By Darkness Hid (31 page)

He was five steps from the entrance when Poril yelled, “Achan!”

Achan turned expecting to see the cook holding up the mug of tonic.

Instead, Poril hobbled up and handed Achan a bulky sack. “’Tis a long journey ahead. Maybe yeh’ll be hungry. Guards can’t cook worth much.”

Achan dropped the bag and hugged the old man. “Thank you, Master Poril.”

Poril wiggled away, rubbing his eye. “No trouble, boy. No trouble at all.”

Achan sniffed and shoved his blanket into Poril’s bag. Did the old man regret naming him Achan—“trouble”? Was he trying to say he was sorry? It was a nice thought, and he tried to keep it in the center of his mind as he hurried to the Fenny’s cottage, anxious to get this over with and be gone from Sitna. He’d had his fill of emotions.

He knocked on the door and stepped back, secretly hoping Gren would open the door like always. Instead, her mother did.

The woman squealed and pulled Achan into a hug. He stood stiffly as her body trembled with sobs. He patted her back.

Thankfully Master Fenny came to the door. “Ah, Achan. What can we do for you this fine morning?”

His words came out monotone. “I…I’ve come for Gren. Prince Gidon requests her company on his journey.”

Gren’s mother reeled into a new chain of sobs and squeezed Achan so tight, he feared she might sever his body at the waist.

“I’m sorry,” Master Fenny said. “You’ll have to check with her husband. She’s a married woman now.”

Achan couldn’t help but smile at his performance. “Oh, that is new information. I’ll relay that to His Highness.” Achan peeled away from Gren’s mother. He wanted to see Gren, but that would be hugely inappropriate. “I cannot write… so I couldn’t say farewell…could you tell Gren I—”

Gren’s mother burst into tears again. Master Fenny clapped him on the back. “She already knows, Achan, but I’ll tell her.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Achan left Gren’s cottage behind and ran over the drawbridge. There, the caravan of horses and wagons was lined up along the river. He stood with Noam as his friend harnessed a horse to a wagon, neither saying a word.

Finally Noam spoke. “Chora says you aren’t allowed a horse.”

Achan closed his eyes and smirked. “That sounds about right.”

“You won’t miss this place, Achan,” Noam said. “You won’t even think of us when you’re living in the palace at Armonguard.”

“I might never live in the palace. I might be back in a fortnight. I might be dead.”

“Nah. You’re too lucky to be killed. Cetheria has always watched over you, even though you think she hasn’t. I’m almost certain you’ll stand in the Armonguard palace someday. Maybe I’ll come and visit.”

“I thought you didn’t like adventures.”

“Don’t.” Noam pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket. “Gren brought this by yesterday.”

Achan’s brow furrowed as he stared at the curled parchment in Noam’s hand.

A red and gold litter approached, carried by four men. Achan had seen the litter travel in and out of the Sitna Manor before, but never had he loathed it so. It was a floating bedchamber painted red with golden trim and carved scrolling. Thick gold fringe and tassels outlined the roof. Birds were carved at each corner. The heavy, red wool curtains were drawn closed.

The men stopped and lowered the litter near the front of the procession. Prince Gidon exited, dressed in a red embroidered silk doublet over a white shirt with flowing sleeves and golden leather trousers cinched below the knees with scarlet garters. A thin gold crown studded with rubies and diamonds held his slicked-back hair in place. He stood with his hands on his hips as a large wagon, stacked high with ornate trunks, came to a halt behind the litter. The prince’s luggage perhaps?

Prince Gidon’s gaze met Achan’s. “Stray!” He snapped his fingers in the air.

Achan sucked in a deep breath and snatched Gren’s letter from Noam’s hand. He crammed it into the bag Poril had given him, and strode toward the prince. “You snapped, Your Highness?”

“Where is Wren?”

“I don’t know any Wren, Your Highness.”

Prince Gidon pursed his lips. “You know who I mean. Where is the girl?”

“She’s not here, Your Highness.”

“And why not?”

“It seems I was wrong about her betrothal, Your Highness. I was happy to find her already married. Apparently I was not invited to the ceremony, nor did she share the date and time with me. I am, after all, only a stray.”

The prince’s eyes narrowed. “Married?”

“You didn’t want me to take her from her husband, did you?”

“Of course not.” Prince Gidon folded his arms and looked back to the manor. “This is most disappointing. In fact…” He strode toward the manor. “Come.”

Achan glanced back to Noam, then jogged after the prince.

Chora scurried up to them from the back of the procession. “Your Majesty, where are you going?”

“The stray and I have an errand.”

“But we are ready to leave. We’ve already lost an hour—”

Prince Gidon stopped and grabbed the valet’s shoulder. “Am I king, Chora?”

Chora nodded and circled back.

Achan and the prince walked in silence until they reached the drawbridge. A trader’s wagon blocked the way as the guards checked the cargo.

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—