To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  Carmack rounded on him. He gripped his doublet with both fists, lifted him to his feet, and slammed him against the wall. “You have no right to be in here.”

  Achan shook his surprise away, trying not to look winded from the breath Carmack had knocked from his lungs. He sized up his opponent, trying to recall Sir Caleb’s advice to Sparrow on attacking someone bigger than you.

  “Carmack! Release him at once!” Lady Tara took a deep breath, her face a mask of fury, and laid her hand on Carmack’s bulging bicep. “Please, Master Demry, there is no need. The prince simply came to inquire about my husband’s well being.”

  Achan’s shoulders slumped, though Carmack held him fast against the cool wall. Sparrow had been right, that little fox. How had he known?

  Carmack glared at Achan. “He should not have come into your chambers.”

  “That may be true, but the girl was here until she fled just now. You will release him and wait outside. Now.”

  Carmack’s eyebrows twitched. Clearly the man didn’t relish leaving Achan alone with Lady Tara.

  “Master Demry!”

  Achan tensed at the volume of Lady Tara’s voice.

  Carmack released Achan but stared as though Achan were a pile of maggots in his soup. “Two minutes.” He stormed past the maid, who stood trembling in the doorway.

  Lady Tara ushered the maid out and closed the door. She released a shaky sigh and spoke over her tears. “I am already married, Your Highness, to Lord Gershom.” She wrung a handkerchief in her dainty hands, baring the ring she wore.

  Closer now, Achan could see the crest of Meribah Corner engraved into the gold. He swallowed his frustrated humiliation. He’d proposed to a married woman. They were in her chambers. Alone. Sir Caleb would berate him. One look at the lady’s tear-streaked face and Achan couldn’t help but whisper, “But you cannot possibly love Lord Gershom.”

  Lady Tara flushed. “This is not a world where one marries for love.”

  “It should be.”

  Lady Tara straightened, holding her chin high. “My father and my great aunt, Lady Merris, plotted this match. In exchange for my hand, Lord Gershom gave my father the northern cape of Therion Forest. His men can hunt there and bring their kills back along the coast by dogsled to the people. It is a good exchange for Tsaftown, they—”

  “How could your father do this to you? His daughter?”

  Lady Tara folded her arms. “My father has more concerns than my comfort. He has a village to feed and little to feed them. My marriage feeds Tsaftown indefinitely.”

  “There must have been another way.”

  Tara sniffled. “Had I but known I was favored in your eyes—who you truly were—I might have convinced my father to alter his plans.” She scowled suddenly, wrinkling her slender nose. “Were you not taught that proposals of marriage are made to the father of a lady, not directly to her? A lady has no say in who she marries. This is terribly awkward and could have been avoided altogether. And why would you come to my chambers? I should not have let you in.”

  “Forgive me, Lady Tar—” He ran a hand over his hair and sighed. “Madame G-Gershom, please forgive me, for I’m still learning decorum. I’m afraid I’ve blundered terribly. I didn’t know of your union, nor the best way to inquire about—”

  A fist pounded on the door. “My lady?” At Carmack’s dire tone, Achan wished for a second door through which to exit the room.

  He could take no more. “Forgive me, madam. I was foolish.” He strode past Lady Tara and pulled open the door. Carmack framed the doorway like a gate. Achan patted Carmack’s shoulder as he slipped by. “Good man.”

  He fled down the stairs, praying Carmack wouldn’t follow. Pausing on the second floor landing, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Of all the stupid, foolhardy, sentimental…

  * * *

  Vrell followed Achan to the ground floor, wondering what inspired his stiff posture and stormy gait, but suspecting she knew. He jerked a torch from a ring on the wall and slipped out the front doors.

  Vrell clomped through the dark foyer and pushed open the doors. The cold seized her, stealing her breath. She scanned the dark bailey and spotted Achan’s torso midway down one of the trenches, moving so fast each step nearly put out his torch.

  “Achan, wait!” Vrell ran—boots crunching over the snow, icy air burning her lungs—until she reached his heels. “Are you… Where are you going?”

