“One morning this boy managed to not have the tonic in his system. Without the âleh silencing him, suddenly those of us gifted in bloodvoices heard his discovery, sensed his power. Even from half the kingdom away.” Sir Gavin walked to the center of the high table and turned back to the audience. “This boy’s bloodvoice is so strong because he is King Axel’s son! And as such, he — and only he — is capable of bringing truth to Er’Rets and pushing back Darkness.”
Achan winced at the level of noise from the crowd. Women shrieked. Feet stomped on the wooden grandstands creating the effect of a stampede. Applause. Boos. Three young pages scurried down the stands and out the door, as if running off to report this news to someone too busy to be here.
Achan gulped, his mind spinning with questions. Pushing back Darkness? What did that mean? He couldn’t even imagine such a thing.
When the crowd’s reaction died down, Sir Gavin continued. “I entered him in Prince Gidon’s coming-of-age tournament to see how he’d fare in battle. When Lord Nathak discovered this, he not only sent this boy — named Achan Cham — back to the kitchens and forbade him to compete further, but he banished me as well. His words were, ‘The Council no longer requires your service.’”
Lord Levy glared at Lord Nathak, who leaned back in his chair, the visible half of his face slack.
“I knew then my suspicions were valid.” Sir Gavin reached into the neckline of his tunic and drew out a swatch of grey wool on a cord around his neck. “I cut this from Achan’s blanket. Over the next few weeks, I kept an eye on him through bloodvoicing.”
Achan stared at the snip of cloth. Sir Gavin had been the one to cut from his blanket under the ale casks in Poril’s cellar. Achan turned to Sparrow, the fabric collector. The boy offered a loopy grin.
Sir Gavin went on. “This Council has not heard the true story of Prince Gidon’s ambush two weeks ago. Achan has been charged with attempting to murder the Crown Prince. He was thrown into the Mahanaim dungeons. But this was more deception from Prince Gidon and Lord Nathak.
“The truth of it? Achan rescued Prince Gidon, almost single-handedly, from more than twenty poroo attackers. Through my bloodvoicing I was with him, encouraging him. I saw him save this false prince’s life and nearly lose his own. Yet Lord Nathak pressed charges. Accused him of attempted murder! When I got word of Achan’s arrest, I broke him out of the dungeons, and upon dressing him for court today—”
“Sir Gavin,” Lord Levy said. “This court does not condone breaking into our dungeons.”
“—I was reminded of one last confirmation of his true identity.” Sir Gavin strode back to Achan’s side and circled behind him. “It was well documented the infant prince bore a birthmark on his left shoulder. Not only does Achan have this mark, he bears the brand of the stray over it — despite the rule that all stray brands be placed over the right shoulder. Clearly this accident was meant to further conceal the truth.”
Achan reached over his shoulder to feel the mark. He’d always assumed he’d been branded on the left by mistake.
“He’s a fake!” someone shouted from the crowd.
“Absurd,” Lord Nathak yelled.
Lord Levy banged his gavel and stood. “I will have no more outbursts in this assembly. The next person to speak out of turn will be held in contempt.”
The room went silent.
“Continue, Sir Gavin,” Lord Levy said.
“If we compare the two young men,” Sir Gavin said, glancing at Prince Gidon, “I assure you, the evidence is stacked against this impostor. He cannot bloodvoice. He bears no birthmark. And he looks little like King Axel. Whereas this boy,” he said, turning to Achan, “can bloodvoice, does bear the mark, and looks exactly like the King Axel I knew since boyhood.” He pointed at Gidon. “This is a fake. An imposter. A puppet prince Lord Nathak substituted after finding King Axel’s signet ring.”
Achan’s gut churned. He sucked in a long breath to settle his nerves and realized he hadn’t been breathing much at all.
Someone called out from the crowd. “Let us see the birthmark!”
“Yes! Let us see for ourselves!”
Lord Levy banged his gavel. “We will examine both men for the birthmark. Step forward.”
Achan was already standing before the high table, so he continued to stare at the floor, unsure of what was to happen next.
“Um…Prince Gidon,” Lord Levy said. “We will need your participation in this matter, as well.”
