staring at him.

  Ressa smiled. “Trajen and Romal are sleeping. They’ve taken the whole bed and left no place for Roma and me to go, didn’t they, my precious?” She kissed the child’s forehead and settled down in the pillows. She cradled the baby across her lap. “Do you mind if I feed her?”

  Achan opened his mouth, then shook his head. He picked at a bit of skin on his wrist, wishing for a way to escape the confinement he felt. The baby’s suckling filled the room. Achan stood and bolted down the hallway. But Sir Gavin and Sparrow were still talking in his room so he turned and strode out the front door.

  Outside, the night—day?—was cool. He took in a deep breath and found the air thick with smoke, pitch, and dung. Wheels clattered over the cobblestone in the distance, bringing to mind his journey behind Silvo’s cart. The street stretched out on both sides, narrow and hemmed in like a canyon. He counted ten doors across the street. Did that mean ten homes? Moths fluttered around the lanterns, their shadows darting over the stone walls below.

  Gren hadn’t looked to be with child. How long until that changed? Goats tended to carry for five months before they delivered. Were women the same?

  Did she grieve for Riga? Achan couldn’t imagine the same pot-bellied peasant who had bullied him, beat him, and stolen Gren away could have the guts—or the heart—to even try to defend someone else, much less take a sword for anyone.

  But maybe he’d done it for his child.

  This thought made Achan cringe all over again. The very idea that Riga had touched Gren, let alone… He shook the anger away. It didn’t matter. Riga had been Gren’s husband, had every right…but she hadn’t wanted to marry him…and they’d been married only a little over a month. Achan didn’t understand. Perhaps married people managed to bond somehow. If Gren had come to care for Riga…well…Achan hoped she wasn’t suffering.

  One thing brought comfort: he knew Bran to be honest and kind. When next he spoke with Prince Oren, Achan would request that Bran look after the Fennys for a while. He pushed aside Gren’s nervous thoughts of Bran Rennan, the handsome squire. Bran was betrothed to Lady Averella, after all. Nothing to fear there.

  The door to the house opened and Sir Caleb stepped outside. “Are you well, Your Highness?”

  Achan folded his arms. “It’s so small in there.”

  “It is that. Nice of them to put us up, though.” The knight stood beside Achan. They were roughly the same height, but Sir Caleb’s blond hair frizzed out, making him seem taller. “Melas is well-known for its crime. It’s best we stay inside.”

  Achan’s shoulders sagged. “Fine.” He pushed past Sir Caleb and into the house. Ressa was still feeding the baby so he went down the hall to his room. As soon as he entered Sir Gavin and Sparrow stopped talking, as if he’d interrupted some secret discussion.

  “Do you need something, lad?”

  “No.” Achan slipped out again and walked toward the glowing curtain to the main room.

  “Achan?”

  Sparrow’s voice made him jump. He turned to find the boy standing behind him, cat-like eyes peering up into his. “Are you well?”

  “As well as one can be in Darkness, I suppose.”

  “Hearing news of Gren must have been…shocking.”

  Achan’s muscles tightened. “Sparrow, if you think I—” He sighed. The boy could read him like a scroll. He smiled sadly. “Aye, I wish to help her. But Bran is there. That will have to
be good enough.”

  “Bran is a good man,” Sparrow said. “You trust him?”

  “I sense he’s as righteous as Prince Oren himself.”

  Sparrow beamed. “I think so too.”

  Achan shifted and the linen curtain to the main room clung to his back. He swiped it away and inched closer to Sparrow. “This cottage is so cramped. You’d think it wouldn’t bother me so, my having slept under an ale cask all my life, but I…the dark is so oppressive. I never realized what a gift the sun was until it was gone.”

  “The sun brings light and life to the world.”

  “Aye.”

  “Sir Gavin is asking for you,” Sparrow said.

  “Oh. Right, then.” Achan turned sideways to edge past Sparrow. He ducked into his room, relieved to have somewhere to go.

  Sir Gavin still sat on the stool, elbows propped on his knobby knees. “Achan. Would you sit a moment?”

  Achan settled on his pallet.

