By Darkness Hid

by Jill Williamson

  Bran’s pink face darkened a shade. “Sorry. Hello, Your Highness.”

  Achan managed a nervous laugh. “That’s really not necessary.”

  Trizo lifted his weapon. “The key?”

  Jarek lowered his sword and held out a single key on a scrap of leather. “You’ll hang.”

  Trizo snagged the key from Jarek. “Not when he takes the throne,” he said, nodding at Achan. “And he will. Let go of him, now, and back away, both of you.”

  The guards released Achan’s arms and stepped back.

  Trizo waved him over. “This way, Your Highness.”

  Achan stepped to Trizo’s side in a daze, shocked at his good fortune.

  The third guard spoke. “You know we’ll report you as soon as we walk away.”

  Sir Rigil drew his sword and jutted his head at the guards. “Which is why you won’t walk away.” Sir Rigil jerked his sword up the stairs. “Up you go, quickly now.”

  The guards turned and climbed the stairs.

  Bran followed and spoke over his shoulder: “See you later, Your Highness.”

  Achan smiled in spite of himself.

  Trizo led Achan down the stairs to the bottommost level. There they followed a long a corridor that stretched out the length of the stronghold just like the one on the entry level had. Trizo tapped his fingers lightly on each door they passed, as if counting. He stopped in front of a battered narrow door. He knocked three times, coughed, then knocked twice again. The door swung open to a servant’s chamber decorated with a rough-hewn table and sleeping pad. They entered and the door swished shut behind them.

  Achan turned to see Prince Oren twist the lock on the door. The prince, in his fine clothes, looked very out of place in the shabby room.

  Prince Oren’s taut lips stretched into a wide smile. “Achan, my boy. It’s good to see you! What happened to your face?”

  “Gidon— er, Esek.” Achan shook his head.

  Prince Oren took Achan’s chin in thumb and two fingers and turned it from side to side. “He did this, but did not kill you?”

  Achan swallowed, shaken by Prince Oren’s intense scrutiny. “He said he needed to trade me for his bride first. Said someone holds the lady hostage and wants to exchange her for me.”

  “Lady Mandzee?”

  “No. Lady Averella Amal.”

  Prince Oren’s brows sank and he gripped Achan’s shoulder. “Truly? I had heard she was safely hidden. This is most distressing. I hope the poor child is all right. Should Esek get hold of her, Nitsa will never forgive me.” He patted Achan’s shoulder. “Your wounds need tending, but there is nothing I can do here. They are not life-threatening, and my priority is to see you safely out of this castle.”

  “Will you be taking me out?”

  Prince Oren gave a tight smile. “I’m afraid that would be unwise. The knights can get you out unseen.”

  “You really believe I’m…who they… Your…”

  “Aye, I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know Esek is false, and I know Arman has not spoken to me as king.”

  Achan tilted his head at Prince Oren. “You as king?”

  “I am King Axel’s brother, as you know. But if Arman had chosen me to serve as king, He would be speaking to me, preparing me, guiding me.” Prince Oren sat back on the mattress. “Has he spoken to you, Achan?”

  Achan opened his mouth to explain about the voice he’d heard in the Council chambers and elsewhere, but a noise outside stopped him.

  Three knocks, a cough, and two more knocks sent Trizo to the door. He opened it, and Sir Rigil and Bran slipped inside. They appeared out of breath but exhilarated.

  Bran wiped his hands on his doublet. “Two enemy guards are taken care of, Your Highness—Highnesses.”

  Achan chuckled despite the pain in his cheeks.

  “Shall we leave, then?” Sir Rigil asked.

  “Aye.” Prince Oren removed a ring from his pinky finger. He took Achan’s hand and set the ring on it. “You are also a mirror image of my big brother when he was your age. We share the same blood, you and I. On that you can take my word. This ring will bring you help if shown to the right people. Sir Gavin will know who to trust. Stay with him, Sir Inko, or Sir Caleb at all costs. Obey them, for they know best how to make things right.”

  Prince Oren walked to the door. “You and I have much to discuss, Achan. When you are safe and have learned the basics, bloodvoice me. Hold the ring when you do, and it will be easier. Until then, my nephew, I bid thee well.”

