“Then we should elect you, Prince Oren?” Duke Hamartano said. Achan recognized Silvo’s father—he looked like an older version of his sons. His black hair was slicked back over his olive skin and was tied back in a tail.
“Not I,” Prince Oren said. “Our true king sits in the courtroom. He is a good, strong young man who only needs a bit of instruction.”
Achan wanted to believe that about himself, but his doubt was stronger than his desire.
Lord Nathak banged a fist on the table. “Esek has been trained to rule his whole life. The stray knows nothing of being king.”
“He is not a stray,” Prince Oren said. “And I myself shall train the boy to rule rightly. Chairman Levy, why is Lord Nathak even here? His deceit should have banned him from this debate.”
“I concur,” Duke Pitney said.
“We’ve all seen his letter of proxy,” Lord Levy said. “Duchess Amal has sent him as her emissary.”
“Rubbish,” Duke Pitney said.
Prince Oren persisted. “Shouldn’t his deceit void such a letter? I was not aware the Council was so forgiving where treason was concerned.”
“Treason!” Lord Nathak leaned past Duke Orson’s hairy profile to glare at Prince Oren.
Duke Hamartano’s voice came smooth. “Your brother’s lax rule nearly destroyed Er’Rets, Prince Oren. The Council has only just managed to set a level of order.”
“Do not confuse compassion with neglect, Duke Hamartano. My brother was loved by the people.”
Grey-skinned Duke Falkson murmured, “Peasants and slaves.”
“It was illegal to keep slaves when King Axel ruled,” Prince Oren said.
“My point exactly,” Duke Hamartano said. “King Axel was soft, and his son, raised as a stray, will have pity on every lowlife in the land. It will be his father’s reign, only worse.”
Prince Oren folded his hands and stared at a mound of wax that had formed in the center of the table, having dripped from the candelabra above. “Chairman Levy,” he glanced at the chairman, “the throne has never been open for debate. We must obey Arman in this matter. Achan is rightful king.”
“Hang Arman and hang the stray!” Lord Nathak yelled. “It will take years to train that nitwit. You forget, I know the boy—he was my stray. He’s stubborn, rude, thick-skulled, and temperamental. Esek is ready for the throne, and Er’Rets needs a king. Let the Council vote.”
Duke Falkson grunted in agreement.
“The Council was only created to serve until the prince was of age,” Prince Oren said. “He sits there, of age, ready to serve. There is nothing to vote on.”
“He knows only the life of a stray!” Lord Nathak cried. “He’s at best a cook’s apprentice.”
“He is a squire,” Prince Oren said, “and a good one, trained by Sir Gavin Lukos. And very worthy of much more.”
“And we are to trust Sir Gavin?” Lord Nathak threw up his hands. “King Axel was murdered on his watch. He is lucky not to live on IceIsland with his friends! Let us not repeat mistakes of the past by placing fools and sentimentals in positions of power.”
Achan jerked loose and floated back into his own eyes. King Axel was murdered on Sir Gavin’s watch? He stood in a daze, contemplating all he had heard, unhinged that a roomful of men debated his future.
“I shall tell you my side of it someday,” Sir Gavin said.
Achan wrenched his gaze to Sir Gavin. He knew Achan had been jumping through him? They stared at each other a moment, neither speaking.
A crowd had gathered on the floor, milling about and staring at Achan. Sir Rigil and Bran dodged through the crowd to where Achan and Sir Gavin stood. Sir Caleb approached them from the bench.
“What news?” Sir Rigil asked. His short blond hair stuck out in all directions. If it were longer, he might look like a younger Sir Caleb.
Inko slid between Sir Rigil and Sir Gavin. “Lord Nathak is having a letter of proxy from the Duchess of Carm. He is sitting in her place today because of it.”
“The letter is false,” Sir Rigil said. “Lord Nathak holds the Duchess hostage in her home. I had hoped to raise a party of knights to run off Nathak’s thugs, but it is still difficult to tell who serves who. Perhaps this vote will help define the sides.”
Sir Gavin sighed, his two-colored eyes flashing with rage.
“Calm, Gavin,” Sir Caleb said. “All is going according to plan, is it not? Isn’t the Council siding with the truth?”
