To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  * * *

  Achan lay in bed that night staring at the low tinder ceiling and listening to the waterfall pound on the roof like rain, the perfect cadence for his mood. Sir Eagan’s words rang true in his heart.

  But how could he let Sparrow walk away? What if he never saw her again? He couldn’t lose another friend. He didn’t have many, considering the scores of people who now surrounded him on a daily basis.

  Shung. He did have Shung.

  He’d go to Sparrow tomorrow and beg her forgiveness. He’d do his duty and let her go, but not before finding out where she lived. If she’d fled from a horrible place, it might not be safe for her to go back. Perhaps he could find her a better place to live.

  A place where he could visit from time to time.

  He’d revoke the declarations of his heart, even if that was a lie and against his nature. But he would not give up his friend.

  Part 5

  Partings

  39

  Achan thrashed through the night, his right arm sore, his mind active with memories of Esek, the cham, and Sparrow.

  The next morning, he and Shung found the great hall crowded for breakfast. The high table, however, was empty. Achan limped up the steps to the high table, ignoring the stares of those eating below. He and Shung must look half dead. Both had arms in slings, Achan’s from the cham’s teeth. Shung’s from the cham’s fire.

  Shung stood against the wall behind Achan’s chair, refusing to sit. Achan picked at his food, pondering what words might convince Sparrow to remain friends. He couldn’t let anything inappropriate sneak into his confession and scare her away.

  Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb approached the high table. Sir Gavin sat to Achan’s left. Sir Caleb stepped over the bench on Achan’s other side.

  “Your Highness, did you really accost that poor girl? Kurtz won’t stop talking about it.” Sir Caleb pulled his other leg over the bench and reached for the pitcher of water.

  “It was but one kiss.” Achan straightened. “Two, actually. No doubt Kurtz has stretched whatever he saw.”

  Sir Caleb humphed and bowed his head.

  Achan waited for Sir Caleb to finish his thanks. “I do hope someone has informed Kurtz that Sparrow is a woman. I hate to think what the man might be thinking otherwise.”

  Sir Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Kurtz is so informed.”

  Achan picked up a slice of bread and tapped the crust on the tabletop, feeling the need to explain further. “I liked Sparrow the boy a great deal. When I discovered the little fox was a woman…it stabbed. She lied to me. But even as a woman, Sparrow was Sparrow. I couldn’t help but think how perfect everything would be if she and I could…” He drew in a heavy sigh. “I know, I know. I’m the biggest fool in Er’Rets.”

  “Not the biggest.” Sir Gavin sipped from his mug. “I’m sure if I searched very hard I could find a bigger one.”

  “Trust you to be honest. I only felt…when she said she might be leaving…” Achan stirred his porridge, groping for the right words. “I don’t want to lose her friendship.”

  Sir Gavin inhaled over his mug of tea. “She will always be your friend, lad.”

  Achan hoped that was true. He’d sensed deception in her when she’d claimed she didn’t love him. Why would she lie? Did she think him insincere? He wished he hadn’t thought about the mistress thing. That had been daft.

  Sir Caleb propped his elbow on the table and stared at Achan. “What’s the point for you, Your Highness? Of all this. Raising an army. Fighting Esek?”

  “Arman called me to be king. You said it has to be me.”

  “Go back further. Before you heard Arman. What did you live for?”

  “Not much. The hope of Gren, I suppose. Though I always knew her father would never allow it.”

  “So you lived every day, hoping for what you couldn’t have. And when it was lost, what did you live for then?”

  What could be the point of such questions? Didn’t Sir Caleb already know all this? “To keep Gren safe. Esek threatened to harm her if I tried to leave his service.”

  “You sacrificed your freedom for her safety. That gave your life purpose. Every man must life for something, Your Highness. Serve a matchless cause beyond himself. Many live for the goal of riches, some for the love of a good woman, others for the affections of many. Some men live for their children or for the number of enemy soldiers they’ve killed in battle.”

  Sir Caleb paused to take a sip from his goblet. “Having lived longer than you, I’ll tell you what I’ve learned. Though these causes are worthwhile and good, none will bring true, lasting satisfaction.” Sir Caleb glanced at Sir Gavin.