  Achan glanced at the ring. At the top of the wide circle of gold, the shape of a castle was engraved with the letters OAH. He blinked rapidly to deflect the mist wetting his eyes. He gazed at Prince Oren, at his blue eyes and the thin crown of gold nestled into his black hair. This man was truly his family—his blood uncle. He was no longer a stray. He had family. Perhaps he was no longer even Achan. He stifled a shaky breath and stuffed the ring on his middle finger.

  Prince Oren drew him into a quick embrace and patted him on the back. “Go.”

  Achan followed Sir Rigil to the door.

  “Wait, men,” Prince Oren said. “I’ve had news of Lady Averella.”

  Bran straightened. “What news?”

  “Achan tells me Esek planned to trade him for her. That someone is holding her captive.”

  “How could that be?” Bran’s eyes darted wildly around the room, as if this girl might jump out from under a rug. “I was told she was in hiding.”

  “I do not know. I just wanted you to be aware of the situation. Once Achan is safe, I will do all I can to help you find her.”

  Sir Rigil gripped Bran’s shoulder. “And I.”

  Achan looked at the floor. He shouldn’t feel guilty about this situation. He’d never once laid eyes on Lady Averella of Carmine, after all. Yet he felt responsible for her somehow. Esek had agreed to trade her for him. What would become of her when Achan didn’t show? “Maybe if I went along with the exchange, and you were watching, you could get the lady to safety, then come for me later.”

  Bran’s lips curved in a small smile. “I thank you, Your Highness, but no. It’s too risky. Plus, Averella would maim me if she found out I had risked the true king ‘just’ to help her. She hates Prince Gidon—forgive me: Esek—more than anything.”

  Achan grinned. “A sign of her good taste.”

  “And we have no proof anyone truly holds her captive,” Prince Oren said. “This is not your worry, Achan. We will see to Lady Averella once you are safe.”

  Achan nodded, and Sir Rigil led him into the hallway. Bran and Trizo followed. The men went slowly back down the corridor toward the stairs, watching for guards as they went.

  * * *

  Mags slid open a wooden screen and peered through a tiny hole in the wall. “All clear.” She pushed the wall, and it swung open like a door, scraping the floor lightly. Light flooded through the opening, revealing a cellar the size of Vrell’s chambers upstairs. “Jax said he’d meet yeh here.”

  “Thank you, Mags.”

  “Aw, ’twas nothin’.”

  Vrell hugged the serving girl and stepped into the cellar. The room overflowed with baskets, barrels, and sacks of food. Mags pulled the door closed, which turned out to be a shelf stocked with flour.

  More than one set of footsteps sent Vrell ducking behind a barrel of pickles. She held her breath, hoping she would not be caught so soon after having escaped.

  She heard Sir Rigil’s voice. “Sir Caleb was supposed to meet us here.”

  Then came a voice as familiar as a dream. Bran’s voice. “I hope he wasn’t caught again.”

  Vrell tingled with joy and indecision. What should she do? Should she reveal herself? This was her best chance to speak with Sir Rigil. And there was no time to spare. If Lord Nathak’s men had done something to her mother, she needed to get home right away.

  “Bran,” Sir Rigil said, “run up and see if Prince Oren can make contact with Sir Caleb. Have him fi
nd out where he is.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Vrell heard the slapping of boots on stone. And just like that, Bran was gone.

  Sir Rigil spoke to someone else. “Are you sure you’re all right? Those cuts look nasty.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Vrell peeked over the pickle barrel. She spotted Achan, his face covered in blood. He leaned back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position, straightening his legs out in front.

  Tears flooded Vrell’s eyes and she stood. “Achan! What’s happened?”

  Sir Rigil drew his sword, and Achan dove away from the wall.

  Vrell flinched and met Achan’s eyes. His head cocked to the side. He huffed and leaned back against the wall. “You. Sparrow, where did you come from? And what’s with you today? What was that stunt you pulled at the Council meeting?”

  Vrell ran to him and crouched at his side. The cuts on his cheeks were not so deep, but they needed to be tended or they would scar terribly. “How did this happen?”

  “Just Esek venting a little steam.”

  “Oh, Achan.” She stood and her foot caught on something. She looked down. His scabbard was empty. “Where is your sword?”

