By Darkness Hid

by Jill Williamson

  A ping thronged in Vrell’s temples. Sir Gavin Lukos.

  She opened to him.

  Sir Gavin’s voice boomed, Grab on.

  The knotted end of the rope fell into her lap. She carefully tucked the knot between her legs so she could sit on it like a rope swing. Achan and Khai were still arguing when Vrell’s body lifted silently off the dock. She twisted slightly and planted her feet to keep herself steady as long as possible. It was hard to hold on with her wrists bound.

  Are you secure? Sir Gavin asked.

  Yes, sir.

  The rope suddenly jerked up two feet, then another two. Vrell’s feet left the dock and she twisted, banging against the stone wall of the building. She tried to keep herself from spinning, but only managed to swing from side to side—over the dock, over the canal, over the dock, over the canal.

  “Master!” Khai yelled, turning. “The boy!”

  Vrell prayed Sir Gavin would pull quicker. She was no higher than Achan’s head. Khai’s boots thudded across the dock. Achan ran at his heels.

  A flaming arrow shot out of the darkness and thunked into Master Hadar’s boat. On the roof of the building diagonally across the intersecting canals, the grey-skinned man ran down a flight of stairs, a bow looped over one arm.

  Master Hadar yelled, “Put out the fire!”

  Jax crouched over the side of the dock and splashed water onto the boat, but the flame only increased. Khai threaded his way around Jax and drew his sword, narrow eyes on Vrell above him.

  Achan kicked him in the rear. Khai spun around, sword ready, and Achan hit the dock on his belly. The weasel turned back and swung at Vrell instead.

  The sword cut the rope and Vrell fell.

  Her hip scraped on the dock, and she splashed into the canal. She writhed in the tepid water, but with her wrists and ankles bound, she could not swim. Mother!

  Vrell?

  Mother! Mother, I’m drowning!

  A hand gripped her arm and pulled.

  Averella! What’s happening?

  Khai’s voice boomed in her consciousness. Averella? That’s a woman’s name!

  No! She drew her mind closed and jerked back, but it was too late. Khai’s grip on her arm remained firm. He groped along her undergarment for confirmation. She thrashed, kicked, and tried to bang her head into his, but he was too strong. She needed air. If she could push off the bottom, perhaps she could surface for a breath.

  Something crashed against her back. A hand clawed and pounded at Khai until his hold vanished. A strong arm closed around Vrell’s waist and she was hoisted up. She choked, sucking in a gulp of thick, tepid, water that tasted like mud.

  Her head burst through the surface. She gasped and sputtered until her throat stung.

  Everything was in shadow. She and her rescuer were under the dock. She looked at who held her. It was Achan. He held the back of her tunic in one hand, swimming silently. His hair was matted to his scalp like black syrup. A glob of green slime clung to his cheek. He put one finger to his lips.

  “Khai!” she heard Master Hadar call from the planks above. “Khai!”

  “He’s there,” Jax said.

  Vrell turned in the water until she spotted Khai surface in the middle of the canal. Had he already bloodvoiced her gender to Jax and Master Hadar? How had he heard her words to Mother?

  Achan reached up and grabbed onto a wooden beam. “Sparrow,” he whispered. “Loop your arms over my neck.”

  Vrell nodded and lifted her bound wrists out of the water. A thick glob of scum dripped off her right elbow with a loud plop. She shuddered and, through an open knot in the wooden dock, met Jax’s eyes.

  She tensed, a wave of fire shooting through every nerve. Her ears tingled and she let him in.

  Be safe, Vrell, Jax bloodvoiced.

  She shuddered a sigh. Thank you, Jax.

  Vrell looped her wrists over Achan’s neck, and he twisted around until she hung off him like a backpack. One arm at a time, Achan pulled them along the beam under the dock, down the narrow canal, and away from Master Hadar and Jax and Khai.

  A boat waited around the corner of the next intersecting canals. Sir Gavin Whitewolf and the grey-skinned man sat inside it. Sir Gavin’s hair and beard were long and white. Inko’s grey skin marked him as being of Otherling descent. The men pulled Vrell into the boat and sat her in the center.

  Was she truly free? Free of Master Hadar and Lord Nathak and cruel Khai? She felt like weeping for joy.