  The Great Whitewolf turned his mismatched eyes to Achan. “Only one cause has spurred my life, and it’s the only one that follows a man into the Veil. I know Caleb serves the same cause.”

  Achan turned back to Sir Caleb. “Live for Arman, Your Highness. Serve him. He created you for a purpose. He’s proud of who you are. He deserves your respect, your sacrifice, your service. Only he can bring you satisfaction and meaning in this life. No woman can do that—even if your every hope were granted. Live for Arman alone, and he’ll give you the desires of your heart.”

  Achan tried to comprehend the idea of loving Arman more than anyone. Sparrow seemed to think he didn’t follow Arman at all. “But he seems so far away. Like that temple.” Achan pointed to the ceiling, toward the temple above the stronghold he still hadn’t found time to visit.

  “Aye, the stairs are high, and slippery,” Sir Gavin said, “for I almost broke my neck climbing them this morning. But before I knew it, I’d reached the top. And what a view. Arman is always worth the climb, lad.”

  “But I never know when he’ll answer me. I feel like I’m bothering him, like he’s too busy.”

  “He hears every word you say, every thought you think. And he always answers, though sometimes his answer is ‘no’ or ‘wait.’ Live for him, Achan. Give him your trust.”

  “I will.” Achan stood. “But first I’m going to speak with Sparrow and apologize for my recklessness. I hope she’ll agree to remain friends.”

  Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb rose and bowed. Protocol for treating Achan like royalty in public. He still wasn’t used to it.

  Sir Gavin kept his head down, his curtain of white hair flanking his beard. “I fear Vrell has already gone, lad.”

  A savage rage swept over Achan. “What do you mean?”

  “She left this morning. Sir Eagan agreed to escort her wherever she wanted to go.”

  Sir Eagan had betrayed him? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “She asked me not to.”

  “How is Sparrow going off with Sir Eagan alone following protocol?”

  “Sir Eagan is trustworthy,” Sir Caleb added.

  Achan scowled at Sir Caleb. “And I’m not? Tell me where they went.”

  Sir Gavin frowned. “I cannot, for they didn’t tell me.”

  “You lie.”

  “I never lie.”

  “You lied to me about Sparrow. Tell me what you know about her. You’ve always known more than anyone else.”

  “Achan. Calm yourself,” Sir Caleb said. “You’re acting irrationally. Moments ago you said you were going to revoke your proposal. All has worked out.”

  Achan gritted his teeth and reached out for Sparrow. Sparrow, what is this? You just leave?

  He waited, wringing his hands. When she didn’t answer, he tried to look into her mind. He felt her shields, strong and impenetrable as always. How did she do that? Sparrow!

  Achan called to Sir Eagan next and received no answer. He lunged for Sir Gavin, slid his hands around Sir Gavin’s neck, cradling the man’s hairy cheeks with his thumbs. He stared into Sir Gavin’s eyes. “You will tell me what I want to know.” He tore into Sir Gavin’s mind, seeking a conversation with Sir Eagan and Sparrow, but the knight seemed to know how to defend against such an attack, for Achan could find no shred of Sparrow in his thoughts. “Tell me!” He yelle
d so loud his throat seemed to rip.

  “Achan.” Sir Gavin gasped a breath of air. “This isn’t what Arman would have for you.”

  “Your Highness!” Sir Caleb grabbed Achan’s arm and pulled. “Please. He’s an old man. This could kill him.”

  Do it, a boiling voice said. This man has betrayed you and deserves to die.

  Achan withdrew instantly. Sir Gavin staggered back and fell onto the bench. His eyelids fluttered, his face pale and sweaty. Achan jerked free from Sir Caleb’s grip and backed away, repulsed with his own temper, horrified to have again heard Hadad’s voice, unable to use Darkness as an excuse this time.

  “I’m sorry.” He limped out of the great hall as fast as he could, clutching a hand to his arm to ease the ache. Sparrow, please don’t do this. Just talk to me. Tell me where you are.

