By Darkness Hid

by Jill Williamson

  * * *

  Ez led the knights and Vrell to the great hall for dinner. The ceiling was at least four kinsmen levels high. Fat candles burned in brass fixtures that hung from the ceiling, casting shadowed light over the room. Wall sconces held more thick candles. A long stone table stretched across the far end of the room. Lord Dromos and Lady Kiska sat at the center of it. Three tables lined each of the side walls, but they were mostly empty. A few giants sat at the lowest tables, those farthest from the high table.

  Ez seated Jax and Khai to Lord Dromos’s right. He seated Vrell to Lady Kiska’s left—a shocking, and completely unheard of, honor for a stray. Zoea sat on the other side of Vrell, batting her eyes. Xylene sat next to Zoea.

  Zoea had changed into a dress that fit her slim body. Maybe she truly had been playing dress-up earlier. She touched Vrell’s shoulder and gazed into her eyes. “In what will you apprentice at Mahanaim?”

  Vrell knew she at least looked clean now, but the idea of looking handsome to this kinsman-giant girl turned her stomach. Plus she had a headache. She worded her answer carefully. “I do not know the specifics yet.”

  A line of serving giant girls entered the room carrying various things. One set a stone platter before Lord Dromos. Another servant set one before Zoea. It was covered in a pile of dark meat that smelled like venison. Another tray was heaped with steamed vegetables. Zoea waited for a servant to set down a stack of flat stone disks. She lifted one and began to pile food on it as if it were a trencher.

  A stone trencher. How interesting.

  Vrell filled a round trencher with food and thanked Arman for her meal. She took a bite of the venison, which was salty and very rich. Zoea watched her every move. Vrell had learned from Ez that Zoea was thirteen and Xylene, seven. That fact brought little comfort when Zoea scooted down the stone bench, inch by inch, until her arm brushed against Vrell’s. Vrell did not even want to try and read the girl’s thoughts.

  Lady Kiska turned to Vrell. “Yulessa, my eldest, is married now. She just birthed darling twins, she did. They weren’t too big, so they’re likely not true giants. One of each, named Dunfast and Paisley. Aren’t those nice names? Yulessa’s husband is human. Royalty, he is. Not in line for the throne, but kingly blood is in his veins as much as Prince Gidon himself.”

  “What is his name?” Vrell asked.

  “Donediff Hadar. He’s Prince Oren’s son.”

  Vrell nodded. No wonder the giants—the non-eben ones—supported Prince Oren for King.

  Lady Kiska went on. “Donediff has been given the assignment of warden at Er’Rets Point. That’s a lordship, that is. Makes our Yulessa a lady all over again.”

  Seeing Lady Kiska’s pride brought a smile to Vrell’s face. “How lovely.”

  She winced inside. Again she had used the word lovely. Well, it was not exactly easy to carve certain words from her vocabulary. At least she had not yet used it on a man. Besides, she had met Donediff Hadar at court on several occasions. He was a lovely young man. Handsome. Kind. A little boring, perhaps, but Yulessa was lucky indeed. Many noblewomen found far less favorable matches in marriage.

  Which brought her mind back to why she was here pretending to be a boy. But Vrell did not want to think about that right now. Her head was throbbing as it was.

  She did wonder how tall Yulessa was, having had a tall mother and a giant for a father. Last she had seen him, Donediff was at least six feet tall. All the Hadars were tall men. And even though Lady Kiska was the tallest human woman Vrell had ever seen, her children were much shorter than giant children. She could not imagine Donediff with a woman taller than him.

  Vrell scooped up another bite of venison and tuned her ear to Lord Dromos.

  “I do try to stay neutral,” he said. “The Mârad oppose the ebens’ mercenary work.”

  “Then they oppose the Council,” Khai said.

  “They operate outside my authority,” Lord Dromos said, reaching for his goblet, “but we bring many wounded into Xulon.”

  “Wounded ebens?” Jax’s tone implied the mere mention was scandalous.

  “Never. Only yâtsaq giants are brought into Xulon.”

  “How can you tell which ebens are mercenaries and which are only passing through?” Vrell asked.

  The room silenced, and Vrell flushed at having spoken out of turn. At home she was able to speak whenever she pleased, even given the floor. But here in Xulon, under the guise of a stray boy, speaking to the lord of the manor without having been spoken to was far too bold.

