Achan glanced past Sir Eagan and out the open door. He could see the emerald sleeve of Duchess Amal’s gown in the corridor. “Certainly.”
Sir Eagan opened the door fully, and the duchess strode to the chair beside Achan’s bed and sat down. She held her own hands, fidgeting. “Your Highness, please sit a moment.”
Achan sat on the edge of his bed. “My lady, are you well?”
“I bring sad news. It has come to my attention that your friend, Miss Sparrow, has found herself in an unfortunate situation.”
Achan’s stomach seemed to slide into his boots. “What has happened?”
“She was captured and imprisoned in Sitna. Lord Levy holds her there for Esek Nathak’s bidding.”
“So Esek really is alive?”
“According to Vrell,” Sir Eagan said.
“She contacted you, Sir Eagan?” Achan felt passed over by Sparrow. But after all, Sir Eagan had helped her before.
“Regardless,” Duchess Amal said, “neither of us are able to contact her now.”
Achan reached out for Sparrow and found no sense of her. He forced himself to ask. “You think she’s dead?”
“I know not.” Duchess Amal’s voice was barely a whisper. “I hoped to discover whether you had ever been in the dungeons of Sitna Manor. I have not, nor has Sir Eagan, so neither of us can look for her… body.”
“I-I have.” Achan shuddered at the memory of Myet, Lord Nathak’s head torturer, flogging Achan in the darkness under the Sitna Manor keep.
“Will you look for her there?” Duchess Amal asked. “Tell me what you see, and I shall watch your body.”
“Of course, my lady.” He scooted back on his bed and lay down, eyes closed, unhinged that he had been hoping to seek out Sparrow in such a way, though under vastly different circumstances.
Arman, please let me find her. Please let her be safe.
Achan found himself in an open space at the foot of a stairwell that led up the southeast tower of the Sitna keep. Barred cells ran along every wall except the eastern one, which was solid stone and covered with various saws, knives, pikes, iron spiders, whips, cat tails, racks, and other torture devices. How he knew this place. Thankfully, Myet was absent. Achan did not want to see him again.
Achan drifted to the right, down the path on the southern wall. The thick smells of mildew, urine, and body odor made him gag. He passed a cell where a man keened, rocking back and forth, clutching his side. In the next cell a man slept. In another a man sang to himself, scratching his finger in the dirt floor. Achan drifted, scanning the ground for Sparrow. A large rat chased a smaller one across the corridor.
Achan reached the end of the row and circled down the next. Two men stood in the aisle halfway down where a cell door hung open. Achan drifted closer, concentrating on the men’s soft voices.
“Well, they’re diseased, aren’t they?”
“Even so, Reggio, she wouldn’t pass out instantly if a rat bit her. There is something about this I don’t understand.”
“Black knights?”
“Perhaps, though I would expect to be informed before they used their magic on my prisoner. Where are those blasted men with the litter?”
“Probably stopped to drool over some woman. I declare, Father. The peasants of Sitna Manor are the most wayward bunch. You should have seen them reveling last night. You should put a stop to it at once.”
Achan slowed his approach beside Lord Levy and his son, Reggio. Lord Levy was a man of medium height with small, brown eyes. He had short, white hair and a matching beard that he’d oiled into a point. Reggio, Levy’s son, hadn’t grown an inch since Achan had last seen him. Scrawny, brown-haired, and no older than thirteen years, the boy acted as if all Er’Rets was his to command.
Achan drifted through the doorway and into the cell. At first it appeared empty, until he realized he had glided right over a woman’s body that lay on the floor near the entrance. It was Sparrow, all right. He dropped down beside her, overcome at the sight of her still form. She wore a peasant’s dress of brown linen. Her hair had been braided in two short plaits. Both were frizzy. One had lost its thong and was half unraveled.
A cham raged in Achan’s chest. That any man would treat a woman so. She should not have been put in a cell like a man. Though knowing Sparrow, she had likely demanded it. He hated being here without his body. He wanted to lift her in his arms and carry her from this place.
His mind raced through the things Sparrow would say if she happened upon an unconscious person. Had anyone thought to try smelling salts? She had likely only fainted. Probably saw one of the huge rats in her cell.
