To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  Achan turned his concerned expression to Vrell. His voice barged into her mind. Some welcome for the prince, huh? Not nearly as nice as Berland, but at least you don’t have to fly.

  Must you always jest when the situation is dire?

  Jesting is better than worrying. At least I don’t give myself a stomachache and a sour expression on a daily basis.

  Sir Gavin’s eyes opened. He handed the arrows to Inko. “We’ll wait here a moment longer.”

  “You were successful?” Achan asked.

  “Aye. I found someone I know.”

  Vrell swelled with joy. “Really? Who?”

  Sir Gavin shot Sir Caleb a knowing look. “An old friend.”

  A man’s voice called out, “Sir Gavin?”

  Sir Gavin stood but remained behind the shield. “Aye?”

  “Stand by for the gates to open,” the man said. “I’ll meet you below.”

  That was all? “What assurances do they give that they will not attack us once we enter? Why should we trust them now?”

  “It was a misunderstanding, Vrell. Do not fear.”

  Easy for Sir Gavin to say. If he would share who he spoke with, it might ease Vrell’s apprehension.

  Blessed Achan asked that very question. “Who was that?”

  Sir Gavin slid his shield strap over his arm and grabbed his horse’s reins. “Carmack is a young man from Tsaftown. I should like to know why he’s here.”

  The name Carmack was familiar, though Vrell could not recall why.

  Wood cracked as if a branch had been ripped from a tree. The right gatehouse door drew in, leaving a drift of snow between them and the bailey. Vrell took up her horse’s reins and followed the men. By the time they reached the gate, three soldiers were shoveling the snow where it had caved in on the doorway. Sir Caleb went to retrieve his boarding hook.

  Once the path was clear, Sir Gavin led the way, followed by Sir Caleb, Achan, and Inko. Vrell entered last. Snow covered the ground inside the bailey. Deep trenches crisscrossed one another like a spider’s web, leading from dozens of wooden dwellings on the left of the keep to the larger outbuildings on the right.

  The keep stood in the center, a dark shadow dotted with golden light gleaming from within through arrow loops and cracks in shutters. Windows also lit up each tiny wooden cottage. The scene reminded Vrell of a winter night in Carmine. A man’s hearty voice drew Vrell’s attention away from her surroundings. She’d heard that voice before.

  “As I breathe, it’s the Whitewolf himself. What brings you to Meribah Corner?”

  A bear of a man approached the gate. He stood a hand taller than Achan and twice as wide. He wore a short bushy beard covered in a layer of frost, making it impossible for Vrell to guess his age. Vrell’s mind spun trying to remember where she had heard his voice.

  Sir Gavin greeted the man in a brief, fierce hug. “Carmack, ’tis good to see you. I feared your guardsmen might leave us to freeze if they didn’t slay us first.”

  “Not my guardsmen, I’m afraid. But I do apologize. Lord Gershom is not himself. We’ve not had visitors since…well, not since I arrived.”

  “And why are you here, my boy, if not a guardsman? Did Lord Livna send you away?”

  “Aye, in a sense. All will be explained soon enough. Let’s get your horses to the stables and you all inside to thaw your beards. I wish we had the manpower to put your animals up ourselves, but…well, we’re doing what we can to keep Meribah Corner on its feet.”

  The men took off toward the stables at a brisk pace. Vrell didn’t blame them. The idea of sitting by a warm fireplace quickened her step as well.

  The stables were thick with the familiar smell of hay and dung. Vrell led her horse in only to pass Achan, Sir Gavin, and Carmack coming out.

  Vrell hurried inside to see Sir Caleb taking the saddle off Achan’s mount.

  “Help us with the horses, won’t you, Vrell?” Sir Caleb asked. “We’ll let Gavin and the prince get warm.”

  Vrell swallowed, ignoring the ache in her chest, and unbuckled her saddle. The Crown Prince should be taken in to get warm. Vrell traveled as his squire—his servant—nothing more. Putting up the horses was a squire’s duty. Still, that Sir Gavin left her behind when he knew—

  No. She chose this. No one had forced her to keep her identity a secret. She lifted a brush from the wall and worked it over her horse’s back. It wouldn’t be long until they reached Carmine. Then she could be pampered again. She just needed to keep reminding herself to stick to her plan.

