It had been a blessing, finally learning to bloodvoice someone securely. Vrell made good use of her new skill that very night.
Alone in her chamber, she fortified her mind. When she was certain no one could overhear, she focused on the memory of her mother’s face and called out to her.
Within seconds she got an answer.
Vrell? Is that you, dearest?
Mother! Vrell laughed though her tears. Mother, forgive me. I have been so frightened. I wanted to answer you, but… Oh, Mother. I am in Mahanaim. I have been taken as a bloodvoice apprentice to Macoun Hadar. Do you know of him? I had wanted to confess to Lord Orthrop when the Kingsguards came to fetch me, but I was afraid. You had said to trust Coraline, but I did not know how Lord Orthrop would respond.
You are still disguised as a boy?
Yes. I am almost certain that none suspect. Master Hadar is training me. I learned just today how to message.
My dear child, tell me everything.
Vrell started at the beginning and told her mother all she had gone through from Walden’s Watch to her new training with Master Hadar.
I know of no man named Macoun Hadar, Mother said. You say he is old?
He must be in his eighties.
I will write my brother and ask if Father ever spoke of such a man. I am not sure where else to inquire. You say the giant cautioned you against him?
Yes. Jax said that Macoun Hadar was not to be trusted.
I do not like this, my love. I want you home.
What shall I do?
Prince Oren will be in Mahanaim soon for the Council meeting. You should be able to find him without much difficulty. I will tell him to be looking out for you. Sir Rigil will be there as well. He may be more easily approached by a stray than the prince. Find him or Prince Oren and either will see you safely from Mahanaim.
But you will be coming as well, will you not? Mother held a seat on the Council of Seven. If they were meeting, she would be there.
Only if I can be assured that my land will be safe in my absence. Lord Nathak is up to no good. Though I know he will be at the Council meeting, I do not trust him. His men have been spotted on our land. They claim to be hunting. If I think there is any danger of trouble, I will not leave. I will send my proxy with Anillo.
Anillo was Mother’s trusted advisor, a man Vrell had recently discovered had the ability to bloodvoice. He was a logical choice to send in Mother’s place as he would be able to instantly relay to her all that was taking place.
Vrell did not like to hear of trouble at home. Regardless, after that talk with her mother, she slept soundly for the first time in months. Her days as a boy were numbered now. Soon she would be going home.
17
Achan traipsed alongside the prince’s litter, dust from the horses clouding him in a fog. He threw his cloak up over his nose to try and filter the air, but the dust stung his eyes as well. He considered walking a few yards out, but he didn’t want Gidon to think he was running away.
He tried not to focus on anything, but his mind kept flitting back to Gren. He didn’t want to dwell on her, that he’d never see her again, that she was Riga’s wife. He gritted his teeth and counted to twenty, hoping to distract himself. He wanted to leave. He hated Prince Gidon.
A scratchy voice said, What’s your name?
Achan froze at the voice in his mind and thought of the allown tree.
“Hey! Keep moving!”
Achan turned to see a mule in his face. The beast was pulling a cart. The man steering held up both hands. “Is there a problem?”
“No. Sorry.” Achan scurried after the litter and resumed his pace beside it, tensing against the flood of voices that were sure to fill his mind. Were they going to come back? What had kept them gone for so long?
A charcoal palfrey trotted off to the side of the procession, traveling in the opposite direction. Achan recognized the squire from Carmine, Bran Rennan. He steered the strong horse toward Achan. Bran looked bigger than he truly was on such an animal, though no squire could hope to look fierce with a peeling, sunburned nose like Bran had. He turned the animal to walk alongside Achan. “You were given no horse?”
Achan looked up. “You’re observant.”
Bran frowned. “Sir Rigil suspected as much. He sent me to check on you. Have you got water?”
“No.” Achan hadn’t thought to ask Poril for a water jug.
Bran lifted a strap from over his neck and lowered a water skin down to Achan. “You’re welcome to it. We always carry plenty anyway, and this is a short trip, so running out isn’t a concern.”
Achan draped the strap over his head and worked the cork free. “Thanks.”
“I’ll see you at camp.”
Achan nodded. Bran’s horse cantered away. Achan hadn’t expected to befriend anyone. The idea lightened his mood somewhat. He guzzled half the water and replaced the cork in time to dodge a trail of horse dung. The sun blazed above. He tossed his cape back up over his shoulders and reveled in the cool air on his arms. His linen shirt clung to his chest, drenched in sweat.
What do you want? the scratchy voice demanded.
Achan tensed, but this time he left the connection open. What do I want? It’s you who are in my head. I didn’t invite you.
Yes, you did. Stop pulling me here.
Achan waited for the voice to speak again but it didn’t. He constructed a theory. Somehow, the tonic quieted the voices. Since he hadn’t consumed it this morning, the voices were coming back. But why Lord Nathak insisted he take the tonic, and why Sir Gavin insisted he didn’t, baffled him. He considered Noam’s mention of bloodvoices, but the idea seemed too farfetched. This was life, not a bedtime story. There were no such things as bloodvoices.
Or strange voices who rejected other gods.
In the early afternoon, the procession paused at the foot of the ChowmahMountains to water the horses at a rocky stream. Achan was drawn to the forest. It was thick with allown trees. He wished he could someday live in such a place.
Achan came back from filling his new water skin to find a chamber pot sitting outside Prince Gidon’s litter. He thought nothing of it until Chora came by and said, “What are you standing around for? Do you think this empties and cleans itself?”
Mortified, Achan carried the stinking bronze pot toward the river. He dumped it in the bushes and sloshed it about down river. When he returned, a young lord and lady stood talking to the prince. Chora had drawn back the curtains on the litter to each side, and the prince sat on the floor of the litter like it was a throne.
Thin and tall with shocking orange hair, the young lord pleaded his case. “It’s just that the heat is so much stronger than we expected. Kati nearly fainted twice from heat stroke and this the first day of the journey. I fear she may fall from her horse.”
Achan wondered why the fool had insisted on bringing along his wife — dressed in twenty-five pounds of embroidered wool — when all the other women had waited to travel in the slower moving party.
“I would love to have company.” Prince Gidon offered his hand to the pretty, plump, grey-skinned lady. “I am bored to weeping in here all alone. Gods know my squire is as dull as the dust coating his hair.”