A sniffle turned Achan’s gaze back to Sparrow who still sat on the bench. Was the runt crying?
Sir Gavin shook his head. “Prince Oren pleads well, but he’s outnumbered by greedy men. The mere fact that they deliberate at all shows they never meant for the new king to have power. It matters not who takes the throne in their eyes. They’ll choose the easiest to control. Some among them might think a boy raised as a kitchen stray would be easier to manipulate, but Achan’s deeds have proven him too noble to be their puppet.”
What deeds? Achan could recall having done nothing to gain any reputation at all. Except fall in the moat. He stepped to the bench and sat down beside Sir Caleb.
Achan’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten breakfast, and now he’d missed lunch. It had to be almost dinnertime. He glanced quickly over the crowd and saw that most were staring at him. Gidon’s miniature throne was empty.
Sparrow slid up beside Sir Gavin. “It’s true,” he hissed in a strangely low voice. His face was white, but all signs of tears were gone. “I saw scrolls in Master Hadar’s chamber, letters. And he told me himself that Lord Levy promised him a seat on a ‘new council’ if he would report the king’s every move.”
“Insolence!” Inko snarled.
“New council? When did he tell you this, lad?” Sir Gavin asked.
Sparrow wrinkled his tiny nose. “Four days ago, I believe.”
“And what of the scrolls?” Sir Rigil asked.
“Correspondence between Lord Nathak and Master Hadar. They planned to meet here in Mahanaim to discuss their plans. Lord Nathak pays Master Hadar to watch Prince Gidon, to see that no one attempts assassination.”
“So the old man is taking bribes from both sides, yet he is turning them to being against each other,” Inko said. “We should be destroying him.”
Prince Oren burst out of the side chamber, strode up to Achan, and drew his sword.
The crowd gasped.
Achan shrank back against the wall.
But instead of striking, Prince Oren knelt before Achan and offered the blade to him on his palms. “I swear fealty and service to the crown of Er’Rets, to ever give wise counsel, to uphold the laws and customs of our land, to serve where I might, according to my knowledge and ability. Thus swear I, Prince Oren Hadar, to you, my king.”
A chill broke out over Achan’s body. His heart rate thundered and his face flushed. He glanced at Sparrow, whose eyes were as wide as his, then to Sir Gavin. The Great Whitewolf nodded.
Achan didn’t know what to do or say. With shaky hands, he took the impressive weapon from Prince Oren and set it on his knees. He glanced again to Sir Gavin, who only nodded again, eyebrows raised.
Sir Caleb leaned close and his thoughts flooded Achan’s mind. Say, “Thank you.”
Achan licked his lips. “Thank you.”
Sir Caleb. You accept.
“I accept.”
Sir Caleb nudged Achan’s elbow. Now give it back.
Achan turned the weapon, hilt out, and Prince Oren accepted it. He bowed low until his head disappeared below Achan’s knees, then stood and walked back to his seat at the high table.
“This does not bode well,” Sir Caleb said.
Sir Gavin sighed. “No. If Prince Oren left the chamber already, he’s unhappy with the turn the discussion has taken.”
Sir Rigil stepped forward and went to his knees before Achan. “Prince Oren declares you the rightful heir. That is more than enough for me. My sword is yours, my king, however you see fit to use it.”
Achan tensed again. “Oh, no. Bran, please don’t.”
Do not insult him by making light of his oath, Sir Caleb warned.
Bran removed his sword and swore fealty to Achan as Sir Rigil and Prince Oren had done. Achan went through the motions quicker this time, feeling like he was playing a game with a bunch of friends. He tried to act solemn, but it was fear, not pride that heated his cheeks. The crowd had arranged itself in a semicircle around the impromptu fealty ceremony, and when Bran stood, a nobleman and his wife knelt down in his place.
Achan’s chest tightened. He’d never seen people bow before Prince Gidon in such a way. With Gidon, they knelt out of fear. They cowered. These people beamed with hope. They wanted a real king to lead them. Achan couldn’t do that or be that. He didn’t know how.
Regardless, he forced himself to smile and spit out every phrase Sir Caleb sent to his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder, Who is the puppet prince now?
