The room seemed to grow colder. Achan lay back on his stone bed, closed his eyes, and pictured the allown tree on the edge of the SiderosRiver. In his mind, the wind blew the leaves about. He saw Gren’s chestnut hair billowing around her rosy face.
Gren.
The valet’s voice jerked Achan away from his longing. “He. Him. There.”
Achan opened his eyes to see the carrot-topped valet pointing at Sparrow.
“He’s the one who shut my hand in the door!” the valet whined.
“Did you, Vrell?” the old man’s voice hummed as if each word he spoke tasted delicious. Achan had heard his voice before. In his mind.
The man looked twice as old as Poril. He had the same spotted skin, but he was thinner and shorter and had bulging eyes like Jaira’s little dog. A thick grey cloak billowed around him. Now that was the kind of cloak Gren needed.
“Aye, master,” Sparrow said. “He tried to give a tonic to the prisoner, but I think it is poisonous. If the valet would like to bring the ingredients down and prepare the brew in my presence, I could confirm whether it is safe.”
The old man held out a claw-like hand and the valet handed him the vial.
“The prisoner is ill,” the valet said. “He must take his tonic daily and has missed four doses in this mishap. If my master’s orders continue to be ignored, I fear for the prisoner’s life.”
The old man pried the cork free. He stuck his pinky finger inside and touched it to his tongue. His face wrinkled, and he spat on the floor three times. “This is no regular tonic,” he hissed. “Why does the prisoner take this?”
The valet shrugged. “He’s ill.”
“On whose authority?”
“Lord Nathak’s, sir.”
The old man yelled, “Out!”
“Lord Nathak shall hear of this,” the valet said before scurrying away.
“See that he does,” the old man said to himself.
“What is it, master?” Sparrow asked.
“Silencer.” The old man turned toward Achan. His cadaverous, ashen eyes drilled into him.
The coldness penetrated Achan’s mind. He glanced away and shivered.
The old man mumbled, “Lord Nathak has gone to a great deal of trouble to hide this young man’s gift. I must discover why.” He worked the cork back into the vial and turned to the guards. “Let no one inside — Lord Nathak, especially.”
The old man and the guards left.
After a while, Sparrow said as if to himself, “I shall try to follow. My master is too strong to enter, but I might be able to jump through him.”
The boy may as well have been speaking Poroo. “What are you talking about?”
Sparrow ignored him and pulled something small out of his pocket.
“What you got there?” Achan asked.
Sparrow held up a scrap of cloth. “It is easier to connect with someone if you have something personal.”
“And you collect fabric scraps?”
“I cut it from my master’s pillow.”
Well, that made perfect sense. Achan jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna use the bucket.”
Sparrow flushed. He turned to face the corner, clutching the fabric against his chest.
Strange boy, Vrell Sparrow.
Achan made good time with the bucket and perched on the bed to watch Sparrow’s performance. He toyed with the idea of trying to hear Sparrow’s thoughts but decided against it. He didn’t want to mess up whatever the boy was trying to do.
But Sparrow just sat there, boring Achan into a stupor. So Achan crouched behind him on the floor and placed one finger on the hem of his silky grey tunic. Cloth apparently formed some kind of connection. If so, and if what Sparrow said was true — that Achan was strong — maybe he could hear Sparrow’s thoughts.
Achan closed his eyes and pictured Sparrow. Short Sparrow, with a gut like an old man. Blushing Sparrow, who’d blend in better wearing a skirt. Greasy-haired Sparrow, who bossed about guards and valets, despite his lowly station. Achan liked this boy. He pictured himself tiptoeing into Sparrow’s head and looking under a pile of brains.
Then Achan was walking down a corridor, his back stiff and hunched. He pushed open a heavy door and entered a room filled with warm sunlight. Lord Nathak sat at a desk in front of a large window. Goosebumps raised on Achan’s arms as he reveled in the room’s heat.
Lord Nathak spoke without looking up. “Why have you kept my valet from the squire?”
Achan’s arm held up the vial and spoke in the old man’s voice. “He tries to poison the boy.”
Achan held his breath. He was the old man. Amazing!
Lord Nathak sighed. “You and I both know what you hold in your hand is not poison.”
“Then tell me what game you play, Lord Nathak. His gift is the strongest I’ve ever felt. Why do you wish it hidden? If you want my help, you must convince me of the cause I aid.”
Lord Nathak tugged at the ties of his mask where they ran under his chin. “He disturbs the prince. His bloodvoice is untamable.”
“I can tame anyone — given the chance.”
“The prince despises him and does not wish him trained.”
“Then why make him a squire? It’s against Council law anyway, so why do it?”
“I did not make him a squire. Sir Gavin Lukos did. I merely made use of his training.”
“If the prince despises him, why not have him killed?”
“I am not a murderer.”
Achan heard Master Hadar snort. “I sense a different truth from you, Lord Nathak. You may be able to close your mind, but you cannot hide everything.” The old man hummed. “Is he who I think he is?”
Lord Nathak leaned back in his chair. “What he is is my property. Prince Gidon has ordered him punished. I will not have him calling out for a rescue.”
“Does he even know how to—”
Sparrow’s voice seemed to scream in Achan’s head. “What are you doing?”
Achan wheezed as if coming out of the water after nearly drowning. He blinked rapidly until Sparrow’s round face came into focus. He shuddered. “That was incredible!”
Sparrow’s forehead wrinkled. “What was?”
Achan rubbed the chill from his arms. The warmth of Lord Nathak’s chamber had vanished. “They’re going to beat me.” He grinned. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
Sparrow set the back of his hand against Achan’s forehead.
Achan batted it away and clambered to his feet. “You didn’t see? Or hear?”
“Hear what?”
“I followed you. I touched your tunic and concentrated and, bam!” Achan slapped his hands together. “I was the old man in Lord Nathak’s chamber. A warm and spacious chamber, I might add. Do you think I’ll ever get a warm and spacious chamber?”
Sparrow’s eyes popped wide. “You jumped?”
Achan shrugged and sat down on his bed.
“I could see nothing. What did they say?”
Achan repeated the conversation.
Sparrow got to his feet. “This is astonishing. I have never been able to enter my master’s mind, yet you used my connection for yourself and got further than I ever have. I did not sense you at all. Are you weary?”
“Should I be?”
Sparrow sat next to Achan on the stone bed. “Oh, Achan. No wonder they all want you. The power you have is magnificent…and dangerous. You must be careful.”
Achan smirked. “Sparrow…”
“Do you not see? I cannot enter my master’s mind, but you did. And through a jumped connection at that! Achan, you could enter any mind in Er’Rets.”