  Achan’s expression drooped. “Lost. I dropped it when Sir Kenton bested me. The guards took me away, and I don’t know if anyone picked it up.”

  “I am so sorry. What a terrible loss.”

  Vrell took in the shelves that filled the wall behind Sir Rigil. They were stocked with baskets of apples, pears, onions, and turnips. A shelf of hard bread lined the next wall. Vrell took a deep breath and her stomach pinged at the scents of food.

  Sir Rigil sheathed his weapon. “You’re Hadar’s apprentice. The one they dragged out of the Council chambers.” He turned to Achan. “You sure you trust this lad?”

  Achan sighed. “I don’t know who to trust anymore. Every time I think I’m on the right track, something happens to prove me wrong.”

  Vrell opened her mouth to speak, to reveal to Sir Rigil who she really was and perhaps hasten the rescue of her mother. But no words came. How embarrassing to admit such deceit in front of Achan—her king—especially when he felt he could trust no one. Maybe she could wait until he was away. Then he never need know.

  Her ears tingled.

  Jax mi Katt.

  Vrell let him in. Jax?

  Are you safe now?

  Yes. Thank you.

  I have your sword. I ran into a blacksmith’s apprentice, who mentioned you had it commissioned. I paid the balance. Would you like it before you go?

  Vrell clapped her hands. “Yes!” Oh, Jax, thank you!

  “Are you talking to someone, Sparrow?” Achan asked.

  “Yes. Just a minute. Achan, this is a cellar. Grab a sack and collect some food for your journey. If you are to go with Sir Gavin, he might not have had time to gather supplies.”

  Sir Rigil’s jaw dropped like a drawbridge.

  Achan held up his hands. “Hey! Who’s the king? You or me?” But he smirked at Sir Rigil and clambered to his feet. “As if I don’t know what a kitchen cellar looks like. I only slept in one all my life.”

  Sir Rigil glared at Vrell. He dumped out a sack of potatoes and started filling it with chunks of bread from the back shelf.

  Jax voiced to Vrell. You deserve proper training to go with this weapon. Perhaps our new king can teach you.

  You will not serve Esek?

  I never really did. I am a Mârad spy, Vrell. I served Prince Oren Hadar until he swore fealty to the true king. Now I serve that king myself. Can I do anything else for him or you?

  Vrell looked at Achan, who cradled a pile of green apples in his arms, holding the top one under his chin. A thick stripe of blood dripped down his cheeks, off his jaw, and onto the apples.

  Vrell wrinkled her nose. I need the satchel from my room. It is my healing kit. The king was wounded.

  I shall bring it right away. You are in the cellar?

  Vrell paused a long moment. She trusted Jax, but if she was wrong, it would be a terrible mistake. The first kitchen.

  I’ll be there soon.

  Vrell turned to Achan. “Someone is coming with my healing kit so I can tend to your wounds. I suggest you stay here in case he turns out to be against you. I do not think he is, but it is best not to risk it.”

  Sir Rigil gave the bag of bread a spin. “Who is this person?”

  “His name is Jax mi Katt. He is a Kingsguard giant from—”

  “I know him,” Sir Rigil said. “He’s on our side. Still, it’s best he doesn’t see us. That way, if he’s interrogated he won’t know anything. Let us hide ourselves, Your Highness.”

  “Fine.” Achan bit into an apple, then froze, eyes narrowed, jaw stiff. “That hurts.”

  “Then do not eat,” Vrell said.

  He pouted. “But I’m hungry. In case you forgot, we didn’t have breakfast or lunch.”

  “Then eat bread or something soft.”

  Achan dug his thumbnail into his apple, ripped out a chunk, and slid it into his mouth.

  Vrell rolled her eyes.

  Jax’s voice came like a whisper, Vrell?

  “He is coming,” Vrell said. “Go.”

  The corner of Achan’s mouth curved up. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  Vrell sneered as Sir Rigil ushered Achan to the shelves filled with flour sacks. She had had her fill of his teasing. It would be nice to be a woman again and spend time in the company of people with manners. In Bran’s company, especially.

  Vrell hurried out into the first kitchen and made her way past cooks and servants bustling between the tables and hearths. The smells of fresh bread, pheasant, and mince pies set Vrell’s stomach to growling. She had not eaten a bite all day, either.

