To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  “I imagine King Esek has your father’s ring, then?”

  Did he? And why did Lord Eli insist on calling Esek king? “I imagine he does.”

  “Pity.” Lord Eli scooped cream onto his finger and licked it off. “Have you ever played one hundred, Your Highness?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “It is the simplest of dice games.” Lord Eli raised his voice. “I have hidden a surprise in the dessert that will dictate your companions for the evening. Chew carefully.”

  Achan took a bite of berries; the sweetness distracted him from his surroundings entirely. He’d never tasted anything so wonderful. It was even better than Poril’s ginger cake. He inhaled the dish until his teeth bit down on something hard and cold. He spit a plain gold ring into his fingers.

  Lady Katiolakan shrieked and clapped her hands from the end of the table. “How wonderful this is being.”

  Lord Eli beamed. “Ah! His Highness found the gold band. How fitting. The gods are playing matchmaker, I suspect.”

  Achan turned to see Jaira licking the cream off an identical gold ring. He frowned at Sparrow.

  The boy shrugged. You are being positioned. First the matching ensembles, now matching rings. Do you like your intended?

  Achan’s lips parted. How could he have missed the coordinating colors of their clothes? Well, you match us as well, Sparrow. What say we trade? I’ll be squire.

  Oh no, I shall not interfere with your special time with the princess.

  Jaira’s dog lapped the remaining cream from Achan’s bowl. Achan stifled a growl. Is there any poison on the table?

  For you or the dog?

  Both.

  10

  The sitting room, like the dining room, was long and narrow. A fire crackled in an ornate marble fireplace that filled the back wall, heating the room to a sweltering state. Two small, square tables, each seating four, sat in the middle of the room. Fat candles burned in bronze sconces along the walls. A narrow door, likely for servants, was wedged beside the fireplace and the far corner.

  Sparrow stood with Sir Caleb by the entrance. Mandzee and her mother sat at the table closer to the door with the pontiff and Seer Rheala. Sir Gavin and Inko never came in. It appeared they wouldn’t be playing.

  Lord Eli waved Achan and Jaira to sit with him and his wife at the table by the fireplace.

  Achan tensed and glanced at Sir Caleb. Must I?

  Sparrow looked away, fighting a smile.

  Sir Caleb raised his brows. The longer you stand gaping, the ruder you become. Whether Jaira is the love of your heart or Gâzar’s spawn, Lord Eli is host and you have drawn matching tokens. Now, offer your arm before you garner the name Graceless Gidon.

  Esek has given the name Gidon enough shame. I doubt I could make things worse.

  Take. Her. Arm. Go, Sir Caleb said. Be charming and witty. Play games. Enjoy yourself, if you can. And if you cannot, pretend, for the sake of your father.

  You aren’t playing?

  Our time would be better spent gathering supplies.

  Achan set his jaw. But I want to help.

  You are helping, Your Highness. You make our host happy by letting him entertain you. When the host is happy, he shares horses and supplies. Be a charming fellow, now.

  Achan stared at the sconce behind Jaira as he spoke, unable to stomach eye contact. “If you’re willing, my lady?”

  Jaira accepted his arm, nose in the air. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Sure it would. Achan steered her to the table beside the fire. Her hatred flowed into him, adding to his foul mood. Her spicy smell turned his overfull stomach.

  Sir Caleb, if she hates me so much, why does she pretend?

  It’s likely her mother’s wish. Play along. We’ll be halfway to Melas before she’s eaten her breakfast tomorrow. Should you need us, call. Vrell will be our eyes.

  Achan stifled a groan and sat down opposite Jaira.

  Larkos, Jaira’s eunuch, stood against the wall, two paces to Jaira’s right. Achan shot a quick peek at Sparrow, the boy who could barely hold a sword. So, if anything should go amiss, it was the scrawny boy against the muscle-bound eunuch. This didn’t ease Achan’s discomfort. He’d left Eagan’s Elk in his chamber.

  Lord Eli slapped a set of ivory dice on the table. “We each roll once, then pass the dice. The first team to reach exactly one hundred wins. You go first, Your Highness.”

  Achan rolled the dice. A six and a four. “Ten.”

  “Well done.” Lord Eli nodded to his wife, who had parchment and quill. She scratched out ten hash marks.