He reached for her mind, elated to find no shields blocking his way. Sparrow? Wake up. It’s me, Achan.
No answer came, nor could Achan sense her sleeping mind. His heart rate doubled. Sparrow! Her chest rose and fell steadily. So why couldn’t he sense her?
Duchess! I have found her. She breathes, though it’s as if she isn’t there. What could that mean?
Duchess Amal’s voice whispered in his mind. That she has been stormed.
Achan glanced around the cell, looking for Sparrow’s transparent mind. I will find her. She cannot be far.
Footsteps shuffled down the corridor outside the cell.
“What took you so long?” Lord Levy said.
Two men pushed their way inside and lowered a litter beside Sparrow.
“Hurry up, now,” Lord Levy said. “Put her in the eastern chamber on the sixth floor. And stand guard at her door until I tell you otherwise. Let no one inside.”
“Not even the healer?” one of the soldiers asked.
“He said no one!” Reggio yelled. “Are you deaf or just daft?”
“No, my lord.”
The men lifted Sparrow’s limp body onto the litter. Achan wanted to push them all away. He didn’t want anyone to touch her. The men carried Sparrow from the cell. Achan drifted along after them. He needed to see the room they were taking her to.
Duchess Amal’s voice came again. Your Highness, do you see her?
They are taking her body. I want to see where they go so I can bring her back to her body.
Very well. As soon as you see, return to yours.
Achan followed the men up the tower stairs. If only he could knock their heads together for the careless way they carried the litter. Sparrow nearly slid off the litter twice and her skirt had ridden up to her knees.
They exited on the sixth floor and into a spacious chamber. Fat arrow loops looked out over the delta where the Sideros River met the sea. The guards set the litter on a bed tented in a thick sheet of burlap. They left Sparrow there and went outside, closing the door behind them.
Achan scowled at the door. The brutes hadn’t removed the cover from the bed or lifted Sparrow off the litter. Achan hovered over her, staring at her face. How badly he wanted to touch her cheek. Her ivory skin, usually lustrous, was milky, almost greenish. He worried that her blood had stopped flowing. Her chest still rose and fell. There must be something more he could do. She looked so stiff and awkward, one hand caught under her back.
Your Highness? Have you arrived? the duchess asked.
I have, my lady. They threw her on a dusty bed. She looks so uncomfortable. Her dress is twisted around her legs. You’re sure there is no way I can move her?
Not without your body, no. Come away, Your Highness.
But Lord Levy is going to come. I should stay and hear what he has to say. Maybe I will learn something—
No. You must come back now.
Achan tensed. He didn’t want to leave Sparrow alone with these people who intended to harm her.
Please, Your Highness. We must hurry if we are to bring her mind back from the Veil.
Of course. Sparrow still needed him, but not here. She was out there, drifting, alone. Frightened.
He opened his eyes to find the duchess staring down at him. He took a deep breath. “Do you think she knows about the Veil? About what can happen there?”
&nb
sp; Duchess Amal shook her head slightly. “I know not.”
“Macoun Hadar might have taught her.”
She pursed her lips. “Perhaps. It matters not to fret over it. We must go and look for her.”
Achan wanted to pace, but he needed to enter the Veil and look for Sparrow. “How will I know where to look?”
“Message her.”
“I tried. I couldn’t find her mind.”
“I suspect that was because you focused on her body and her mind was not there.”
Achan closed his eyes and sought Sparrow’s mind. This time he sensed her. And her shields were down! Sparrow? You must return to your body.
Hello? Her voice sounded far away. Confused. Is someone there?
Sparrow. It’s Achan. You’ve been stormed. Return to your body right away.
Who are you?
Achan. Achan Cham.
I cannot see you, Master Cham. Where are you and why do you jest? It is a lovely day. I cannot imagine it would storm.
Sparrow! Achan tried to enter her mind, to see through her eyes, hoping to hear her thoughts, but he was unable to see anything. How could that be?
He growled and looked at Duchess Amal. “She’s not herself. She called me Master Cham, and when I mentioned her being stormed, she thought I was talking of rain.”
The duchess sighed and closed her eyes.
