By Darkness Hid (47 page)

“For me as well,” Inko said.

Achan sighed.

“It’s true,” Sparrow said. “I remember rumors of the scandal. It was said his skill faded away. Many thought it would return when he got older, but it never did. Prince Gidon—or whoever it is sitting in that throne like a mule—does not have the gift, not even in the slightest measure.”

The door to the side chamber opened, and Lord Levy took his place at the high table. Sir Gavin returned to the center of the room, a bushy white eyebrow raised at Achan.

Achan could only stare. Would it have been too difficult for Sir Gavin to share his little plan before they had come in? A little warning would have been nice.

Lord Levy struck with his gavel. “The Council will hear evidence from Sir Gavin Lukos on the matter of the true identity of Prince Gidon Hadar.”

The audience burst into debate.

An icy chill wrapped around him. This could not be. What could Sir Gavin possibly have said to convince the chairman of this charade?

Lord Nathak leaped again from his seat at the high table. “This is outrageous. I demand to put this matter aside until I can see this evidence myself.”

“We shall all see this evidence now, Lord Nathak,” the chairman snapped. “Sit down.”

Lord Nathak lowered himself into his chair and glared at Achan, his eye smoldering.

Lord Levy lifted his chin. “The Council recognizes Sir Gavin Lukos.”

Sir Gavin stepped forward. “Greetings, honorable Council members and citizens of Er’Rets. In the past few months I’ve stumbled onto a conspiracy. As most of you know, this Council sent me to Sitna to observe Prince Gidon. I was to ascertain his level of knowledge and skill in a variety of subjects and to report back as to whether I thought him ready to take the throne.

“The prince avoided me in Sitna, helped by Lord Nathak. When cornered, the prince barely acknowledged my presence. I thought this very strange, given the powerful connection the true prince and I had had when the lad was an infant. One morning in Sitna, I sensed something familiar. When I saw the face of this stray,” he waved Achan forward, “I was drawn to him.”

Achan somehow moved to Sir Gavin’s side. Had he floated? Was he dreaming? He glanced at the Council. The scrutiny in their gaze brought a wave of heat. From then on, he kept his gaze fixed on the marble floor, inspecting the flecks of black.

The knight put his hand on Achan’s shoulder and turned Achan to face the grandstands. “I served King Axel all my life. He was my friend and confidant. I served with him through many campaigns and joys.” Sir Gavin patted Achan’s shoulder. “This boy was the mirror image of the prince I squired for in my youth! Not only that, but I sensed his ability to bloodvoice.

“I bided my time in Sitna training this lad as my squire. I discovered not only that he’s left-handed, like his father, but that he’d been forced to take âleh tonic each morning of his life, by order of Lord Nathak.”

Whispers tore through the crowd.

Achan felt sick. He ran his left fingers over his sword’s crossguard. Things that had always puzzled him were starting to make sense. But he couldn’t accept this twist of fate. It had to be a cruel prank. He stared at his new, polished boots. They stood firmly on the bright marble floor, despite the sensation that he was falling, tumbling, spinning down into a pit of shadow.

“One morning this boy managed to not have the tonic in his system. Without the âleh silencing him, suddenly those of us gifted in bloodvoices heard his discovery, sensed his power. Even from half the kingdom away.” Sir Gavin walked to the center of the high table and turned back to the audience. “This boy’s bloodvoice is so strong because he is King Axel’s son! And as such, he—and only he—is capable of bringing truth to Er’Rets and pushing back Darkness.”

Achan winced at the level of noise from the crowd. Women shrieked. Feet stomped on the wooden grandstands creating the effect of a stampede. Applause. Boos. Three young pages scurried down the stands and out the door, as if running off to report this news to someone too busy to be here.

Achan gulped, his mind spinning with questions. Pushing back Darkness? What did that mean? He couldn’t even imagine such a thing.

When the crowd’s reaction died down, Sir Gavin continued. “I entered him in Prince Gidon’s coming-of-age tournament to see how he’d fare in battle. When Lord Nathak discovered this, he not only sent this boy—named Achan Cham—back to the kitchens and forbade him to compete further, but he banished me as well. His words were, ‘The Council no longer requires your service.’”

