By Darkness Hid bok-1

by Jill Williamson

  The sea stretched out before her, calm and heavy. Gulls swarmed the rocky shore, nipping bites of whatever creature had died among the rocks. The beach rose sharply up the hill until sand gave way to green grass that ran all the way to the greystone manor walls.

  Vrell always felt awkward at these family gatherings. Council law required strays to wear orange. But, as at Zerah Rock and Carmine, Walden’s Watch did not employ slaves or strays. That did not stop people from treating Vrell with contempt. The Orthrop children were kind to her, though. Eleven-year-old Gil more so than anyone.

  Lord Orthrop walked up the dock and stood beside Shoal. At first glance, the two men looked like twins. Both had blond hair slicked back into a tail, brown eyes, tanned skin, and broad shoulders. But eighteen-year-old Shoal did not have the weathered face of his father.

  A chorus of good-bye s rang out from the children, and Vrell joined in, blinking away her tears. Aljee ran down the dock, tossing blossoms in the boat’s wake and waving to her mother. Riif and Gil had already moved on. They were fighting with sticks on the grassy lawn behind the manor. Shoal and his father were discussing the tides.

  Shoal was quite handsome. If he hadn’t smelled like fish at all hours of the day, Vrell might’ve been tempted to get to know him better.

  It was probably for the best. For one thing, Shoal believed in the Er’Retian gods, which Vrell held to be mythical. For another, Shoal was in love with Keili, a fisherman’s daughter. It was a shame that Lord Orthrop would never approve the match. Such was life. But those two topics of conversation would certainly cause trouble. Vrell had a bad habit of setting people straight about the gods that usually ended in ridicule. Plus, her own thwarted love would prod her to romantic discussions no true boy would venture into willingly.

  Best to steer clear.

  Shoal, still engaged in conversation with his father, grinned at Vrell as she walked up the hill, practicing her springy boy walk. Unfortunately, after hearing his thoughts, she knew his smile was not for companionship, but at his memory of clobbering her with a sword. Her hand was still bruised. Vrell sighed and started for the apothecary, kicking pebbles on the dusty road as she went.

  The village of Walden’s Watch was crammed into a small, flat space at the end of the NaharPeninsula. Cliffs edged the ocean on both sides of the town. The houses were narrow, two-level stone dwellings packed close beside one another.

  Vrell kept her head down as she walked, glancing up only to keep from running into anything. Strays were not to make eye contact with people above their station, and that took a lot of training on Vrell’s part. A little boy chased a rolling leather ball into the road. She did not meet his eyes or try to hear his thoughts, but his sunburned face reminded her of Bran.

  Seven months ago, Bran Rennan had asked for Vrell’s hand. She longed to be his bride. He was her dearest friend and her only love. But Bran was only a lesser noble, and Vrell was heir to a duchy. She would be marrying beneath her, at least in terms of social station. To Vrell’s delight, her mother had actually been considering the match when another suitor had come along.

  The powerful and horrible Crown Prince of Er’Rets: Gidon Hadar.

  Vrell had wanted nothing to do with him. Thankfully, Mother had agreed. But when the prince threatened to send guards to provoke a favorable answer, Mother sent Vrell into hiding.

  The plan was simply to wait. As soon as Prince Gidon yielded and chose another woman to marry, Vrell would return home. At which point she would beg Mother to accept Bran’s offer.

  For now, Vrell was homesick but safe. It was winter’s end, and if she were home she would still be wearing heavy woolen skirts and furs. Here she did not even need an overcoat. Walden’s Watch was almost tropical, although it was more swamp than rainforest. According to Lord Orthrop, however, the gods always cursed the NaharPeninsula in a winter drought.

  She rolled her eyes at such foolish superstition.

  The apothecary sat two streets from the manor house in a stone building with a large wooden shutter covering the window. When the shop opened, the shutter would serve as an awning to shade both customers and merchandise. Vrell approached the building and followed the path to the backyard.

  The shop owner, Wayan Masen, served as the only apothecary for miles around. Lord Orthrop had arranged for Vrell to apprentice there. But Vrell found the work of Wayan’s wife, Mitt Masen, much more interesting. Mitt was a healer and midwife. Vrell would have loved to see babies born, but under this disguise it was impossible. A boy apprenticed to a midwife was unheard of. And as far as the Masens were concerned, Vrell was a boy.

