To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  “Go on,” Lord Yarden said.

  “While we were at Lytton Hall, Esek Nathak, the traitor prince, murdered Lord Livna.”

  Lord Yarden jumped to his feet. “What? How?”

  “Stabbed during the dinner celebration.”

  “In front of witnesses? This is outrageous!” Lord Yarden said. “My poor, dear sister. What happened? Did they duel?”

  Trust you to not to mince words, Your Highness, Sir Caleb said.

  Achan had merely wanted to speak. He hadn’t bothered to think of what he should say. I’m not as flowery as you, Sir Caleb.

  Clearly, just don’t forget compassion.

  Achan chastened himself and went to his knees before Lord Yarden’s throne. “The fault is mine entirely. Esek sought to kill me, but Lord Livna would not give me up. A servant boy was also lost that night—to poison intended for me.”

  Lord Yarden set a hand on Achan’s shoulder. “Do not kneel before me, Your Highness, please. Esek is a traitor.”

  Achan looked up. “Still, I feel quite responsible.”

  “A concern you must push aside, Your Majesty. Had you been staying here, I would not have forsaken you either. Blame no one but that murderous fool who thinks he’s king.”

  Achan stood, and Lord Yarden eased back into his chair, eyes downcast.

  “Would you be willing to join us as we stand against him?” Sir Gavin asked. “He hunts us now. We do not wish to put your people in harm’s way.”

  “I’d fight that cur even if no one else was! My son will want to fight as well. We are not many, but we’ll stand with you.” He turned to Atul. “Prepare rooms for the prince and his men, Atul, and arrange a feast.”

  “Right away, m’ lord.” Atul jerked his head in a quick nod and strode from the room.

  * * *

  Vrell sat at the back of the great hall with Kurtz, as she had in Tsaftown, assigned to entrance duty. Achan and the knights had been seated at the high table, though Achan, Shung, and Sir Caleb were standing, appearing to argue with Lord Yarden.

  Cole, the young stray who’d taken care of their horses, stood against the wall, face pale. Since all three minds in her party were shielded, she looked through the boy’s mind to listen in and found him filled with excitement, hope, and…dread?

  The prince’s nostrils flared. “I appreciate your gift, Lord Yarden, but no more innocents will die from my cup. Perhaps I could make use of Cole as a stableboy, as I have no one to help me with my horses.”

  Yes. Hope surged through Cole. He could do that, for sure. He could take care of Dove. He dared not hope this could be true. That he could serve the prince—a kind one too.

  Lord Yarden looked down his huge nose at Cole and shrugged. “I care not what you do with the stray. I just don’t want to see you poisoned, especially under my roof. I’ve done what I could to prevent it. You just take note of that.”

  “Shung will drink and eat for the little cham.” The Shield banged a fist to his chest. He seemed almost eager to take some poison as if to prove he were strong enough to withstand it.

  Cole wished he were as brave, but he’d heard rumors that a boy had died in Tsaftown, drinking from his Majesty’s cup.

  The prince glared at Shung. “I will not allow it.”

  Vrell shook her head and withdrew. Men. Achan stood no chance of negating Shung. When that’s man’s mind was made up…look out. At least people would think twice before challenging Achan with Shung at his side. Vrell smiled. Achan now had his own Shield, and, apparently, a horse boy.

  To Vrell’s relief, she did not have to make small talk with Kurtz. He poured all his attention on the blonde woman seated to his right, even feeding the lady food off the tip of his knife. Vrell tried to distract herself, but his overt declarations were hard to ignore.

  “Arman give you health and joy, beautiful lady. He favors me tonight with your company, He does.”

  The lady batted her eyes and twirled her finger around a lock of her golden hair. “I apologize for the absence of my husband. He is a sailor aboard the Brierstar.”

  “He’s a fool to leave you, he is.” Kurtz leaned so close he may as well kiss the woman. “I would never. For if I turned my back on such a pretty face as yours, surely I’d die, I would.”

  The woman’s cheeks flushed. “You flatter me, my lord.”

  “I love you, I do. Have mercy on my bleeding heart, eh?”

  Vrell bit into her roll to hold her tongue.