Lord Levy glared at Lord Nathak, who leaned back in his chair, the visible half of his face slack.

“I knew then my suspicions were valid.” Sir Gavin reached into the neckline of his tunic and drew out a swatch of grey wool on a cord around his neck. “I cut this from Achan’s blanket. Over the next few weeks, I kept an eye on him through bloodvoicing.”

Achan stared at the snip of cloth. Sir Gavin had been the one to cut from his blanket under the ale casks in Poril’s cellar. Achan turned to Sparrow, the fabric collector. The boy offered a loopy grin.

Sir Gavin went on. “This Council has not heard the true story of Prince Gidon’s ambush two weeks ago. Achan has been charged with attempting to murder the Crown Prince. He was thrown into the Mahanaim dungeons. But this was more deception from Prince Gidon and Lord Nathak.

“The truth of it? Achan rescued Prince Gidon, almost single-handedly, from more than twenty poroo attackers. Through my bloodvoicing I was with him, encouraging him. I saw him save this false prince’s life and nearly lose his own. Yet Lord Nathak pressed charges. Accused him of attempted murder! When I got word of Achan’s arrest, I broke him out of the dungeons, and upon dressing him for court today—”

“Sir Gavin,” Lord Levy said. “This court does not condone breaking into our dungeons.”

“—I was reminded of one last confirmation of his true identity.” Sir Gavin strode back to Achan’s side and circled behind him. “It was well documented the infant prince bore a birthmark on his left shoulder. Not only does Achan have this mark, he bears the brand of the stray over it—despite the rule that all stray brands be placed over the right shoulder. Clearly this
accident
was meant to further conceal the truth.”

Achan reached over his shoulder to feel the mark. He’d always assumed he’d been branded on the left by mistake.

“He’s a fake!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Absurd,” Lord Nathak yelled.

Lord Levy banged his gavel and stood. “I will have no more outbursts in this assembly. The next person to speak out of turn will be held in contempt.”

The room went silent.

“Continue, Sir Gavin,” Lord Levy said.

“If we compare the two young men,” Sir Gavin said, glancing at Prince Gidon, “I assure you, the evidence is stacked against this impostor. He cannot bloodvoice. He bears no birthmark. And he looks little like King Axel. Whereas this boy,” he said, turning to Achan, “can bloodvoice, does bear the mark, and looks exactly like the King Axel I knew since boyhood.” He pointed at Gidon. “This is a fake. An imposter. A puppet prince Lord Nathak substituted after finding King Axel’s signet ring.”

Achan’s gut churned. He sucked in a long breath to settle his nerves and realized he hadn’t been breathing much at all.

Someone called out from the crowd. “Let us see the birthmark!”

“Yes! Let us see for ourselves!”

Lord Levy banged his gavel. “We will examine both men for the birthmark. Step forward.”

Achan was already standing before the high table, so he continued to stare at the floor, unsure of what was to happen next.

“Um…Prince Gidon,” Lord Levy said. “We will need your participation in this matter, as well.”

Achan turned to see the prince gripping the arms of his throne. “And if I refuse?”

The chairman nodded to a burly Kingsguard knight standing at the end of the high table. The knight stalked across the room toward Prince Gidon, but the prince jumped up at the last possible second and strode forward.

He ripped open his black satin doublet and tossed it dramatically to the floor, then he pulled his red linen shirt over his head and threw it at Sir Gavin. Raising both hands above his head, he twirled in a slow circle for all to see.

He did indeed have a mark on his left shoulder. It was pink, but that was all Achan could see about it.

“You too,” the chairman said to Achan. “I call Master Ricken to the floor. Are you in the stands today?”

“Aye!” a voice called from the grandstands. A short, bald man hurried down the steps.

“Master Ricken is a medical expert I have known for many years,” Lord Levy said as a short, thin man approached Prince Gidon and Achan.

Achan unlaced his doublet and shrugged it off. He untied his shirt and pulled it over his head. He draped the fine clothing over one arm, then folded his arms together across his chest.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t feel comfortable showing the audience whatever was on his back, so he faced away from them. His heart pounded in his chest and vibrated all the way to his head. He wanted a good long nap, free from whips, arrows, dungeons, Prince Gidon, Lord Nathak, bloodvoices, and standing half-naked in front of people. At that point, even his bed under the ale casks would’ve been welcome.