After twenty minutes of this, during which everyone who desired to swear fealty to Achan had done so, the doors to the side chamber grated open, and the Council members came out. The people scurried back to their seats to hear the verdict.
Achan didn’t want to know what the Council would say. Either way, life as he knew it would never be the same.
The prince came back and sat on his throne, accompanied by his Shield, Sir Kenton. The Kingsguard stood beside the throne and blocked Achan’s view of Gidon.
When all the Council members were in their places at the high table, the chairman spoke. “We have verified the validity of Sir Gavin’s claim. Master Achan Cham is the true son of King Axel Hadar.”
Much of the audience broke out in applause. Some heckled. With Sir Kenton in the way, Achan could only see Gidon’s ear, which was glowing red.
Lord Levy pounded his gavel, and the crowd quieted. “We are now ready to take a vote as to whom this Council feels would better serve Er’Rets as king.”
Sir Gavin stood and clutched the shoulder of Achan’s shirt. “Be ready to go. They will vote for Nathak’s son. They can better control him. And then we had better not be around.”
Achan pulled his doublet on and fastened the laces with shaky fingers. At least it gave him something to do.
“Where will you go?” Sir Rigil asked.
“Into hiding for now,” Sir Gavin said. “We need time to develop a plan.”
“You will keep in touch with Prince Oren?”
“Aye.”
Sir Rigil nodded. “We will stay with him then, and serve you however we can, though we must do our part to free the Duchess of Carm from her invaders.”
Sir Gavin raised a bushy eyebrow at Achan and jerked his head toward Sir Rigil.
Achan realized Sir Rigil had been speaking to him when he’d said “serve you.” He croaked, “Thanks.”
Sir Caleb groaned softly. You need much training in diplomacy. Tell him you wish we could be of assistance in that matter. That your prayers go with them.
Achan regurgitated Sir Caleb’s words. Sir Rigil thanked him. Bran bowed, face beaming with admiration. Achan caught Sparrow’s glowing smile from behind Inko.
The chairman spoke. “Prince Oren Hadar of Arman. How do you cast your vote?”
“I vote for the true king, my nephew, the real Gidon Hadar, who is also known as Master Achan Cham.”
Several people in the crowd cheered wildly. Tears threatened Achan’s eyes. He blinked them back and berated himself for the weakness. What a great way to show what a kitten he was.
The chairman continued, “Sir Choresh Orson, Duke of Therion.”
The hairy man said, “Master Achan Cham.”
The crowd cheered again.
“Sir Dovev Falkson, Duke of Barth. How do you vote?”
“I vote in favor of Prince Gidon, the old one, that one.” The grey-skinned man pointed to Prince Gidon, who sat sneering with folded arms.
The audience gave sporadic applause, though someone hissed. Gidon glared at Achan. If the people were this divided, what would that mean for the Council’s authority? Or a king’s reign? Would there be civil war?
“Silence!” the chairman banged his gavel, his black hat falling off his head. “I will have silence! To avoid confusion, from this point on, we will refer to the two men by their given names, Esek Nathak and Gidon Hadar.”
Achan’s eyes bulged. Well that wouldn’t be at all awkward. Now he was Gidon?
The chairman replaced his drum-like hat. “Sir Herut Pitney, Duke of Nahar. How do you cast your vote?”
“Gidon Hadar.”
The crowd clapped awkwardly, as if they too, were uncertain who that was.
“Sir Yagil Hamartano, Duke of Cela. How do you vote?”
No doubts there. Silvo’s papa would certainly have heard of his son’s humiliation at the hands of the stray squire.
“Esek Nathak.”
Sparrow leaned to Achan’s ear. “That these dukes would actually choose such a snake as their king… I cannot wrap my mind around this foolishness.”
Achan huffed a laugh. “Am I so much better?”
Sparrow grinned. “You are one hundred leagues better. You must know that.”
“I know nothing of the sort.”
The chairman straightened in his chair. “I, Sir Abidan Levy, Duke of Allown and chairman to this proceeding, do vote for Esek Nathak.”
Sparrow groaned.
The chairman said, “The vote is three to three. Lady Nitsa Amal, Duchess of Carm is not present. Lord Nathak is serving as her proxy as per Lady Nitsa’s personal message.”