  Sir Gavin and the grey-skinned man hoisted Achan aboard next. Achan sat beside Vrell. Water ran off their clothing and pooled at their feet.

  “Thank you, Inko,” Achan said.

  The grey-skinned man nodded from the back of the boat. He picked up the oar and rowed away with more precision and speed than Jax ever had.

  Achan wiped the gunk from his face and spit into the canal. “That water’s vile.”

  Vrell smiled and thanked Arman for her rescue. Achan untied her wrists. Her wet clothing clung to her and she shivered.

  Sir Gavin sat in the bow. He turned to look at Vrell. “We need to get Achan’s sword, Vrell. We will not have time later. Can you help us?”

  Go back? Vrell had no desire to set foot in the Mahanaim stronghold again, especially now that Khai knew her identity. But she could not very well tell her rescuers no. “Um, there are two guards at the dungeon gate. One holds the key to the strongbox.”

  Inko steered the boat through the canals. Vrell untied her ankles, glad to have the use of her limbs again. The craft sailed toward a decaying yellowstone building too fast for Vrell’s comfort. They were aimed for a hole in the stone wall that didn’t quite look big enough to fit though.

  “Watch your heads.” Sir Gavin put out a hand and helped guide the boat through the opening.

  Darkness swept over them as they entered the building. Vrell blinked to adjust her eyes, but there was no light. What if they crashed?

  As if in answer to her fears, a torch whooshed to flame in the bow of the boat. It cast an orange glow over Sir Gavin’s head. Inko paddled though a series of openings in stone walls. They were going under the buildings.

  “Is this the way you took me out?” Achan asked.

  “It is,” Inko said.

  The boat entered a cavern. Legions of dripstones hung from the ceiling, but they did not rain perspiration as they had in the Xulon hot springs. Vrell thought of Peripaso’s underground home. Oh, to be there instead of heading back toward the place where people knew her secret!

  Inko stopped the boat at a stone ledge. They climbed out and Sir Gavin led the way through a gaping crack in the cavern wall.

  The smell of minerals was strong as Vrell zigzagged with the men through dark tunnels lit only by Sir Gavin’s torch. They climbed a crude staircase that had been chiseled out of the rock. At the top, the stone closed in so that Vrell’s shoulders brushed each side. The men, with their broad shoulders, had to walk sideways.

  Sir Gavin stopped and wedged his torch in a crack in the rock wall. “We’ll leave this here,” he whispered.

  Vrell followed the men away from the light. Blackness surrounded them again, and Vrell bumped into Achan’s back. The men had stopped. A dull orange glow filled a narrow slit between two rocks. Vrell peered through the opening into a corridor and saw that this tunnel had brought her to a place between the first and second dungeon levels. There had been a way to escape.

  “Gavin and I will be getting the sword,” Inko said in his strange accent. “Be waiting here.”

  Sir Gavin and Inko slipped out into the corridor.

  Vrell wrung her hands together. She could only see a sliver of Achan’s face in the dim light penetrating the crack. “Why do they want to get your sword so badly?”

  The one eye of his that was visible flicked to hers. “Don’t really know. Sir Gavin gave it to me. Said it belonged to a friend.”

  It must have special meaning then, for Sir Gavin to come back for it.

  Achan’s gaze was intens
e. “What did the letter say?”

  A sudden warmth washed over Vrell at the thought of Achan’s letter. Maybe he wanted to make peace. He had gone to great lengths to rescue her, after all. Should she apologize? Perhaps Achan hadn’t read it because he could not read. Typical then, that he’d thrown the letter out before asking for help. Men were stubborn about such things. “You never read it?”

  His voice sounded strained. “I meant to, but I didn’t want Gidon to catch me.”

  Vrell loved how Achan called the prince Gidon, like he was no better than anyone else. “I cannot remember it word for word, but—”

  “She can’t spell.”

  “I noticed.”

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Tell me.”

  Vrell was glad for the dark. The whole thing was desperately awkward. “Well, she said you were her true Kingsguard knight. She wanted you to run away from the prince. She wanted to marry you and not…Riga, was it? She loves you.”

  He blew out a sigh. “Figured it was something like that.”

  “Why did you throw it away?”

  His feet shuffled. “Because it didn’t matter what she wrote. It changes nothing.”

  Vrell’s stomach tightened. “How can you say that? It must have broken her heart to write those words. You should have cherished it.”