  The lady giggled. “Do not forget, good knight, I am married. Please do not ask anything of me that would soil the honor of myself or my lord husband.”

  Sir Kurtz lowered his voice. “Nothing would keep me from serving you all my life.”

  Vrell rolled her eyes. Dinner had long since ended, but Lord Yarden’s wife liked to tell stories. Vrell had eaten in this hall before. All were forced to endure Lady Rubel until her husband ended it or she got so full she needed to lie down.

  Unfortunately, Lord Yarden never seemed to tire of hearing the same tale time and again. Perhaps it was Lady Rubel’s low, silky voice or the fact that her curvy figure drew even Vrell’s attention. The woman had Chuma heritage; that could not be argued. Her black hair hung lustrous against her olive skin. She rambled on and on about how they had ordered cranberry wine but the spicy clove wine had come instead.

  Vrell had never cared for clove wine. Wine should be sweet, not spicy. But no servant had bothered to bring water to her end of the table, so she had forced herself to drink the pungent liquid to wash down the dry fish. The best platters of everything always went to the high table. It would not be long until she had that pleasure again.

  Vrell stared at a hound and a small terrier, watching them duck in and out from under the table opposite hers, sniffing and nibbling along the floor. The person sitting across the hall, opposite Vrell, had not moved in a long while. She blinked out of her trance and focused her eyes to the further distance.

  It was Polk, and he was staring at her.

  She straightened and gave him a half smile and a roll of the eyes. He must be equally bored by the tale of wine flavors. But instead of smiling in return, Polk lifted up the knife from his empty trencher and began to twirl it in his fingers.

  Vrell had no more patience for men and their strange ways. Achan did not need her assistance. She slipped out the closest door, doubting anyone had noticed. She walked carefully over the wet floor and started up the stairwell. Sir Gavin had seen to it she had her own chamber on the fourth floor, and she looked forward to a bath.

  A noise below prickled the hair on her arms. Lady Rubel must have finished her story. Vrell passed the third floor landing and started up the next flight.

  “Vrell.”

  She spun around, hand clamped over her heart.

  Polk dashed around the third floor landing and up to where she stood. He grinned, his tanned face wrinkling. “Pretty boring dinner, huh? They should have let me tell a story. I tell the best stories. No one ever gets bored.”

  What was Polk doing? Only the Old Kingsguard knights, Achan, Vrell, and Shung were being housed in the keep. Maybe Polk wanted to see Temple Arman at the—

  Polk gripped Vrell’s tunic in his fist and slammed her against the outer wall of the tower stairs. Pain poured through her head, freezing her breath. Polk lifted his other hand to her face and traced her cheek and jaw with the back of his fingers.

  Vrell flushed, heart pounding. “What are you doing?”

  Polk’s face contorted into a gloating sneer. “I know the secret of your blush, fair Vrell.”

  Another wave of heat gripped her. “M-My blush?”

  “You do, you know. Far more than any boy would.”

  33

  Polk lifted her right hand. “Am I making you uncomfortable? I have that effect on ladies.” He pressed her hand to his lips.

  Vrell punched his cheek and gasped at the pain it caused her knuckles. She tried to duck under his arm, but he grabbed her arms and slammed her against the
wall again. Voices and laughter filled the stairwell from below.

  Polk dragged her up to the fourth floor. Vrell squatted, trying to twist out of his grip and dart under him.

  His knees bent with hers. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  She elbowed his thigh, stomped on his foot, and slipped on wet rushes. He caught her by her throat.

  She reached out for Sir Gavin. Vrell Sparrow. Tears flooded her eyes, blurring Polk’s stoic expression. She sucked in a diluted breath and sent a knock to Achan.

  When no connection opened, she whimpered like a puppy. Why did no one answer?

  She blinked to clear her blurry eyes and focus on Polk’s face. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Wha—”

  Polk clamped his hand over Sparrow’s mouth, the other hand continued to squeeze her neck. “They can’t hear you, can they, blossom? Surprised? Cloves have the same affect on âleh as mint does. Bet you didn’t know that.”

  Sparrow pushed against Polk’s chest with her free hand. She kicked him, kneed him, scratched his face.

