By Darkness Hid

by Jill Williamson

  Prince Gidon stopped behind it and paced, arms crossed. He turned to Achan. “The thing is, stray, it’s all a little too convenient, don’t you think?”

  “What is, Your Highness?”

  “The whole—”

  “It’s His Royal Highness!” a guard yelled from the sentry walk.

  “On foot?”

  As the wagon rolled forward, Achan feigned interest in a fresh patch of mason work on the brownstone walls.

  The prince cleared his throat and held a hand out in front. “Lead the way, stray.”

  “Where, Your Highness?”

  “To the married woman’s new home. I’d like to see where Riga Hoff lives.”

  “I don’t know where they live.”

  Prince Gidon’s eyes went wild. “Then let’s find out. Lead the way to her old cottage, and we shall ask her father.”

  Achan blew out a deep breath and trudged to the Fenny home. It was very early and the outer bailey wasn’t crowded, but whenever someone recognized the prince, they fell to their knees, head bowed. Achan reached the Fenny’s cottage. He knocked on the door and stepped back.

  The door opened a crack. “Achan! Is something wrong?” Gren’s mother pulled the door in, but before she could step out, the prince pushed past her into the house. She squeaked and knelt in the doorway. “Your Highness! To what do I own such an honor?”

  “You have a daughter, woman?” Prince Gidon’s voice came from the back bedroom. He moved from one room to the next, searching. “Who sleeps in these rooms?”

  Still on her knees, Gren’s mother said, “I…my husband… He’s gone to fetch water for the wash. I’d do it, but I sprained my wrist.”

  Achan took her elbow and helped her to her feet. “It’ll be all right. Tell him.”

  She gulped and said, “M-My husband and I are on the left, and the other room belonged to my daughter, G-Grendolyn.”

  “Where is this Grendolyn?”

  “She lives with her husband now.”

  “Show me.”

  “Certainly, Your Majesty.” Gren’s mother bowed and scurried from the house.

  Achan waited for Prince Gidon to pass before closing the door behind him. Gren’s mother led them though the maze of tiny thatched cottages to a fresh one crammed against the northern parapet wall. Sawdust peppered the dirt around the entrance. Instead of the wooden shutters that covered most cottage windows, sheets of undyed wool were nailed over the openings. The sound of maidens singing rose softly from inside.

  Achan’s stomach muscles tightened. He didn’t want to go in and witness the celebration that was not yet over.

  Gren’s mother pushed the door in softly.

  The prince grabbed Achan by the back of the neck and shoved him inside. The singing stopped. Candles flickered along the walls and floor, incense burned, and the pale faces of Gren’s four maiden friends stared in shock from where they sat at the table.

  “It’s him,” one of the girls said.

  “What’s he going to do?” said another.

  This cottage looked just like all the others. It had a table and fireplace in the front room and a hallway leading to the bedrooms. The only difference was that it encompassed everything Achan could never have. He did not want to be here. He did not want this thrown in his face.

  A third maiden squeaked. “It’s the prince!”

  The girls jumped from their chairs and knelt on the floor. Prince Gidon ignored them and scanned the room.

  Harnu stood in the hallway before a closed door to one of the bedrooms. According to wedding night ritual, the best man must guard the happy couple from intruders. Harnu’s face paled so quickly it almost made Achan laugh. Which would he honor: his duty to the groom or his duty to the prince?

  The prince pushed him aside. He found the door locked and pounded on it. “Open up for Prince Gidon.”

  Achan wondered how often the prince had to announce himself.

  Riga opened the door in his nightshirt. He flushed like a maid and awkwardly lowered his bulky form to his knees in the bedchamber doorway. The sight of Riga, the louse who stole Gren from him, shot fire through Achan’s veins.

  The prince stepped over Riga. He caught his jewel-encrusted boot on Riga’s sleeve and tripped. Achan smirked—until he heard Gren’s small scream.

  Riga clambered to his feet just as Achan reached the door. The two crashed into each other. Achan clenched his fists and let Riga go first.

  He followed him inside, and found Gren on her knees in a long white nightgown. Prince Gidon towered above, one hand clutching her hair in his fist, the other hand perched on his hip. Riga paced at the foot of the bed like a scared bulldog, until the prince dropped Gren and rounded on him. Riga cowered.