  The game went on. Achan and Jaira quickly made it to a score of ninety-seven, but they were unable to roll a three. Lord Eli and his wife took what felt like an eternity to reach eighty-eight. Then Lady Katiolakan rolled two sixes.

  She giggled and threw up her hands. “What shocking a surprise that was being.”

  Lord Eli squeezed Achan’s shoulder. “So close, Your Highness. I thought you’d beaten us for sure. Shall we play again?”

  Achan shrugged. “If you like.”

  And so they played.

  Queen Hamartano and Mandzee soon excused themselves for the evening, taking Jaira’s bat-dog with them. The pontiff and Seer Rheala watched a few of Lord Eli and Achan’s games, then they too retired. Achan hoped this was a sign he’d soon be excused to that massive featherbed he couldn’t wait to try.

  But Lord Eli ordered more wine and drank through two bottles himself. Achan slowly sipped one goblet. He’d never been permitted wine before but had seen what it could do to a man. Achan wasn’t about to risk his sanity with this company, even for the pleasant tingle the drink left between his ears.

  Lord Eli’s behavior only solidified Achan’s discretion. Before long, the young lord could barely keep his dice on the table when he rolled. When one struck Jaira’s ear, Lady Katiolakan stood.

  “I am begging your forgiveness, Princess. My husband has been having too much wine. I am fearing only his bed will be the cure. Please, be staying and enjoying yourselves as long as you are liking. I am bidding you all good sleep.” She gripped Lord Eli’s arm. “Septon, my love, it is being time to go.”

  Achan stood and helped Lord Eli to his feet.

  He jerked away. “I can stand myself.” He stumbled through the dining room doors.

  “I am thanking you, Your Highness.” Lady Katiolakan curtsied. “I am praying we will be seeing you at breakfast tomorrow, and then, perhaps, to the temple?”

  “Perhaps.” Achan didn’t want to make any promises. “Good night, my lady.”

  She curtsied and scurried into the dining room. Her voice carried. “My lord! Oh, Septon, you are being hungry? But we are being finished with dinner, my lord. Let us be going upstairs and be finding your slippers and pipe.”

  Achan stood awkwardly and listened to the sounds of their hosts’ footsteps receding. Relieved, he turned to Jaira, ready to make his excuse to depart.

  Jaira laid her gloved hand on Achan’s forearm. “You should visit Jaelport, Your Highness. You have never smelled anything like Market Street. The spices alone intoxicate the senses.” Her eyes widened. “I can show you. Look.”

  She removed a small purple pouch from the reticule at her waist. She opened it, her lips curved in a coy smile, and she beckoned with one finger for Achan to lean closer. “You must smell this. I promise you, it will not disappoint.”

  Sparrow stood by the door, looking half dead. Achan could indulge Jaira a moment longer. He bent over the pouch and inhaled. A sweetness he couldn’t place filled his nostrils. Much more pleasant than what drenched Jaira’s skin. It filled his head with an indescribable joy. He breathed in more and shuddered. Enchanting. Again he took a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to live in the pouch, to roll in the scent.

  He leaned back and blinked. Jaira hazed before him like a vapor. His head spun, rolled on his neck like a ball on a needle. He felt so light, so happy. His heart beat wildly as everything came into focus
again. His breath caught in his throat.

  Princess Jaira.

  He’d never seen a more beautiful creature.

  Her dark eyes widened, her full lips turned down. “Are you all right, Your Highness?”

  He grabbed her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it.

  He was in Shamayim. Heaven.

  * * *

  Vrell rubbed her eyes. She thought she had seen Achan kiss Jaira’s hand. There! He had done it again. She focused on his mind, hoping his guard was down.

  Jaira’s amplified giggle made Vrell cringe. “Your Highness. Do you really think so?”

  “Princess, what must I do to win your heart? Name me any task.” Achan’s tone was low and husky, burning Vrell’s cheeks. “All I have I lay at your feet.”

  Vrell gasped. She called out using Achan’s connection. Achan!

  He shook his head as if trying to upset a fly that had landed on his ear.

  Achan! She has done something to you.

  Achan fortified his mind quicker than Vrell thought possible for his skill, leaving her pushing against a cold wall.