  Thankfully, Wayan found Vrell a bother — an opinion somewhat helped along by Vrell — and was therefore quick to send her away to assist his wife. Though Vrell couldn’t help her with the midwifery, she was learning a great deal about the healing arts. Mitt frequently spoke of her visits with patients, and Vrell soaked up all the information she could. Using plants to heal was fascinating.

  She enjoyed the smells of herbs and blossoms, and learning the healing trade gave her a sense of home. She missed her private garden, her hybrid plant projects, and Mother’s library. Lord Orthrop did not keep books or scrolls of knowledge — not that Vrell’s boy persona would be able to read them even if he did.

  Vrell entered the Masen’s backyard, a small medicinal garden filled with all kinds of herbs and spices. Lines of twine zigzagged between the apothecary and the Masen’s home next door.

  Vrell found Mitt hanging sprigs of juniper and oregano on the lines. Mitt was short and round but very able. She always wore a charcoal grey dress with a white apron over it. Her face was as round as the rest of her, and her cheeks were always flushed.

  “Morning, Vrell!”

  “Good morning. May I help you with those?”

  “You surely can.” Mitt motioned to a basket of fresh blossoms. “Hang the lavender over by the wall, will you?”

  Vrell took a bunch of lavender and a length of pre-cut twine, and made her way to the wall. The lavender smelled heavenly, like Mother. Vrell’s eyes watered as she thought of the wonderful visit her mother and Lady Coraline would be having soon. She blinked the jealous thoughts away, tied the sprig to the line, and went for another.

  “Kehta Grett’s twins come last night,” Mitt said.

  Vrell gasped. “How did it go?”

  “Terrifying. For a time I wondered if I’d been wrong and there was only one. But when the girl come out weighing so little, I knew there was another. The boy was a jackal, though. Gave me a time of it. Come feet first with the cord around his wee neck. Survived in spite of it, and I praised the gods.”

  Vrell bristled at how everyone so freely gave credit to the gods. As if mythical beings could be capable of acts of healing and controlling the weather. She itched to correct Mitt, but that would only draw attention and questions. She forced her thoughts back to the twins. “How lovely for Kehta there was one of each.”

  “Yes. Though it’s rare for a boy to notice such things.” Mitt chuckled. “I suppose that’s why we get along so well, you and me.”

  Vrell’s cheeks flushed. Even when she purposely tried to avoid drawing attention, she managed to slip. It was just so hard not to be herself around Mitt.

  “How is your salve coming along?” Mitt asked.

  With Mitt’s help, Vrell had been building her own healing kit. She had gathered quite the collection thus far. She was currently working on her first yarrow salve for cuts and bruises.

  “It’s nearly finished.”

  Mitt clipped a spring to the line and brushed her hands on her apron. She waved Vrell over to the garden. “Test time.” Mitt pointed to a small daisy. “What’s this?”

  “Calendula? It’s the main ingredient in my salve. Does wonders for bruising and inflammation. And…grows naturally in the ChowmahMountains?”

  Mitt nodded and pointed to a leafy tropical plant.

  Vrell thought for a moment. “Kava kava? It’s used to make a sedative
.”

  “Yes, but how is it made?”

  “You grind it and strain it to make a tea. And can you also chew it fresh?”

  A strand of greying hair fell loose from Mitt’s braid. “That’s right. How about this one?” She pointed to a flat, petal-like, brown mushroom.

  “That is reishi,” Vrell answered right away. “It is good for a weak heart, dizziness, and high mountain travel.”

  Mitt led Vrell though the garden until she had questioned every plant. Then they went inside the shop, where Vrell helped make a large batch of clove oil for a customer with a toothache. Not long into the project, the spicy smell numbed her nostrils.

  Vrell had just begun to grind willow bark for a tonic when young Gil raced into the shop, panting. At eleven, Gil was a weed. His body had reached that awkward stage where his head, arms, and feet seemed too big for the rest of him.