  Sir Gavin slouched against the wall and stretched out his legs. “I’ve never been good with words, sentiments especially. I’m a soldier, you understand. I’m great with a sword, I excel with a battle plan, and I can track better than most hounds, but…” He tugged at his beard braid. “Vrell thinks I… Well, anyway, he’s right. Achan, I’ve got the sensitivity of a bull in a pumpkin patch. I just don’t know what I’m walking on, if you get me.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’m trying to say I didn’t handle telling you the news about Gren well. I should’ve… Well, ’twas a shock to you and I just kind of flattened everything like a stampede of… Anyway, sorry about that. I’m sorry about everything, really. All the way back to your parents’ death. I’ve always felt responsible, you know. Your father would’ve agreed with me about the bull in the pumpkin patch too.”

  “How so?”

  Sir Gavin winced. “Well, when we were a great deal younger, there was a young lady.”

  Achan grinned. A story like this just might lift his spirits.

  “It’s not that I never recognized women were beautiful—are beautiful. I do—I’m just called to a different life. I’m too busy to bother with romance. And when I’ve tried to woo, I’ve only ever managed to make ladies scowl.” Sir Gavin sniffed a long breath as if pulling a memory out from the air. “Akami was your mother’s attendant and best friend. She grew up with Dara in Nesos and—”

  “My mother grew up in Nesos?”

  “Aye. Your father had his eye on Lady Dara Pitney ever since he knew boys and girls were different. No one could doubt who he’d choose when the time came.”

  Achan tried to imagine what life might have been like had his parents lived. He would’ve been raised in Armonguard, traveled Er’Rets with his parents, attended court, and fought in tournaments. He would never have known Gren, true, but he may have always known Lady Tara.

  “So what happened with…?”

  “Apparently, Akami fancied me.” Sir Gavin shrugged. “So Dara put your father up to getting us together. But Axel told me, ‘My wife desires you to escort her attendant, Akami, to the Hepta Festival. Wear something nice, Gavin, and bathe.’

  “When the Hepta Festival arrived, there were so many visitors, and rumors of Cheremites sneaking in to cause trouble, I knew my skills would be best used with the guard. So I sent one of my men to escort Akami to the festival.”

  Achan chuckled. “What did she do?”

  “She married him.”

  “Your guardsman?”

  “Eventually, aye, but not before your mother tongue-lashed me. I never would’ve agreed to be the girl’s escort had I understood Dara’s plans. Your father was never vague with me again. And the next time your mother set to matchmaking, Axel laid it out plain for me to reject entirely. Arman didn’t make me for romance, my lad. I’m a warrior and to that cause I’ve dedicated my life.”

  Achan wished he could have witnessed Sir Gavin’s moment of understanding.

  “Know that I’m still as thick as ever with people, so if I seemed cruel before, it wasn’t my intention.” Sir Gavin shifted on the stool. “So, you know what I have to say now isn’t meant to hurt, right? Though Gren’s situation has changed…you and she could never…”

  Achan met Sir Gavin’s brown eye and forced his voice to remain even, though his stomach clenched. “Of course.”

  Sir Gavin slapped Achan’s shoulder twice. “Good lad. Now, Prince Oren would like you to message him. I think you’ve got it down, so I’ll see no one disturbs you.”

  Sir Gavin hoisted himself from the stool, groaning, and passed through the curtain. Achan stared at the rippling fabric until it stilled.

  Why torture me, Arman? I wasn’t good enough for Gren. Now she’s not good enough for me. Why can’t I do as I please? Esek would have.

  But Esek hadn’t been able to marry just anyone either.

  I beg you protect her, then, if I cannot. Keep Bran at her side to make sure no one harms her or her family.

  Lying down would be most comfortable for messaging. If he somehow left his body again, at least he wouldn’t fall.

  He pulled off his boots and lay back on the straw-filled mattress. He held up his right hand. Prince Oren’s signet ring looked strange on his finger. In the same way wearing his bejeweled belt and sword had first made him feel small and insignificant, this ring dwarfed him even more. He stared at the crest of Armonguard, mesmerized. Armonguard should’ve been his home. He should’ve grown up in the castle as prince, the delight of every woman, the pride of every man.

