From Darkness Won Read online

  She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes bulging.

  He smirked. “Do not be frightened, Grenny. I only wish to see you happy.”

  A soft laugh wisped through her lips. “Isn’t it ironic that you’ll marry Bran’s former love and that I might…” She sucked in a long, shaky breath. “You think there’s a chance he’d have me? I’m far below his class. My virtue is gone. I don’t think a man like him would choose a widowed peasant, yet I’m certain he cares a little. I see it in his eyes.”

  Achan almost laughed at Gren’s babbling. “He asked for my blessing, Gren. Does that please you?”

  She clapped her free hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes closed. This didn’t stop the tears from leaking past her eyelids and trickling down her cheeks.

  Achan pulled a chair beside hers and sat. He took her into his arms and held her tightly. She sobbed and trembled. He stroked her hair with one hand and rubbed her back with the other. “You’re more than what you see of yourself, Gren. Any man would be blessed to have you as his wife.”

  Gren pulled away, wet face beaming. “You’ve always been my hero. I’ve no doubt Lady Averella will love you.”

  Achan gritted his teeth and recalled Sir Eagan’s words. Love was not taking because you wanted, he’d said.

  Love was sacrifice.

  Achan and Shung returned to the castle and entered his chamber to find Sir Caleb and a boy standing beside his bed, which was now covered in all types of armor and weapons.

  “Ah, here he is, Matthias.” Sir Caleb set his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Look who has arrived, Your Majesty. I’m sorry Master Ricks didn’t stay to speak with you, but he was eager to return to Tsaftown.” Probably feared we’ d go back on our word and refuse the boy, he added silently.

  Matthias? The lad’s head barely reached Sir Caleb’s belt. Big brown eyes peeked out from a shaggy thatch of hair the color of hay.

  It all came rushing back. A man had given his youngest son to Achan at a celebration in Tsaftown weeks ago. Achan had refused the idea of taking a slave, but Sir Caleb had explained that a poor man with many children often sent his youngest to work in a noble household. Little Matthias could do no better than to serve his future king.

  The boy wore a thin tunic that might have once been pale blue. A frayed hemp belt cinched his waist, accentuating his thin frame. His leggings were the kind Achan used to wear, brown and sagging in the knees. His face was dirty, his fingertips blackened. Odd that Sir Caleb had not yet bathed and redressed the lad. Appearance and decorum were Sir Caleb’s specialties, if not obsession.

  “Matthias will train to be your valet, Your Majesty,” Sir Caleb said. “He will learn to choose your clothing and help you dress. When he is older, we’ll teach him to groom you. For now, he can also serve as your page.”

  Achan should say something. Greet the boy, at least. “How old are you?”

  “Seven, sir.”

  The soft voice melted Achan’s heart. How could any man give up such a child, especially one of his own blood?

  And seven. So young, yet it was the age most pages began training. Achan wanted to argue—he didn’t need anyone to dress or groom him—but little Matthias looked him over with those wide brown eyes and rewarded Achan’s silence with a trembling smile. So Achan swallowed his complaints. He was to have a valet.

  “We are going to ready the prince for a meeting of the war council, Matthias,” Sir Caleb said. “Tomorrow, you and I will have a clothes press and armoire brought up, and I’ll show you how to store everything for our journey.”

  Achan glanced at Shung. What do you make of all this?

  Shung likes the mouse. His eyes learn much.

  A mouse. Did the man have an animal nickname for everyone?

  If I am a cham, Sparrow is a fox, and Matthias is a mouse, what is Sir Caleb?

  A lion.

  Achan chuckled. Sir Caleb did have a mane of shaggy blond hair. But his wild, penetrating eyes looked more like an owl’s.

  Sir Caleb waved Achan over. “Your Highness, come take off those clothes—which everyone knows you wore yesterday. Matthias and I will see you ready for dinner.”

  Achan sighed and began to unlace his doublet. He inched toward Sir Caleb, hoping to get the shirt off by himself, at least. With every other step, his left thigh cried out.

  “It’s imperative, Matthias, that the Crown Prince not wear the same ensemble in the same week. You must see that his clothing alternates and is clean and pressed, so that he always looks his best.”

