From Darkness Won (4 page)

No.
Achan straightened his helm and wiped his sleeve over his bloody lip. His jaw and thigh stung. He met Shung’s dark eyes and allowed anger to crush his self-pity.
They wanted an excuse to beat me without the ramifications of beating the Crown Prince of Er’Rets. They’re cowards.

No man had been willing to speak his mind. To confront Achan for taking Lady Averella from Bran. For such an act would be insubordination. Treason. Cause for discharge or at least a whipping. No. These men simply wanted an opportunity to vent their anger without backlash.

Achan found his waster and shield on the ground and picked them up. His armor pulled on his shoulders and trapped heat against his body like a forge. The rivets in his chain armor tugged at strands of his hair and grated against his shoulder blades through his sweat-soaked hauberk.

“Ready to go again?” Captain Loam asked.

Bet I take the sorry piglet down,
a soldier said.

Yer full of dung, Zin. Keep to the plan
.
I almost had him.

Achan searched the crowd for Grigio, but either he’d vanished behind the observers or Achan hadn’t gotten as a good a look at him as he’d thought. In hopes of discovering the gifted soldiers, Achan lowered the shields around his mind completely, as if he had forgotten everything he’d been taught. The act released the pressure of his bloodvoice. Anyone gifted would feel it like a blow.

When three soldiers sitting on the benches cowered, Achan knew he’d succeeded.

Your Highness?
Sir Caleb’s voice, panicked, burst in Achan’s mind.
Are you injured?

Achan snapped his shields back in place.
Sorry, Sir Caleb. Just a little experiment.

“Your Highness?” Captain Loam awaited his answer.

“I thank you, Captain Loam, for a vigorous practice, but I have other matters to attend to.” Achan returned his waster and shield to the racks, then walked to where his attackers sat, opening his mind to Shung. His heart hammered in anticipation.
Stay close, Shung. This might go badly.

Shung walked alongside Achan.
What do you mean?

Achan stayed open to Shung, but expanded his reach to the three soldiers, making sure Lady Averella’s maroon dress sleeve that was tied to his left arm was displayed before the men.
Hey, you three. Did no one tell you the ‘half-trained baby’ could bloodvoice?

Two of the men hung their heads, but the third—Grigio, the man with the angry eyes and unforgiving mail gloves— looked up, face flushed. Achan had no way of knowing if he were embarrassed, angry, surprised, or merely fatigued.

“What is your name?” Achan asked.

The man stood. “Grigio Franc, Your Highness.”

Shung’s six foot plus inched closer to Achan, causing Grigio to shrink a bit.

“Master Franc,” Achan said. “You are loyal to your comrade, Bran. This is a deeply admirable trait. But have you bothered to ask his side of this … situation with Lady Averella?”

“I don’t need to ask. I can see it on his face.” Grigio glanced at Shung and added, “Your Highness.”

Achan paused, curious whether Bran’s broken engagement hadn’t been as amicable as Duchess Amal had claimed. “Nevertheless, you should speak to Master Rennan before risking your life for his honor. While that in itself is an admirable way to perish, it is a foolish sacrifice when done under mistaken assumptions. Don’t you agree?”

“I…” Grigio’s brows wrinkled. “Perhaps.”

Achan nodded. “Good enough.” He walked away from the benches and the practice field, forcing himself not to limp on his sore leg. Shung tromped at his side.

You will not punish us?
Grigio asked.

Achan turned back and met Grigio’s wide eyes.
Should I? You’re a worthy fighter, Master Franc, and fiercely loyal. Killing you would not help me take Armonguard. And I need such hearts as yours at my side. So I give you another chance to correct your misjudgment of me before I cast my final judgment upon you.

Once Achan had cleaned up and changed, he and Shung went to lunch in the great hall. They arrived early for the scheduled meal, but Achan preferred it that way. He’d done his duty by confronting the men on the practice field, so he figured he’d earned a reprieve from making small talk with Duchess Amal’s daughters and various other minor nobles.

Shung, as usual, stood against the wall behind Achan, staring ahead like a sentry guard.

Blazes.

“Sit with me, Shung. Surely no one here plans to threaten my life.”

“Soldiers on field had motives Shung did not see.”

“Don’t punish yourself. You are Sir Shung, now. The brave knight who rescued the Crown Prince from a cham bear.” Achan had knighted his friend their second day in Carmine. Shung was the first man he’d ever knighted.

“Shung did not slay the beast.”

“You slowed it down and have the burn to prove it. And now the title too.” Which would make Shung worthy to marry Lady Gali, should the man get up the courage to ask. “Now sit and eat with me.”

“Forgiveness, Little Cham, but Shung must do his duty.”

Achan slouched down in the chair and looked out over the elaborate great hall. They each had a duty, didn’t they? And Achan’s duty was to be king. King of all Er’Rets. If they won this inevitable war.

Sparrow had always sat with him for breakfast.

Sparrow.

With his bloodvoice, he found her instantly, sensed thick walls around her mind. He wanted to speak, but she’d been ignoring his messages ever since she left Mitspah. Likely still angry over his blunder the last time they’d spoken.