  He climbed the tower stairs slowly, Shung, wisely silent, at his heels. Achan’s temper rose the higher the stairs took him. Why did Sparrow not answer? Was she punishing him?

  He limped to her chamber and fell on his knees beside her pallet, panting from fatigue. He placed his hand on the dent in her pillow. A jar sat in the middle of her bed, a red twine bow tied around the edge of the lid. A small scrap of parchment held three words in flowery script.

  For your fleas.

  Sparrow could write? Better than him? He lifted the lid on the jar and sniffed. It smelled of pine. He sat back on his heels, set his forehead on the edge of her bed. Sparrow gone? Forever? It couldn’t be.

  Picturing her face, he reached for her again, trying to push past her walls. Unfortunately, the fortress of Sparrow’s mind was made of steel.

  “Aargh!” Achan pulled himself up and limped back to the tower stairs, Shung shadowing him as usual. Moisture from the waterfall misted him as he stepped onto the lookout tower. He scanned the bailey and what little of the rolling road he could see before it twisted out of sight. No sign of Sparrow and Sir Eagan.

  Achan turned and found the narrow stone steps off the right of the tower, just where Lord Yarden had said they’d be. He followed them up.

  “Little Cham? Where are you going?”

  “I must speak with Arman.”

  The stairs, cut from the mountain itself, tunneled through the moss-covered rock. Achan soon lost all light. Not having thought to bring a torch, he stumbled in the dark, his side, shoulder, back, face, and leg aching now. After a tediously steep hike, he exited into a green forest on the banks of the Betsar before the second major waterfall. Trees hung heavy with leaves and moss.

  The white stone walls of Arman’s temple appeared though the tangled greenery at the top of the first waterfall. The Evenwall misted most of it from view, but Achan could see the three circles etched onto the pediment of the temple roof. Despite his fatigue, he slogged up the mossy stone staircase that zigzagged up the rock wall. By the time he stood on the porch to the temple, his shirt was damp with sweat.

  He stepped inside a square room built of stone with a cobblestone floor. A long polished altar covered in golden cups and flowers stretched across the far end of the room. No pillars. No gilded statue. Its beauty came from four long and narrow windows of colored glass, one on each wall. A fifth window with the design of three interlocking circles arched above the long window directly behind the altar. The sun shone brilliantly through the colored glass.

  Achan had no patience to appreciate beauty at the moment. “I’ve done what you asked of me!”

  A man at the altar jumped to his feet. One of Lord Yarden’s advisors. Achan hadn’t seen him, or he wouldn’t have spoken aloud. The man bowed, then strode toward Achan.

  “Forgive me, Your Highness. I’ll come another time.”

  The man bowed again and breezed past. Achan felt a pang of guilt. These people treated him as if he were someone special. “But I’m not special!” he yelled after the man, who bounded past Shung on the porch.

  Achan turned back to the altar. Why no statue? He wanted to look on Arman’s face.

  “I trusted you,” he yelled to the tall window. “I listened to Sir Gavin. I listened to Sir Caleb. I’ve done what everyone said. I’m trying to do what you want for Er’Rets. I serve despite my own desires. So why do you betray me?”

  The room remained still. Achan shivered. No heat meant no voice of Arman was coming to give him answers. Why did Arman say so little?

  “I’ll wait all day if I must! No wars will be fought until I hear from you. Nor will I marry any twelve-year-old girls.”

  Still nothing.

  “You use me, make me act the puppet. Well, I need your advice, o great puppet master. What shall I do about my Sparrow? She has flown and I’m…” Achan knelt at the altar, placing his forehead against the smooth wood.

  “What would you have me do? Why is it everyone else may do as they please, yet I am bound so?” A thought of Lady Tara entered his mind. He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t do what he wanted. It only frustrated him more. “I am trying. I thought you wanted me to be king. Then why don’t you do something about Sparrow? How am I supposed to fix this?”

  A bird’s song caused him to raise his head. A tiny bird fluttered near the roof, then settled on a rafter of the hammer beam roof. Achan sat back on his heels and stared at the little black, grey, and white bird. A sparrow.

