By Darkness Hid

by Jill Williamson

  The door swung open. Gren’s mother stood in the sunlit opening, one hand on her hip, the other holding a bundle of fabric against her chest. She shut the door quickly. “You both are too old for these types of visits. This is vastly inappropriate, more so than ever with Grendolyn’s betrothal.”

  Achan looked to the floor, seized by a different kind of heat. He shuffled his feet and desperately wished he could vanish.

  Gren stepped away and set about clearing the shaving materials off the table, her voice shaky as she defended herself. “Achan needed help shaving because the prince—”

  “Achan will have to take care of himself from now on.” Her mother set the fabric on the table and sighed. “I know you’re friends, but this must stop. Forever. Now, say your farewells. Your father is not far behind.” She walked past the table and into the back room.

  Gren rolled the razor and strop inside the swatch of leather and did not look up when she whispered, “Farewell, Achan.”

  A horrible ache welled in his throat. He glanced at Gren, who returned the leather roll to the mantle and stood poised like a statue.

  In a hoarse whisper Achan said, “Gren, I…”

  She looked up and shook her tear-streaked face. “Don’t.”

  He walked to the entrance, dragging his feet. His boots scraping over the dirt floor sounded extra loud in the silence. He turned back and met her forlorn gaze. She glanced away.

  He stood at the door. “Thank you, Gren. For everything.”

  14

  As much as Vrell did not want to see Macoun Hadar again, she guessed she had better report to breakfast. The sooner she learned how to contact Mother, the better.

  She took the time to pray, then wandered up the staircase uncertain of what she would do when she arrived. If only she could find Carlani first. He did not threaten her, and she thought of him as an ally. They both served the same master, anyway.

  A chambermaid carried a basket of clothing down the stairs.

  “Excuse me,” Vrell said. “Where could I find Carlani’s room?”

  “He sleeps on a pallet in his master’s chamber,” the girl said. “Master Hadar is very demanding.”

  “Thank you.” Vrell continued to the eighth floor. She should have guessed. Servants often bunked in their master’s room in case they were needed at any hour. Someone as old and odd as Macoun Hadar would not want to be kept waiting. Strange that he relied on such a snail of a servant.

  Vrell knocked on the antechamber door. When no one answered, she crept inside. The antechamber had cooled since her visit the previous evening. A few glowing embers smoldered in the fireplace. The other two doors were identical to the first: cedar panels held together by a diagonal plank and rounded at the top. She knocked at the one on the left first. When no answer came, she pushed it open and saw that it led to another dark antechamber. This room had no other doors, no windows, and no fireplace—just a completely empty stone room, like some sort of dungeon cell.

  Vrell closed the door, noting that it locked from the inside only. For some reason this brought relief. She could not be locked in. She walked to the other door and knocked.

  Master Hadar’s muffled voice said, “Enter.”

  Vrell took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She entered a bright, sweltering room. This appeared to be Master Hadar’s bedchamber. It sat on the east side of the stronghold. The morning sun shone through three large windows on the east wall, spilling long beams of sunlight across the wooden floor. Despite the natural heat, a fire blazed in a hearth twice the size of the one in the antechamber.

  Master Hadar sat on the end of a canopied bed like a mini king, his feet resting on a small stone slab, ugly toes poking out the ends of his satin slippers. Thick, grey, wool tapestries hung around his bed. He did not seem fond of color.

  Master Hadar’s sunken eyes watched her, but he said nothing, compelling Vrell to speak.

  “Good morning, Master. Am I late?”

  “No. Carlani has not yet returned with breakfast.”

  Vrell wondered how long ago Carlani had left and if he would return before lunch.

  Master Hadar pointed a gnarled finger at a small table sitting under the center window. “Bring that here.”

  Vrell blinked, then walked across the room. She stole a glance out the window. The entrance to the stronghold stretched out below, the shining sun casting a golden glow onto the stone buildings. In the distance, beyond the parapet wall enclosing the city, the Lebab Inlet edged the skyline like a shimmering, silver blanket.

  Lovely.

  The table was tall and awkward but not heavy. Vrell lugged it toward the bed.

  “Here.” Master Hadar pointed to his feet. “Then we can eat.”