  24

  Achan followed Carmack and Sir Gavin along narrow trenches cut through waist-high snow. His toes were numb, though walking warmed him some. He couldn’t wait to take his boots off by a fire. And sleep in a bed, a real mattress, not the icy ground or a trembling tree.

  Carmack opened a door on the side of the keep. They filed into a narrow, stone corridor, lit by a lone torch. The chill lessened despite the thick layer of frost that coated the outer wall. Carmack passed the torch that had burned to a stub. The flame danced about, seeming to reach out and grab at Achan.

  Carmack stopped at a door just past the torch. His brown eyes met Achan’s and he bowed without breaking eye contact. “You may wait in here, Your Majesty.” He pulled open the door and it scraped over the stone floor.

  Achan entered into the back of a warm solar through the servant’s door. Iron sconces hung on timber plank walls. They held fat white candles that gave off the faint scent of jasmine and left the room smelling like a woman was nearby. Achan smiled at the thought.

  He stood behind a round table. Across the room, a large pair of antlers was mounted above a simple stone fireplace that glowed with warmth. A sofa with a high, carved back faced the hearth, flanked by two matching chairs with brown cushions. There were no elaborate tapestries, no silver trays with grapes and tarts, no marble pillars or busts.

  Achan liked this room a great deal.

  Carmack closed the door before Sir Gavin could enter. Achan reached for the door handle. Sir Gavin!

  All is well, lad. Warm yourself. I shall join you shortly.

  Achan pulled off his mittens, shrugged off his cape, and set them on the tabletop. His fingers were pink. The crackling fire drew him around the sofa. He knelt beside a wrought iron poker stand and held out his hands.

  “You intend to warm yourself by my fire without an introduction?”

  Achan jumped up and whirled around, knocking the poker stand to the hearth with a terrible clank. A woman in a red gown sat in the center of the high-backed sofa, looking small, almost royal, as if sitting on a throne. Achan paused in shock at her familiar white-blond curls and blue eyes.

  Lady Tara? He lunged forward to greet her, then remembered the poker stand. He spun around and righted it, mind fogged. He hadn’t expected to see Lady Tara until Tsaftown.

  He popped back to his feet only to snag his scabbard on the poker stand. It clattered to the stone hearth again, rattling Achan’s nerves. He blew out a frustrated breath and righted it, stepping away more carefully this time.

  “Lady Tara.” He bowed, clueless what to say. “Wh-What…uh, what brings you to Meribah Corner?”

  A slow smile spread across her face and she scooted to the edge of her seat. “Why, Master Cham. Meribah Corner is my home now, and I welcome you to it. Though I would ask the same of you. Why are you here?”

  Her home? What about Tsaftown? Young nobles often lived in the household of a relative or friend to learn a trade—or perhaps Lord Gershom had taken her as a ward to earn a fief from her father. Achan’s stomach twisted. His stay here might be his only opportunity to ask for her hand. How did a man ask such a thing of a woman he barely knew? And should he do it now, before Sir Gavin returned with the others and reminded him her rank wasn’t high enough?

  Lady Tara stood. Her gaze darted to the door he’d entered through, then to a larger door to the right of the table. “Do you travel with your prince, Master Cham? We had not received word that His Highn
ess was coming or, I assure you, we would have prepared for his arrival. I hope he will not be too put out.”

  She didn’t know of Lord Nathak’s deceit? How could he explain such a thing? “No, my lady. I’m afraid…it turned out that…well…” Achan swallowed. “Haven’t you heard?”

  She laughed softly. “Only that your tongue is somewhat knotted, good sir. How can I ease your mind?”

  Before Achan could answer, the servant’s door opened. Carmack and Sir Gavin entered.

  Sir Gavin strode before the sofa and bowed. “My lady. Thank you for permitting us to enter. We’re in your debt.”

  Lady Tara curtsied. “As if Meribah Corner would refuse the Crown Prince. Please, think nothing of it, Sir Gavin. Lord Gershom is not himself of late. I pray you forgive his orders. Had he understood who sought entry… Well, I am glad you were able to message Carmack.” She gestured to the chair on her left. “Please, Sir Gavin, won’t you sit? Master Demry, could you inform Ghee we will have our dinner in the great hall?”

  Carmack bowed. “Of course, my lady.” He exited through the large door. Before it closed, Achan could see a vast great hall beyond.

  “Master Cham?”

