“This cottage is unfinished,” Prince Gidon said.
Gren’s mother, gods bless her, was in rare form. She moved toward the prince. “They were so in love, Your Highness, that they couldn’t wait for the house to be finished.”
The prince forced a smile. “When was the happy day?”
No one spoke or met Prince Gidon’s eyes. It was obvious the wedding guests were still here. Achan looked from Gren to Riga to Gren’s mother.
Riga finally said, “Yesterday, Your Majesty.”
Prince Gidon turned to Achan and raised a dark eyebrow. “I see.” The prince looked down his nose at Gren and strode from the room, banging the front door closed behind him.
Achan shuddered and stepped toward the entrance.
“Achan, wait!” Gren hopped to her feet and gripped him in a hug, reminiscent of her mother’s from that morning. Her hair smelled like orange blossoms, but her eyes were bloodshot. He gritted his teeth, not wanting to do or say anything that might get Gren in trouble. He wanted to carry her away from here. He wanted to kill Riga and take his place. He didn’t like the way he felt like he was losing control.
“Thank you, Achan,” Gren said.
He could only nod.
Gren released him. Her mother kissed both his cheeks. Then Riga opened the door and gave him to Harnu, who towed him out the front door and slammed it in his face.
Some gratitude.
Wanting to get as far away as possible, Achan ran through the maze of cottages, out the drawbridge, and toward the procession. He caught sight of the prince a few yards ahead and hung back.
But Prince Gidon rounded on him. “You think me a fool, stray? I know you did this. Stay close to me on this journey. If I even think you’ve deserted me, that ‘happy couple’ will be dead before you can bother to explain.”
The prince stomped to his litter, which was now harnessed to two horses, one in front and one in back. He climbed inside and whipped the curtains closed. His jerky movements upset the animals, and Noam and two guards did their best the calm them.
Achan stood simmering in the morning sun. It was simple then. As long as he endured Gidon’s wrath, Gren would be safe. So be it. He’d never have been free anyway. He might be leaving Sitna, but his life really wasn’t changing. He was still a stray — only now his master would be a king instead of a cook. He didn’t imagine things could get much worse. He looped the drawstring of Poril’s bag of food over one shoulder and waited.
A cloud of dust billowed into the air at the front of the line. The caravan was moving. It took over ten minutes before the litter was able to move. Achan gave Noam one last wave and trudged along beside it. He didn’t look back again.
16
Vrell reported to her master’s chamber, only to find the dull, grey room empty. The only color in the room came from the sun shining though the windows on the eastern wall across from the chamber’s entrance. Master Hadar’s bed sat against the northern wall. The southern wall held a huge fireplace near the entrance, and a sideboard and shelves near the window wall. An alcove jutted out in the center of the southern wall, where an oak desk sat cluttered with scrolls.
She helped herself to a mug of water from the sideboard in the corner, then inched toward the fireplace, sipping her drink and taking everything in as she went. Halfway to the fireplace, she paused at her master’s oak desk. A small stack of scrolls lay piled on one side. A bottle of ink with a quill poking out sat beside a sheet of parchment in the center of the desk. The letter had likely been left out to dry. The quill was plain. A gull’s feather, perhaps. Mother always used a lovely peacock quill when she corresponded with—
The name on the top of the letter caught her eye: Sir Luas Nathak, Lord of Sitna. A chill raked her body. Lord Nathak? That man had pined for her mother’s hand for years following Father’s death. Vrell hated men who sought a wife when they already had one. It was the deepest form of cruelty and selfishness. Worse was the fact that Lord Nathak only wanted control of Carm. Apparently, he had advised his ward, Prince Gidon, to accomplish what he could not.
Lord Nathak’s eerie mask and disfigurement did not help his reputation. Nor did his behavior since her mother’s refusal. He had used threats to try to get his way. He had even resorted to force once, but Mother’s guards had been quick and thorough.
In Vrell’s mind, the man was pure evil. And his ward was worse. She walked around to the other side of the desk to read the letter.
My Good Sir Luas,
Thank you for accepting my invitation to meet. I look forward to your coming visit.
Macoun Hadar
Vrell frowned and glanced at the stack of scrolls. Why did her master want to meet with Lord Nathak? She closed her eyes but sensed no sign of Master Hadar’s cold-walled mind. So she set down her cup and reached for the scroll on the top of the stack. She unrolled it and read.
Master Hadar,
I will be travelling in the second party, sending our king ahead with his attendants and knights. Watch over him as he prepares to meet with the Council. All is going according to plan.
Luas
Plan? What could these two men be plotting with Prince Gidon? Vrell shivered. The prince was coming to Mahanaim? Did that mean his coming-of-age celebration was at an end? Had he chosen a bride?
She lifted another scroll, but a coldness pressed in on her mind. Master Hadar was near. She quickly returned everything to its original position and hurried to the center window. The warmth of the sun, and the drink now back in her hand, calmed her thumping heart as the door squeaked open. She turned to see Carlani scooting inside.
“The master requires your presence.”
Vrell set her mug on the sideboard and joined Carlani at the door. “Where is he?”
Carlani nodded across the antechamber to the second door, the one that led to the empty stone chamber. Vrell’s lips parted. What would her master be doing in such a cold and empty room? He’d been so near while she’d read his letters?
Carlani inched his way across the antechamber, knocked twice on the door, and pushed it open. He raised his hand, urging Vrell to enter first. As she swept past, he whispered, “I’m not allowed to enter this room.”
Carlani closed the door behind her, and Vrell fought the chill that tickled her spine. She turned to see Master Hadar sitting on a small stool, eyes closed. The room was empty, like a dungeon cell, but cleaner and without a cot or privy bucket.
A second stool sat empty beside Master Hadar. A lantern on the floor by his feet splashed golden flecks of light over his dark robes. She watched, fidgeting with the hem of her satin tunic. With the exception of his steadily rising and falling chest, and the occasional flicker of his eyelids, he remained motionless.
Vrell swallowed and began the mundane task of counting the bricks along the outer wall. She counted to sixty-three before her master spoke.
“This is my quiet room.” He motioned to the stool beside him. “Bloodvoicing is best done in a room like this. No distractions.”
Vrell sat on the squat stool, its lowness and her short height put her shoulder at Master Hadar’s elbow. Something red glistened between his gnarled fingers: a ruby cabochon belt buckle. A jewel that exorbitant could only belong to royalty. She pointed at it. “Whose is that?”
Macoun opened his palm, displaying the cabochon under Vrell’s nose. “This belongs to Prince Gidon Hadar.”
Vrell shuddered. “Surely His Royal Highness would miss such a jewel?”
“On the contrary, boy. Prince Gidon has more jewels than he can keep track of, especially red ones. Besides, Lord Nathak of Sitna sent this to me. He’s the young prince’s caretaker. Do you know the story of how this came to be?”