Master Ricken approached Gidon first. He stepped behind the prince and leaned close, humming to himself. He touched the prince’s back and Gidon flinched.

“Show us the stray’s mark,” someone yelled.

Sir Gavin nudged Achan’s elbow and nodded.

Achan gritted his teeth and turned.

The crowd gasped. A woman cried out. Achan squeezed his fists and closed his eyes, mortified to have the brutality of his life on display. He knew his back was scarred. Sir Gavin hadn’t been the first person to comment on it.

Master Ricken stepped toward him and sucked in a sharp breath. His cold fingers trailed over Achan’s shoulder and back.

Achan held his breath, not knowing what the man was looking for, not caring. He only wanted to be dismissed. He threw up a desperate prayer to Sparrow’s god. The boy claimed there was only one god, and so did the voice. It was worth a try.

Arman, help me. Why is this happening?

A burning rose in Achan’s chest like a flash of fear, but continued to swell until he felt like he’d stepped into a sauna.

For I have appointed you as king over this nation. There is no one like you among all the people.

Master Ricken jerked to the side and looked at his own hand.

Achan gasped as the heat subsided. He pressed a hand against his forehead and wiped away the sweat. He breathed deeply as his pounding heartbeat slowed, trembling at the meaning behind the words he’d just heard in his mind from that other, mighty voice. The one that had told him nothing but truth. Achan, appointed by the gods—
the
God?—as king over Er’Rets? A single tear fell down to his chin.

Master Ricken stepped to the high table and whispered to the chairman. He turned, glanced at Achan with bulging eyes, then walked between Achan and Gidon back into the grandstands. Achan pivoted to face the audience and hide his back. He kept his head down.

The chairman cleared his throat. “Master Ricken has served as healer to the Mahanaim stronghold the past twenty years. No one doubts the validity of his expertise in matters of health and healing. It is his professional opinion that this man, Achan, bears an oval birthmark on his left shoulder that was branded over with the mark of a stray. He claims the mark on Prince Gidon’s shoulder is not a birthmark at all, but a scar from some kind of burn, likely one that was inflicted more than once.”

Shouts rang out from all sides. Achan flinched.

The chairman pounded his gavel into the hardwood table again and again until the crowd silenced. “Thank you, Prince Gidon and Master Cham, for your willingness to submit to examination. You may both be seated.”

Achan hurried to his seat on the far left of the room and sat beside Sparrow. His wooden scabbard knocked against the bench, but he hardly noticed the sound over all the talk in the auditorium. He pulled his clothing back on with shaking arms.

Sparrow’s voice came in a gentle whisper. “It will be okay.”

Achan closed his eyes. How could anything ever be okay again? His entire life had been a lie. He had no doubt now that it was Arman who had been speaking to him. And if Arman—said to be the one true God—was real, didn’t that mean Cetheria and Isemios and the rest were false gods? But what was he to do about what Arman had said? He had no business being king. He knew nothing of ruling. He knew nothing of anything important. Peeling potatoes. Stoking a fire.

Sparrow slid his small, thin fingers into Achan’s hand and squeezed. Achan stiffened and glanced at Sparrow without moving his head. The boy squeezed again, smiled, and let go. Achan drew his hand into a fist and pulled it to his lap.

“Sir Luas Nathak,” Lord Levy said, “please take the stand.”

Lord Nathak rose from his seat and stepped down off the platform. He climbed into the witness box at the end of the high table and sat. Two men dressed in black capes came out of the side chamber. They climbed onto the platform and sat on either side of Lord Nathak.

Achan stared at the bloodvoice mediators. What did they do exactly? Were they there merely to scare Lord Nathak into speaking the truth? Or could they force the truth from him?

The chairman began, “If it is lies you hope to spread, Lord Nathak, do not bother. These two men are bloodvoice mediators, as I’m sure you know. You are also aware how bloodvoice mediators work. They are trained to sense deceit
and
omission. Tell us the truth, and we will take your honesty into consideration in the end. Now, by the authority of this Council, I implore you to tell us your side of this tale.”