  “Why do you toy with me? I’m not poetic enough to translate such symbolism. I demand to speak with you.” He jumped to his feet. “I demand to see your face!”

  The floor trembled under Achan’s feet. Heat swept through the room as though a fire burned on the air. The gold cups on the altar rattled on the wood surface, trembling until each fell off the edge and clattered to the floor. The window with the three gold circles exploded inward.

  Achan cowered on the floor, throwing his arms over his head. Heat coiled in his heart and spread through him until it reached the tips of his fingers. Wedges of glass crashed against the stone floor around him, breaking into even smaller shards. The sting of their sharp edges bit into the back of Achan’s neck and arms.

  His skin grew clammy from the heat. He sucked hot air into his lungs, fearing each breath might burn him alive. The floor stopped trembling, the room stilled, unnaturally quiet, but the heat remained.

  “Arise, Gidon Hadar, son of Axel.” A deep voice reverberated in the temple.

  Achan peeked out from his arms and over the altar.

  A warrior dressed in antique armor stood before the broken window, his presence so bright Achan could hardly look. Achan rose on shaky knees, keeping his eyes focused on the altar. The heat and light from the warrior’s presence still smote Achan’s eyes until they watered.

  Achan forced himself to look the warrior in the eye. Brown eyes. This young man couldn’t be Arman. The brightness and heat stung and he looked away. “Where is Arman? Why won’t he answer?”

  “Because no one comes to the father except through me.”

  A familiar phrase, one Achan had heard before. “You quote from the Book of Life.”

  The warrior raised his eyebrows. “I am the author.”

  Really? “You are Arman?”

  “I am his son, Câan.”

  His son. Figures. Câan had his father’s burning heat in common. Achan squeezed his hands into fists and dared eye contact once more. Câan’s face was scarred, but his eyes were peaceful, despite the heat. “Why won’t Arman answer me?”

  Câan’s gaze seared Achan’s eyes. “It is also written: ‘Do not put Arman to the test.”

  Achan squeezed his eyes shut, his eyelids cool against the burning. “But he’s answered me before.”

  “Your thoughts are not His thoughts, nor are your ways His ways.”

  Why so confusing? “But if Arman has chosen me above all others—”

  “Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, son of Axel. You have been invited, but you have not accepted the invitation. For many are invited, but few accept.”

  Had not accepted? Achan glared at Câan, then dropped his gaze to the
wooden surface of the altar. “But I have. I’ve been trying to do my duty as Crown Prince.”

  “If you acknowledge Arman in everything, he will make your path clear and straight.”

  Frustration oozed from Achan’s pores. He felt foolish for not understanding Câan’s words. “What more do you want? This is a difficult role. Why must I do it alone? I lose everyone I care for. Why does Arman allow this?”

  “Arman forces no man against his will, nor should you.”

  “But…Gren was taken against her will.”

  “Gren obeyed her father.”

  “But she didn’t want to marry Riga.”

  “Yet she chose to, in order to obey her father.”

  Obey her…what? “And you would say the same for Tara?”

  “She obeyed her father as well. Both women’s respect for their parents pleases me. They sacrifice to show love for me. I will bless them greatly in time.”

  What kind of an answer was that? Câan was twisting things around, just like his father. Achan’s knees pinched against the hard floor. He shifted them on the bumpy cobblestone. “But if their fathers loved them, they wouldn’t force such a life on their daughters.”

  “You know these men personally?”

  “I—It’s not fair!” Achan recoiled as his voice resonated in the temple. A spoiled child having a tantrum.

  “You are free to make your own opinions and choices.”

  Achan gripped the far edge of the altar, resting his forearms on the smooth surface. “But what I choose never works out. No one agrees with me.”

  “And you blame Arman for that? You think he should force people to obey you?”

  Achan frowned. That wasn’t what he meant. “No.”

  “But you suggest He should make people choose your will.” Câan’s powerful voice softened. “You do not know me at all. Until you choose me fully, you will understand nothing.”

  Achan forced his head up and stared into Câan’s face.

  The man had tears in his eyes. “You have honored me with your lips, son of Axel, but your heart is far from me.”