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!”
Master Hadar looked down his pointed nose. “A stray mustn’t speak to his master in such a manner,
boy
. Whatever are you thinking?” He motioned to Khai.
The weasel darted forward and uncapped a vial.
Vrell clamped her lips closed.
Master Hadar chuckled. “It’s not what you think, my dear. I know the âleh flower has no effect on your mind. This is something more…basic.”
Khai and the guard with the massive hands forced the liquid into her mouth. It was thin and tasted like bark. She tried not to swallow, but the guard covered her mouth and pinched her nose closed. She held off as long as possible, but as she ran out of air, she finally swallowed. The guard released her, and she sucked in a deep breath.
Vrell looked to her lap. Tears rained down on her tunic. She breathed in and out, calming herself, wondering what they had given her. She could not guess the ingredients from the taste. Her head spun, but that might be from the loss of air. She met Master Hadar’s gaze. “Why are you doing this?” She glared at Khai. “What did he tell you?”
“More importantly, my dear child, is what he told our newly elected king.”
Vrell looked from Khai to Master Hadar. Their faces blurred. “And what was that?”
“That he’d found His Majesty’s elusive love. We’ve made a negotiation. You for Achan. The prince was all too willing. It seems he was going to get rid of his
squire
anyway.”
Vrell wept from the injustice and from knowing she was about to pass out. They had given her some soporific. Her limbs tingled from its effect. “You cannot… Achan is…rightful… You cannot…locked up…serve your…ambitions.” Her eyes drooped.
“Oh, but I can. Rightful king or not, Achan will soon be mine.” Master Hadar leaned close, his face a beige blur. “Life isn’t always fair, my dear, as I’m sure you know.”
Achan.
Vrell’s head fell forward, eyes closed.
You must flee. Now!
* * *
Sparrow? Sparrow!
Achan’s sense of the boy vanished. He inched along the wall of the audience chamber behind Sir Gavin, heading toward the exit. Now was not the time to speak.
“Chairman Levy,” Lord Nathak said at the high table. “What shall become of Achan? Of Gidon Hadar?”
Achan kept moving, but listened for the answer with trembling steps.
“I imagine he shall go to Armonguard and serve however our new king sees fit,” the chairman said. “He is now second in line to the throne and must be available should anything—”
“You cannot suggest these two serve side by side?” Lord Nathak snapped. “It would be an assassination waiting to happen!”
Which was why Achan was enacting the exit-and-flee plan.
“The Council leaves that to the king and his many advisors. I trust it will not be long before Esek takes the throne.”
Esek?
Sir Caleb reached the door first and pushed it open. It squeaked horribly. A guard outside the door raised his eyebrows.
“Sir Gavin leaves!” someone shouted from the stands.
Sir Caleb drew his sword. “Let’s be quick about this, shall we?”
Inko and Sir Gavin ran past Sir Caleb, who knocked out the guard with the pommel of his sword. Achan quickly passed the old knights, mainly because their running was more like jogging. The group fled through the massive foyer, dodging around the yellow pillars, but New Kingsguard knights swarmed the entrance to the stronghold.
Sir Gavin and Inko drew their swords. Sir Gavin looked back, his gaze focused over Achan’s shoulder. Achan turned to see Sir Caleb shove a display sword—ribbons and all—through the Council Chamber’s door handles, locking it from the outside.
“Caleb,” Sir Gavin said, “take Achan out the back. Hurry! We’ll meet you there.”
Sir Caleb sprinted deeper into the stronghold, dodging around pillars that reached above like redpines. He yelled over his shoulder, “Try to keep up, Your Highness.”
Achan flinched at the title and ran after the knight. “Where are we going?”
Downstairs,
Sir Caleb said to Achan’s mind.
Sir Gavin will meet us with the boat.
Achan concentrated on Sir Caleb’s back, his blond hair, his wild eyes.
The dungeons, then?
Sir Caleb slowed and grabbed Achan’s shoulder. “My apologies, Your Highness. But no bloodvoicing for you until you are better trained. You’ve just announced our plans to anyone who can hear.”
