“I’ve been around long enough, boy. I know everyone who has the bloodvoices and where they live. No one in Walden’s Watch had it. But recently, I sensed the gift there. So I sent the Kingsguards to fetch you.”
Vrell took a risk and asked, “How did you know where to find me and that I was a boy?”
“I didn’t…at first. But there are always clues. I sent Jax and Khai to Walden’s Watch. As they neared, I could sense you through them even though they couldn’t sense you. This is called jumping. Jax is stronger than Khai. Upon entering the manor house, Jax sensed a bloodvoice presence, but he couldn’t discern who or how old or the level of ability. You walk about with your shields up, which is wise. Through Jax, I could sense you were someone young and someone who didn’t belong.”
Heat flushed over Vrell. How close he had come to knowing the whole truth.
“Once Jax spoke with Lord Orthrop and discovered he had a new ward, I figured that was who had the gift. When Jax saw you, I sensed your power.”
“But you could not hear me?”
“No. You block too well. I sensed you were there, heard your conversations with Jax and Khai through their thoughts, but I could not hear your thoughts directly.”
Vrell thought about the newly gifted man. “There is one voice, a new one whom Jax, Khai, and I heard on our journey here. His thoughts blast into my mind, even though my guard is up.”
“Yes.” Master Hadar’s eyes sparkled. “The boy. Achan. I’ve been seeking him.”
Achan. He hadn’t sounded like a mere boy to Vrell. “Why do you seek him?”
“His strength would be of great use.”
Vrell tilted her head. “Why do you think him a boy?”
“Clues. You heard all the voices?”
“Yes.”
“Good. But I listen to what they said. Some referred to him as a boy. These were likely the thoughts of regular men who were near him at the time. He was transferring their thoughts for all bloodvoicers to hear without realizing it. It’s like the reverse of jumping. Very hard to do.”
Vrell glanced at the ring. How strange that thoughts could be sent so easily, yet she could not contact Mother. Had she been away from Mother too long to reach her? She had none of her mother’s belongings in her possession. Would that help if she did? Would a possession keep others from listening in? “How could I call out to you, Master, without Jax or Khai or someone else hearing me — sensing me?”
“That’s called messaging. I’ll teach it to you soon enough. It will be important for you to be my eyes in places an old man is not able to go.”
Vrell wondered what sorts of places Master Hadar had in mind. Did he intend to make her into a spy?
Someone tapped on the door.
Master Hadar called out, “Enter.”
Carlani inched his way inside. Mags, the thin, red-haired servant girl, walked with him, her steps fidgety, her expression tense. Vrell jumped up and took the tray from her hands. She must have had a very long and frustrating walk beside Carlani. Mags’s eyes fluttered over Vrell. She smiled, then left the room. Vrell set the tray on the table before Master Hadar. Carlani hobbled to a sideboard in the far corner that held a water pitcher and mugs.
Vrell turned to Master Hadar. “How can I speak to Carlani? To send him a message?”
Master Hadar dug into his bowl of gruel, sloppily putting some to his lips. “You can’t. Carlani does not have the gift. But you can influence him.”
Vrell narrowed her eyes.
Master Hadar’s thin mouth twisted into a sinister smile, globs of gruel showing between his lips. He slurped. “These are things I’ll teach you over time. Things some consider…immoral.”
Vrell shivered in the hot room, not liking the sound of that.
15
Lord Nathak canceled the prince’s sparring practice due to his injury. Even though it was not for his benefit, Achan was grateful. He wore his Kingsguard uniform anyway and carried Eagan’s Elk at his side. He didn’t want to be caught off-guard and without a weapon, nor could he simply leave a priceless sword lying around.
He spent the morning peeling potatoes under Poril’s mournful eye and planning his escape to Tsaftown. Deserting the prince was punishable by death, but death was just what Gidon had in mind for him, so he may as well get away while he was still whole.
Chora had informed Poril that Achan would be traveling to Mahanaim. Poril moped around the kitchens, suddenly unable to do anything without Achan’s assistance. The old man still stood sentry until Achan drank his tonic. Achan wanted to heed Sir Gavin’s warning not to drink it, but he didn’t want to start a war with Poril on their last day together.
Achan was melancholy but couldn’t fathom where the feeling came from. He shook off thoughts of Poril and focused on the potatoes. His dreams of leaving were going to come true at last, but not how he’d hoped. Tonight he’d flee Sitna a fugitive rather than a free man. And Gren would not be coming along.
Gren.
She refused to run away. Achan wasn’t surprised. She loved her family and home. Still, he felt like she had chosen Riga over him. Could Achan simply leave her here? Maybe he could come back to make sure that Riga was treating her well. The thought of Riga quickened his knife, and soon all the potatoes were peeled and chopped.
A page raced into the kitchen. “Master Poril, sir.” The boy paused to catch his breath. “Prince Gidon requires the stray’s presence immediately.”
The stray’s presence.
Achan slid off his stool and stormed outside. He would face this tyrant for the last time. Prince Gidon was nothing but a glorified Riga or Harnu. Achan’s back still smarted as he bounded up to the sixth floor, boots stomping all the way.
Chora hushed him at the door, then let him through. “Master Cham, Your Highness.”
Achan strode into Prince Gidon’s solar. The prince stood on the balcony, arms propped on the railing, hip jutting out to the left. He wore a deep maroon doublet and brown leather trousers bound below the knees with gold garters. Achan started toward him, but someone cleared his throat. Achan turned to see Lord Nathak at a desk in the corner of the room reading a scroll.
Lord Nathak tossed the scroll aside and looked at Achan. The ties of his mask had come undone under his chin, letting the mask gape slightly. Achan caught a glimpse of the ruined flesh. “You are ready to leave in the morning?”
Achan stiffened. He’d be leaving before then, but he couldn’t reveal that here. “Yes, my lord.”
“I will not be coming with you. I will follow behind with the nobility.”
Achan knew all this already. Prince Gidon’s procession would ride out first, accompanied by the knights and squires. Lord Nathak would follow at a slower pace with the lords and ladies and their children who were going south. Some of those would attend the Council vote in Mahanaim, but many — including Lady Tara, Achan had discovered — were going home until the actual coronation that would commence in the fall.
“I’m counting on you to serve his every need, as his attendants are not used to travel.”
Achan fought to keep his face passive. He’d never spent time as a personal servant and had no intention of starting now. Come morning, he would be deep in the SiderosForest on his way to Mitspah.
Lord Nathak went on. “Chora will be with him, as will Sir Kenton, but should anything happen, are you prepared for battle?”
Battle? Achan blinked. “Yes, my lord.” But he wasn’t. Not really. Who would be insane enough to attack a procession of Kingsguard knights? Achan searched his memory. Had Sir Gavin ever mentioned anyone who might want to kill the prince? Hundreds of people, probably, but Achan couldn’t remember anyone specific.