By Darkness Hid (8 page)

“Why could I talk to the deer? Why can you talk to my head? Why did I hear all those voices? One of them knew you were with me. How?”

Sir Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “How many voices did you hear?”

Achan shook his head. “Dozens. The whole way back. I think the Evenwall somehow…” He looked at the knight. “Why didn’t you leave me Etti?”

Sir Gavin’s questioning expression faded. He slapped Achan’s shoulder. “Stop whining. Go to bed. We’ll talk about the voices in the morning.”

Achan didn’t complain. He used Sir Gavin’s water to wash the blood from his body the best he could. Then he rinsed out his tunic. He didn’t remember walking down the stairs to the cellar, but suddenly he found himself there. He hung his tunic on one of the ale spouts to dry then crawled onto his pallet under the casks.

Prince Gidon’s coming-of-age celebration began tomorrow. Poril would be in a frenzy, and Achan wouldn’t have a moment to spare. But Sir Gavin had declared him worthy of knighthood. Would Poril allow him to watch any of the tournaments?

The thought should’ve thrilled him. But at the moment, he didn’t even care.

Part 2

Vrell

4

“Now pull the laces as tight as you can,” Lady Coraline Orthrop said.

Vrell obeyed, then tied the silk strings in a tiny bow and tucked the ends into the scooped neckline. “It is more comfortable than the binding and all the tunics.”

Lady Coraline stepped up to Vrell and ran her fingertips down the front laces. “And this will be easier than wearing so many layers. No one will suspect a thing.”

Lady Coraline was a master with thread and needle. She had crafted Vrell’s snug undergarment to be similar to a corset. This one had no uncomfortable whalebone at the waist, though. It was designed to give Vrell a small paunch of wool fleece rather than suck her stomach in. With Vrell’s only confidante going to Carmine, she would not have help to bind her breast and dress each day. The new undergarment would enable her to do it alone.

Vrell gripped Lady Coraline’s hands. “I wish I could go with you,” she said. “Must you really leave?”

Lady Coraline’s brown eyes met Vrell’s. “My father is ill, and I am overdue for a visit. Plus I have not seen your mother in over eleven years. Do not fret. You will be safe here.”

But Vrell wasn’t sure. She had been safe only because of Lady Coraline’s care. Lady Coraline had been like a mother to Vrell these past months, though she did not look like a mother of four, which she was.

She wore a maroon silk gown with green and gold embroidery. Every curl of her golden hair was pinned into place with a turquoise and silver circlet. At first sight, Vrell had thought Lady Coraline looked very out of place in this fishing town. A noblewoman from Zerah Rock, she was all elegance and decorum. She had married beneath her but did not care. In that, Vrell hoped to someday relate.

Lady Coraline walked back to her bed and began to pick up leftover scraps of fabric. The morning sun beamed though the closed shutters, painting stripes of light over the blue bedspread.

Lady Coraline’s bedchamber was small compared to Vrell’s chambers at home, and not more than a garderobe compared to Mother’s room there. Still, there was something quaint and cozy about this manor. Walden’s Watch was like a getaway cottage. This room consisted of a large oak bed and matching sideboard, a tall mirrorglass, and two chairs in front of a warm fireplace. An oval braided rug covered most the floor.

Vrell lifted the orange tunic from the sideboard and ran her thumb over the scratchy fabric. “I know I’ll be safe, but I miss Mother so.”
And Bran
. Her lips curved into a smile at the thought of Bran’s sunburned face. It had been six months since Vrell had gone into hiding here at Walden’s Watch, the home of her mother’s childhood friend.

Lady Coraline took Vrell’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “Dearest, I cannot believe this will go on much longer. Your suitor will soon tire of searching and wed another.”

Vrell hoped so. She had come to Walden’s Watch last November to hide from the horrible man. Mother had felt the need to conceal more than Vrell’s location—thus the idea to take on a new identity and gender. Vrell’s suitor might be scouring all Er’Rets in search of her, but he would not be looking for a fourteen-year-old stray boy.

“I hope you are right.” Vrell pulled the orange tunic over her head and tied the brown rope belt. “Masquerading as a boy is fun, though. Trousers are so comfortable, but I wish I could have worn blue.” She walked to the mirrorglass that stood in the far corner of the bedchamber.