  “Vrell! Father needs you at the manor straight away.” Gil shook his shaggy blond hair out of his wild eyes. “Some men have come for you.”

  Vrell’s heart took off at a gallop. Could she have been discovered? How? She reached out with her mind to seek Lord Orthrop’s thoughts, but gleaned only his anxiety. “What kind of men?”

  Gil’s eyes bulged. “Kingsguard knights, and one’s a giant!”

  Mitt’s chuckle rose over the scraping of her mortar and pestle.

  “Do not be silly.” Vrell tried to sound casual. She wiped her shaking hands on a towel and forced sensible words from her lips. “There are no giants around here.”

  Gil grinned, baring his new adult teeth that looked oversized on his childlike face. “Just you wait and see, Vrell. He had to duck to come through the door.”

  Vrell apologized to Mitt and walked back to the manor house with Gil, who prattled on endlessly about the Kingsguard knights. Vrell sought over and over but could not hear Lord Orthrop’s thoughts or the strangers’. If only Mother had taught her more bloodvoicing skills before Vrell had left. What if Prince Gidon had somehow found her? Sweat beaded under her wool padding at what may lie ahead. She prayed Arman would protect her.

  The manor house at Walden’s Watch sat at the highest point on the cliffs. No wall or moat surrounded the sea stone dwelling. It was guarded by a single gatehouse entrance, which was the only way in or out. Vrell darted through the gate and pushed past the oversized oak door.

  The manor was cool inside. She walked through the small foyer and down a narrow corridor. Her boots crunched over the dead rushes that were in need of replacement. Lord Orthrop’s study sat directly across from the dining hall. Two bulky packs lay beside the closed door, one three times the size of the other. Vrell stood outside the room, seeking the thoughts inside. Finally, Lord Orthrop’s amplified words rung in her head.

  I’d like to travel again. It’s been a while since I’ve gone anywhere but to sea for fish. Been waiting for Prince Gidon to take the throne. Wondered if he wouldn’t make some changes to the appointed lordships.

  Vrell groaned. If she had been discovered, they were no longer talking about it. But why else would she have been summoned? Lord Orthrop had always ignored her. Now that his wife had left, would he send her away? Sell her as a slave, despite Walden’s Watch’s laws? She did not know the man well enough to guess.

  She raised her fist and knocked.

  The valet opened the door, and Vrell stepped inside. Like the rest of the manor, the study was oak and sea stone. A large hearth lay cold behind Lord Orthrop’s driftwood desk. Lord Orthrop stood in front of it, pointing up at a wooden carving of a swordfish that hung over the hearth. “This is a replica of one I caught two summers past. Took me an hour to pull him in.”

  Two knights stood before Lord Orthrop’s desk looking up at the wooden fish. They wore black New Kingsguard capes embroidered with the golden justice scales of Mahanaim’s crest. One man stood so tall Vrell understood why Gil had called him a giant. His head nearly brushed the timber ceiling. He was as wide as two men — but it was hard muscle, not flab. His legs were strapped in leather, sheathing daggers and axes. Most of his face was hidden behind a bushy black beard.

  Vrell stepped up to Lord Orthrop’s desk. The giant looked down at Vrell with brown eyes the size of goose eggs. A red scarf was tied over his hair like a nightcap, and a fat braid hung over one shoulder and down to his waist.

  Vrell suddenly missed her long hair. She shook the thought away and sought the giant’s mind.

  She could not find it.

  How strange. She could always read people this close, but when she tried for the giant, he was empty. The tops of her ears tickled suddenly, and she focused hard on drawing the curtains around her mind, as Mother had described the defensive action. One of these men must have the bloodvoices as well and was seeking her thoughts. Her ears always tickled the same way just before Mother communicated.

  The idea brought a shiver of fear. If either of these men could bloodvoice, could they discover her true identity? Or did they know it already? Maybe this was about her being exposed, after all.

  Vrell dragged her gaze to the other New Kingsguard knight. He was barely taller than she was. This scrawny man’s greasy brown hair hung in his dark eyes. Scruffy cheeks, a wild mustache, and a long neck added to his weasely appearance. He wore a sword at his side almost as long as he was tall. It looked ridiculous on him, like he was just holding it for the giant.