  “This cottage is unfinished,” Prince Gidon said.

  Gren’s mother, gods bless her, was in rare form. She moved toward the prince. “They were so in love, Your Highness, that they couldn’t wait for the house to be finished.”

  The prince forced a smile. “When was the happy day?”

  No one spoke or met Prince Gidon’s eyes. It was obvious the wedding guests were still here. Achan looked from Gren to Riga to Gren’s mother.

  Riga finally said, “Yesterday, Your Majesty.”

  Prince Gidon turned to Achan and raised a dark eyebrow. “I see.” The prince looked down his nose at Gren and strode from the room, banging the front door closed behind him.

  Achan shuddered and stepped toward the entrance.

  “Achan, wait!” Gren hopped to her feet and gripped him in a hug, reminiscent of her mother’s from that morning. Her hair smelled like orange blossoms, but her eyes were bloodshot. He gritted his teeth, not wanting to do or say anything that might get Gren in trouble. He wanted to carry her away from here. He wanted to kill Riga and take his place. He didn’t like the way he felt like he was losing control.

  “Thank you, Achan,” Gren said.

  He could only nod.

  Gren released him. Her mother kissed both his cheeks. Then Riga opened the door and gave him to Harnu, who towed him out the front door and slammed it in his face.

  Some gratitude.

  Wanting to get as far away as possible, Achan ran through the maze of cottages, out the drawbridge, and toward the procession. He caught sight of the prince a few yards ahead and hung back.

  But Prince Gidon rounded on him. “You think me a fool, stray? I know you did this. Stay close to me on this journey. If I even think you’ve deserted me, that ‘happy couple’ will be dead before you can bother to explain.”

  The prince stomped to his litter, which was now harnessed to two horses, one in front and one in back. He climbed inside and whipped the curtains closed. His jerky movements upset the animals, and Noam and two guards did their best the calm them.

  Achan stood simmering in the morning sun. It was simple then. As long as he endured Gidon’s wrath, Gren would be safe. So be it. He’d never have been free anyway. He might be leaving Sitna, but his life really wasn’t changing. He was still a stray—only now his master would be a king instead of a cook. He didn’t imagine things could get much worse. He looped the drawstring of Poril’s bag of food over one shoulder and waited.

  A cloud of dust billowed into the air at the front of the line. The caravan was moving. It took over ten minutes before the litter was able to move. Achan gave Noam one last wave and trudged along beside it. He didn’t look back again.

  16

  Vrell reported to her master’s chamber, only to find the dull, grey room empty. The only color in the room came from the sun shining though the windows on the eastern wall across from the chamber’s entrance. Master Hadar’s bed sat against the northern wall. The southern wall held a huge fireplace near the entrance, and a sideboard and shelves near the window wall. An alcove jutted out in the center of the southern wall, where an oak desk sat cluttered with scrolls.

  She helped herself to a mug of water from the sideboard in the corner, then inched toward the fireplace, sipping
her drink and taking everything in as she went. Halfway to the fireplace, she paused at her master’s oak desk. A small stack of scrolls lay piled on one side. A bottle of ink with a quill poking out sat beside a sheet of parchment in the center of the desk. The letter had likely been left out to dry. The quill was plain. A gull’s feather, perhaps. Mother always used a lovely peacock quill when she corresponded with—

  The name on the top of the letter caught her eye: Sir Luas Nathak, Lord of Sitna. A chill raked her body. Lord Nathak? That man had pined for her mother’s hand for years following Father’s death. Vrell hated men who sought a wife when they already had one. It was the deepest form of cruelty and selfishness. Worse was the fact that Lord Nathak only wanted control of Carm. Apparently, he had advised his ward, Prince Gidon, to accomplish what he could not.

  Lord Nathak’s eerie mask and disfigurement did not help his reputation. Nor did his behavior since her mother’s refusal. He had used threats to try to get his way. He had even resorted to force once, but Mother’s guards had been quick and thorough.

  In Vrell’s mind, the man was pure evil. And his ward was worse. She walked around to the other side of the desk to read the letter.

