Lord Levy turned to face him before they entered the room. “No, Lord Nathak. You will wait at your seat while I decide if this claim is of merit.”
“I would like to hear the details of this outrageous claim myself,” Lord Nathak said.
“If it is warranted, you will,” Lord Levy said. “Now take your seat. Or do you need Kingsguard assistance to find it?”
Lord Nathak stormed back to the high table. He righted his chair and fell into it.
Lord Levy and Sir Gavin entered the room on the far wall. A guard shut the door, and the audience burst into talk.
Achan stood in the center of the room with Inko, Sir Caleb, and Sparrow. The Council members at the high table stared, some puzzled, some scowling. Achan purposely avoided eye contact with Lord Nathak but caught Prince Oren’s gaze. The man smiled and winked. Achan couldn’t look at him after that.
Prince Gidon sat on his throne looking as if he were being burned on the inside. Curious, Achan opened his mind to try to hear his thoughts. Instead, dozens flooded his mind at once.
A stray, our king? Never!
I knew the son of Axel and Dara would never be so cruel.
For Lightness sake! Who would have thought?
Gods help us all! We’ll have a stray as king!
But how could we not have known? How could we have missed such treason?
How could they have? It must be a mistake. Achan closed his eyes and concentrated on the allown tree, Gren, and the SiderosRiver.
A peaceful silence settled over him.
Sometime later, someone grabbed his elbow. He turned to find Sparrow looking up at him with wide, green eyes.
“Sir Caleb and Inko have sat down,” Sparrow said. “Are you well?”
His lips parted, but no words came out. He allowed Sparrow to guide him to a bench on the far right wall and settled between Sir Caleb and Sparrow. Surely this was some trick of Sir Gavin’s. It couldn’t be true. Achan wasn’t a prince. He had no parents.
Sparrow’s scratchy voice filled his head. Neither does the prince have parents, Achan.
“That doesn’t mean Prince Gidon is not who he claims to be,” Achan said. “Or that I am who Sir Gavin claims I am.”
Sir Caleb leaned close. “Use your head, boy. Gidon had whiskers at twelve. He must be nearly twenty. He cannot bloodvoice, as both King Axel and Queen Dara could. Nay. He’s Lord Nathak’s puppet. Besides, Gavin would know Axel’s child at a glance. He and the child had a bond.”
Achan stiffened. He remembered the day he’d first seen Sir Gavin watching him from the armory. Was this why Sir Gavin had made him a squire? No. It had to be a mistake. “Just because Gidon cannot bloodvoice doesn’t mean he’s not the prince,” Achan said. “Not all royals are born with it, right?”
“But Gidon Hadar was,” Sir Caleb said. “His bloodvoice was the strongest I’d ever felt in an infant.”
“For me as well,” Inko said.
Achan sighed.
“It’s true,” Sparrow said. “I remember rumors of the scandal. It was said his skill faded away. Many thought it would return when he got older, but it never did. Prince Gidon — or whoever it is sitting in that throne like a mule — does not have the gift, not even in the slightest measure.”
The door to the side chamber opened, and Lord Levy took his place at the high table. Sir Gavin returned to the center of the room, a bushy white eyebrow raised at Achan.
Achan could only stare. Would it have been too difficult for Sir Gavin to share his little plan before they had come in? A little warning would have been nice.
Lord Levy struck with his gavel. “The Council will hear evidence from Sir Gavin Lukos on the matter of the true identity of Prince Gidon Hadar.”
The audience burst into debate.
An icy chill wrapped around him. This could not be. What could Sir Gavin possibly have said to convince the chairman of this charade?
Lord Nathak leaped again from his seat at the high table. “This is outrageous. I demand to put this matter aside until I can see this evidence myself.”
“We shall all see this evidence now, Lord Nathak,” the chairman snapped. “Sit down.”
Lord Nathak lowered himself into his chair and glared at Achan, his eye smoldering.
Lord Levy lifted his chin. “The Council recognizes Sir Gavin Lukos.”
Sir Gavin stepped forward. “Greetings, honorable Council members and citizens of Er’Rets. In the past few months I’ve stumbled onto a conspiracy. As most of you know, this Council sent me to Sitna to observe Prince Gidon. I was to ascertain his level of knowledge and skill in a variety of subjects and to report back as to whether I thought him ready to take the throne.
“The prince avoided me in Sitna, helped by Lord Nathak. When cornered, the prince barely acknowledged my presence. I thought this very strange, given the powerful connection the true prince and I had had when the lad was an infant. One morning in Sitna, I sensed something familiar. When I saw the face of this stray,” he waved Achan forward, “I was drawn to him.”
Achan somehow moved to Sir Gavin’s side. Had he floated? Was he dreaming? He glanced at the Council. The scrutiny in their gaze brought a wave of heat. From then on, he kept his gaze fixed on the marble floor, inspecting the flecks of black.
The knight put his hand on Achan’s shoulder and turned Achan to face the grandstands. “I served King Axel all my life. He was my friend and confidant. I served with him through many campaigns and joys.” Sir Gavin patted Achan’s shoulder. “This boy was the mirror image of the prince I squired for in my youth! Not only that, but I sensed his ability to bloodvoice.
“I bided my time in Sitna training this lad as my squire. I discovered not only that he’s left-handed, like his father, but that he’d been forced to take âleh tonic each morning of his life, by order of Lord Nathak.”
Whispers tore through the crowd.
Achan felt sick. He ran his left fingers over his sword’s crossguard. Things that had always puzzled him were starting to make sense. But he couldn’t accept this twist of fate. It had to be a cruel prank. He stared at his new, polished boots. They stood firmly on the bright marble floor, despite the sensation that he was falling, tumbling, spinning down into a pit of shadow.
“One morning this boy managed to not have the tonic in his system. Without the âleh silencing him, suddenly those of us gifted in bloodvoices heard his discovery, sensed his power. Even from half the kingdom away.” Sir Gavin walked to the center of the high table and turned back to the audience. “This boy’s bloodvoice is so strong because he is King Axel’s son! And as such, he — and only he — is capable of bringing truth to Er’Rets and pushing back Darkness.”
Achan winced at the level of noise from the crowd. Women shrieked. Feet stomped on the wooden grandstands creating the effect of a stampede. Applause. Boos. Three young pages scurried down the stands and out the door, as if running off to report this news to someone too busy to be here.
Achan gulped, his mind spinning with questions. Pushing back Darkness? What did that mean? He couldn’t even imagine such a thing.
When the crowd’s reaction died down, Sir Gavin continued. “I entered him in Prince Gidon’s coming-of-age tournament to see how he’d fare in battle. When Lord Nathak discovered this, he not only sent this boy — named Achan Cham — back to the kitchens and forbade him to compete further, but he banished me as well. His words were, ‘The Council no longer requires your service.’”
Lord Levy glared at Lord Nathak, who leaned back in his chair, the visible half of his face slack.
“I knew then my suspicions were valid.” Sir Gavin reached into the neckline of his tunic and drew out a swatch of grey wool on a cord around his neck. “I cut this from Achan’s blanket. Over the next few weeks, I kept an eye on him through bloodvoicing.”