  He half-glanced over his shoulder. “You’re not my nursemaid, Sparrow. Stop following me around.” He waved his arm. “Lo! Where is the firewood kept?”

  Vrell leaned around Achan. A man carrying a load of kindling jerked his head toward to the side. “Behind the stables, my lord.”

  Achan surged down the trench, past the stables, then tottered down a narrow channel sprinkled with bits of bark, his breath a thin, grey cloud above his head in the torchlight.

  He slowed in an icy clearing before a shelter filled with chunks of firewood. The air smelled of bitter sawdust. Vrell wrinkled her nose. What kinds of trees had these been? The core looked like regular wood, but the outer bark was black.

  Achan jammed his torch into a ring on the side of the structure, wrenched an axe from a wide stump, and grabbed a piece of firewood with his other hand.

  “Ahh.” The wood slipped from his grip and clunked onto the icy ground. Achan grimaced at the black slime smudging his fingers. He wiped it on his trousers and picked up the wood again. “Cursed Darkness.” He set the wood on a fat stump, twirled the axe in his left hand, and circled, glaring at the wood as if it were Jaira Hamartano. He swung the axe above his head and brought it down. Crack! Two chunks flew in different directions. Vrell twitched and she backed up a few steps.

  Achan grabbed another piece of wood and chopped it.

  Vrell wanted to speak, but no words came. Her heart ached to see him so angry. She watched helplessly as he split log after log. She sent a knock to Sir Caleb. If Achan would not speak to her, maybe Sir Caleb could help. Besides, Tara expected Vrell to come have a bath, which Vrell longed for.

  But she didn’t want to leave Achan alone.

  Eight logs later, a hand gripped her shoulder. Sir Caleb stood beside her now, watching Achan with furrowed brows.

  “How long has he been doing this?”

  “He has chopped eighteen logs, sir.”

  Sir Caleb sat on a second chopping stump under the eaves of the woodshed. “You’ve still not bathed or changed?”

  Achan brought the axe down, cleaving a sliver off the wood chunk. He rotated the chunk, heaved the axe over his head, and this time, chopped it in two. “Does it look like it?”

  Sir Caleb folded his arms. “I’m sure Lord Gershom will appreciate your efforts to stock his firebox, but we’re expected at dinner soon. The household will be waiting for you.”

  “You know what the worst is?”

  “Canker sores?” Sir Caleb asked.

  Vrell smiled.

  Achan let the axe swing to the ground, the head scraping over the snow and woodchips as he stood, panting. “I would have loved them well.” He yanked another piece of wood from the shed. Two more fell to the ground. Achan set it on the stump and twirled the axe in his left hand, circling.

  “Loved who, Your Majesty. Or am I to guess?”

  “Gren. Tara. They deserve better.” He brought down the axe and the wood split. One piece tumbled to Vrell’s feet.

  “Better than what?”

  Vrell knew she should go now, but Achan’s words had ensnared her.

  He reached back and snagged one of the fallen wood chunks. “Than pigs. Lazy men who love only themselves.”

  “You would love them both?”

  He swiped the back of his forearm over his forehead. “Yes—no. I don’t know.”

  Sir Caleb sighed. “You’re too young for this burden. If you’d been trained all your life, things would be different. But for now, Achan, let us take this kingship one day at a time.”

  “I’m t
rying. But it’s not fair.”

  “What’s not, Your Highness?”

  “Everything. Why did my parents have to die? Why did Nathak do this to me? Why did Poril beat me? Why did Gren have to marry Riga? Riga! Of all the men in Sitna, why him? And now he’s dead and she’s alone with child. An outcast. And Tara’s father has married her to an insane man almost four times her senior. Why?”

  “Lady Tara has wed Lord Gershom?” Sir Caleb rubbed his short beard and sighed. “You ask questions I cannot answer, and even if I could, would it matter? It’s the way of the world. What’s done is done. The past cannot be changed.”

  Achan let the axe fall to the ground and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I’m headstrong. Foolish. Know nothing of being a prince.”

  “You will learn.”

  “I don’t listen very well.”

  “How so?”

  “I asked Lady Tara to marry me.”