  Achan snorted. “Even on the battlefield?” He envisioned men dying while he was busy changing into a fresh shirt.

  “On the battlefield as well.” Sir Caleb pushed Achan’s hands away and finished unlacing the doublet. “As crown prince, and later, king, your presence must instill consistency and order. If you appear bedraggled, your men will feel all the more bedraggled. If you look sharp and rested, you will boost their spirits.” Sir Caleb slid the doublet off Achan’s shoulders and laid it on the table.

  Achan rolled his sore shoulder. He wasn’t sure he agreed with this logic. If he were a soldier, he’d want to fight alongside his king. And if his king looked like he’d been eating grapes all day, Achan wouldn’t feel much like risking his life. Sometimes Sir Caleb’s obsessions were just that.

  Achan started to unlace his shirt placket, but Sir Caleb swatted his hands. Achan dropped his arms to his sides and glanced across the room. Movement below caused him to look down. Matthias now stood at Sir Caleb’s side. Achan winked at the lad, earning a smile in return.

  “Normally, we wouldn’t dress the prince until he had bathed, Matthias, but since he is late and we have little time, we will not concern ourselves with that at the moment.”

  Matthias nodded as though he understood perfectly, yet Achan bet the boy hadn’t bathed in over a week. Those rags he wore were probably his only clothes. Achan would have to see that Matthias got something new to wear.

  Sir Caleb and Matthias dressed Achan in a green ensemble trimmed in gold ribbon and frills. Achan blew out a long breath and stared up at the frescoed ceiling.

  When Sir Caleb finished cinching him into the fitted doublet, he patted Achan on the back. “Put on your brown boots.”

  Achan found the boots beside his bed. He sat down and pulled them on.

  “Little Cham.”

  Achan turned to see Shung holding Lady Averella’s dress sleeve in his scarred hand.

  Oh, yes. Mustn’t go anywhere without that.

  “Do you know what this is, Matthias?” Sir Caleb snatched the sleeve from Shung and walked toward the bed.

  “No, sir.”

  “It is a token from Lady Averella Amal, the prince’s intended bride.”

  A yoke Achan must wear at all times, a reminder to all who saw him that he’d made an alliance with Carm Duchy, a promise to wed Duchess Amal’s eldest daughter in exchange for Carm joining them in the battle for Armonguard.

  Sir Caleb threaded the sleeve around Achan’s left bicep and tied it snugly.

  Achan glanced at the knight. “Have you met Lady Averella, Sir Caleb?”

  “No. It’s been twenty years since I attended court.”

  “Shung has seen her. First year squiring for Koyukuk.”

  Achan met Shung’s black eyes. “You dog! Why didn’t you say?”

  Shung shrugged. “There is little to say.”

  “Tell me.” Achan relished any word about his bride to be. He couldn’t even find a painting of her in Granton Castle. With all the frescoes in this place, someone had to have painted the heir to Carm somewhere.

  Unless she was too hideous. Yet Bran had said otherwise.

  “A tournament in Nesos,” Shung said. “Saw her from a distance. Sir Marken Hamartano remarked on the lady to the other knights.”

  Achan stiffened at the mention of the Hamartano name. “What did he say?”

  “Shung will not repeat it. He favored her. Though not honorable, his regard. Sir Rigil rebuked
him. Remarked on the lady’s wit. And Shung could see the lady was fair. Small, like Duchess Amal.”

  Achan had heard this much. At least she wouldn’t outweigh him. And if crude men thought enough of her to make crass remarks, she must be as beautiful as Bran had claimed. There was a chance he might like Lady Averella. Especially if she looked anything like her mother, for Duchess Amal, though twice Achan’s age, was one of the most enchanting women he’d ever met, both in appearance and countenance.

  But was that enough? How could he have pledged his life to a stranger?

  He should be free to court Sparrow, to choose her as a bride. That Sparrow was a stray should not matter. But he’d already agreed to marry Lady Averella, given his father’s signet ring as a token of his promise. It would be dishonorable to go back on his word.

  Besides, he had decided to trust the One God, Arman, with his life. He had to stop worrying over things like this and serve Arman with each breath.

  “Time to go, Your Highness,” Sir Caleb said. “The men are waiting.”

