He scanned the list again. Some names he suspected more than others. He'd shadowed them all more than once. Who deserved another peek? Polk's name jumped out from the list.
Something was off with Polk. Why, Achan couldn't say. The fellow simply needled him, but so did Inko. Perhaps some people had a gift for being obnoxious.
Lady Rubel and her stories, for example.
But Polk was lying about being full, that much was certain. And why lie about that? Achan shook himself back to the task at hand. Polk. Then he'd try Verdot Amal again.
Polk no longer sat in the great hall. He crept along one of the castle corridors. The soft swish of his pant legs and the squish of his boots over soggy rushes increased his heartbeat. What was Polk still doing in the keep? He should have gone back to the tents by now.
A faint thought surfaced in Polk's mind. Soon all would be finished and he could get back to the good life. A single torch lit the hall. Polk lifted it from the ring and carried it with him.
Achan jumped up and opened his door, losing his connection with Polk. The hall on his floor was empty. Polk must be on another level.
"What is it, Little Cham?"
"Nothing, Shung. Sorry." Achan returned to his chair and found Polk again.
Polk stopped at a door. He looked both ways before pushing it open and slipping inside. All was dark but for Polk's torch. He walked across the room and stubbed his toe on something that rattled across the floor. Polk cursed and hopped on one foot. He squatted and the torch lit the floor of a chamber that looked to have been ransacked. Polk righted a heavy jug and slid the torch inside. He carried the jug to a sideboard and set it down.
His gaze fell onto a wooden spoon wedged between the handles on the lower cupboard doors. Polk's pulse increased. He slipped the spoon free. I've come back, little bird.
Polk opened the doors. Achan's heartbeat thudded in time with Polk's. Had the man trapped someone in a sideboard? Why? Achan should try to find Polk, yet if he started walking, he'd lose contact. He could watch or he could walk. Not both. Not yet.
He withdrew. Sir Gavin, Polk is up to some mischief on one of the floors. Can you go see?
A moment passed before a sleepy voice said, Aye, right away. Polk, you say? How do you-
Achan cut off the knight and focused back on Polk, who had pulled a body out from the sideboard. A great foreboding coiled in the pit of Achan's stomach.
Someone screamed.
Sparrow? Achan stood so fast he nearly knocked over his table. He would know that raspy screech anywhere.
What in all Er'Rets?
Polk pulled at something around Sparrow's throat. A belt. He wedged it back into Sparrow's mouth. Sparrow's eyes grew wide. He kicked Polk's chest with his feet, repeatedly, stampeding on the man's torso.
Polk threw himself onto Sparrow, squeezed the boy's throat with one hand. None of that, blossom. I've been waiting for some time to confront you. It's made me a bit…impatient.
Sparrow grew limp, stopped fighting. Had he blacked out? Polk dragged him by the feet, out of the pile of rubble.
Now, I've done real good work and I don't mind rewarding myself for all the trouble it's taken. Like I said before, I've earned it.
Polk slid his hand away and pressed his mouth over Sparrow's with a crushing force that revived the boy. Sparrow turned his head, then bashed it against Polk's forehead. Polk returned his hand to Sparrow's throat and held him down. The boy's small frame was no match for Polk's strength.
What in flames was that rat playing at? Achan pulled back, trembling. Sparrow! I'm coming. He blinked away from Polk. "Shung! Polk is attacking Sparrow!" Achan tore out the door, sprinted down the hall, down the spiral staircase, glancing into empty hallways before remembering Polk had entered a room. Had it been Sparrow's?
Sparrow? What room is yours? Where does he have you?
Sparrow didn't answer.
Sir Gavin! Where are you?
In the courtyard. I saw nothing in the halls, so I came out-
Sparrow's quarters, where are they?
On the fourth floor. Achan, what's wrong?
Polk is attacking Sparrow. Achan sprinted back to the stairwell and took the steps three at a time. He ran down the fourth floor. Unsure of which door to try, he skidded to a stop over the wet stone. Sparrow! Where are you?
When the boy still didn't answer, Achan found Polk's mind again and looked out through the deviant's eyes. Polk had pinned Sparrow to the floor, straddling the boy's body and arms. His thrill brought a scream to Achan's lips. He had no time to search every room. What could he do?
Polk! Stop, Achan commanded.
Polk froze, scanned the room, then reached back and pulled his boot knife. He held the small blade against Sparrow's cheek. Not a word, you hear? Or I'll slice you from top to bottom. No one skins an animal like I do.
He cut open Sparrow's tunic, baring a strange undershirt that blossomed bits of wool where the knife had cut.
Polk laughed. Let's see how you look without your fake fat, shall we? He slid the knife under the neckline of the disguise and started to cut.
Achan concentrated. He was Polk. His hands were Polk's hands. He was cutting.
He stopped cutting. He pulled the knife back.
Polk yelled, dropped the knife.
Achan forced Polk to stand, to walk to the door and open it.
A man stood at the other end of the hall, by the stairs. The Crown Prince. How had he-?
For the first time ever, Achan moved his own body without leaving Polk's mind. He walked slowly, boots slapping over the wet rushes. He reached Polk, released his mind.
Polk wheezed and cowered against the wall, staring, eyes wild. "What did you do to me? Are you a mage?"
Achan punched Polk in the face. Once. Twice. He pulled back to punch him again, but Polk, already unconscious, slid slowly to the floor. Achan took a long, calming breath, shook his throbbing hand, and pushed open Sparrow's door.
The torch in the jug had burned beneath the lip and lit the room with a dull glow. A narrow bed, the sideboard, a stool. The floor was littered in dishes and linens.
Where had Sparrow gone?
A shattered breath pulled Achan's gaze back to the sideboard. He spotted the boy wedged between the sideboard and bed, sitting in that small Sparrow way, knees against his chest. Achan approached him, stepped on something soft and looked down.
He moved his boot to reveal a wad of shorn wool. He squatted and picked it up, sniffed it. Mildew.
He held it up. "Sparrow, wh-what is this?"
Sparrow watched him with wide, bleary eyes.
Achan's heart was still pounding in his chest. "Are you hurt?" He held out a hand to help the boy up.
Sparrow's bottom lip protruded, trembled. He sniffled and released the most high-pitched moan Achan had ever heard, as if trying not to cry and failing miserably.
"Little Cham?" Shung stepped into the room, sword drawn.
Uncertain what to do, Achan waved a hand. "Sparrow, come out of there."
But Sparrow only cried harder.
"It's okay." Achan reached for him, grabbed his shoulders.
Sparrow tensed, shook his head. His hair, completely loose from its thong, fell over his eyes. "Please do not touch me."
"I'm not going to hurt you." Achan grabbed Sparrow's upper arms and pulled.
"No!" Sparrow tucked his chin against his knees, pushing his shoulders against the wall so Achan failed to lift him.