  Sir Caleb uttered an, “Ahh,” as if discovering the answer to a riddle long pondered.

  Achan straightened. “I know you think me foolish, but I thought… Well… I hoped…”

  “That she would love you?”

  Achan kicked the log at his feet and sent it rolling. “I was certain she might…given time. She seemed so agreeable. I’m agreeable.”

  “Achan, whomever you marry will grow to love you.”

  “How do you know? Look what happened to Gren. Look at Tara. Will she grow to love her husband?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because I’ve lived longer than you. I’ve seen things that would surprise you greatly.” Sir Caleb set his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. “Gavin and I, we had a friend like you. Passionate about everything. He fell in love with a woman whose father had other ideas.”

  “What happened?”

  “In the end, she obeyed her father and married another. And I can tell you she did grow to love her husband. They raised several wonderful children.”

  “And your friend? What became of him?”

  “Ah, well. I’ll let him tell you himself. He’s one of the prisoners we’ll free from Ice Island.”

  “He’s in Ice Island? That is your story of comfort?”

  “Your Highness, I know this is difficult, but you and I are called to something bigger than ourselves. Er’Rets is depending on us to deliver them from Darkness. We’re talking about the life and death of a world. Can you try to understand that?”

  “Aye.” Achan slammed the axe into the stump and left it there. His next words were so soft, Vrell almost couldn’t hear them. “I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”

  Sir Caleb stood and came to Achan’s side. He put a hand on the scruff of his neck. “I know we’re old men, but we’re your friends. And you’ve got Arman.”

  “And Sparrow.”

  “Aye, you’ve got Sparrow as well.”

  At the mention of her name, Vrell snapped to her senses. She returned to the keep for a bath and Tara’s side of this story.

  * * *

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sir Caleb didn’t leave Achan’s side, grooming him, encouraging him. Achan appreciated his efforts but found it patronizing.

  Dinner’s full course of awkward conversation didn’t help matters. Carmack seated Achan to Lord Gershom’s right. The man was a child’s stick drawing—frail and withered—who reeked of body odor and rotting teeth. Lady Tara introduced him to Achan, but he didn’t respond, simply stared straight ahead, a dab of drool at the corner of his mouth.

  Then, halfway through dessert, he revived and yelled at the servants, accusing them of trying to kill him. He threw his cobbler at Lady Tara, knocked over the wine, and tried to choke Carmack.

  The whole scene only depressed Achan further.

  At breakfast the next morning, Achan sat at the arched high table with Sparrow, staring at his food, half asleep. Thoughts of his blunder the day before flitted through his mind like a dream. He shoved it away. His eyes drooped, then popped open in time to see Sparrow snag a slice of bacon off his trencher. The boy shoved the bacon into his mouth.

  Achan scowled. “Thief.”

  Sparrow shrugged and grinned, cheeks bulging.

  Achan elbowed him. Sparrow fell off the bench and crashed onto the floor.

  Achan slid in front of Sparrow’s trencher. He lifted the boy’s honey bread and smiled. “Thanks for the seat.”

  As Achan bit into the bread, Sparrow scrambled to his feet and pounced. Achan laughed as he tumbled off the bench. Sparrow landed on top, and Achan shoved the remaining honey bread against Sparrow’s cheek. Sparrow reached for the bread, but Achan flipped him onto his back before he could grab it. He pinned Sparrow’s arms above his head with one hand. He peeled the honey bread from Sparrow’s cheek and took a huge bite, over half the slice, and chewed slowly.

  “Mmm. Thanks for sharing.” He squished the remaining bread back on Sparrow’s face and stood. As he stepped over the boy, Sparrow grabbed his boot, causing Achan to slip. His chin nearly whacked the tabletop, but he managed to get a hand on the bench and hop on one foot to catch his balance.

  Sparrow let go and scurried back to Achan’s place at the table. So Achan claimed Sparrow’s spot. The boy fought to keep a straight face as he ate another slice of Achan’s bacon as if nothing were amiss, bread still stuck to his cheek.

  Achan reached over and peeled the honey bread away. He shoved the whole thing into his mouth.