  Polk tugged her body, dragging her head along the stone wall, his strength far exceeding hers. “None of that, now. There’s a price on your head I intend to collect. I’ve earned it.”

  Everything became clear. Polk was Esek’s former squire. Had he been the one in the kitchens in Carmine? Who had drugged Mother? Had he poisoned Achan’s goblet in Tsaftown? Switched the wines tonight so the âleh would not be detected? How could she have been so careless? Being close to home was no reason to let down her guard.

  He kicked in the door to her room and hauled her inside. The door swung closed, blanketing the room in darkness. Polk towed Vrell across the small space. After a few steps, her eyes adjusted to the pale, grey twilight from the window, revealing the general shapes of the bed and sideboard. Firefox hung on the bedpost. Polk dragged her toward the sideboard. Her mind grappled to recall where she’d left her knife. He pushed her to the floor and a heavy weight crushed her back.

  Vrell screamed. “Help me! The traitor—” A thick strip of leather tugged into her mouth. Polk cinched it back against her molars, so tightly the top edge knifed up under her cheekbones. She held her breath against the pain and reached out with her right hand. She opened one of the bottom cupboards of her sideboard. Her fingers grabbed for the first thing they could reach: a stone basin. She pulled it toward her. It fell off the ledge of the sideboard with a loud clunk.

  “Good idea, blossom.” The pressure on her back shifted as Polk leaned over and pulled her hands behind her back. He tied them with something think and itchy. Hemp, maybe? He quickly dug out the items from the bottom shelves of the sideboard. Linens flopped around her face and dishes clanked and rolled across the wooden floor.

  He picked her up and shoved her in the bottom cupboard, face first, folding her feet up behind her. Her nose pressed against the unfinished oak. The cupboard doors clicked shut, blackening her vision. Something scraped the wood above.

  “That ought to hold you.” His voice was muffled now. “Be a good blossom and wait right there while I kill the prince. My clove wine was wasted on him tonight, for I never saw him take a sip.”

  Sobs rattled her frame. She gasped in short breaths, calming herself enough to send another knock to Sir Gavin.

  leh didn’t last forever.

  * * *

  Achan and Shung made their way up the stairs. The long dinner had exhausted him. He didn’t feel up to searching for the traitor tonight. All his hours of watching had uncovered nothing sinister and left him feeling like a traitor himself, betraying his men’s private thoughts.

  The patter of footsteps above slowed Achan’s steps. Shung pushed Achan behind him. Who was in such a hurry? A shadow preceded the answer.

  Polk. Red-faced and out of breath. The man slowed, his eyes blinked wide, flashed to Shung, and he bowed, panting slightly. “Your Majesty, good evening.”

  Achan nodded his greeting, overcome by a sudden burst of excitement he sensed in Polk. “What brings you to this part of the castle, Polk?”

  “Temple Arman is as I’ve always heard, Your Majesty. Glorious. I’m not even tired from the long hike.”

  Of course he wasn’t. “I’ve not yet found the time to see it. Where is your belt, Polk?” For the man’s tunic hung loose.

  Polk patted his stomach. “Oh, well, you know, dinner was so good, I couldn’t stop eating. My belt made things worse. I’ve had better feasts, though. Nothing like Poril’s cooking, I’m sure you know.”

  Achan grimaced at the mention of his former master. “Sparrow might have something to settle your stomach.”

  “An excellent suggestion, Your Majesty,” Polk said. “I pray you sleep well.”

  Achan nodded once more to the soldier. “You as well.”

  Polk’s footsteps resumed their hurried speed, descending from where Achan stood. Achan met Shung’s dark eyes and opened a connection.

  Stand here with me a moment, Shung, I want to look in on Polk.

  Shung will wait.

  Achan concentrated on Polk and immediately looked out through his eyes. Polk circled round and round the stairwell and stepped off on the second floor. He walked down the corridor and entered the great hall. There were still a dozen or more people sitting at the tables. Lord Yarden stood behind his chair on the dais talking to Atul. Polk fell into a chair at the end of the table closest to the door and bit into a roll.

  Polk watched Atul until the man glanced his way. A slight nod of acknowledgement from Atul, and Polk looked away and took another bite. His thoughts were curiously blank.