Sir Eagan set a hand on her shoulder. “Nor must you fret, Nitsa. We will all reach for her and, in time, convince her to return.”
Duchess Amal’s eyes flashed open, wild with fright. “We must not. Only one person should speak with her. Too many and she might close us out. If her memory is gone… If she does not know what bloodvoicing is…”
Achan knew too well how frightening it was to suddenly hear voices and not know why. “I will talk to her.”
Duchess Amal’s eyes filled with tears. “But I do not think you are ready, Your Highness. I should be the one—”
“But you don’t know Sparrow at all, my lady. And Sir Eagan has only known her a few weeks. She was closest to me. I should be looking for her.”
A tiny sob escaped Duchess Amal’s lips. Achan did not understand why the duchess was so upset over a missing stray girl she’d never met. She knew Achan cared for Sparrow, and clearly Sir Eagan had brought the matter to the duchess’s attention. Perhaps she was simply a compassionate woman.
Sir Eagan gripped the duchess’s hand and turned her face to his, looking into her eyes. “We will find her, Nitsa. But we will not decide this now. Since Achan has already spoken to her, he will keep messaging until we decide how to proceed. All right?”
She nodded, a calming breath restoring her regal posture and demeanor. “Of course you are right, Sir Eagan.”
“And now we must go.” Sir Eagan helped Duchess Amal stand. “The army is waiting for the prince so it can depart.”
Achan scowled. “I cannot leave when Sparrow is lost!”
“You will have nothing to do but search, Your Majesty,” Sir Eagan said, “for you will not be riding a horse. And I will ride with you should you wish to enter the Veil, but we must move south today. You understand that, do you not?”
“Aye.” It wouldn’t be so bad as long as Achan could keep looking for Sparrow. “But I’m not riding in a litter, am I?” He recalled Esek’s fancy portable bedchamber.
“Duchess Amal has given us three litters, which will be filled with supplies. Decoys, you see? You will be riding in one of five covered wagons. No one will know where to strike. I did not start taking care of royalty yesterday.”
Duchess Amal locked eyes with Achan. “Please continue to speak with… Miss Sparrow, Your Highness. Sir Eagan and I will stay in contact. Should we discover a better way to find her, Sir Eagan will advise you. Will that do?”
“Yes, my lady. Thank you. I will not rest until she is found.”
She nodded. “I will assist in battle from here. I dare not leave Carm unguarded with Lord Levy’s orders to take over. And I must stay with my daughters.” She reached out and cupped Achan’s cheek. “Worry not, Your Highness, for Arman will guide you. When next we meet it shall be your wedding day.”
His wedding day. Pig snout. Here he was going on about Sparrow when he was betrothed to Duchess Amal’s daughter. “My lady? Might you tell me where Lady Averella resides at present? If we were to pass near, I might take the opportunity to—”
Duchess Amal dropped her hand from his face. “I am sorry, Your Highness. But taking an army to my daughter’s location would not be wise. Besides, she is not along your path. Arman give you patience until she stands before you.” She lifted her skirts and stepped past Sir Eagan toward the door.
Sir Eagan reached out and gripped her elbow. “A moment, my lady, please?”
She stopped, her gaze locked on the floor.
Sir Eagan stared at Achan, one eyebrow quirked. “Shung is waiting for you outside, Your Majesty. I shall meet you in the foyer momentarily.”
Oh. Sir Eagan and Duchess Amal wanted a private farewell. Achan’s cheeks burned. “Of course.” He grabbed his belt and sword and exited his chamber for the last time.
Achan walked toward the stairs with Shung, buckling Ôwr around his waist as he went.
Shung’s heavy footsteps matched his stride. “You are bothered.”
“It’s Sparrow. She’s… stormed.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
They walked downstairs. Every step of the way Achan wanted to reach for Sparrow. He fought the urge, for a pair of broken legs would not provide her a worthy hero.