  “Really! Is this how the Crown Prince and his squire behave in a foreign stronghold?”

  Achan’s chewing slowed. His gaze flickered to Lady Tara, who stood beside Sparrow, her scowl fully devoted to the boy. Sparrow grinned sheepishly, face as pink as the bacon.

  “Vrell!” Sir Gavin stood at the entrance of the great hall, waving Sparrow over.

  Sparrow stood, bowed to Lady Tara, said, “Good morning, my lady,” and scurried away.

  Achan wanted to ignore Lady Tara but supposed that, after all his mistakes yesterday, a little decorum might go a long way. He stood and gave her a small bow. “Lady Tara.”

  She pressed her fingers to her lips, then pointed at his face. “You have some bread on your chin, Your Highness.”

  Achan rubbed his prickly chin and pulled away a sticky crumb of honey bread. “Thank you.”

  “Your Highness, I am grieved our last words were unpleasant. I wanted to encourage you. I see a day none too far in the future that finds you happily married. I trust Arman will give you a dear friend for a wife.”

  Achan stared at his plate, stiff with discomfort. What compelled her to discuss this further? “I’ve no female friends, save you and Gren who—” He stopped himself from whining like a child. If he didn’t speak, perhaps she would leave.

  Lady Tara smiled, as if she knew a secret he did not. “You only have to open your eyes to see she is with you always.”

  Achan huffed a laugh. Was Lady Tara poking fun at him or being philosophical? “I’ve never been good with poetry, my lady, but I thank you for your kind words.”

  She curtsied. “Good day, Your Majesty.”

  Achan fell back to the bench and stared at his cold food. He hadn’t been hungry anyway. Inko stumbled to the table and sat on his other side, looking as if he hadn’t slept a wink either.

  “Are you awake, Inko?”

  “Been sleeping too long, I guess. Sir Caleb is saying we’re leaving today. I am wishing we could be staying longer. I am not looking forward to more cold.”

  After a lifetime in Barth, where the air made one sweat, Achan could imagine the cold would be an unwelcome change. “How long did you live in Barth?”

  “My village was being pillaged when I was being five years aged. Since all my family was being killed, I was being taken to Meneton and sold as a slave. It is being warm there as well.”

  Achan blinked, suddenly filled with compassion for this cranky, paranoi
d old knight. He wanted to know more, but Inko shoveled food into his mouth as if he were starved, so Achan settled on polite conversation.

  “At least you got to sleep in. You must be refreshed.”

  Inko snorted. “You would be thinking so, Your Highness, but you were not having to share a bed with young Vrell.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Always that boy is talking in his sleep, calling out to his mother, making his nightmares mine.”

  Achan frowned, but Inko wasn’t finished venting his frustrations.

  “The first night we were staying in Berland, he was falling out of bed. I was jumping up to see if he was being ill or drunk, then Sir Gavin was making me leave. I am still not understanding this. I was having to stand out in the cold air until Sir Gavin was allowing me to be coming back inside.”

  Achan made no sense of this. “Inko, should you witness other strange behavior regarding Sparrow, would you tell me?”

  Inko smiled. “You are thinking he is being a traitor? I am not trusting his eyes, Your Highness. Green is being the color of jealousy. Not being a good trait for a servant to the king.”

  Achan only wanted to discover what Sir Gavin and Sparrow were hiding, not hang the boy for his green eyes. “I only wish to know anything odd.”

  “I will be shadowing the boy for you, Your Highness. Do not be worrying.”

  Achan wasn’t worried and felt a little sore for sicking Inko on Sparrow. But he didn’t doubt Inko could be a fox when he set his mind to it. Perhaps it would take a bigger fox to catch a smaller one. “Thanks, Inko.”

  * * *

  For three days they rode through frigid Darkness. Achan no longer cared what happened next. His goal had always been to see Lady Tara. Now that he’d lost that objective, there was nothing to do but let the knights dictate his life. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to accept his birthright. What was the point if he acted like a puppet? They may as well have Esek.

  But if you want the girl, you should have her. You are king, not these knights. I would always let you have your way.