  Vrell positioned the table over the stone slab. Master Hadar pointed to a stool in the corner. Vrell fetched that as well, which he had her set opposite him.

  Then he pointed to the mantle above the hearth. “There’s an old bronze ring. Fetch it.”

  The mantle sat a foot higher than Vrell’s eyes. She reached up to the dusty surface and felt along the top. Carlani was not much of a housekeeper.

  “No, no. The other end.”

  Vrell moved to the opposite end and found the ring. She held it up.

  Master Hadar nodded. “That’s right. Bring it here.”

  Vrell carried the ring to her master and set it in front of him on the table.

  He did not pick it up but looked at her with his sunken grey eyes. “Sit.”

  Vrell sat on the stool.

  “Find Carlani.”

  Vrell blinked. “Master? You want me to find him?” Perhaps Master Hadar was as hungry as she was. Waiting for Carlani on a regular basis must get frustrating.

  “That’s right. Close your eyes and concentrate.”

  Of course. Time to learn. She hoped he would not touch her again. Jax’s warning came to mind. She would be wary of becoming this man’s pawn. Vrell closed her eyes and focused. A massive coldness loomed before her and she shivered. She assumed that was Master Hadar closing off his mind. Strange that she could sense his closed mind but had not sensed anything from Jax or Khai. Did that make the knights stronger or weaker?

  She pictured the old servant in her head. She thought about Carlani’s wrinkled face, his hunched posture, his white ponytail, and his tiny brown bird eyes. She furrowed her brow but could not sense him. That either meant he was too far away or he was blocking her. She opened her eyes.

  Master Hadar was staring, the wrinkled skin hanging from his cheeks as if it might slide off. Crescents of pink flesh peeked out from under his sunken eye sockets. How was it a man could have no eyebrows? He reached his twisted fingers above the ring and slid it toward her with one finger, the bronze scraping across the polished wooden surface. “Try again, holding this.” He lifted his finger off the ring.

  Goosebumps broke out over Vrell’s arms at the curious humming tone of his voice. He expected a different outcome with this ring. Was it magic? Vrell did not want to play with mage magic. Arman would not approve.

  She gulped and picked up the ring. She gripped it in her fist and closed her eyes again. Before she could even try to picture the white-haired valet, she found him in a kitchen.

  “…doesn’t like it. But add a bit of bacon for the boy and some milk. Skin and bones, he is,” Carlani said.

  “Would you like if I carried it up for yeh?” a girl’s voice asked.

  “Oh, that would be nice, Mags. It’s such a long walk, and I could use the company.”

  Mags sighed. “No. I meant I’d deliver…oh, never you mind.” She picked up a tray, and the aroma of bacon, tea, and toast filled Vrell’s nostrils. She inhaled a deep breath.

  A throaty chuckle popped Vrell’s eyelids open. Master Hadar’s thin lips twisted in a smile revealing brown teeth. “Found him, did you?”

  Vrell nodded. “I smelled the bacon.”

  Master Hadar wrinkled his nose. “I don’t eat meat.”

  Vrell set th
e ring back on the table. “Is it a magic ring?”

  “Magic? No. It belongs to Carlani. I use it to find him quicker. The older I get, the harder it is for me. I have to resort to the tricks of my youth.”

  “Tricks?”

  “The ring.” Master Hadar reached out a crooked finger and pulled the ring toward him. “What do you know of bloodvoicing?”

  “Very little.”

  “Well, bloodvoicing is the ability to hear the thoughts and share the experiences of others. You can learn to use it on any living thing. However, those who have the gift can learn to block others out. That you already know how to do.”

  Vrell nodded.

  “If you tried to seek out a friend, someone you know very well, you should be able to find them without help. But if you haven’t seen them in a while or don’t know them, are out of practice or weak from illness or age, it helps to have something of theirs. Personal belongings increase connection.”

  Which was why Khai had stolen her coin purse.

  “You’ve a question?” Master Hadar asked.

  “No.” Vrell shifted on her stool, not liking that this man could tell when she was thinking, if not what. “Yes, actually. Why me? Why did I get this gift?”