  My Good Sir Luas,

  Thank you for accepting my invitation to meet. I look forward to your coming visit.

  Macoun Hadar

  Vrell frowned and glanced at the stack of scrolls. Why did her master want to meet with Lord Nathak? She closed her eyes but sensed no sign of Master Hadar’s cold-walled mind. So she set down her cup and reached for the scroll on the top of the stack. She unrolled it and read.

  Master Hadar,

  I will be travelling in the second party, sending our king ahead with his attendants and knights. Watch over him as he prepares to meet with the Council. All is going according to plan.

  Luas

  Plan? What could these two men be plotting with Prince Gidon? Vrell shivered. The prince was coming to Mahanaim? Did that mean his coming-of-age celebration was at an end? Had he chosen a bride?

  She lifted another scroll, but a coldness pressed in on her mind. Master Hadar was near. She quickly returned everything to its original position and hurried to the center window. The warmth of the sun, and the drink now back in her hand, calmed her thumping heart as the door squeaked open. She turned to see Carlani scooting inside.

  “The master requires your presence.”

  Vrell set her mug on the sideboard and joined Carlani at the door. “Where is he?”

  Carlani nodded across the antechamber to the second door, the one that led to the empty stone chamber. Vrell’s lips parted. What would her master be doing in such a cold and empty room? He’d been so near while she’d read his letters?

  Carlani inched his way across the antechamber, knocked twice on the door, and pushed it open. He raised his hand, urging Vrell to enter first. As she swept past, he whispered, “I’m not allowed to enter this room.”

  Carlani closed the door behind her, and Vrell fought the chill that tickled her spine. She turned to see Master Hadar sitting on a small stool, eyes closed. The room was empty, like a dungeon cell, but cleaner and without a cot or privy bucket.

  A second stool sat empty beside Master Hadar. A lantern on the floor by his feet splashed golden flecks of light over his dark robes. She watched, fidgeting with the hem of her satin tunic. With the exception of his steadily rising and falling chest, and the occasional flicker of his eyelids, he remained motionless.

  Vrell swallowed and began the mundane task of counting the bricks along the outer wall. She counted to sixty-three before her master spoke.

  “This is my quiet room.” He motioned to the stool beside him. “Bloodvoicing is best done in a room like this. No distractions.”

  Vrell sat on the squat stool, its lowness and her short height put her shoulder at Master Hadar’s elbow. Something red glistened between his gnarled fingers: a ruby cabochon belt buckle. A jewel that exorbitant could only belong to royalty. She pointed at it. “Whose is that?”

  Macoun opened his palm, displaying the cabochon under Vrell’s nose. “This belongs to Prince Gidon Hadar.”

  Vrell shuddered. “Surely His Royal Highness would miss such a jewel?”

  “On the contrary, boy. Prince Gidon has more jewels than he can keep track of, especially red ones. Besides, Lord Nathak of Sitna sent this to me. He’s the young prince’s caretaker. Do you know the story of how this came to be?”

  “Aye.” Vrell couldn’t imagine a soul in Er’Rets who did not. Though she despised Prince Gidon she wouldn’t wish that kind of sorrow on anyone. Vrell herself had lost one parent, but to lose both at such a young age, without having known either…so sad. Even more so to be raised by such a horrible man. It explained a great deal about Prince Gidon’s callous reputation. Having those two in charge did not bode well for the future of Er’Rets.

  “Lord Nathak depends upon my gift to look over the prince,” Master Hadar said. “It helps to have another set of eyes when rumors of assassination blow like the wind.”

  If the prince wanted fewer enemies, he should try being more kind. Once he took the throne, the attempts on his life would no doubt increase. With a scepter in his hand, Prince Gidon would dole out one horrifying order after another. Vrell hoped to be safe at home by then.

  Master Hadar nudged her shoulder and held out the cabochon. “Take it.”

  Vrell opened her hand, and her master dropped the heavy, smooth stone. She fingered it. It was lovely. An oval ruby set in engraved gold. So much artistry and money to hold up the prince’s trousers. What a waste.

  “Seek him.”

  Vrell’s jaw dropped. She looked up at her master with wide eyes. “Seek the prince’s mind? Surely that cannot be acceptable?”