  It was no use.

  Achan opened his eyes and glanced around the table. He and the war council had assembled in one of the secret rooms outside Duchess Amal’s study, a room only slightly bigger than the table they sat around. A small hearth lay cold along one wall. A lamp on the table cast golden light over the walls and the faces at the table. Achan sat at one end, Sir Gavin at the other. To Achan’s left sat Inko and Kurtz. To his right, Sir Eagan and Sir Caleb, who had brought a pile of scrolls.

  “I still cannot sense either of them,” Achan said. “I’ve never been able to.”

  “Are you blocked from them the way you are with Vrell?” Sir Eagan’s raspy voice pulled Achan’s gaze to the man’s lazy blue eyes.

  “No. I can sense her, just not push past her shields. But of Esek and his father I find no trace. As if they don’t exist.”

  “Esek is dead, then,” Sir Caleb said, looking up from a scroll in his hands. “But what of Lord Nathak?”

  Sir Gavin tugged the end of his braided white beard. “Lord Nathak has likely used some sort of dark magic.”

  “If so, I fear he would have been teaching his son to be doing the same,” Inko said.

  “The prince cut off the man’s arm, he did.” Kurtz chopped the edge of his hand against Inko’s arm. “Can’t have lived through that, eh?”

  “Men have lived through worse,” Sir Gavin said.

  Kurtz’s grin dimpled his cheeks under his trimmed blond beard. “Not much worse than losing a limb, eh?”

  “Could we locate a personal item?” Sir Eagan asked.

  Sir Gavin nodded. “Ôwr should be enough to bridge a connection. The sword belonged to Esek for years.”

  “I left it in my chamber,” Achan said, drawing everyone’s gaze back to him. “And I have nothing that belongs to Lord Nathak.”

  “Continue to try to access their minds, Your Majesty,” Sir Eagan said. “It is likely one of them may let down their guard at some point.”

  Achan glared at the lamplight reflecting on the tabletop. “I thought the same of Sparrow, and she has not lowered her guard.”

  No one answered this statement, and Achan felt foolish for mentioning Sparrow yet again.

  “We received another suggestion for a general, Your Highness.” Sir Caleb passed a scroll to Sir Eagan, who passed it to Achan. “Lord Orson had requested that his son, Koyukuk Orson, lead Berland’s army.”

  Achan glanced at the scroll, then around the table. “That seems like a reasonable request.”

  “Sir Koyukuk is being young for a general,” Inko said.

  Sir Gavin shifted, and the lamp in the center of the table blocked Achan’s view of the old knight’s face. “Aye, Inko, but he’s well-trained.”

  “That gives us how many generals?” Achan racked his memory to recall all the names. “Five?”

  “Six, Your Highness.” Sir Caleb shuffled through his scrolls. “Prince Oren leads Arman Duchy. Tristan Loam is in charge of Carm. Baldwin Agros, Allown. Chaz Dromos leads the Mârad rebels. Keano Pitney leads Nahar. And now Sir Koyukuk over Berland. That’s roughly… twelve thousand seven hundred men.”

  Achan sought a reaction from the expressions around the table. “Is that a lot? It seems like a lot.” Many more than the three hundred or so they had freed from Ice Island not long ago.

  “If we can get them all together, aye, ’tis a formidable army,” Sir Gavin said. “Though at least thirty thousand more live in Er’Rets who are capable of fighting. Why they do not join us—whether they choose not to fight or to serve one of our adversaries—I cannot say.”

  “We should be finding one more general soon. Seven is a stronger number than six,” Inko said.

  Achan slid the scroll back to Sir Caleb and peered past the lamp to Sir Gavin. “Did we determine the location of Esek’s army?”

  “Our scouts last saw Captain Keuper in Har Sha’ar,” Sir Gavin said. “Seems to be the same group Esek was with outside of Mitspah.”

  “But no sign of Esek with them?”

  “No, Your Majesty.”

  “And the other scouts?”

  “No reports as of yet. And I’ve not heard back from the man I sent to the Sideros Forest. We must be on our guard when we head that way.”

  “When will that be?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  Achan frowned. He was just getting used to Granton Castle. “And what of this New Council?”