  “It travels through blood, hence its name. It’s an ability that was bestowed upon King Echâd, the first king of Er’Rets, when the father god, Arman, gave him rule of this land. To be able to hear and influence the thoughts of others is a gift only the gods have. But King Echâd was given that ability to aid in his rule. The gift passed through his bloodline the same as any human trait: brown hair, blue eyes, crooked teeth…”

  Master Hadar coughed. “Not all his descendants were born with the ability. Of those who were, each had a variation of the gift. No one has ever had the full power that King Echâd originally had.”

  “So I am a descendant of King Echâd?” Vrell knew this already, but she wanted to confirm she understood the gift properly.

  “You must be.”

  “How was it you sensed me in Walden’s Watch?”

  “I’ve been around long enough, boy. I know everyone who has the bloodvoices and where they live. No one in Walden’s Watch had it. But recently, I sensed the gift there. So I sent the Kingsguards to fetch you.”

  Vrell took a risk and asked, “How did you know where to find me and that I was a boy?”

  “I didn’t…at first. But there are always clues. I sent Jax and Khai to Walden’s Watch. As they neared, I could sense you through them even though they couldn’t sense you. This is called jumping. Jax is stronger than Khai. Upon entering the manor house, Jax sensed a bloodvoice presence, but he couldn’t discern who or how old or the level of ability. You walk about with your shields up, which is wise. Through Jax, I could sense you were someone young and someone who didn’t belong.”

  Heat flushed over Vrell. How close he had come to knowing the whole truth.

  “Once Jax spoke with Lord Orthrop and discovered he had a new ward, I figured that was who had the gift. When Jax saw you, I sensed your power.”

  “But you could not hear me?”

  “No. You block too well. I sensed you were there, heard your conversations with Jax and Khai through their thoughts, but I could not hear your thoughts directly.”

  Vrell thought about the newly gifted man. “There is one voice, a new one whom Jax, Khai, and I heard on our journey here. His thoughts blast into my mind, even though my guard is up.”

  “Yes.” Master Hadar’s eyes sparkled. “The boy. Achan. I’ve been seeking him.”

  Achan. He hadn’t sounded like a mere boy to Vrell. “Why do you seek him?”

  “His strength would be of great use.”

  Vrell tilted her head. “Why do you think him a boy?”

  “Clues. You heard all the voices?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. But I listen to what they said. Some referred to him as a boy. These were likely the thoughts of regular men who were near him at the time. He was transferring their thoughts for all bloodvoicers to hear without realizing it. It’s like the reverse of jumping. Very hard to do.”

  Vrell glanced at the ring. How strange that thoughts could be sent so easily, yet she could not contact Mother. Had she been away from Mother too long to reach her? She had none of her mother’s belongings in her possession. Would that help if she did? Would a possession keep others from listening in? “How could I call out to you, Master, without Jax or Khai or someone else hearing me—sensing me?”

  “That’s called messaging. I’ll teach it to you soon enough. It will be important for you to be my eyes in places an old man is not able to go.”

  Vrell wondered what sorts of places Master Hadar had in mind. Did he intend to make her into a spy?

  Someone tapped on the door.

  Master Hadar called out, “Enter.”

  Carlani inched his way inside. Mags, the thin, red-haired servant girl, walked with him, her steps fidgety, her expression tense. Vrell jumped up and took the tray from her hands. She must have had a very long and frustrating walk beside Carlani. Mags’s eyes fluttered over Vrell. She smiled, then left the room. Vrell set the tray on the table before Master Hadar. Carlani hobbled to a sideboard in the far corner that held a water pitcher and mugs.

  Vrell turned to Master Hadar. “How can I speak to Carlani? To send him a message?”

  Master Hadar dug into his bowl of gruel, sloppily putting some to his lips. “You can’t. Carlani does not have the gift. But you can influence him.”

  Vrell narrowed her eyes.

  Master Hadar’s thin mouth twisted into a sinister smile, globs of gruel showing between his lips. He slurped. “These are things I’ll teach you over time. Things some consider…immoral.”

  Vrell shivered in the hot room, not liking the sound of that.