Sparrow stood and strode toward the high table. “Lies!”
Achan straightened. What was the fool up to now?
“A forgery!” someone yelled.
“Nathak favors the pretender,” someone else called. “He should get no vote!”
Sir Gavin stepped forward and addressed the chairman. “My Lord Chairman, certainly Lady Nitsa could not have known of this matter. Her proxy might not be given so surely in light of the deceit Lord Nathak has wielded all these years.”
Lord Levy sighed. “Yet I see no other way. We cannot wait on this matter to send a messenger. Carmine is more than a week’s journey.”
“Surely you do not forget Lady Nitsa’s bloodvoice ability? Why not ask your mediators to contact her?”
Lord Levy’s chest swelled. “Surely you do not think me such a poor chairman to this Council, Sir Gavin. A page arrived with her letter of proxy before this meeting began. We have verified the signature as hers. We tried to bloodvoice Lady Nitsa for confirmation but she has not answered. I have no choice but to—”
“Is that not a sign of foul play? Lord Nathak has surely done something—”
“I have no choice but to accept the proxy at this time. I will send a Kingsguard squadron to Carmine after this proceeding to investigate. Today, however, my hands are bound. I must move on.”
“My Lord Chairman, if I might speak?” Sparrow now stood before the high table, head held high as if he were the prince himself.
Sir Caleb leaned against Achan and whispered, “What’s the lad up to?”
Achan shook his head.
Lord Levy raised his hand toward Sparrow, as if to say, “Why not?”
Sparrow cleared his throat. “Chairman Levy, my lord. I have information invaluable to this proceeding. I beg a private audience to discuss the matter.”
Sir Gavin turned to Achan, bushy white eyebrows raised in question.
Achan shrugged. He had no idea what Sparrow was doing. Maybe he had more information about Lord Nathak’s dealings with Macoun Hadar.
Lord Levy leaned forward to peer over the edge of the table. “What’s this?”
“Please, my lord,” Sparrow said. “A moment of your time to refute this…proxy.”
24
Vrell lifted her chin. This wa
s the only way. If she did not reveal herself now, they would vote for Lord Nathak’s son. If the impostor were to take the throne, he might still seek Vrell’s hand. She shivered. All along, the man who had sought her hand had been a fraud. Thank Arman he had been exposed. She would do her part to see the impostor fail.
“Apologies, my lord!” a wheezy voice said from the grandstands.
Vrell turned to see an old man creeping closer. It was Master Hadar!
“My apprentice vanished this morning,” Master Hadar said. “I’ve been looking everywhere. Would someone please apprehend the runaway?”
Two Kingsguards rushed forward and seized Vrell’s arms.
“No!” She twisted back to Lord Levy. “My lord, I beg you! Do not believe his lies. I am not what he claims. I—”
One of the guards clamped a hand over Vrell’s mouth.
Master Hadar swept up beside her, Khai at his side. “Forgive me, my lord. This young stray is here without my consent. With your permission, I’ll remove him.”
Vrell thrashed and bit the hand covering her mouth. The guard did not flinch.
Lord Levy waved his hand in dismissal and banged his gavel. “Order please, and we will continue our vote.”
The men dragged Vrell toward the door, and she squirmed to look over her shoulder. Achan! Do not let them take me!
Achan stared, mouth gaping. What are you doing, Sparrow? Are you mad?
I must confess. I am not who you think I—
Lord Levy’s voice rang out in the chamber. “Lord Nathak, how do you vote?”
Vrell held her breath.
“I vote Esek Nathak the rightful king.”
The crowd erupted in a divided chorus of cheering and booing.
The guards dragged Vrell through the door, past the tributes to great warriors, across the great foyer, and into a small chamber on the first floor. It looked just like Master Hadar’s bloodvoicing room, empty but for a single wooden chair. They forced her to sit and bound her wrists and ankles with thin hemp twine.
She tried again, concentrating with all her strength. Mother?
There was still no answer.
She forced herself not to think about what might have happened to her mother and let her fear turn to anger. “Untie me at once!” Vrell yelled. “How dare you treat me this way!”
By Darkness Hid Page 37