Sir Gavin turned to Achan. “Have you ever met the prince, lad?”
Achan couldn’t speak. His tongue seemed to shrivel in his mouth. Poison? Who would want to poison him? Sir Gavin stared, waiting to be answered. Achan shook his head. He had seen the prince lots of times, but he had never been close enough to breathe on him.
“And you never thought to question before you drink?”
Achan didn’t know what to say. He’d sensed the tonic was wrong, but what could he do? He was a stray, branded by his owner. “I—”
“’Tis not the boy’s place to question orders,” Poril snapped. “Lord Nathak demands the boy drink the tonic. Poril doesn’t question His Lordship, nor should you.”
Achan struggled to comprehend what was going on. Did Poril’s answer mean Lord Nathak wanted to poison Achan? Why? He’d been drinking the tonic for years. It hadn’t affected his health — had it?
Sir Gavin gripped Poril’s shoulder. “Never give this to him again! Do you hear?”
But Poril stood his ground. “Poril does beg yer pardon, my good sir knight, but Poril does his master’s bidding. If my good sir wishes the boy not take the tonic, then yeh must take the matter up with Lord Nathak hisself.”
“I will.” Sir Gavin released Poril, tossed the remaining bread into the mug, and banged it down on the bread table. “And I’m taking the lad with me for today. Don’t expect him ’til morning.”
Poril sputtered. “Well — what do yeh mean, my good sir knight?”
“I mean, my good cook, I’m in need of an assistant today, and I’m taking yours. Let’s go, lad!”
Achan took one step forward, then stopped to keep the tonic down.
“Poril has much to prepare for tomorrow, he does. Prince Gidon’s coming-of-age celebration. Over two hundred are expected. Could my good knight not find another assistant?”
“Could you not?”
Achan looked from Poril to Sir Gavin and back to Poril, unsure of which master to obey.
Finally Poril decided for him. “Yeh heard the good knight, boy. Be quick about it.”
Achan started for the spice baskets to get mentha leaves, but Poril yelled, “Now! And Poril had better not hear any complaints from the good knight, or Poril will punish yeh good.”
Achan scrambled around the table and out the door, his stomach churning. The morning air was cool but warmer than previous days. The sky was a bright, cloudless blue.
Sir Gavin paused for Achan to catch up, then set off in the direction of the stables. “Does he punish you often?”
Achan shrugged and fought the queasiness in his gut. “I don’t know. Once, sometimes twice a week.”
Sir Gavin halted. He went red again. Veins pulsed in his forehead and neck. He took a long breath through his nose and blew it out in a whistle. Without a word, he resumed walking toward the stables.
Achan scurried to keep up. The outer bailey was crowded after breakfast, but even more so with the coming-of-age celebration. Sir Gavin stopped behind a crowd.
“Make way!” someone yelled.
The people jerked back. Achan backpedaled to keep from falling down. The sharp movement roiled his still-queasy stomach. He should have insisted on grabbing mentha leaves before leaving the kitchens. He wheeled around and heaved his breakfast at the backside of the armory. The nearness of the chimney’s bricks heated the right side of his face.
Sir Gavin’s voice came from above. “Are you all right?”
Achan cleared his throat and spat. “I usually chew some mentha to settle my stomach. The tonic doesn’t like to stay down.”
“Then I’m sorry I kept you from it. But be glad the poison is out for the day. Your head will be clearer without it.”
Achan wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stood. “You’re certain the tonic is poison?”
“Aye. It won’t harm you, but you shouldn’t be taking it. I’ll speak to Lord Nathak about it the first chance I get.”
Achan nodded, though he wanted to know what the point of poison was if not to kill or make ill. Why poison a stray? Achan was nobody to anyone.
A chorus of gasps turned his head back to the crowd. Achan was tall for his age and could see easily from his position. A procession of black horses shrouded in green silk with silver trim passed by. The banners their riders held displayed a goat’s head. Achan smiled, thinking of Dilly and Peg.
The men also wore green. Their skin was olive-toned, and they all had hair as black as their horses’ coats. They steered their mounts into the inner bailey. A litter mounted onto four horses, two in front and two in back, jerked past. It was larger than the litter Prince Gidon rode around in, and just as ornate, though the wood was dark and polished rather than painted.
“Who are they?” Achan asked.
“Jaelport,” Sir Gavin said.
A shiver ran up Achan’s arms. Jaelport was a city in Darkness.
When the procession had passed and the crowd dispersed, Sir Gavin continued toward the stables.
They found Noam waiting with two saddled horses: a noble chestnut courser the color of Gren’s hair and a grey and white speckled rouncy. The courser was lean and sleek. The rouncy was round and bulky, though smaller in stature.
Noam’s small, brown eyes darted over Achan and Sir Gavin, and he smiled.
“Achan,” Sir Gavin said, stroking the nose of the rouncy, “this is Etti. She’s my pack horse but will be a good one for you to learn on. Take her reins and lead her into the field.”
Achan swallowed hard, bubbling with excitement, and took the reins. Not only did he have the day off from his chores and all the preparations for the celebration, but he was going to learn to ride. He glanced at Noam and grinned before guiding Etti out of the stables.
Achan led Etti across the courtyard, feeling like a real squire. He jutted his chin at the guards on the wall and passed through the main gate, his new boots tapping on the drawbridge with Etti’s hooves.
He stopped beside the moat and stared across the grassy field at the allown tree, feeling as though the tree were witnessing his life change. Etti began eating fresh spring grass at the side of the moat. Achan stroked her neck as she munched and waited while Sir Gavin led the chestnut courser over the drawbridge.
“This is Scippa,” Sir Gavin said when he’d stopped his horse beside Achan. “He’s the fastest horse I’ve ever seen, except the festriers in Xulon.”
“He’s beautiful,” Achan said.
“That he is.” Sir Gavin nodded to Noam, who stood watching from the drawbridge. “You ever see a festrier, Achan?”
“No, sir.” Achan had heard of the horses that measured as high as twenty-four hands. He believed in them about as much as he believed in the giants who were said to ride them.
“Someday you will.” Sir Gavin took Scippa’s reins in his left hand and held them up. “When you ride, always mount on the left side.” He reached up with his left hand still gripping the reins and fisted Scippa’s mane. Then he put his left foot into the stirrup, his right hand on the top edge of the saddle, and jumped. He pulled himself up and swung his right leg over the horse’s back.
It looked easy enough. Thankfully, Etti was small. Achan tried to imitate what Sir Gavin had done and just about fell into the moat. On the second try, Achan barely managed to mount. He flushed to think how that must have looked to Noam. It was a good thing he hadn’t been trying to mount a horse the size of Scippa.
“Nicely done, lad! Let’s go to the field for a bit.” Sir Gavin led Scippa toward the wheat field where Achan had spent so many hours with the waster.
Etti followed for a few steps then stopped, her head dipping back to the grass. Then she walked after Scippa again, only to stop a few paces later for more grass. Achan still gripped Etti’s mane in his left hand, and he held tight. Her body rocked him from side to side when she moved. It was like being a giant, to sit atop a horse. He grinned, liking the height very much but wondering just how he was to control this animal.