At seventeen, Vrell was fully grown, but because of her small frame, Mother had suggested her boy persona be fourteen. Vrell examined her short black hair and fair skin in the mirrorglass. She wrinkled her nose and gave her round cheeks a pinch.

“Orange does nothing for my complexion, and strays are treated so horribly. When I return home, I vow to be kind to every stray I see.”

Lady Coraline’s rose leaf-toned face appeared in the mirror over Vrell’s shoulder. “I am sorry you must take the part of a stray, my dear, but it is truly the safest hiding place. Few take notice of strays, and your sallow complexion better hides your beauty.”

It certainly did. That and the fact that the padded garment made her torso chubby despite her skinny arms and legs. Her shaggy, chopped hair would not lie flat, and she could only describe the dingy, orange tunic as hideous. Would Bran still think her beautiful if he saw her now? Would he forgive her for running away?

Vrell pulled on worn leather boots and set her hands on her hips. “Well?”

Lady Coraline clapped. “Perfect! Now just you remember your words.”

“I am trying!” She cleared her throat. “I mean, ‘I be tryin’ real hard, m’lady.’”

Lady Coraline giggled.

In Vrell’s efforts at playing a stray boy around Walden’s Watch, she most often forgot to speak like one. Thrice now she had ordered servants about in the manor before remembering her place. Lady Coraline had introduced Vrell to them as her husband’s ward and had insisted
the boy
be treated as a guest and not a servant.

The servants did not like Vrell much.

For the first time in her life, she was thankful for her hoarse, gravelly voice. She had always hated sounding like she had a cold that would not go away. Finally it came in useful.

A pressure squeezed in on Vrell’s mind. The thoughts of the little girl climbing the stairs at the end of the hall echoed through Vrell’s inner ear. “Aljee is coming,” she said to Lady Coraline. “She is hoping to wear your pearls and coral necklace.”

Lady Coraline’s face paled. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“I cannot help it.”

“You and your mother and your bloodvoices.” Lady Coraline scowled. “Your mother played the most rotten tricks on me until she finally confessed her gift. I had feared she was a witch for the longest time.”

Vrell laughed. “Yes, Mother told me.” The gift had begun in Vrell a month before she had gone into hiding. Mother had explained that bloodvoicing was an endowment. It enabled Vrell to speak with her mother’s mind when Mother reached out, but Vrell did not yet know how to reach for Mother. She found she could also hear the thoughts of anyone who was nearby. Some minds were easier to hear than others. Children were always susceptible.

Vrell had wanted to learn everything right away, but Mother said it would be safer to wait until this crisis passed so that she could be trained properly.

A knock sounded at the door.

Lady Coraline scowled.

“Sorry!” Vrell whispered.

“One moment, please,” Lady Coraline called.

Vrell darted behind the mirrorglass. It would not do for even young Aljee to see a
boy
in her mother’s bedchamber.

Lady Coraline’s footsteps creaked across the wooden floor until the door grated open. “Hello, dearest.”

Vrell peeked around the edge of the mirrorglass.

Nine-year-old Aljee, Lady Coraline’s youngest daughter, stood in the doorway looking lovely in ruffles of blue silk. “Father is ready to see you off.”

“Of course. Carry my purse?”

Aljee skipped to her mother’s table, golden ringlets bouncing, and swung a red silk purse over her shoulder. “Can I play with your jewels while you’re away?”

Lady Coraline sighed, and Vrell suppressed a giggle. “No, but you may use my purses and shawls.”

“Hurray!”

Vrell smirked at the child who could not wait to be a young woman. It would happen all too soon, and once Aljee tried the corset and learned the politics of court life, she might wish to return to age nine. After Lady Coraline and Aljee left, Vrell sneaked from the room and went downstairs to bid her mother’s dear friend farewell.

*          *          *

Less than an hour later, Vrell stood on the embankment with the four Orthrop children, just below the stone walls of Walden’s Watch Manor.

Lord Orthrop had walked Lady Coraline and her serving woman onto the ship that would sail to Nesos. Vrell had heard Shoal, the Orthrops’ eldest son, refer to the wooden boat as a cog. Vrell didn’t think a cog looked at all safe. Lady Coraline and her serving woman would be riding with six men in a space no bigger than Lady Coraline’s bedchamber. And the cog was stacked with cargo that caused it to sit low in the gentle waves. What if there were a storm? There had to be a better way to travel.