  Vrell did not risk opening her mind to try and hear his thoughts. She was pretty sure she didn’t want to know what they were anyway.

  Lord Orthrop turned to Vrell. “Ah. My good knights, this is the boy you’ve come for. Vrell Sparrow is what he’s called. Don’t know how you knew he was here. He’s only been my ward these past six months.”

  Lord Orthrop walked from the hearth and sat at his desk. He motioned to the giant. “This is Jax mi Katt.” Then to the short man. “And Khai Mageia. It’s an incredible opportunity for you, boy. I don’t understand it entirely, but apparently you have a gift.”

  Vrell’s jaw fell open. How could anyone have known about her bloodvoicing ability?

  Lord Orthrop’s eyebrows rose. “You know of this?”

  “I…” Vrell swallowed, hating to lie, but afraid to tell the truth. “N-None that I know of, my lord.”

  “Well, I suspect you’ll find out soon enough. These men have come to take you to the great city of Mahanaim to apprentice for the Council of Seven.”

  Vrell could only gasp and sputter.

  “You’ll train under Master Macoun Hadar,” Khai said in a nasally voice.

  “Hadar is a royal name,” Lord Orthrop said. “An amazing privilege for anyone — but of course even you must know this.”

  Indeed, Hadar was a royal name, but not one she trusted much. Besides, Vrell could not travel to Mahanaim with two men! She would not. She needed to stay here to hide until she could marry Bran. Plus, such a thing was unheard of. Noblewomen did not travel without a companion. It had taken her months just to get used to walking to the apothecary by herself. Of course, she couldn’t say any of this without revealing her identity, or at least her gender.

  Her heart rattled under her padded prison. “Forgive me, my lord, but Lady Coraline promised I could stay until my training with Master Masen was complete.”

  Lord Orthrop waved his hand around. “I’ve indulged my wife long enough in this matter. You must trust me, Vrell. A man knows what’s best for a man. Serving a Hadar is a much loftier goal than apothecary in any city, especially Walden’s Watch. We’re at the edge of the world here, boy. No one much cares about this place.”

  “I do.”

  Lord Orthrop gave a small smile. “You’re a stray. You could do no better if you worked hard your whole life.”

  All this would make perfect sense if Vrell were truly a boy and truly a stray. Lord Orthrop would never send a woman off with two men. Except he did not know she was a woman. He could not find out either — he might side against her. Vrell’s heart was a lump in her throat, choking back her word
s, and thankfully, tears.

  If only she knew how to bloodvoice Mother.

  “We will leave the moment the boy is ready,” the giant said in a booming voice.

  Lord Orthrop’s eyes met Vrell’s. “Off you go then. Pack your things.”

  She bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  After that, everything happened fast. Gil gave her a small leather satchel to stow her healing herbs and salves. She’d clipped a leather water skin to it. Vrell realized with a pang of loneliness that this was all she would leave here with. She had brought no personal belongings from home, so she had nothing more to pack.

  When she came downstairs — with a sniffling Gil at her side — Lord Orthrop, Aljee, and the knights were waiting in the foyer. Lord Orthrop handed her a small velvet bag of coins.

  “My lord, I couldn’t possibly—”

  “You must, boy. And you’ll take a horse too. I’ll be in trouble enough when Coraline returns to find you gone. Accept this as a token of my apologies for rushing you off. You must understand: even if I wanted you to stay, the Council is law. I cannot speak against them. May the gods be with you.”

  Aljee rushed up and grabbed Vrell around the waist. “Oh, Vrell, I wish you didn’t have to go. You’ve never teased me as much as my brothers.”

  “And you never beat me as much,” Gil said, his posture slumped.

  “It won’t be much longer, son, before you’ll be as skilled as your brothers,” Lord Orthrop said.

  “My lord?” Vrell asked. “Might I bid good-bye to Master Masen and Mitt?”

  Lord Orthrop shook his head. “I’ll send word. These knights have instructions to bring you back with haste, isn’t that right, Sir Jax?”

  The giant nodded. “We must leave at once.”

  Vrell hugged Aljee one more time. She longed to hug them all and beg them to let her stay, but it was too risky. Arman would protect her, would he not?