  A massive shadow spilled through the doorway and over the stone floor. Jax ducked inside. He smiled down, eyes twinkling, and held up a steel sword and her satchel.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Jax,” a serving girl said. “You hungry?”

  “Not now, thanks. I’ve just come to see Master Sparrow.”

  The serving girl smiled and went back to her kettle.

  Vrell led Jax to the far corner of the kitchen, where they would be out of the way. She took the satchel and draped its strap over her head and one arm. “Thank you, Jax, so much.”

  He shook the sword. “You know how to wear one of these?”

  “I am certain I can manage.”

  He lowered his bulk onto his knees and waved her over. Vrell stepped toward him. He drew a metal ring out of his pocket. “Untie your belt.” Vrell did and Jax took it from her. He looped the cord through the metal ring, securing it with a knot so it wouldn’t slip. Then he handed it back. “You need this to hold your weapon, since you have no scabbard or sheath.”

  Vrell retied the belt over her tunic so the ring sat over her left hip. Jax handed her the sword and she threaded the point through the loop. The metal hung at her side, resting against her leg. She beamed. Now she could protect herself on the journey home, though traveling with Sir Rigil and Bran, she would surely have no need.

  “Don’t go using that without training. You can get yourself killed in a wink.”

  “I shall be careful.”

  Vrell? Jax voiced.

  “Yes?”

  Are you truly all right going with the men?

  She had no plans to go with Achan once she revealed her identity to Sir Rigil. Still, it might be better if Jax thought she had. Then, if rumors spread, Esek and Master Hadar would not look for her in the castle. She didn’t know how long it would take Sir Rigil to sneak her to a safe place. Of course, she thought to Jax. I am getting away from those who seek to exploit my skill. I will be with the true king and Sir Gavin. I will be fine.

  Aye. But they are men, and you are not.

  The blood drained from Vrell’s face. Had Khai confided his discovery to Jax? She studied the giant’s soft and caring expression. How long have you known?

  Since I first saw you.
He smirked. You do not smell like a man.

  Vrell’s eyes went wide, then she laughed. “I am so happy you were on my side.”

  “As am I, Vrell.”

  She said farewell—in case she never saw him again—with a big hug, then hurried back through the second kitchen to the cellar.

  The room appeared empty. “Hello? Sir Rigil?”

  A hand popped out from behind the shelf stocked with flour sacks. “In here.”

  The secret passage. Vrell found the crack and squeezed through.

  On the other side of the door, everything went dark. She bet this tunnel continued on to the canals. She felt along the wall. “Sir Rigil?”

  “He’s left.” Achan’s voice came from very near Vrell’s right shoulder. It made her jump. “It’s just us,” he said.

  “And we should have left by now.” Sir Caleb spoke from near Achan. “Have you got what you need to mend Achan’s wounds?”

  Vrell shuddered, tears stinging her eyes. No Sir Rigil? No Bran? They must have left when Vrell had been speaking with Jax. If only she had stayed in the cellar. “But where are they? Won’t they be joining us?”

  “No. They’ve gone back to assist Prince Oren,” Achan said.

  “Boy?” Sir Caleb said. “Have you got it?”

  “Uh…y-yes. Yes, I have it.”

  “Good. Let’s go then. The sooner we get Achan out of here the better for everyone.”

  But Vrell wanted to stay. She wanted to be with Bran. She needed to go home. A heavy tear fell down her cheek. She could reveal herself now, but…

  A flame whooshed to life and Achan and Sir Caleb’s faces appeared in the darkness. They looked orange and shadowed. Sir Gavin carried the torch down the tunnel. Achan shot Vrell a crooked grin, then touched his cheek as if the smile had been painful. He stumbled after Sir Gavin.

  He needed her help. How awful for her to even consider deserting her king. Poor Achan. He had had the most terrible day. Vrell had forgotten that this morning Achan had been a stray and now he was king of Er’Rets. She could serve her king a while longer, could she not?

  She sniffled and scurried to keep up with the men’s long strides.

  * * *

  Achan sat in the center of a small boat, clutching two moist handkerchiefs to his face, at Sparrow’s insistence. The boy had said they had some kind of healing ointment on them.