  Lord Dromos seemed of good cheer, however, and answered without scolding. “Ebens live on the Dark side of the CelaMountains. They never leave for innocent reasons. If they do enter Light, it is because they have been hired. The Council of Seven has chosen to employ them, so I do my best to support that, though I cannot understand why Kingsguard knights cannot do the work. Er’Retians would trust them more.”

  Zoea leaned close. “Because of ebens, it’s disgraceful to be born blond. Though sometimes when you marry a human, your children are born blond. That’s why very few yâtsaq marry out of our race. Yulessa was an exception. And Mother. But they married Kinsman men. Still, I won’t marry a human.”

  Vrell turned away, annoyed at the young girl’s prejudice. The kinsman people were those descended from Echâd Hadar, the first king of Er’Rets. They had dark hair, brown skin, and blue eyes. Vrell’s hair was dark, but her skin was pale and her eyes were green. Was little miss Zoea suggesting Vrell would not make a good match for her?

  It was true, but terribly rude to speak of such things. Strays were not permitted to marry in most parts of Er’Rets. Vrell knew little of Nahar Duchy, but few nobles got away with marrying that far beneath their stations. Still, Zoea’s pointing it out was in poor taste.

  Vrell wondered where Lady Kiska hailed from to have taught her daughter so little decorum. How she managed to marry her eldest to a prince’s son, Vrell could not fathom.

  * * *

  That night, Vrell snuck down to the bathhouse. The scrubbing she had given herself in the privy had made her temporarily presentable, but it had been weeks since she had had a proper bath. Grime coated her from head to toe. Only hot water, like the steam she had seen when Ez opened that green curtain, would pierce her greasy shell. It might also clear her head. The headache had grown stronger, almost bringing tears to her eyes. If only she had lavender or chamomile tea.

  Her heart throbbed as she walked along the stone corridor leading to the steamy chamber. Giving in to this small temptation could ruin everything. She peeked around the heavy green tapestry.

  Steam clouded everything, and for a moment, Vrell could not see. She slipped inside and crouched down where the air was cooler. Water rushed somewhere nearby. The smell of minerals was strong. Hazy light flickered above her and appeared to come from two torches on the walls. She saw no one.

  Like all the others, this room was grey stone, but the floor ended two yards out from the entranceway, like a pier. Beyond it, a steamy underground river lazed by just below floor level. She walked in a crouch to the edge and peered down a black tunnel on either side but could see nothing but a fine net draped across the openings. She shuddered, wondering what it was meant to keep out.

  She turned back to the emerald tapestry and could hardly see it. She sighed. There was no tiny corner to bathe in here. If anyone entered, she would be discovered in all her feminine splendor. But at least the steam provided some protection. If she heard someone enter, she could likely get dressed in time.

  The steam had already loosened her pores, and so, with a quick prayer that Arman would keep her safe, Vrell gave in to the watery temptation. She stripped off her clothing. Her chest heaved when she removed the undergarment that had not been taken off since Lady Coraline had helped her tie it a week ago. She lowered herself into the hot spring and gasped at the water’s scalding temperature. She would be pink from head to toe when she got out.

  She kept to the front of the stone ledge again
st the net. Kicking out her foot, she found that the net continued under the surface. What strange creatures might lurk in an underground hot spring that only a simple net could keep out?

  Vrell washed quickly and thoroughly, scrubbing the layer of grime from her body with heavenly honeysuckle soap. Then she scrubbed her clothes. When she finished, she reluctantly returned to her padded prison and stray’s tunic, both sopping wet, and snuck back up to her bed for the night.

  Vrell entered the large room, realizing it was likely considered small by giants’ standards. A plain fireplace filled the wall opposite the door. Two long beds occupied the side walls. A small straw mattress had been placed beside the door for Vrell to use. Jax and Khai sat near the fireplace whispering. Vrell settled onto the firm mattress with a smile on her face and stared at the stone beam of the high ceiling above. Wet or not, she was clean. Joy filled every tingling pore. She laid her head on the pillow and shut her eyes.

  A thick pressure flooded her mind. On top of her already aching head, the tension brought a tear down her cheek. Had the hot water aggravated her headache? Or maybe the venison had worsened it. It had been very rich.