  He scoffed. “So I can read it again and again, dragging myself through the memories? That would be torture. Sparrow, you should have been born a woman.”

  Vrell bit her lip, then shoved Achan, figuring that was what a boy would do when called a woman. She chose her next words carefully. “What’s wrong with remembering?”

  “It hurts, that’s what. And I want to forget. That’s why I tossed it.”

  “Could you go back for her?”

  His tone grew sharp. “I thought you said you read it. Look. I was just curious. I don’t want to discuss this. Ever again. She married someone else. End of story.”

  “Well,” Vrell said, feeling irked, “it is a terrible story.”

  Achan sighed bitterly. “Welcome to my life. Seriously, is there somewhere we can drop you off? Because I attract trouble. You do know achan means ‘trouble’ in the ancient tongue? That’s me in a nutshell. The gods—or God, if you must—never let up with the trouble in my life. Something big and bad is probably about to happen any moment. Just you wait.”

  But nothing happened. After another ten minutes Sir Gavin and Inko returned with Achan’s sword. They went back to the boat, and Inko paddled them through the darkness to a different yellowstone building, five floors high.

  They went to a room on the third floor. The small space was the same one Vrell had seen through Achan’s mind when he had been taken.

  The shaggy kidnapper who had broken Achan out of the dungeon was waiting for them, a pile of clothing heaped on the bed beside him. His nose wrinkled. “What happened? Did you swim in the canal?”

  “We’ve no time, Caleb,” Sir Gavin said. “The Council of Seven convenes in an hour to decide Prince Gidon’s fate. We need to be there and be presentable, especially Achan.”

  Achan’s eyebrows sank. “Why me?”

  No one answered. The shaggy Sir Caleb grumbled under his breath and dug through the clothing. He tossed a blue bundle to Vrell. She caught it and stood awkwardly hugging the garments to her chest. Sir Caleb steered Achan before the fireplace and unlaced his doublet. Inko poured water from a kettle into a basin.

  Sir Caleb peeled Achan’s doublet over his shoulders and tossed the soppy doeskin in the corner. Then he jerked Achan’s shirt up his chest. “Arms up, make it quick.”

  Achan groaned and lifted his arms.

  Vrell swallowed. Would they unclothe him fully? Worse, was someone going to help her change too? “Is there a privy? I need to—”

  “You will be finding it on the left down the corridor,” Inko said. “Be knocking seven times to be coming back inside here.”

  Vrell fled. She found the privy straight away. The smell struck her like a slap to the face. Nothing inside but a jagged hole cut in a wooden ledge. Vrell took a deep breath and stepped inside. The room was so small she whacked her hand on the wall as she turned. There was no water basin.

  She peeled off her black leggings and grey tunic and dropped them down the hole. Good riddance. She loosened her undergarment and let herself breathe a moment. The smell of mildew and body odor of her undergarment rose over the stench of the privy. Where would she clean it now? Would she smell like the Mahanaim canals until she was safely home? Would she ever get home, now that someone knew her secret?

  Home. Mother. Vrell sat over the hole and closed her eyes. She thought of home, the vineyards, the manor, her mother’s auburn hair. Weeping, she sent a knock. Mother?

  Mother’s fearful voice came strong. My darling, are you all right?

  Tears poured down Vrell’s cheeks as she told her mother all that had happened.

  I cannot understand how he overheard me. No one has overheard me all this time. Why him? Why now?

  You were panicked and he was touching you. Both are reason enough for a trained man to break though someone’s defenses.

  What now, Mother? We are going back to the Council. Sir Gavin plans something. I do not want to go back.

  Yet it is the only way for you to locate Sir Rigil or Prince Oren. Averella, you must. Stay by Sir Gavin’s side, and no harm will come to you, I am sure. He is a good man. But do not reveal your true self until you hear from me. Stay with Sir Gavin and away from Macoun Hadar.

  But Mother, the Council is convening and you are not here? What has happened?

  In his latest attempt to win my hand, Lord Nathak has destroyed most of our wells and cut off our route to the SiderosRiver. We are making do with help from the north, but I did not dare travel now. He has posted sentries around the perimeter of the manor. Anillo has my proxy. All should be well.

