Achan slid back against the wall, his eyes glued to Sir Kenton’s.
Esek clapped. “Well done, Sir Kenton, well done.”
The knight lifted his sword to Achan’s chest, then seized Achan’s throat in his massive hand and squeezed.
Esek strutted forward and wove around Sir Kenton to stand at Achan’s ear. He spoke softly. “You were a pitiful squire. Do you wish to take my throne?”
Airless, Achan croaked, “I…can’t…”
“Oh, let him go, Sir Kenton.”
Sir Kenton released his hold on Achan’s neck but did not lower his sword.
Esek winkled his nose as if smelling something rank. “You may be the son of a dead king, but that does not make you king. The Council voted in favor of me.”
Sir Caleb spoke from the floor. “Only because you’re so weak they know they can control you.”
Esek slowly turned to glare at Sir Caleb. “The gods have spoken, traitor. I am king. Nothing can change that now.”
“You’re mistaken,” Sir Caleb said. “Arman will—”
“Save your breath, Sir Caleb,” Achan said. “I don’t want to be king.”
Esek smirked. “I believe you. A stray could never handle the pressure of ruling a nation. And that’s what you are. Whatever royal heritage you may have had is long gone. Back away, Sir Kenton.”
Sir Kenton stepped aside but kept his sword out, as if daring Achan to move.
Achan stood still, eyes downcast. He was tired of fighting. He simply wanted to sit with Gren under the allown tree or listen to Minstrel Harp sing in the Corner.
Esek drew Ôwr from its scabbard and poised it over Achan’s heart. “For some reason,” Esek said, “Lord Nathak doesn’t want you hurt. That, I never understood, even less so now that your true identity is revealed. If he wanted me to be king, why not kill you and be done with it?”
Achan couldn’t help but wonder that himself. Or what was keeping Sir Gavin and Inko.
“So I ask myself, am I king?” Esek’s eyes went wide, and he flashed a wicked smile. “What a coincidence. The Council says I am. Why, then, should I not have my way?” He traced an X over Achan’s chest, Ôwr’s tip scraping over the black leather doublet. “This was your father’s sword. Did you know that? Soon you shall die by it.”
“No!” Lord Nathak ran up behind Esek with Chora and a squadron of Kingsguards at his heels. “You must not do this.”
Esek raised the weapon’s tip to Achan’s throat. “I’ve wanted to kill him ever since his ratty boot first stepped on my fine rug. Give me one reason — one real reason— why I shouldn’t.”
Lord Nathak said, “Because…”
“Why are you protecting him?”
Lord Nathak stuttered.
“I AM KING!” Esek screamed. “TELL ME THE TRUTH! NOW!”
Achan flinched as the sound resonated against the high ceiling.
Lord Nathak laid a hand on Esek’s shoulder. “I will tell you, my son, I promise. But not here.”
Esek shrugged Lord Nathak’s hand off. “I am not your son.” Esek remained still for a long moment, his face twitching with horrible expressions.
Lord Nathak glanced at Achan with his one eye then back to his son. “You may deny the truth all you want, Esek, but I did what I hoped was best for us all.”
Achan stood motionless against the stone wall. Esek raised Ôwr’s tip to Achan’s ear and drew its edge down one cheek. Achan flinched at the sting. Then the other cheek. Achan closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He could feel the blood ooze down both cheeks, tickling as it went.
Then Esek withdrew his sword and held it out to the side as if finished with it. Chora scurried forward and accepted the weapon.
Esek raised his voice in proclamation. “I shall kill you slowly, one nick at a time. But first a trade. My bride is being held hostage nearby and, for whatever reason, you are the price. I must deliver you unharmed if I am to secure her.” He sighed dramatically. “But do not garner hope, stray. If you think I will not seize you back and kill you as soon as I have Averella by my side, you are a fool.”
Esek turned to Lord Nathak. “Be careful where you place your loyalties, Lord Nathak, or your flesh too will sharpen my sword.” Esek lifted his arm and snapped his fingers. “Chora, we depart for Armonguard shortly. Guards, secure my prize.” Esek strode away, parting the Kingsguard squadron like a flame in parchment.
Lord Nathak glared at Achan. He turned and stalked after his son, his black Council cloak billowing behind.
Two Kingsguard knights approached Achan. One clamped irons onto his wrists. Achan sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth at his stinging cheeks. He kept his eyes shut, hoping that by not seeing what was happening he’d not fall further into despair. For there was truly no hope for him now. The guards jerked his arms and pulled him away.
25
Jax mi Katt.
Vrell took a deep breath and groaned. She did not want to wake.
Jax mi Katt.
Vrell opened her eyes. Her temples ached and her ears tingled. Someone was knocking in her mind. At the sight of the dark room, reality came rushing back. Khai and Macoun Hadar. They were going to hand her over to Prince Gidon. But he was not the real prince. He had always been an impostor. Achan was the real prince. Kind, sweet Achan.
Jax mi Katt.
Vrell opened her mind to the giant. Jax?
Vrell! Are you okay? Where have they taken you?
I…um… She looked around the barren chamber. A single torch, burned down to a stump, hung in a loop by the wooden door. I am in a small chamber off the first-floor corridor. A servant’s quarters, I think. It was the…third door on the right, I believe.
How many are with you?
Vrell blinked. Where had all her captors gone? I am alone.
Good. I am coming for you. Hold tight.
A shiver ran up Vrell’s arms. Could Jax help her before it was too late? And where were her captors? She was still bound to the chair. She twisted and pulled, but the ropes held tight.
What had happened to Achan? With Lord Nathak’s illegal vote, the Council had elected the impostor. Would they let Achan go free? She doubted it. She closed her eyes and reached for him.
She sensed movement…pain. His surroundings came into focus. The main staircase off the foyer, going down. Achan’s wrists were shackled and his face throbbed. Vrell winced. Had someone struck him?
The sound of stone grating on stone jerked Vrell away from Achan’s plight. She looked over her shoulder. Mags, the serving girl from the kitchen, stood in a dark opening in the wall, holding a torch.
Mags scurried to Vrell’s chair. “Yeh poor thing. What’ve they done to yeh? And all ’cause yeh don’t want to ’prentice fer that creepy, ol’ fool.” Mags laid the torch aside carefully and untied Vrell’s wrists. “Well, I say yer a smart boy fer wantin’ to get away from ‘Master’ Hadar.”
All Vrell could say was, “Thank you.”
Mags untied Vrell’s ankles and motioned toward the stone door. “Go on in. ’Tis a secret passage. I know it’s a bit creepy at first, but it’s the best way to move through the castle without being seen.”
Vrell stepped through the dark doorway and into a cool, stone passageway. The flickering torch in Mags’s hand cast a circle of yellow light in her immediate position, but Vrell could see only blackness beyond the torchlight in either direction.