  I sense you! an elderly man’s monotone voice droned in her mind. Tell me your name!

  Vrell stiffened and yanked the covers up to her chin. She fortified the walls around her thoughts, but the pressure grew. She sensed confusion. A bright orange light. Heat and…iron? Wetness? No, that was her clothes.

  Hello, new one. Welcome to our ears. My, how strong your presence is. Who are you?

  Mother? Vrell sat up in bed and twisted around. Khai and Jax had stopped whispering. Both sat very still. Vrell’s heart pounded in her chest. Was her mother nearby?

  A man yelled, Who’s there?

  Blood! Blood was on her arm! Vrell swiped her shoulder, but the wetness would not dissipate. Something had died. Tears streamed down Vrell’s cheeks. So sad. The baby. An orphan. All alone. She shook her head, confused, and pulled her blankets up to her chin. Something tickled her legs and she twitched. She threw down the blankets and swatted at her legs. A spider?

  Who are you, gifted one? a deep male voice asked.

  What are you called? an old woman asked.

  Please! the elderly man said. What is your name?

  Vrell cowered, wincing at the force in her mind. Perhaps her headache was not from the hours on the road, the hot water, or the venison. These were bloodvoices she was hearing. She turned back to the knights. Were they hearing it too? And why was she unable to block them out?

  Stop it! the man yelled. Don’t speak to me!

  Vrell clutched her ears. So loud, this voice. So heavy the weight it brought to her mind.

  Do not be afraid, Vrell’s mother said. It is a gift.

  Vrell waited to hear more, curious what else her mother would say, but the sensation faded. Jax and Khai whispered to each other again, nothing she could overhear. She sank into her mattress and pulled the covers over her head.

  She thought over the bloodvoicing conversation. Apparently a man had discovered his gift, but he was confused, alone, and possibly bleeding. Something had happened to his legs or his shoulder. Why had his thoughts brought such tremendous strain to Vrell? When she had discovered her gift, she had accidentally spoken to her mother’s mind. That was all. Mother had heard it and started to teach Vrell. But this…this was…frightening.

  Vrell’s ears had not even tickled first, so this person had not been intentionally seeking her mind. But she had not been able to block him either. Without trying, his thoughts had bled over into dozens of minds. What could someone so strong do with his gift? Was that why the people had called out to him? Why Mother had called out?

  And why hadn’t Mother tried to call her again? Vrell would have answered when she was in the steams. Why couldn’t Arman work the timing out so that Vrell and her mother could speak?

  Vrell dwelled on the voices until she drifted to sleep. She dreamed of Mother comforting the frightened man. Mother wanted to know if he was okay and where he lived. Vrell wanted to know too so she could help him. There were so many voices and he did not know how to block them. Vrell could teach him.

  In her dream, the man dropped to his knees and moaned. He was in pain. There was still blood.

  Your home, dear, Mother said. Where is it?

  The man yelled, Please stop! Stop!

  And then all was silent.

  Part 3

  Unwelcome Changes

  7

  A rap on the skull woke Achan.

  Groggy, he rose onto one elbow to find a dozen serving women fussing about the cellar, throwing potatoes, turnips, and onions into wicker baskets. Why were they in the cellar at this hour? He blinked his sleepy eyes, trying to remember the occasion, thankful he had slept in his trousers.

  Poril scurried by the ale casks and reached down to knock Achan on the head with sharp knuckles again. “Up! There’s much to do, and Poril needs yeh up and able.”

  Ah, yes. Prince Gidon’s coming-of-age celebration began today. And Achan hadn’t even milked the goats. He reached up, wincing at his sore shoulder muscles, and grabbed his tunic, which had dried in a stiff, triangular shape over the spout of the ale cask. He pulled it over his head and struggled to straighten it while lying down. He tied the rope belt and crawled out. Achan’s head pounded, so he took the narrow stone steps slowly.

  The kitchens bustled with activity, warmth, and a mixture of scents: robust spices, fresh herbs, burnt toast, steamy soups, fish, and bloody meat. The meat smell turned Achan’s stomach, bringing the doe to mind. And that reminded him of the voices—the culprits behind his throbbing skull.

  Poril had apparently recruited every serving woman in Sitna Manor to help prepare the dinner feast, and they were deep into gossip as usual.