  Vrell processed this. Lord Nathak was a horrible fool. Did he truly think he could imprison and blackmail Mother into his good favor? Or do so by Vrell’s marriage to the prince? Will this never end, Mother? Is there no one who will help us?

  Arman will help us, dearest.

  This is the last place I’d ever thought I’d be. In the room when they vote for Prince Gidon to be king. What if I am discovered? Khai could have told the whole stronghold by now. What if the prince should still claim me?

  Stay close to Sir Gavin. I will watch through you. Do not try to speak to me or see me, for someone may be watching you and my connection could make you weak. Keep your wits about—

  Vrell waited a moment. Mother? She sensed no connection, so she concentrated and called out again. Mother?

  The privy’s stink suddenly seemed overwhelming. She coughed and tucked her nose into her elbow. Mother!

  Vrell prayed and prayed and called for her mother again and again, but there was no answer. Had something happened? Vrell didn’t want to fret unnecessarily, but Mother had said that Lord Nathak’s men were all around the stronghold. What if they had done something to Mother?

  Through heavy tears, Vrell changed into the blue tunic and black trousers Sir Caleb had provided, both of which were far too big for her. She tucked the pant legs into her wet boots and cinched the rope belt tight around her waist. She hoped she had taken long enough that the men would be properly clothed. They would just have to deal with the canal water smell that clung to her corset and hair. She would not be having a bath in their presence.

  Sure enough, when Inko opened the door, she found Achan cleanshaven and dressed for court. Her stomach somersaulted at the sight. They had dressed him in a blue shirt as deep as Lady Fallina’s cobalt gown. A black leather doublet fit snugly around his torso. He wore his sword with the beautiful crossguard, black trousers, and a pair of shiny black boots. His hair was wet and shaggy around his face. Clearly they were not finished.

  Still…

  “You, uh, look nice,” Vrell said. She couldn’t help but notice that they matched. She was dressed as A
chan’s page.

  Achan scowled. “I smell like rosewater.”

  “No.” Sir Caleb tugged a comb through Achan’s hair. “You smell like canal water, despite my best efforts. I didn’t know I’d need to prepare a bath.”

  “Sparrow’s sorry for falling into the canal. Aren’t you, Sparrow?” Achan grinned, then grimaced as Sir Caleb tugged a knot out of his hair. “Must you do that? Am I going to tournament?”

  “Worse. You’re going before the Council.”

  Sir Gavin and Inko sat down at a small table on the opposite side of the room. Vrell stood by the door, unsure what to do.

  “But why take me to the Council?” Achan asked. “They want to kill me, remember? Why rescue me only to take me back?”

  “He’s such a whining squire, Gavin,” Sir Caleb said, yanking the comb through another tangle. “How ever did you put up with him?”

  “It’s time.” Sir Gavin stood. “Finish his hair in the boat.” He glanced at Vrell appraisingly. “Good enough. Let’s go.”

  They traipsed back down to the dory. Vrell sat on the center bench beside Achan, her heart stampeding in her chest. Sir Gavin sat in the front. Sir Caleb sat in the back with Inko, who paddled the boat from the yellowstone building down wider, more-traveled canals, heading toward the front entrance of the Mahanaim stronghold. Sir Caleb braided Achan’s hair into a tail as they drew near.

  Inko rowed until they came to the northern curtain wall. Then, instead of entering there, he turned left and paddled along the wall. Suddenly, bright, warm sunlight washed over them. Vrell shielded her eyes and twisted around to see the Evenwall mist fading away. The air was still muggy, but a warm breeze tightened the pores on her face. Judging from the position of the sun, she determined it to be near lunchtime.

  Vrell studied Achan, seeing him for the first time in full daylight. When she’d first met his eyes in the Evenwall, she’d thought they were grey. But the mist, and later the dungeons, had made everything dim. Here in the morning sun, she saw that his eyes were the brightest blue she had ever seen. He was clearly of kinsman descent. Looking at him in such light, there was something almost familiar about him.

  They turned at the gatehouse entrance and glided under the open portcullis. Dozens of empty boats lined the edges of the canal along the same stone ledge where Jax had first brought Vrell, only today they were coming from the opposite direction. Many had come to Council today. For locals, the vote for Prince Gidon was something not to miss. Goose pimples freckled Vrell’s arms, and she sucked in a deep breath of humid air. She did not want to be here.