The unfamiliar warmth of the sea breeze tousled Vrell’s short hair in and out of her eyes. Her skin felt damp with the abrasive smell of seaweed, fish guts, and paraffin oil from boat lamps. The smell stuck to her. With Lady Coraline gone, Vrell would not have a decent bath until her return.

The sea stretched out before her, calm and heavy. Gulls swarmed the rocky shore, nipping bites of whatever creature had died among the rocks. The beach rose sharply up the hill until sand gave way to green grass that ran all the way to the greystone manor walls.

Vrell always felt awkward at these family gatherings. Council law required strays to wear orange. But, as at Zerah Rock and Carmine, Walden’s Watch did not employ slaves or strays. That did not stop people from treating Vrell with contempt. The Orthrop children were kind to her, though. Eleven-year-old Gil more so than anyone.

Lord Orthrop walked up the dock and stood beside Shoal. At first glance, the two men looked like twins. Both had blond hair slicked back into a tail, brown eyes, tanned skin, and broad shoulders. But eighteen-year-old Shoal did not have the weathered face of his father.

A chorus of good-bye s rang out from the children, and Vrell joined in, blinking away her tears. Aljee ran down the dock, tossing blossoms in the boat’s wake and waving to her mother. Riif and Gil had already moved on. They were fighting with sticks on the grassy lawn behind the manor. Shoal and his father were discussing the tides.

Shoal was quite handsome. If he hadn’t smelled like fish at all hours of the day, Vrell might’ve been tempted to get to know him better.

It was probably for the best. For one thing, Shoal believed in the Er’Retian gods, which Vrell held to be mythical. For another, Shoal was in love with Keili, a fisherman’s daughter. It was a shame that Lord Orthrop would never approve the match. Such was life. But those two topics of conversation would certainly cause trouble. Vrell had a bad habit of setting people straight about
the gods
that usually ended in ridicule. Plus, her own thwarted love would prod her to romantic discussions no true boy would venture into willingly.

Best to steer clear.

Shoal, still engaged in conversation with his father, grinned at Vrell as she walked up the hill, practicing her springy boy walk. Unfortunately, after hearing his thoughts, she knew his smile was not for companionship, but at his memory of clobbering her with a sword. Her hand was still bruised. Vrell sighed and started for the apothecary, kicking pebbles on the dusty road as she went.

The village of Walden’s Watch was crammed into a small, flat space at the end of the NaharPeninsula. Cliffs edged the ocean on both sides of the town. The houses were narrow, two-level stone dwellings packed close beside one another.

Vrell kept her head down as she walked, glancing up only to keep from running into anything. Strays were not to make eye contact with people above their station, and that took a lot of training on Vrell’s part. A little boy chased a rolling leather ball into the road. She did not meet his eyes or try to hear his thoughts, but his sunburned face reminded her of Bran.

Seven months ago, Bran Rennan had asked for Vrell’s hand. She longed to be his bride. He was her dearest friend and her only love. But Bran was only a lesser noble, and Vrell was heir to a duchy. She would be marrying beneath her, at least in terms of social station. To Vrell’s delight, her mother had actually been considering the match when another suitor had come along.

The powerful and horrible Crown Prince of Er’Rets: Gidon Hadar.

Vrell had wanted nothing to do with him. Thankfully, Mother had agreed. But when the prince threatened to send guards to provoke a favorable answer, Mother sent Vrell into hiding.

The plan was simply to wait. As soon as Prince Gidon yielded and chose another woman to marry, Vrell would return home. At which point she would beg Mother to accept Bran’s offer.

For now, Vrell was homesick but safe. It was winter’s end, and if she were home she would still be wearing heavy woolen skirts and furs. Here she did not even need an overcoat. Walden’s Watch was almost tropical, although it was more swamp than rainforest. According to Lord Orthrop, however, the gods always cursed the NaharPeninsula in a winter drought.

She rolled her eyes at such foolish superstition.

The apothecary sat two streets from the manor house in a stone building with a large wooden shutter covering the window. When the shop opened, the shutter would serve as an awning to shade both customers and merchandise. Vrell approached the building and followed the path to the backyard.