The blood drained from Achan’s face.
“’Twas my fault. Best hurry, then.” Sir Caleb sprinted around the rest of the pillars toward the grand staircase. He ran around to the back and started downstairs. Two flights down, he stopped on the landing and turned. “Change of plans. Back up the stairs. Quickly!”
Achan could see black Kingsguard cloaks approaching from the lower levels. He swiveled around and ran up the stairs and back into the foyer. Three Kingsguards approached from the entrance.
“This way.” Sir Caleb ran to the far left of the foyer and sprinted into a corridor that stretched the length of the stronghold.
They made it halfway down before two Kingsguard knights stepped into the hallway from the other end. Sir Caleb spun and darted back to the foyer. Six guards spread out in an arc, inching toward them. Four more guards descended the stairs, boots pattering like rainfall as they spilled out onto the mosaic tile floor.
Sir Caleb pointed at Eagan’s Elk. “Know how to use that?”
Achan drew the weapon, his hands trembling. “Aye.”
Sir Caleb drew his own sword. Back to back, they inched into the center of the foyer as the black-cloaked Kingsguards circled around. The pillars acted as bars, further hemming them in. This didn’t look like a battle they could win.
“Think positive, Your Highness,” Sir Caleb muttered. “And please close your mind.”
“Seize them!” Esek’s voice rang out across the vast foyer.
Achan took quick, short breaths. Close his mind. Fight a battle of two against twenty. Answer to
Your Highness.
He’d had quite enough of this day. Regardless, he concentrated on the allown tree and raised his weapon to middle guard.
Behind him, someone clashed swords with Sir Caleb. Before Achan could turn to offer aid, a Kingsguard swung at him.
Achan stifled the blow with the flat of his blade and pushed off. Another guard struck. Achan ducked, and the guard’s sword cracked against a pillar, sending bits of plaster over Achan’s hair. He kicked the guard’s knee in, and the man went down howling.
Achan sprinted left, desperately needing more space to work with. He turned abruptly, swinging Eagan’s Elk at the soldier on his heels. His blade cut into the man’s arm.
Achan winced but didn’t have time to feel sorry. He jerked his blade free in time to parry a strike from another guard. Sir Caleb’s shaggy blond mane twirled in his peripheral vision, then the knight collapsed. Achan screamed, but didn’t have time to stop as he deflected blow after blow.
A shrill, familiar voice screamed, “Guards! Back away from the stray.”
Achan’s opponents drew back. Achan lowered his weapon and panted. He scanned the floor. Sir Caleb lay on his stomach, pinned by two guards, his face maroon with fury. Achan breathed a relieved sigh to find him alive. He quickly counted six bodies on the floor that were not.
Esek, the former Prince Gidon, raised a hand above his head and snapped. “Sir Kenton.”
The Shield advanced from behind a pillar, gripping a thick sword in his hand. His steps on the mosaic tile were like the chop of an axe.
Achan lifted Eagan’s Elk with his weary arms.
Forget his size and identity, Your Highness,
Sir Caleb said to his mind.
He is just a man. Hold on until Sir Gavin and Inko get here. They are coming. Just hold on.
Sir Kenton raised his weapon and paused.
Achan coached himself. If he could beat this man, he could go free. One man. That was all. One more win. Just one. And he didn’t even have to beat him. He only needed to stall long enough until help arrived.
Sir Kenton finally lunged forward and swung for Achan’s head. Achan waited, hands shaking, ready to block, and sure enough, Sir Kenton arched his sword the other way toward Achan’s legs. Achan stepped back and parried.
Sir Kenton quickly worked Achan back against the wall. Achan barely managed to block the forceful cuts Sir Kenton delivered and, with each near miss, grew more uncertain of his ability to win. He didn’t want to die, but how could he possibly defeat this adversary?
Where was his help? Achan opened his mind.
Sir Gavin?
Hundreds of voices flooded into his mind at once. He quickly fortified his mind, but there were still so many voices. He turned to parry a strike and saw why.