He tried and failed to look through her eyes. He could break into almost any mind with his bloodvoicing power. But not Sparrow’s. Hers had always been impenetrable. He sighed. What good would any of this do? Pining away for Sparrow would not loosen the sleeve tied to his arm.

She had made her choice, and so had he.

Achan turned his chair sideways so he could talk to Shung as he ate. “I can think of no engagements set for this afternoon, can you?”

Shung tipped his head, and the circle of carved bone he always wore in his ear rocked. “I cannot.”

Finally, some time to himself. One of his advisors would find him soon enough, make him study or drag him into another meeting. But if he could get out now, he might fill part of this day with his own will.

“We shall go to visit Gren and her family,” Achan said, pleased with the idea. Months had passed since he’d seen his childhood friend.

Shung grunted.

For the next fifteen minutes, Achan ate his fill, and then he pushed his plate away. “I’m ready but will not leave this chair until you eat, Shung.”

“Shung cannot shield when eating.”

Achan switched strategies. “But a warrior must eat. At least carry some grapes with you as we walk.”

The Shield shook his head. “Shung cannot wield sword with handful of grapes.”

Achan blew out a long breath and stood. “Very well. I suppose you can eat at the Fenny home, though they are peasants and likely have little food to spare.”

Shung looked over Achan’s head, scanning the near
deserted great hall, then stepped toward the table and reached for a hard-cooked egg. His sleeve rode up his arm, and Achan caught sight of the scarred skin between sleeve and glove. A cham had breathed fire on Shung’s arm. “Will eat this.”

“Good enough.”

After Shung ate the egg, Achan led him across the great hall to the foyer. His body ached with every movement, sore from his injuries and his exercise on the practice field.

“Good day, Your Highness.”

To Achan’s left Lady Nitsa Amal, the Duchess of Carm, stood at the foot of the brownstone staircase, her auburn hair sculpted up under a ruby-beaded caul. She wore a blood-red gown trimmed in black and gold embroidery. Her skin was ivory porcelain in the dim light.

He bowed. “Good day, my lady. Has your daughter returned yet?”

She fixed her moss-colored eyes on Achan. “She has not, Your Highness. You are not joining us for lunch?”

“I just finished. I planned to explore the grounds a bit, if you don’t mind.”

The duchess’s small mouth curved into a smile. “Not at all. I shall not keep you from your schedule.”

Achan bowed. “Thank you, my lady. Enjoy your meal.”

“I am sure I will, Your Highness.”

Achan and Shung exited Granton Castle. The sunny afternoon, chirping birds, and his destination made his burdens lighter. The blended smells of fresh-cut wood, dung, animals, and flowers tickled his nose.

“You ask Duchess Amal same question whenever you see her,” Shung said.

Achan shot Shung a quick smile. “I want to meet Lady Averella if I’m to marry her. Is that so shocking?”

Shung grunted. “Duchess will tire of you.”

“Good. Perhaps her fatigue will encourage her to draw Lady Averella out long enough to shake my hand.” Achan couldn’t stand not knowing what this woman looked like. He wasn’t about to give up his quest to find out.

They passed through the gate to the outer bailey and into a throng of peasants, soldiers, and every sort of barn animal imaginable. Disdain from those around him flooded his senses. Achan met one soldier’s frowning gaze and staggered at the hatred pouring from the man. He considered reading the man’s thoughts, but Shung tugged his arm, pulling him aside. He narrowly missed treading on a boy carrying a basket of berries.

“Pardon, my lord.” The boy bowed and scurried past as if Achan might beat him for being in the way.

Achan couldn’t blame him. He’d been cuffed upside the head for the same many times in his youth.

They wove through the outer bailey. Disapproval continued to seep into Achan. He caught sight of two middle-aged women carrying buckets of water, scowling and whispering between themselves. Achan looked into the mind of the one whose eyes he met first and the words she whispered to her counterpart filled his head.

…
has no right to come here and take over. I don’t care if he’s rightful king or not.

And when you consider—
Her friend gasped.
Gods, no. Look who it is. There’ll be a fight now, Kera, just you wait. Who you think’ll win?

Achan turned to where the women had focused their attention. A squadron of Carmine soldiers drew near, accompanied by more feelings of animosity. Perhaps Grigio Franc was among them.

A set of familiar eyes met Achan’s from within the squadron. Bran Rennan. The squire left the formation, and the soldiers halted. One man glanced at the sleeve on Achan’s arm but seemed content to wait and watch.

Achan’s own feelings of anger and distrust mingled with those around him, not certain how to feel about Bran Rennan, especially after this morning’s altercation.

Bran bowed low and smiled. “Nice to see you again, Your Majesty. Where are you off to?”

Not a shred of the animosity Achan sensed came from Bran. “I plan to visit Grendolyn Fenny,” Achan said. “Sir Caleb keeps me busier than a squirrel in fall, and this is the first opportunity I’ve had since my arrival.”