When Achan and Shung descended the grand staircase, they found Kurtz, Sir Caleb, and Inko waiting in the foyer. Lady Gypsum and one of her little sisters stood beside a broad shouldered man dressed in a surcoat that had once been white. Three interlocking circles were embroidered on the front in dull red thread. His brown leather boots resembled the tattered pair Noam had given Achan for his coming-of-age gift. He stood with one hand on the curling end of the balustrade, slouched as if he’d rather be elsewhere. He had short, dark hair, and a scruff of a beard and mustache, as if he had forgotten to shave for several days.
Achan reached the foot of the stairs, expecting to be introduced to the mysterious stranger, but Lady Gypsum stepped forward and curtsied.
“Good day, Your Highness.”
“My lady.” Achan nodded to Lady Gypsum, then to her little sister, who grinned, revealing two missing front teeth.
Lady Gypsum met his eyes then looked away, a flush darkening her cheeks. “I wanted to… to thank you again for helping me in the vineyard the other morning.” Her gaze continued to dart to and from his. “If it weren’t for you, I…” She dropped her focus to the marble floor, her eyelashes casting curling shadows on her cheeks.
Achan couldn’t be certain, but Lady Gypsum appeared to have dressed differently this day. She wore a more womanly gown and what he first thought had been flushed cheeks, now appeared to be pink powder of some kind. He pushed the awkward realization from his mind and sought a formal and honest way to respond to her appreciation. “Think no more of what the consequences might have been, Lady Gypsum. Arman spared us both that day.”
The dark-haired man raised his eyebrows and smirked. Achan glanced at the door, wanting only to be in his wagon. Sparrow was lost. He didn’t have time for these niceties.
“We’ll miss you, Your Highness,” the small Amal girl said.
Achan berated himself for not recalling her name. Sir Caleb—?
Lady Terra, the duchess’s second youngest girl.
Thank you. He bowed. “And I you, Lady Terra.”
“Your Highness,” Sir Caleb cut in, to Achan’s relief. “Please welcome Toros Ianjo to our company. He will serve you as a priest of The Way.”
Achan tried to keep his face passive, but Sir Caleb’s words were the furthest from what he had expected this man to be, though the interlocking circles should have tipped him off. He nodded at the priest. “Pleas
ed to know you.”
Sir Caleb ushered them out into a sunny day. It was the first time Achan had stepped outside since he was struck down. He glanced at the fluffy white clouds, wondering if Sparrow were lost among them. They hurried through the inner bailey, the outer bailey, and finally out the gatehouse. Achan sensed conflicting emotions in the surrounding crowd. He kept his shields firmly in place. At the moment, he didn’t have time to worry about whether these people liked him or not.
North to south, thousands of soldiers on horseback and hundreds of wagons and carts stretched out in a line from one horizon to the other. Flags dotted the line, waving in the breeze. Most were banners of Armonguard, though Achan could see some Zerah Rock standards to the north.
Achan’s wagon waited directly outside the gatehouse. Actually, it was less a wagon and more a small cottage on wheels pulled by two horses. It had plain clapboard walls and a timber roof painted red. An entrance was cut into the center of the side facing the castle with a linen drape for the door.
Cole, the stray stableboy Achan had weaseled from Lord Yarden in Mitspah, stood behind the wagon, patting the nose of a small, black and white rouncy that was harnessed to a cart filled with trunks. Dove and Scout, Achan’s horses, were tethered to the back of the cart. Dove was a white festrier warhorse that stood a full head taller than any other. He had been a gift from Sir Eric Livna. Scout was a sleek black courser Achan rode for speed or recreation.
“Who’s your new friend?” Achan asked Cole.
“This is Bart, Your Highness. He’s a piebald, and your new packhorse. But he gets to pull instead of carry this trip, since we’ve got the cart.”
Achan shook his head at the number of trunks in the cart. “What’s in those? I don’t own anything.”
“You do now.” The jingle of chain drew Achan’s gaze to Toros Ianjo, who stopped to pat Bart’s nose. “You’re a prince, after all, and princes never travel light.”
“Are you wearing chain armor?” Achan asked.
“We’re going into battle, aren’t we? I’m no fool.”
Achan smirked, unsure what to make of his new warrior priest. “Have you fought in many battles?”
“Enough that I’d rather not fight in another. Though Arman is not opposed to calling us to what we dread.”
From Darkness Won Page 17