Achan turned to see the prince gripping the arms of his throne. “And if I refuse?”
The chairman nodded to a burly Kingsguard knight standing at the end of the high table. The knight stalked across the room toward Prince Gidon, but the prince jumped up at the last possible second and strode forward.
He ripped open his black satin doublet and tossed it dramatically to the floor, then he pulled his red linen shirt over his head and threw it at Sir Gavin. Raising both hands above his head, he twirled in a slow circle for all to see.
He did indeed have a mark on his left shoulder. It was pink, but that was all Achan could see about it.
“You too,” the chairman said to Achan. “I call Master Ricken to the floor. Are you in the stands today?”
“Aye!” a voice called from the grandstands. A short, bald man hurried down the steps.
“Master Ricken is a medical expert I have known for many years,” Lord Levy said as a short, thin man approached Prince Gidon and Achan.
Achan unlaced his doublet and shrugged it off. He untied his shirt and pulled it over his head. He draped the fine clothing over one arm, then folded his arms together across his chest.
He didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t feel comfortable showing the audience whatever was on his back, so he faced away from them. His heart pounded in his chest and vibrated all the way to his head. He wanted a good long nap, free from whips, arrows, dungeons, Prince Gidon, Lord Nathak, bloodvoices, and standing half-naked in front of people. At that point, even his bed under the ale casks would’ve been welcome.
Master Ricken approached Gidon first. He stepped behind the prince and leaned close, humming to himself. He touched the prince’s back and Gidon flinched.
“Show us the stray’s mark,” someone yelled.
Sir Gavin nudged Achan’s elbow and nodded.
Achan gritted his teeth and turned.
The crowd gasped. A woman cried out. Achan squeezed his fists and closed his eyes, mortified to have the brutality of his life on display. He knew his back was scarred. Sir Gavin hadn’t been the first person to comment on it.
Master Ricken stepped toward him and sucked in a sharp breath. His cold fingers trailed over Achan’s shoulder and back.
Achan held his breath, not knowing what the man was looking for, not caring. He only wanted to be dismissed. He threw up a desperate prayer to Sparrow’s god. The boy claimed there was only one god, and so did the voice. It was worth a try.
Arman, help me. Why is this happening?
A burning rose in Achan’s chest like a flash of fear, but continued to swell until he felt like he’d stepped into a sauna.
For I have appointed you as king over this nation. There is no one like you among all the people.
Master Ricken jerked to the side and looked at his own hand.
Achan gasped as the heat subsided. He pressed a hand against his forehead and wiped away the sweat. He breathed deeply as his pounding heartbeat slowed, trembling at the meaning behind the words he’d just heard in his mind from that other, mighty voice. The one that had told him nothing but truth. Achan, appointed by the gods—the God? — as king over Er’Rets? A single tear fell down to his chin.
Master Ricken stepped to the high table and whispered to the chairman. He turned, glanced at Achan with bulging eyes, then walked between Achan and Gidon back into the grandstands. Achan pivoted to face the audience and hide his back. He kept his head down.
The chairman cleared his throat. “Master Ricken has serv
ed as healer to the Mahanaim stronghold the past twenty years. No one doubts the validity of his expertise in matters of health and healing. It is his professional opinion that this man, Achan, bears an oval birthmark on his left shoulder that was branded over with the mark of a stray. He claims the mark on Prince Gidon’s shoulder is not a birthmark at all, but a scar from some kind of burn, likely one that was inflicted more than once.”
Shouts rang out from all sides. Achan flinched.
The chairman pounded his gavel into the hardwood table again and again until the crowd silenced. “Thank you, Prince Gidon and Master Cham, for your willingness to submit to examination. You may both be seated.”
Achan hurried to his seat on the far left of the room and sat beside Sparrow. His wooden scabbard knocked against the bench, but he hardly noticed the sound over all the talk in the auditorium. He pulled his clothing back on with shaking arms.
Sparrow’s voice came in a gentle whisper. “It will be okay.”