  Achan left him there.

  “See anything?” Shung asked.

  “I don’t think so.” Achan headed up the stairs and to his chamber, filling Shung in on what Polk had done.

  Shung entered Achan’s chamber first and held the door open. “Strange he was full but ate more.”

  Achan walked inside and sat at his desk. “Yeah.” The chair was upholstered in blue velvet, but the cushioning did not relieve his tailbone. After hours in the saddle days on end and a long, tedious dinner on a hard bench, he’d rather stand.

  He scanned the list again. Some names he suspected more than others. He’d shadowed them all more than once. Who deserved another peek? Polk’s name jumped out from the list.

  Something was off with Polk. Why, Achan couldn’t say. The fellow simply needled him, but so did Inko. Perhaps some people had a gift for being obnoxious.

  Lady Rubel and her stories, for example.

  But Polk was lying about being full, that much was certain. And why lie about that? Achan shook himself back to the task at hand. Polk. Then he’d try Verdot Amal again.

  Polk no longer sat in the great hall. He crept along one of the castle corridors. The soft swish of his pant legs and the squish of his boots over soggy rushes increased his heartbeat. What was Polk still doing in the keep? He should have gone back to the tents by now.

  A faint thought surfaced in Polk’s mind. Soon all would be finished and he could get back to the good life. A single torch lit the hall. Polk lifted it from the ring and carried it with him.

  Achan jumped up and opened his door, losing his connection with Polk. The hall on his floor was empty. Polk must be on another level.

  “What is it, Little Cham?”

  “Nothing, Shung. Sorry.” Achan returned to his chair and found Polk again.

  Polk stopped at a door. He looked both ways before pushing it open and slipping inside. All was dark but for Polk’s torch. He walked across the room and stubbed his toe on something that rattled across the floor. Polk cursed and hopped on one foot. He squatted and the torch lit the floor of a chamber that looked to have been ransacked. Polk righted a heavy jug and slid the torch inside. He carried the jug to a sideboard and set it down.

  His gaze fell onto a wooden spoon wedged between the handles on the lower cupboard doors. Polk’s pulse increased. He slipped the spoon free. I’ve come back, little bird.

  Polk opened the doo
rs. Achan’s heartbeat thudded in time with Polk’s. Had the man trapped someone in a sideboard? Why? Achan should try to find Polk, yet if he started walking, he’d lose contact. He could watch or he could walk. Not both. Not yet.

  He withdrew. Sir Gavin, Polk is up to some mischief on one of the floors. Can you go see?

  A moment passed before a sleepy voice said, Aye, right away. Polk, you say? How do you—

  Achan cut off the knight and focused back on Polk, who had pulled a body out from the sideboard. A great foreboding coiled in the pit of Achan’s stomach.

  Someone screamed.

  Sparrow? Achan stood so fast he nearly knocked over his table. He would know that raspy screech anywhere.

  What in all Er’Rets?

  Polk pulled at something around Sparrow’s throat. A belt. He wedged it back into Sparrow’s mouth. Sparrow’s eyes grew wide. He kicked Polk’s chest with his feet, repeatedly, stampeding on the man’s torso.

  Polk threw himself onto Sparrow, squeezed the boy’s throat with one hand. None of that, blossom. I’ve been waiting for some time to confront you. It’s made me a bit…impatient.

  Sparrow grew limp, stopped fighting. Had he blacked out? Polk dragged him by the feet, out of the pile of rubble.

  Now, I’ve done real good work and I don’t mind rewarding myself for all the trouble it’s taken. Like I said before, I’ve earned it.

  Polk slid his hand away and pressed his mouth over Sparrow’s with a crushing force that revived the boy. Sparrow turned his head, then bashed it against Polk’s forehead. Polk returned his hand to Sparrow’s throat and held him down. The boy’s small frame was no match for Polk’s strength.

  What in flames was that rat playing at? Achan pulled back, trembling. Sparrow! I’m coming. He blinked away from Polk. “Shung! Polk is attacking Sparrow!” Achan tore out the door, sprinted down the hall, down the spiral staircase, glancing into empty hallways before remembering Polk had entered a room. Had it been Sparrow’s?