  His rapidly developing skills scared her.

  Jaira whispered in Achan’s ear. He stood and offered his arm. Jaira accepted and they followed the eunuch through the servants’ door, beaming like a pair of newlyweds.

  Vrell crossed the room and called for help. Sir Gavin? They have done something to Achan.

  Sir Gavin’s voice yelled in her mind. Is he injured?

  It seems not. But he is professing his love to Lady Jaira. Come quickly. They have gone.

  Don’t lose sight of them, Vrell.

  Vrell slipped through the door and followed the eunuch, Achan, and Jaira down a cool, narrow corridor. Since Achan had closed his mind, Vrell could no longer hear them.

  Jaira steered Achan up a circling staircase. Vrell followed a half level behind, stopping when they stopped, walking when they walked. Jaira’s ongoing giggle fueled her anger. Vrell wanted five minutes alone with Jaira and a sword. She was certain she had learned enough to do the job right.

  Seeing Jaira’s blue train drag around the door jamb, Vrell waited a moment, then peeked down a wide hallway. Halfway down, the eunuch disappeared through a door, but Achan and Jaira stopped. Achan pressed Jaira’s face to his chest like a cherished child. His fingers dug into her braids and pulled some loose. He lifted two handfuls to his nose and inhaled.

  “Be my bride,” he said. “If you’ll wait, I’ll build us a cottage in the mountains, hidden deep in the trees by a river or creek, a rocky one that sounds as beautiful as it looks.”

  “But you are to be king. We must live in the palace at Armonguard.”

  “I’ll live wherever you live, for I cannot imagine ever departing from your presence, even for a moment.”

  Oh dear. Vrell rolled her eyes. Jaira had cast some spell to muddle Achan’s mind so he would pledge to marry her, just as Sir Caleb had feared. Esek would marry Mandzee and Achan would marry Jaira, assuring a Hamartano queen on the throne no matter which man won Armonguard.

  Sir Gavin? Are you close?

  We’re in the game room. Which way? What’s happening?

  Take the servant’s exit and follow the tower stairs up three levels. They are here in the hallway. Sir Gavin, Achan proposed. I think she has befuddled him.

  Watch them.

  Jaira led Achan through a door. Vrell raced down the hall and burst into an antechamber. Larkos, the eunuch, stood like a shield before a set of double doors, painted in black and gold swirls. Two fat candles on thick stands stood beside the door.

  Larkos’ bronze muscles bulged under the leather straps that held up his skirt. “I’m sorry.” His voice came silky and low. “You must have the wrong room.”

  “I have come for my prince. Let me pass.”

  Larkos tilted his chin and the candlelight gleamed off his bald head. “What prince?”

  Vrell tried to push past him.

  He grabbed her arm. “The temple is occupied at this time. The pontiff does not wish to be disturbed.”

  “Release me!”

  Larkos held Vrell against the wall and stared deep into her eyes. Thick black paint outlined his eyes. His lips moved as if he were chewing. He crunched down and blew hot sweet breath in her face. Flakes of wet powder stung her eyes. Her nose burned. She coughed and blinked. Larkos held her until their eyes met again, then he released her and crouched to grab the beam that would slide across the door to lock it.

  Vrell drew her sword. Larkos turned in a crouch, and she bashed the pommel against his head. He fell to his backside and reached out to grab her weapon. She struck him again, and he fell onto his side.

  He gasped. “You’re a woman! Without the antiserum, that’s the only way to stand against the anabas dust.”

  Vrell swelled with a combination of fear and anger and slammed the pommel of her sword against his temple once more. Larkos slumped to the floor, this time unconscious.

  She pushed through the double doors and stepped into the temple of Avenis. It was a vast, square room with a vaulted ceiling, dark but for the hundreds of candles in all shapes and sizes flickering on the floor along a narrow, wooden aisle that ran all the way to the statue at the far end of the room. Avenis, crafted from bronze and draped in a purple velvet robe, stood almost as tall as the ceiling. His handsome face cast a flirtatious smirk in Vrell’s direction. A wooden altar ran out from Avenis’ right and left, covered in gold cups, coins, wilted flowers, and jewels. Achan stood alone before the altar on the right.

  “Achan!” Vrell started down the aisle, her boots tapping on the wooden floor.