  “What you s’pose his skin looks like under that mask?” one of them asked, chopping a carrot into slices.

  “I’ve heard it’s dark, like dried venison.”

  “Well, if I’s the Duchess, I’d not marry him neither, him bein’ half-a man.”

  Achan dodged between elbows, reaching arms, and twirling brown skirts, navigating toward the exit. He grabbed the milk pail from the shelf above the door and went outside heading for the stables.

  The outer bailey had never been so crowded before dawn. Throngs of foreign servants darted around on various errands. Pages led horses—some already wearing their jousting armor and banners—to and from the stables. A dozen slaves dragged long slabs of wood toward the drawbridge. The butcher—apron soaked in blood—had wheeled his cart close to the kitchens. His apprentice fought to hold down the wings of a flapping goose. Achan passed by just before the chop of the axe severed the bird’s neck.

  In the barn, Achan milked the goats quickly despite his exhaustion. When he set the milk on the table in the kitchens, Poril shoved a mug of tonic into his chest. “Drink.”

  The bitter smell jogged Achan’s memory. Yesterday, Sir Gavin had suggested the tonic was poison—not able to kill, but bad in some way. Certainly not healthy.

  A sharp throb bit through his skull.

  Tell me where you live.

  Are you there? Speak to me!

  Achan’s heart rate increased at the voices in his head. He closed his eyes and focused on the allown tree, the sunset, the wind.

  Something hard cracked on his head. “Ow!”

  Poril stood before him, his knuckles raised to strike again. “Poril has no time for games today, boy. Drink now. And let Poril see yeh do it.”

  Pig snout. Achan would get the truth from Sir Gavin today about this tonic.

  He guzzled the bitter goo and stumbled to the mentha basket. He chewed a few leaves and began to feel better.

  The serving women continued their gossip about Lord Nathak and the Duchess of Carm. One of them heaved a plucked goose from one table to another and began to stuff it with spices. “Does he really think cuttin’ off her supplies is gallant?”

  “He’s got no sense,”
said another, waving a wooden spoon. “Just look how Prince Gidon treats his women. ’Twas Lord Nathak who raised him, that’s clear enough.”

  Achan went for firewood. The morning dawn had cast its pale light over the manor. The sky was clear. It would be a warm day. He found the outer bailey even more crowded now and was thankful the firewood was near the kitchens and he did not have to carry it far. By the time he returned, his head and stomach felt fine.

  As he stepped into the sweltering kitchens he spotted Sir Gavin. The old knight had cornered Poril near the ovens. Achan dropped the wood beside the largest hearth and added a few pieces to the fire. He watched Sir Gavin and Poril between the bustling skirts, and strained to hear their conversation.

  At length, Poril shouted, “Boy!” and the women cleared a path.

  Achan hurried over, hoping to be sent with Sir Gavin again, but the knight had left.

  “Yeh’ll go with the good knight, yeh will. Soon as yer done, get back, yeh hear?”

  Achan swallowed his smile. “Yes, Master Poril.” He scurried out of the kitchens, running to catch up with Sir Gavin, whom he spotted striding toward the inner bailey.

  The knight glanced over his shoulder. “We’ve little time to dress you for tournament.”

  Achan stopped. Tournament? “You can’t think I’m ready to compete?” He made himself run to catch up again. “I’ve never even touched a sharp blade.”

  “Whether you’re ready or not, you’ll do your best. A squire must see his blood flow and feel his teeth crack under an adversary’s strike. Just standing in the ring is an act of courage, and you need to work on yours.”

  Achan didn’t like the sound of fighting squires who were much more advanced, but he wasn’t about to let Sir Gavin call him a coward. “I’m brave.”

  “In some things, aye, in others…”

  Achan frowned and followed Sir Gavin through the gate that led to the inner bailey.

  To their left, the keep stretched six levels into the pale blue sky. A grassy courtyard spread out between it and the hedged walls of Cetheria’s temple gardens. The temple itself lay at the far right of the inner bailey. Achan rarely came this far into the fortress, unless he had direct orders to. Doing so without permission was a good way to earn an extra beating. Still, he occasionally snuck as close to the temple garden walls as possible to leave an offering. He wasn’t allowed inside the temple itself.