Achan closed his eyes. How could anything ever be okay again? His entire life had been a lie. He had no doubt now that it was Arman who had been speaking to him. And if Arman — said to be the one true God — was real, didn’t that mean Cetheria and Isemios and the rest were false gods? But what was he to do about what Arman had said? He had no business being king. He knew nothing of ruling. He knew nothing of anything important. Peeling potatoes. Stoking a fire.
Sparrow slid his small, thin fingers into Achan’s hand and squeezed. Achan stiffened and glanced at Sparrow without moving his head. The boy squeezed again, smiled, and let go. Achan drew his hand into a fist and pulled it to his lap.
“Sir Luas Nathak,” Lord Levy said, “please take the stand.”
Lord Nathak rose from his seat and stepped down off the platform. He climbed into the witness box at the end of the high table and sat. Two men dressed in black capes came out of the side chamber. They climbed onto the platform and sat on either side of Lord Nathak.
Achan stared at the bloodvoice mediators. What did they do exactly? Were they there merely to scare Lord Nathak into speaking the truth? Or could they force the truth from him?
The chairman began, “If it is lies you hope to spread, Lord Nathak, do not bother. These two men are bloodvoice mediators, as I’m sure you know. You are also aware how bloodvoice mediators work. They are trained to sense deceit and omission. Tell us the truth, and we will take your honesty into consideration in the end. Now, by the authority of this Council, I implore you to tell us your side of this tale.”
Lord Nathak sat in silence for a long moment. “As you know,” he finally said, “I found the prince child near Allowntown, just over thirteen years ago.”
“Remind the court how you knew the child was Prince Gidon,” Lord Levy said.
“He wore the king’s signet ring on a chain ’round his neck. I took him home, uncertain of what to do at first. He was King Axel’s son, and I sensed his father’s weakness in him.”
A murmur rose in the court. Achan’s eyes widened. He’d never heard anyone claim King Axel had been weak.
Someone yelled, “Traitor!”
“Silence!” the chairman cried. “Lord Nathak, you will refrain from insulting our fallen king in this Council room.”
Lord Nathak bowed his head. “My apologies, Chairman Levy.”
“Continue.”
“My own son, Esek, had just turned four. Prince Gidon, I guessed, was nearly three. I kept the prince for several weeks, praying to the gods for guidance. Despite the age difference, the boys looked like twins. As they played together, Esek pounded the prince daily. He knocked him down, took his food and playthings. The gods’ message was clear. King Axel had ruled the same way: weak and apathetic.”
Murmurs rose again, but Lord Nathak spoke over them. “He allowed neighboring peoples to pillage our lands, our foods, our gold. If I allowed this weak prince to take the throne, I would be responsible for another generation of the same in Er’Rets.”
Fury rose in Achan’s chest. Weak? He’d been merely a babe!
Then he shook his head, surprised at his own thoughts. So now he believed this incredible story?
“Nearly six months passed before I sent word that I’d found the boy,” Lord Nathak said, with a glance at the mediators. “When I brought him to Mahanaim, I presented Esek, my son, as the prince, wearing Hadar’s signet ring. Those closest to the king had died in the attack. No one suspected. The ring was all that mattered.”
Achan glanced at Gidon, who sat with one leg casually thrown over the other as if this tale bored him. But his hands betrayed his true emotions. They gripped the sides of his throne, knuckles white.
He hadn’t known the truth either.
The chairman asked, “What became of the real Prince Gidon?”
“My cook lost his wife and child in childbirth.” Lord Nathak’s voice softened, as if trying to convince the court he was kind and thoughtful. “I urged him to raise the boy as his own. In this, they would have each other, and I would be able to watch over the boy’s safety.”
Achan scoffed. Safe at the end of Poril’s belt. Why hadn’t Lord Nathak just drowned him? There had to be more to this story than Lord Nathak was revealing. Why keep him alive?
“And you branded him a stray to hide his birthmark?” the chairman asked.
“He had food and a place to sleep. Death would have been worse.”
“And this is when you gave him the âleh tonic?”
“I have given him the âleh tonic since his first day in my household.”
Achan squeezed his fists until the veins popped out on his inner wrists.
