Then Esek withdrew his sword and held it out to the side as if finished with it. Chora scurried forward and accepted the weapon.
Esek raised his voice in proclamation. “I shall kill you slowly, one nick at a time. But first a trade. My bride is being held hostage nearby and, for whatever reason, you are the price. I must deliver you unharmed if I am to secure her.” He sighed dramatically. “But do not garner hope, stray. If you think I will not seize you back and kill you as soon as I have Averella by my side, you are a fool.”
Esek turned to Lord Nathak. “Be careful where you place your loyalties, Lord Nathak, or your flesh too will sharpen my sword.” Esek lifted his arm and snapped his fingers. “Chora, we depart for Armonguard shortly. Guards, secure my prize.” Esek strode away, parting the Kingsguard squadron like a flame in parchment.
Lord Nathak glared at Achan. He turned and stalked after his son, his black Council cloak billowing behind.
Two Kingsguard knights approached Achan. One clamped irons onto his wrists. Achan sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth at his stinging cheeks. He kept his eyes shut, hoping that by not seeing what was happening he’d not fall further into despair. For there was truly no hope for him now. The guards jerked his arms and pulled him away.
25
Jax mi Katt.
Vrell took a deep breath and groaned. She did not want to wake.
Jax mi Katt.
Vrell opened her eyes. Her temples ached and her ears tingled. Someone was knocking in her mind. At the sight of the dark room, reality came rushing back. Khai and Macoun Hadar. They were going to hand her over to Prince Gidon. But he was not the real prince. He had always been an impostor. Achan was the real prince. Kind, sweet Achan.
Jax mi Katt.
Vrell opened her mind to the giant.
Jax?
Vrell! Are you okay? Where have they taken you?
I…um…
She looked around the barren chamber. A single torch, burned down to a stump, hung in a loop by the wooden door.
I am in a small chamber off the first-floor corridor. A servant’s quarters, I think. It was the…third door on the right, I believe.
How many are with you?
Vrell blinked. Where had all her captors gone?
I am alone.
Good. I am coming for you. Hold tight.
A shiver ran up Vrell’s arms. Could Jax help her before it was too late? And where were her captors? She was still bound to the chair. She twisted and pulled, but the ropes held tight.
What had happened to Achan? With Lord Nathak’s illegal vote, the Council had elected the impostor. Would they let Achan go free? She doubted it. She closed her eyes and reached for him.
She sensed movement…pain. His surroundings came into focus. The main staircase off the foyer, going down. Achan’s wrists were shackled and his face throbbed. Vrell winced. Had someone struck him?
The sound of stone grating on stone jerked Vrell away from Achan’s plight. She looked over her shoulder. Mags, the serving girl from the kitchen, stood in a dark opening in the wall, holding a torch.
Mags scurried to Vrell’s chair. “Yeh poor thing. What’ve they done to yeh? And all ’cause yeh don’t want to ’prentice fer that creepy, ol’ fool.” Mags laid the torch aside carefully and untied Vrell’s wrists. “Well, I say yer a smart boy fer wantin’ to get away from ‘Master’ Hadar.”
All Vrell could say was, “Thank you.”
Mags untied Vrell’s ankles and motioned toward the stone door. “Go on in. ’Tis a secret passage. I know it’s a bit creepy at first, but it’s the best way to move through the castle without being seen.”
Vrell stepped through the dark doorway and into a cool, stone passageway. The flickering torch in Mags’s hand cast a circle of yellow light in her immediate position, but Vrell could see only blackness beyond the torchlight in either direction.
Mags stepped in after her and pulled the stone door closed. It swung with a grating sound that raised goose pimples on Vrell’s arms. When it was closed, Mags lifted the torch and led Vrell down the dark, narrow passage that smelled of mildew.
“Jax said to get yeh to the kitchens. He’d of come hisself, but he’s too tall for this route.” Mags giggled.
Vrell nodded and scurried along behind Mags, praising Arman every step of the way.
* * *
“Hold.”
The guards jerked Achan to a stop on the landing between the first and second lower levels.
The guard who had been leading them whirled around with his sword in hand.
Achan’s heart thudded. What was this?
They stood on the far side of the landing between the two floors. A lone torch burned from an iron loop on the wall.
“Trizo,” said the guard on Achan’s right. “What are you doing?”
“The keys, Jarek,” the guard with the sword said.
Jarek reached to his belt and drew his sword instead. The third guard followed suit. “You cannot beat us both,” Jarek said.
A wide smile stretched across Trizo’s face. “I don’t have to.”
Footsteps pattered on the stairs below. Sir Rigil and Bran stepped into view on the landing, swords drawn.
Bran flashed a wide smile. “Hello, Achan.”
“Bran!” Sir Rigil snapped.
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 find out where he is.”