  Achan’s blue eyes met Vrell’s. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have come to save your hide, Your Highness.”

  His brows knit. “You’ve come to steal her from me.”

  The very idea. “I do not want her, and neither do you. Think, Achan. You hate Jaira.”

  Achan’s pupils doubled in size. “You lie. You want her for yourself.”

  A door on the far left wall opened, spilling a brief stripe of light over the dark floor. Vrell backed into the shadows.

  Jaira entered with the pontiff. “You must agree this is what Avenis wants for Mirrorstone and for all Er’Rets.”

  “I see the benefits, Princess, yes. But I should like to consult Lord Eli, Seer Rheala, and the queen, of course.”

  “My mother said she has spoken to you already.”

  The pontiff sighed, his pudgy face flushed. “Yes…she did, but—”

  “Marry us, then. Now.”

  Jaira and the pontiff reached Achan. Jaira left the pontiff’s side and took Achan’s hand in hers.

  Achan released a ragged breath and fell to one knee. “You’ve seized my heart, fair lady. I beg you let me serve you. Give me a task. Nothing is too great.”

  Oh, for pity’s sake. Vrell tried to knock and found Achan’s mind open. What in all Er’Rets? Achan!

  He jumped back to his feet, hand on where his hilt would be if he were wearing his sword. “Leave us in peace. We don’t want you here.”

  Come out of here, Achan. This is a bad place.

  “You are jealous!”

  Jaira whirled, eyes wide. “What is it, my love? Do you hear someone?”

  “Sparrow wants to take you from me.” He pushed Jaira behind him. “Go away, Sparrow. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Vrell stepped into the light. “Achan, be serious. Come away at once.”

  “Frell, isn’t it?” Jaira asked, stepping out from behind Achan. “How did you get in here?”

  “The door was open,” Vrell said.

  “I don’t like the way you disrespect the prince,” Jaira said.

  “Well, I do not like how you have stupefied him. It is my duty to protect him, and you have crossed the wrong squire.”

  Jaira giggled, throwing her head back so that the beads on the ends of her loose braids clacked together. “Your little squire is quite loyal, Your Highness,
isn’t he?”

  Achan’s lips twisted in a frown. “He’s annoying, as usual.”

  Jaira sauntered down the aisle. “But he’s such a brave young man.” Her fingers slipped into the reticule on her belt.

  Vrell backed toward the door. “Do not come near me. I saw what that dust did to him.”

  Jaira merely smiled. “Achan, would you hold him for me?”

  “As you command, Princess.”

  Vrell clicked her tongue in disgust. “Achan, you fool! She has misted you. Do not do this. Pontiff, do you see the lady has bewitched my lord, the prince? She uses magic.”

  The pontiff shook his head. “Princess Jaira, this is most irregular. I beg you allow me to consult with Lord Eli.”

  Achan strode over to where Vrell stood and gripped her in a bear hug. Her feet lifted off the floor and her face pressed against his neck. He smelled like honeysuckle soap.

  “The other way,” Jaira said, “so I can see his face.”

  Achan dropped Vrell, spun her around, and gripped her from behind. Jaira lifted her hand.

  Vrell squirmed, hoping the eunuch spoke truth and the powder would have no effect. Still, she lowered her head and bit Achan’s arm through his thick brocade sleeve. He groaned but did not release her.

  Jaira blew silvery powder in Vrell’s face.

  Vrell held her breath as long as she could, but when she could hold it no longer, she gasped. It smelled different from the eunuch’s dust. Like spices and baking and flowers all at once. She smiled.

  Jaira met Vrell’s eyes and her red lips twisted in a smirk. “Release him.”

  Achan’s grip vanished. The room spun. Vrell slumped to her knees, wishing to smell Jaira’s powder again.

  Jaira’s voice came from above. “Now kill him. For me.”

  Achan’s boots clomped away from Vrell. Praise Arman. Achan had refused.

  “My lady!” the pontiff said. “I must protest. This is the temple of Avenis. Murder is disrespectful to the true nature of beauty. Don’t touch that, Your Highness!”

  Steel scraped against steel then more boot steps clomped, nearing. A sharp point pressed against Vrell’s throat. “Must I kill him? Can’t I knock him out?”