  Achan met Lady Tara’s tired eyes. They did not sparkle as they had when he first met her. With slouched posture and pale skin, Darkness clearly did not agree with her. “I’m sorry? Did you say something, my lady?”

  “Won’t you sit as well?” She motioned to the chair across from Sir Gavin.

  “Yes, of course.” Achan claimed the chair. He set his hands on his lap, shifted them to his sides, then back to his lap. What was the proper thing to do with one’s hands? They trembled slightly. He squeezed them into fists and jerked his head up at the sound of his name.

  Lady Tara stared, forehead wrinkled. “Did you hear me, Master Cham?”

  “I’m sorry, my lady.” He forced a smile. “I’m afraid my mind is preoccupied.”

  Her sculpted eyebrows sank. “Of course, you are concerned for your prince. Forgive me. He is welcome to this room, but we have an elegant receiving room opposite the great hall he would likely prefer. My staff is preparing it as we speak. He could relax there until dinner is served.”

  Achan leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. “My lady, Prince Gidon is not with us. He…”

  Pig snout. How did one explain such a mess? His face flushed and he hoped she couldn’t see his discomfort.

  Sir Gavin raised an eyebrow at Achan. Allow me.

  Thank you. Achan studied a knot on the floorboards between his boots. How might Lady Tara respond?

  “Lord Nathak has deceived us all, my lady. Prince Gidon, as you knew him, is and always has been false. He’s Lord Nathak’s son. Shortly after King Axel and his queen were killed, Lord Nathak found the real Gidon Hadar. Before giving the prince to the Council, he switched the boy with his own.”

  Achan peeked up. Lady Tara brought her fingers to her gaping mouth.

  “Aye, he hid the true Crown Prince all these years in the kitchens of Sitna Manor. Lost to all. But Arman exposed the treason. The man you see before you is the real Gidon Hadar, the rightful heir to the throne of Er’Rets.”

  Lady Tara’s wide eyes brimmed with tears, then drooped, as did her hands. She gripped the edge of the sofa, slid off and onto her knees, head bowed.

  Achan jumped up and grasped her elbow, pulling her back to her feet. “Please, my lady. Kneeling is not necessary. I’ve not yet been crowned. In fact, the Council voted Esek king, so until we challenge…” He helped Lady Tara sit on the sofa. The scent of jasmine flooded his senses. As he reclaimed his chair, his eyes darted to the candles he thought had held the scent.

  Lady Tara’s forehead wrinkled. “Who is Esek?”

  “Nathak’s son,” Sir Gavin said. “The one we’d always thought was Gidon. The Council wasn’t willing to give up control, you see. Since Esek has always been their puppet, they voted in his favor, four to three.”

  “So Master Cham is not king?”

  “Not by the Council’s ruling, no. But he’s Arman’s anointed despite what any man claims. Berland, Nesos, and Armonguard stand with us. We head for Tsaftown to gain your father’s support, then on to Carmine to assemble an army.”

  “We are at war, then?”

  “Aye, my lady, on the brink.”

  She turned to Achan, face pale. “Prince Oren supports you?”

  Achan nodded and held up his hand bearing the signet ring.

  “Do you have the kings’ gift, then?”

  Again Achan nodded. He sensed her overwhelming shock and reached out for her thoughts.

  It is almost too much. That Gidon is false and this sweet creature… He’s so young. Can he do what’s necessary? To overthrow Darkness? If he has the king’s gift… “Prince Gidon—I mean, Lord Nathak’s son did not have the gift, you know. But my father said the prince had it as a…child.” Lady Tara stared at Achan, sapphire eyes glazing. “What an answer to the prayers of your people, for we feared Arman had forsaken us with an evil king. I know you are a man worthy of such a calling.”

  Achan cast his gaze to the floor, overwhelmed by the pressure of such flattery. “You’re too kind, my lady.” But she’d thought him a sweet creature. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  “You will fight, then?”

  “At some point we’ll have to,” Sir Gavin said. “We realize Lord Gershom may not want to take a political stand, but we’d like to ask for supplies to aid us on our journey to Tsaftown. And might we spend a night or two to rest? As of now, we have no way to compensate Lord Gershom’s hospitality, but should Achan win the throne—”

  “I beg of you, do not fret over compensation. You are welcome to stay here without recompense.” She stood and smoothed out her skirt. “I will have our best rooms readied for you and your men. I—how many are in your party?”

