Vrell dwelled on this fear as she followed Sir Gavin through the spacious but empty foyer. The golden doors to the Council auditorium were propped open. Sir Gavin led them single file along the entry corridor, past his own limestone bust and broken shield, to the inner doors. Vrell tensed, her pulse pounding in her temples. Sir Gavin pushed the doors open with a bang and strode inside, his boots clicking over the white and black speckled marble floor.
Vrell cringed. So much for staying out of sight.
They entered the packed auditorium. A raised platform stretched along the front wall. The seven Council members, a ruling lord from each duchy in Er’Rets, sat at a high table in ornate chairs. They each wore long black robes. Lord Levy sat in the center of the high table and wore a tall drum-like hat to signify his position as chairman over the proceeding.
Grandstands rose three stories high in a half circle around the high table. In the center front of the grandstands, Prince Gidon sat on a throne, facing the high table. A small wooden platform enclosed with half walls sat off to the right of the high table. Here, men and women were called to testify in a trial. New Kingsguardsmen lined the wall behind the witness platform. Three more stood just inside the entrance, only feet from where Vrell stood. Vrell scanned the guards for Jax or Khai but did not see either.
Hundreds of spectators filled the stands. Nobles and wealthy merchants occupied the lower seats. Peasants and slaves sat near the stone ceiling. Several nobles in front directed their attention to Sir Gavin as he barreled into the chambers. She caught sight of Bran and Sir Rigil sitting in the fifth row from the floor. Her heart fluttered. She only needed to get a moment to speak with them in private.
Vrell studied the faces of the Council leaders. She saw Prince Oren Hadar, Sir Dovev Falkson, Duke of Berland, Sir Yagil Hamartano, Duke of— Wait. Her mother was absent, yet seven seats were filled. Who had taken Mother’s seat? She had expected to see Anillo, the advisor Mother had sent with her proxy, but that was not him in her spot.
The Council session had already begun. The crowd was unnaturally silent. Lord Levy, who was chairman of the Council of Seven, was moderating in an appropriately bored voice.
“We accept the report from the steward from Hamonah.” Lord Levy looked up from his notes and turned to the door where Sir Gavin, Vrell, Achan, Inko, and Sir Caleb had entered. Lord Levy frowned. “What’s this? Sir Gavin?”
Sir Gavin paced into the center of the room and shouted, “I’ve come to make a claim before Arman and this Council.”
A murmur rose from the stands. Vrell heard Sir Gavin’s name. Some pointed at him.
Just then, Vrell spotted the impostor on the Council. Lord Nathak squirmed in Mother’s seat at the end of the platform, his eye flickering over Sir Gavin’s group. Vrell scowled. Who had given the seat to Lord Nathak? Certainly not Mother. And no one else had authority to do so. Where was Anillo?
“I’m sorry, Sir Gavin,” Lord Levy said, “but the time for new business is over. You will have to wait until next month.”
“The business I bring cannot wait. It must be dealt with today.” Sir Gavin strode to the center of the room and stood facing Lord Levy. “I’ve come before this Council to shed light on the truth.” Sir Gavin pointed to Lord Nathak. “This man, Sir Luas Nathak, has deceived us all.”
A hush fell over the crowd. Vrell’s arms prickled. What was this? Did Sir Gavin have some way of incriminating Lord Nathak? Perhaps he knew of how he had been pressuring Mother.
Lord Levy leaned forward, scowling. “See here, Sir Gavin. You cannot storm into my Council room and make such a claim. Explain yourself.”
Sir Gavin turned to face the audience. “All these years Lord Nathak has foisted a deception upon us all. We know the story. Good Lord Nathak discovers young Gidon Hadar in a field near Allowntown at age three. The boy’s parents tragically murdered. Good Lord Nathak takes him in to raise as his own and to prepare him to take the throne. But that man”—Sir Gavin pointed to Prince Gidon, who sat on a throne-like chair, looking slightly bored—“is not Gidon Hadar.”
The crowd burst into rattling chatter. Vrell stared at Prince Gidon. Could it be? Was the pig not really the prince after all? Maybe this would end well. If the man was not a prince, he could not force her to marry him, even if she should be discovered.
Lord Levy banged his gavel again and again. “Silence. I will have order in my Council chambers.”
But before the voices quieted, Lord Nathak stood so quickly, his chair fell behind him. “I contest!” He glared at Sir Gavin. “How dare you interrupt this Council with such an accusation. Do you have proof?”
“My proof lies in the truth,” Sir Gavin said dramatically. “Chairman Levy, I beg you to call Lord Nathak to testify — before the bloodvoice mediators.”
A collective gasp filled the auditorium, and the crowd began to talk again.
Lord Nathak slammed his palms on the table. “This is an outrage!”
Lord Levy banged his gavel. “Silence! Sit down, Lord Nathak. Silence in this chamber!” When the chatter stopped, Lord Levy looked down on the Great Whitewolf. “Sir Gavin, make your claim. What is it you seek to prove?”
Sir Gavin approached the end of the table where Lord Nathak stood. The knight lifted a steady arm and pointed at the Lord of Sitna Manor. “I charge that Sir Luas Nathak did indeed find the child Gidon Hadar, the true heir to the throne. Yet before returning him to this council, he substituted his own son in his place.”
Vrell jerked her gaze to Sir Gavin, mouth gaping. Could this be true?
The crowd erupted in reaction, gasping, crying out, and shouting all manner of comments.
Prince Gidon had straightened, sitting tall and stiff on his throne. His brow crinkled, he stared at Sir Gavin as if willing the man to burst into flame.
“Preposterous!” Lord Nathak yelled, his voice shrill.
“Calm yourself, Nathak,” Levy said. He turned to Sir Gavin. “Then what, pray tell, did Lord Nathak do with the real Prince Gidon?”
“He branded him a stray and forced him to work in the kitchens of Sitna Manor.” Sir Gavin turned and pointed at Achan. “Here he is.”
23
Had Sir Gavin lost his mind?
Achan dug a finger inside the neck of his blue shirt and tugged. It was too tight. He couldn’t breathe. Every eye in the huge room was on him. He wanted to melt into the floor. Was the knight hoping to convince these people he was royalty? Absurd.
The crowd had gone wild, so loud that Achan could not hear any one conversation with clarity.
Lord Levy banged the gavel so hard it offset his round, bucket-like black hat. “Silence! I will have silence in this chamber!” The noise quelled to whispers. He turned his pointed, white beard to the knight. “Sir Gavin. I will not have this Council in an uproar. If you have no evidence for this wild claim, I shall have the guards escort you and your party out. Really, the idea of a stray being royal!”
“I do have evidence.”
Achan’s eyes went wide. What new strategy was this? Surely this was some game Sir Gavin was playing. Achan couldn’t be the — what would this make him? — the true prince of Er’Rets? Impossible. No, it had to be a ploy. Perhaps Sir Gavin was acting to disrupt Prince Gidon’s accession. But why? Could this be a part of the resistance Sir Rigil and Bran were a part of? Men loyal to Prince Oren?
“Then I shall hear this evidence first,” Lord Levy said. He stood. “Sir Gavin, join me in my chamber.”
Sir Gavin followed the chairman into a room on the far wall. Lord Nathak scurried there as well.