  “Much news,” Sir Eagan said. “Duchess Amal has discovered through Lord Levy that a man called the Hadad is the new chairman of the council.”

  A tremor squeezed Achan’s chest. “The man who spoke to me in that pit in Barth! He took control of the Council?”

  “From what Lord Levy claimed, the Hadad has had a longstanding relationship with him and Lord Falkson.”

  “So he has been plotting this overthrow with Falkson?” Inko asked.

  “So it seems.” Sir Eagan ran a hand over his thin, black hair and glanced at Sir Gavin. The men exchanged something between them, an understanding with their eyes.

  “What,” Achan asked. “Is there something more?”

  Sir Gavin took a deep breath. “We simply wonder how long this man has been scheming. How deep and far his designs may go.”

  A silence hung over the table, as if Achan had suddenly lost his hearing. He glanced from face to face, taking in solemn expressions and averted eyes. Realization hit him like a fist to the jaw. “You think he killed my parents.”

  3

  “We’ve always known someone else was involved, someone with a powerful bloodvoicing ability,” Sir Gavin said. “This Hadad fits that description.”

  Achan’s thoughts circled. The Hadad had bloodvoiced him not long ago, asking him to join him, to betray Sir Gavin, to turn from Arman. “Why would he want me to join him?”

  “Because you are powerful,” Sir Eagan said. “Because you are crown prince. And because if you join him, he does not have to figure out how to kill you.”

  Achan slouched in his chair and rubbed his face. “How can we know for sure he killed my parents?”

  Sir Gavin lifted one shoulder. “We can’t.”

  Achan slapped his hand on the table. “There must be a way. Sir Eagan, the trick with touch and giving me your thoughts— could I use that in reverse?”

  “You cannot take a man’s thoughts. Only receive those that are offered.”

  “I could ask him.”

  “Your Highness, please.” Sir Eagan squinted, making him look all the more serious. “Do not toy with this man. His mystery hides his true power from us, but if you go to him, you make yourself vulnerable in displaying your weakness.”

  Achan wanted to yell but kept his tone civil. “Why is asking a question weak?”

  “Because you reveal he has something you want. That gives him power over you. Do not let him suspect you have anything more than indifference for him.”

  “But if he killed my parents…”
/>   “I know. Believe me, no one wants justice for the king and queen more than I.” For Sir Eagan had been King Axel’s Shield. “But vengeance belongs to Arman. We must focus on the path He has set before us and nothing else.”

  “But it won’t hurt to pinch off the Hadad if we get the chance, eh?” Kurtz winked at Achan.

  “Who serves on this New Council?” Sir Gavin asked.

  Sir Eagan consulted Sir Caleb’s scroll. “Lord Levy, Dovev Falkson, and an Eben named Rapha Gibbor. Duchess Amal suspects there are more, but the title ‘Council of Seven’ has not been mentioned. The New Council may have only four members.”

  “Lord Hamartano was not mentioned?”

  “No,” Sir Eagan said. “But if what you told us about his leaving Jaelport was true, he now serves Lord Falkson and the black knights. He would no longer hold rank of his own unless the Hadad gives him one.”

  “Which reminds me, Your Highness,” Sir Caleb said. “You should begin lessons with Duchess Amal tomorrow, if she has time. The sooner you learn to storm, the better.”

  Achan’s heartbeat quickened. He was going to learn to storm. Finally.

  Achan shivered in the dark, stone passage. After the meeting, Anillo, Duchess Amal’s steward, had offered to give Achan a tour of the hidden passages within the walls of Granton Castle. Shung, of course, had come along.

  They had begun their journey in Duchess Amal’s study, inched their way along the second level of the great hall, climbed a tower stairs, and were now stepping through a panel that slid to one side and emptied into Achan’s bedchamber.

  Achan stepped inside. The secret corridors had been cramped and narrow. He stretched his arms out wide now that there was space. “The stairwell we took. Does that lead to the first level?”

  “It does, Your Majesty.” Anillo slid the panel closed. His white hair belied his lithe body. “But you must promise not to go exploring without a guide. I would be happy to show you more.”

  “Perhaps another time. It has been a long day and I require rest.”

  “As you wish, Your Majesty.” Anillo bowed and departed through the regular door.