  “For a prince to be truly protected, much privacy is sacrificed. Trust me, this man cares not what anyone thinks of his actions. He won’t feel violated. He won’t even know. Besides, you might fail. This is a difficult task, seeking one you’ve never met. Concentrate.”

  Vrell swallowed the truth, hoping it did not show on her face. She had met the prince before, more times than she liked. She sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  She sought his narrow face, his dark hair…and something rattled. A heaviness closed in on her mind. Grass, horses, and the faint smell of lavender gripped her senses. A purring rose around her, spasmodic—snoring. A light breeze rippled red curtains around the sleeping prince. Muted voices…laughter…the clomping of hooves along dirt.

  Like a feather caught in a gust of wind, Vrell whipped out of the curtains and floated into a soldier’s mind. Everyone around this young man rode a horse, yet he trudged along on foot in a cloud of dust, caked from head to toe. His cape was tossed up over his shoulders, covering his nose and mouth to keep from breathing the filthy air. His cheap boots hurt his feet. His heart overflowed with grief. He did not want to be here. He hated Prince Gidon.

  What is your name? Vrell asked him.

  The soldier tensed and drew up his walls, spitting Vrell out.

  She flew into the air and into a black cloud. Her head nodded forward with a jerk, and she opened her eyes. She gasped, shocked at the fatigue gripping her bones. She looked up to find Master Hadar looking down on her hungrily.

  “Well?”

  “He travels, asleep in his litter.” She held the stone out to her master, anxious to be rid of this draining connection with Prince Gidon and his soldier.

  Master Hadar’s jowls gathered into a devious smile as he accepted the stone. “Excellent! How quickly you succeeded. Delightful, the vigor of youth.” He reached under his stool and pulled out a straw basket filled with small items. He tossed the cabochon in as if it were a mere pebble. “You’ll practice with these. Try another. Tell me what you see. Take your time. We have all day.”

  Wary of taxing herself further, Vrell accepted the basket and studied the objects inside, careful not to touch any. There were dozens of swatches of cloth, a few ribbons, a turquoi
se bracelet, several brooches. Had these things all been pilfered from their owners? Would she have to resort to thievery to become proficient in bloodvoicing? And what about her energy? How would she last all day if one look at Prince Gidon drained her so? Or had it been his soldier who had drained her?

  A lock of auburn hair in the basket caught her eye. She dug it out from under a swatch of leather, consumed by the color and curl. She lifted it to her nose, but it only smelled of the straw and metal surrounding it.

  “A romantic, are you?” Master Hadar raised the skin above his eye where an eyebrow should be. “Go on then.”

  Vrell closed her eyes, gripped the silky hair, and thought of its russet color.

  A familiar laugh grew in her mind. The subtle scent of grape blossoms brought a gasp to her lips. It was Mother!

  A warm breeze flittered across her mother’s face, blowing her auburn hair about. Honeybees buzzed around her. Someone held her arm. A friend.

  It’s been a warm spring, Mother said. We’ve had an incredible crop. Lost nothing so far. But once the grapes set, we’ll have to put out bird nets.

  Lady Coraline’s voice came loud, as though spoken in Vrell’s ear. Bird nets?

  To keep them from eating the grapes, Mother said. Orioles and cardinals are the worst. I cannot blame them—the grapes are very sweet. Everything will have to be netted.

  Is that difficult?

  Yes. It takes the workers several weeks to cover all the crops.

  The smell is enchanting. All these years, and I still haven’t gotten used to the fishy smell of—

  The sun blazed overhead. Vrell was not with her mother anymore. She was back with Prince Gidon’s caravan. And the young soldier. He tossed his cape up over his shoulders again to let his skin breathe. He wore far too many layers for such a journey on foot. His linen shirt clung to his chest with sweat.

  Why had he pulled her away from Mother? What do you want? she asked the him.

  The soldier tensed, but this time he spoke back. What do I want? It’s you who are in my head. I didn’t invite you.

  Yes, you did. Stop pulling me here.

  Vrell tried to leave, to focus again on Mother and Lady Coraline, but she hit something hard. Her eyes flashed open and she wheezed.