A crowd had formed. The audience was pouring through the golden doors that led to the auditorium. Help was coming. Many of these people had cheered for him before. Surely someone in the crowd would step in. But the Kingsguard soldiers formed a wall, pushing the crowd back from where Achan and Sir Kenton fought until Achan could no longer see them.
Sir Kenton drove Achan back behind the staircase to the corridor. The Shield swung for Achan’s neck. Achan blocked it, and the knight reversed his swing. Achan jumped back. He met the strike to his legs, but his sword slipped in his weakening hands. He fumbled for the briefest moment, and Sir Kenton batted it to the ground.
Achan slid back against the wall, his eyes glued to Sir Kenton’s.
Esek clapped. “Well done, Sir Kenton, well done.”
The knight lifted his sword to Achan’s chest, then seized Achan’s throat in his massive hand and squeezed.
Esek strutted forward and wove around Sir Kenton to stand at Achan’s ear. He spoke softly. “You were a pitiful squire. Do you wish to take my throne?”
Airless, Achan croaked, “I…can’t…”
“Oh, let him go, Sir Kenton.”
Sir Kenton released his hold on Achan’s neck but did not lower his sword.
Esek winkled his nose as if smelling something rank. “You may be the son of a
dead
king, but that does not make you king. The Council voted in favor of me.”
Sir Caleb spoke from the floor. “Only because you’re so weak they know they can control you.”
Esek slowly turned to glare at Sir Caleb. “The gods have spoken, traitor.
I
am king. Nothing can change that now.”
“You’re mistaken,” Sir Caleb said. “Arman will—”
“Save your breath, Sir Caleb,” Achan said. “I don’t want to be king.”
Esek smirked. “I believe you. A stray could never handle the pressure of ruling a nation. And that’s what you are. Whatever royal heritage you may have had is long gone. Back away, Sir Kenton.”
Sir Kenton stepped aside but kept his sword out, as if daring Achan to move.
Achan stood still, eyes downcast. He was tired of fighting. He simply wanted to sit with Gren under the allown tree or listen to Minstrel Harp sing in the Corner.
Esek drew Ôwr from its scabbard and poised it over Achan’s heart. “For some reason,” Esek said, “Lord Nathak doesn’t want you hurt. That, I never understood, even less so now that your true identity is revealed. If he wanted me to be king, why not kill you and be done with it?”
Achan couldn’t help but wonder that himself. Or what was keeping Sir Gavin and Inko.
“So I ask myself, am I king?” Esek’s eyes went wide, and he flashed a wicked smile. “What a coincidence. The Council says I am. Why, then, should I not have my way?” He traced an X over Achan’s chest, Ôwr’s tip scraping over the black leather doublet. “This was your father’s sword. Did you know that? Soon you shall die by it.”
“No!” Lord Nathak ran up behind Esek with Chora and a squadron of Kingsguards at his heels. “You must not do this.”
Esek raised the weapon’s tip to Achan’s throat. “I’ve wanted to kill him ever since his ratty boot first stepped on my fine rug. Give me one reason—one real reason— why I shouldn’t.”
Lord Nathak said, “Because…”
“Why are you protecting him?”
Lord Nathak stuttered.
“I AM KING!” Esek screamed. “TELL ME THE TRUTH! NOW!”
Achan flinched as the sound resonated against the high ceiling.
Lord Nathak laid a hand on Esek’s shoulder. “I will tell you, my son, I promise. But not here.”
Esek shrugged Lord Nathak’s hand off. “I am
not
your son.” Esek remained still for a long moment, his face twitching with horrible expressions.
Lord Nathak glanced at Achan with his one eye then back to his son. “You may deny the truth all you want, Esek, but I did what I hoped was best for us all.”
Achan stood motionless against the stone wall. Esek raised Ôwr’s tip to Achan’s ear and drew its edge down one cheek. Achan flinched at the sting. Then the other cheek. Achan closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He could feel the blood ooze down both cheeks, tickling as it went.