  The hope for the future kingdom.

  Yet all had been lost. If Achan continued with these men, they’d do everything in their power to make him king. He hadn’t wanted that, yet the idea grew more comfortable the more he learned of his parents. He wanted to be a good son. Would the people of Er’Rets accept him? Prince Oren had.

  Achan closed his eyes and let his mind drift to the servant’s chamber on the bottom floor in Mahanaim where he last saw Prince Oren. His uncle’s kind words came back.

  “We share the same blood, you and I.”

  Achan hung on to those words for a long moment, cherishing them. Then he called out. Prince Oren?

  When is it only us, you must call me Uncle Oren or Uncle. I could feel you. I wondered what was taking you so long.

  I was looking at your ring, Uncle. Achan smiled. He liked saying the word uncle.

  Clunky old piece of gold, isn’t it?

  I think it’s amazing. The history, especially.

  I suppose it is. How do you fare? Your face? Has it healed any?

  One side has scabbed over. The other broke open again. Silvo Hamartano.

  Sir Gavin told me what happened in Barth. I’m proud of the way you handled yourself.

  Thank you, sir.

  When we last saw each other, I asked you whether or not Arman had spoken to you as king. We were interrupted and I never heard your answer. Tell me, have you heard his voice?

  The mere mention of Arman’s voice seemed to heat Achan’s insides. Aye. He’s spoken to me several times.

  So it is true! His uncle’s voice sounded anxious, excited. What has he said?

  Uh… He appointed me…king…over the nation. Before that he said to listen to Sir Gavin. Recently he yelled at me for calling on Cetheria. Then he restored my bloodvoice and kept some gowzals from eating me alive. He banished Barthos. Though his uncle couldn’t see him, Achan shrugged. I like him all right.

  Prince Oren chuckled. Well, that is the best news I have heard since you were found. Now, tell me all you have been through since you left Mahanaim.

  Achan filled his uncle in on the journey thus far. The conversation lasted a long while because Prince Oren kept asking questions, inquiring as to a detail Achan had skipped over or to ask Achan’s feelings. Achan liked Prince Oren’s attention. The man cared about his well-being.

  Sir Gavin expressed concern to me about this Hadad fellow. He did not want to burden you, but I think it wise for you to be on guar
d. When this man spoke, did you feel a knock? Any mental intrusion at all?

  No. Achan’s mind spun. I did feel cold. Sir Gavin said a chill can be a sign of bloodvoice ability. Hadad wanted me to renounce Arman, to shake on it.

  Touch increases bloodvoice connection. Take care to keep your mind guarded, nephew. There are so many who might seek to harm you.

  So many already had. A meaty smell drifted into the room. Achan’s stomach growled. Ressa was cooking again.

  You are hungry? Prince Oren asked.

  Achan smiled. A little.

  Then go and eat. We can talk again later.

  Achan didn’t want the conversation to end. Uncle, do you know how Gren is doing?

  She is safe. I am grieved over what happened to her husband. I thought sending Jax and Sir Rigil would be enough to protect one family, but I fear Lord Nathak did not want to part with them.

  Will she stay in Carmine, do you know?

  For now. Perhaps you will be able to visit her when you arrive there. I understand Carmine is one of the places Sir Gavin plans to visit.

  Aye. It’ll be months before we’re there, though. Could you have Bran or Sir Rigil keep watch over her? To make sure she’s okay?

  I will. But trust her to Arman, lad. He’ll watch over her better than anyone.

  But Gren does not follow Arman.

  That does not change the fact that he watches over her. He loves all of his children, whether or not they know or believe. Goodbye, Nephew. Go and eat.

  Goodbye, Uncle.

  19

  When Achan entered the kitchen two days later, people filled the house. The table had been pushed lengthwise against the inner wall and people sat on it, dangling their legs over the edge. The chairs also lined the walls, occupied by men and women, chatting amicably. More people occupied the couches and floor. No one paid any attention to Achan.

  He scanned the room. Sparrow? Where are you?

  On the floor, other side of the table.

  Achan squatted. Sparrow sat cross-legged behind the front table leg on the other end. What are you doing over there?