  Sir Gavin stood as well, so Achan did too. “Five, my lady,” Sir Gavin said. “The others are settling the horses.”

  “I’ll see that Ghee prepares a feast in your honor.”

  Sir Gavin bowed. “I thank you for your courtesy, my lady.”

  “As do I,” Achan said.

  Lady Tara’s lips curled into a small smile. “Would you like a tour of the ground floor?”

  She had asked the question of Achan. She now knew his rank was higher than Sir Gavin’s and followed protocol by addressing him first. Achan needed to act his part if he hoped to impress her enough to want to marry him. The mere idea sent a wave of heat through his body.

  “That would be nice, thank you.” Achan offered his arm to his—he hoped—future bride.

  * * *

  Vrell stood inside the front doors to the diamond-shaped great hall with Sir Caleb and Inko. A wooden staircase wrapped around the right half of the room until it reached a door on the second level. The rough-hewn head table arched in a quarter circle from the wide corner of the room. Four long, wooden tables fanned out from it like sunbeams.

  Servants trailed in and out, setting the tables. It appeared Lord Gershom would dine with them after all. She prayed he would let them stay a day or two. She longed to sleep in a real bed. Hopefully, one she would not have to share with Inko.

  Achan and Sir Gavin had been gone a while. Where had Carmack taken them? Sir Caleb and Inko stood on the outside of the banister, whispering. Vrell did not care to eavesdrop. Those two argued over the pettiest concerns.

  A woman’s familiar giggle straightened Vrell’s posture. Three figures entered the great hall through a door on the far wall. Sir Gavin, Achan, and Lady Tara Livna, who clung to Achan’s arm like lint to wool.

  Vrell emitted a small squeak and sat on the bottom step. Every muscle in her body tensed. What was her cousin doing in Meribah Corner, of all places? She peered between the banister railing, up between Inko and Sir Caleb’s bodies. The trio had not yet reached them.

  Sir Caleb muttered, “Well, well. What has our young prince found?”

  “Trouble,” Inko said.
“I’m insisting Lady Tara is not being a wise choice. It’ll be gaining us nothing we’re not already having.”

  “But should he choose her, it is his choice, despite what we say,” Sir Caleb said.

  Inko propped a hand on the doorframe. “I am doubting he is knowing that. This choice will be affecting so much. We should not be allowing him to be making it alone.”

  Sir Gavin stopped beside Inko. “My lady, allow me to introduce Sir Caleb Agros and Inko son of Mopti, two fellow Kingsguardsmen. It’s been our sole purpose these past years to find the true prince and see his birthright restored.”

  Vrell watched between Inko and Sir Gavin’s arms.

  Tara wore a stunning red gown and her white-blond curls were pinned up under a golden net. She curtsied. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance. I hope you will enjoy your stay at Meribah Corner.”

  “I’m sure we will, my lady,” Sir Caleb said.

  “If you will excuse me a moment, I would like to check on dinner, then I shall return and see you to your rooms.”

  Achan released her arm and bowed. “Your kindness is beyond measure. We’ve not been so welcomed in all Er’Rets.”

  Except when Koyukuk threw a ball in his honor. Vrell rolled her eyes. Achan had royal blood, all right. He could spread on charm like icing when a pretty woman was around.

  Tara beamed, her cheeks as pink as the inside of a watermelon. Oh, yes. Vrell was familiar with the way Achan’s smile could fluster a girl.

  But Tara’s good breeding didn’t allow emotions to affect her perfectly polite response. “It is my humble pleasure, Your Highness.” She curtsied again, and walked back the way she’d come, looking back over her shoulder twice before exiting the great hall.

  “My, my, Your Highness,” Sir Caleb said. “I see why you favor her so.”

  Achan sucked in a deep breath, seeming taller somehow. “She’d make a charming queen, wouldn’t she?” He beamed, evidently quite pleased with himself.

  Vrell snorted. “If you desire only beauty and polite conversation.”

  Achan leaned between Inko and Sir Caleb and peeked over the banister. “That’s all you see, Sparrow? I don’t discount her virtue, for we all can see that clearly. But I see much more. She is kind, wise, well-spoken—more so than I’ll ever be. I’d even go so far as to call her a diplomat for having accepted us here in spite of Lord Gershom’s refusal.” He glanced at Sir Gavin. “Doesn’t that show her strength of character and wit?”