“Why did you do this?” Lord Levy asked.
“It was well known the prince had the gift. If my plan was to work, I couldn’t have people sensing his ability.”
Lord Levy folded his hands on the tabletop. “Remind the Council how you came to the responsibility of raising the prince. You found him, yes, and presented your son in his place. But the boy should’ve passed to Prince Oren. Remind us why he was given to you to raise.”
“Nearly everyone who cared for the child had been killed along with the king and queen, or sent to IceIsland. Prince Oren took the boy in for a short period, but he sent him back.”
“Because the prince knew the boy was a fake,” Sir Gavin mumbled.
Achan looked to Prince Oren. The man sat silent, one hand gripping his chin.
Lord Nathak shrugged. “My son missed me and his mother. His silence and depression worried the advisors. With the king dead and the heir so young, this Council was formed to rule until the prince grew to manhood. This same Council granted my plea to raise the boy. I built the stronghold in Sitna to keep the child away from prying eyes. I have taught him how to be a great king. He is shrewd and wise and quick with a sword. We have negotiated his betrothal to Lady Averella Amal of Carmine, and, once wed, he will move to Armonguard to take the throne.”
Sparrow squeaked and turned pink over this latest declaration.
What was wrong with him? Achan frowned at this latest information from Lord Nathak. The Duchess of Carm had a daughter? He did not recall ever seeing the lady visit Sitna. Bran was from Carmine. Achan wondered if Bran knew of her.
A murmur rose in the fifth row of the stands. There was Bran, on his feet, face redder than from sunburn alone. Sir Rigil, the young knight Bran served, stood beside him. He whispered and tugged Bran’s elbow. Suddenly Achan could hear their conversation as if he were a fly on Bran’s shoulder. Or maybe he was looking though Bran…
I will speak, but I will not make accusations, Sir Rigil said.
Then I will, Bran said. Lord Nathak is a usurper and traitor. He holds the Duchess hostage! Her daughter has fled to avoid his son’s hand. I will not stand here and let him claim he has obtained Averella’s hand by her own choosing!
This is not a battle for today. Sir Rigil pushed down on Bran’s shoulder. Sit yourself down or I shall be forced to drag you out.
Bran fell int
o his chair and crossed his arms like a sullen child.
“Sir Rigil?” Lord Levy said.
Achan noticed that everyone in the chamber seemed to be watching Bran and Rigil. Even Lord Nathak had fallen silent to observe the knight and his squire.
Sir Rigil turned to the high table. “Yes, my lord chairman?”
“Have you something to add to our discussions?” Lord Levy asked.
Sir Rigil raised his voice. “I beg the Council’s pardon. Duchess Amal spoke to me of this matter, this ‘arrangement’ for marriage, when I stopped in Carmine on my way to the tournament for the prince’s coming-of-age celebration.”
The chairman banged his gavel. “The Council recognizes Sir Rigil Barak of Zerah Rock. What do you know of this matter?”
“That she has consented to no such match.”
Nor will she, Bran said at the exact moment that Achan heard Sparrow mumble it under his breath.
Sparrow glanced up at Achan and stammered. “I m-mean, she’d have to be crazy to marry him, right?”
Achan turned back to Bran. A familiar fury filled his friend’s visage. So Gidon had tried to take the woman he loved also. Achan wished the lady well, wherever she had hidden herself.
Chairman Levy sighed. He turned to face the witness stand. “Bloodvoicers, what say you? Has this man been truthful?”
The men on either side of Lord Nathak stood. One said, “He has. Though I sense he is withholding something greater. We would need more time to discern what that might be.”
“I agree,” said the second bloodvoice mediator. “I request additional time to question him further.”
Lord Levy nodded. “Very well. Lord Nathak, you are dismissed until further notice.” He addressed the audience. “We shall postpone any marital arrangements until this matter of identity is settled. The Council must take time to deliberate. We will reconvene when we have a majority vote.”
The chairman rose and left the platform, heading to the side chamber. The rest of the Council members went after him. Lord Nathak left the interrogation platform and followed the Council.
By Darkness Hid bok-1 Page 36