  15

  Lord Nathak canceled the prince’s sparring practice due to his injury. Even though it was not for his benefit, Achan was grateful. He wore his Kingsguard uniform anyway and carried Eagan’s Elk at his side. He didn’t want to be caught off-guard and without a weapon, nor could he simply leave a priceless sword lying around.

  He spent the morning peeling potatoes under Poril’s mournful eye and planning his escape to Tsaftown. Deserting the prince was punishable by death, but death was just what Gidon had in mind for him, so he may as well get away while he was still whole.

  Chora had informed Poril that Achan would be traveling to Mahanaim. Poril moped around the kitchens, suddenly unable to do anything without Achan’s assistance. The old man still stood sentry until Achan drank his tonic. Achan wanted to heed Sir Gavin’s warning not to drink it, but he didn’t want to start a war with Poril on their last day together.

  Achan was melancholy but couldn’t fathom where the feeling came from. He shook off thoughts of Poril and focused on the potatoes. His dreams of leaving were going to come true at last, but not how he’d hoped. Tonight he’d flee Sitna a fugitive rather than a free man. And Gren would not be coming along.

  Gren.

  She refused to run away. Achan wasn’t surprised. She loved her family and home. Still, he felt like she had chosen Riga over him. Could Achan simply leave her here? Maybe he could come back to make sure that Riga was treating her well. The thought of Riga quickened his knife, and soon all the potatoes were peeled and chopped.

  A page raced into the kitchen. “Master Poril, sir.” The boy paused to catch his breath. “Prince Gidon requires the stray’s presence immediately.”

  The stray’s presence.

  Achan slid off his stool and stormed outside. He would face this tyrant for the last time. Prince Gidon was nothing but a glorified Riga or Harnu. Achan’s back still smarted as he bounded up to the sixth floor, boots stomping all the way.

  Chora hushed him at the door, then let him through. “Master Cham, Your Highness.”

  Achan strode into Prince Gidon’s solar. The prince stood on the balcony, arms propped on the railing, hip jutting out to the left. H
e wore a deep maroon doublet and brown leather trousers bound below the knees with gold garters. Achan started toward him, but someone cleared his throat. Achan turned to see Lord Nathak at a desk in the corner of the room reading a scroll.

  Lord Nathak tossed the scroll aside and looked at Achan. The ties of his mask had come undone under his chin, letting the mask gape slightly. Achan caught a glimpse of the ruined flesh. “You are ready to leave in the morning?”

  Achan stiffened. He’d be leaving before then, but he couldn’t reveal that here. “Yes, my lord.”

  “I will not be coming with you. I will follow behind with the nobility.”

  Achan knew all this already. Prince Gidon’s procession would ride out first, accompanied by the knights and squires. Lord Nathak would follow at a slower pace with the lords and ladies and their children who were going south. Some of those would attend the Council vote in Mahanaim, but many—including Lady Tara, Achan had discovered—were going home until the actual coronation that would commence in the fall.

  “I’m counting on you to serve his every need, as his attendants are not used to travel.”

  Achan fought to keep his face passive. He’d never spent time as a personal servant and had no intention of starting now. Come morning, he would be deep in the SiderosForest on his way to Mitspah.

  Lord Nathak went on. “Chora will be with him, as will Sir Kenton, but should anything happen, are you prepared for battle?”

  Battle? Achan blinked. “Yes, my lord.” But he wasn’t. Not really. Who would be insane enough to attack a procession of Kingsguard knights? Achan searched his memory. Had Sir Gavin ever mentioned anyone who might want to kill the prince? Hundreds of people, probably, but Achan couldn’t remember anyone specific.

  “Try not to make him angry and you should live until I get to Mahanaim.”

  Why was Lord Nathak telling him this? Achan sought the man’s feelings but found only a chill in the air, as if Lord Nathak himself were the source of the cold. How did he do that?

  “Well? Your prince is waiting.”

  Achan walked out to the balcony and the heat of the late morning warmed him. What a magnificent view the prince had. To his right, Achan could see where the SitnaRiver met the ocean. Straight ahead the multi-colored tents on the tournament field were being dismantled. To the west, he could just barely see the dark ridge that was the Chowmah Mountain Range. “You wanted to see me, Your Highness?”