"Will you keep it down?" Polk said. "I thought I had my own cell."
Achan wanted to shove his fist through Polk's head. "Why do you help Esek? He was horrible to you."
"How'd you know?"
"Because I served as his squire longer than anyone should have to."
"I only left him four months ago. How long could you have served?"
Achan scratched his arm. "A few weeks. And that was too long. He's a madman."
Polk lowered his head and mumbled, "You wouldn't understand."
"Hmm. Let me guess. He has your mother, brother, sister, or lover locked away. If you don't do exactly what he asks…"
Polk met Achan's eyes.
"Esek is lying," Achan said. "He'll keep using you as long as you let him. And then he'll kill your loved one anyway."
Polk shook his head. "I have to try."
Achan supposed he'd have said the same. "Just tell me if there are any more of Esek's minions in my army."
Polk met Achan's gaze. "There's one, but I don't know who he is. He can do that mind thing, though, like you."
Achan straightened. His list would finally come in useful. "Thank you, Polk. That narrows it down quite a bit."
*
Achan spent the next three days watching the eight bloodvoicers, barely leaving his room. He'd nearly failed Sparrow, just as Bran had almost failed Gren. It would not happen again. He stared at Polk's name on the list circled in bleeding black ink. Why could he discover nothing of the second traitor? Had Polk sent him on a bootless errand?
When Achan entered the Great Hall for lunch, followed by Kurtz, his temporary shield while Shung was in the bathhouse, he overheard a servant tell another that the prince was ill and not to get too close.
Perhaps he had spent too much time in his chambers.
So many stared at him in the great hall he took his chicken leg outside, not bothering to take Kurtz away from his new, red-haired lady friend.
Kingsguards and servants roamed the bailey. Achan sighed, in the mood for brainless banter. If he found any of the knights, they'd only make him think about being a king. Except for Shung, who was taking a well-deserved break. Achan strolled across the south side of the bailey lawn and bit into his chicken leg, scanning the men for a familiar face. He spotted Sparrow, sitting alone by the moat, boots on the grass, bare feet in the water, staring up at the waterfall that spilled over the southern tower.
He snuck up behind her and steeled himself. Mindless banter? Or another fight? "You know the privies empty into the moat, don't you?" he said.
Sparrow didn't move a muscle. "Not in this castle. The privies empty into an underground stream that merges with the Betsar a ways down."
Achan fell onto his backside next to Sparrow and bit into his chicken leg. The wind blew a strand of her hair across her cheek. Her green eyes were fixed on the waterfall, reflecting the shifting water in miniature. Achan swallowed, heart pounding like Berland drummers. What in all Er'Rets was wrong with him? "I–I've missed you." Missed her? That didn't come out right. What happened to his plan for mindless banter?
Her eyes widened. "Missed me? Whatever for?"
He forced himself to look away and managed to gather his senses again. "Oh, I don't know. Everyone is so serious all the time. At least you jest."
"There has been little to jest about of late."
"Aye. For the longest time, I truly believed an older, wiser man would step in and be king and I'd be able to go off and build my cabin in the woods. Then suddenly-and I can hardly remember when-I just accepted it."
"That is good."
Her praise made his heart beat faster. "You think so?" He glanced back and her eyes threw off his composure again. He looked at the ground and scratched the back of his neck. Blasted fleas. "I must admit-though don't tell anyone or I'll have to beat you-I'm quite nervous."
"A natural feeling, I am sure."
Perhaps. "But what if I mess up? What if I fail?"
"I am certain you will mess up, but you cannot fail."
He wanted to defend himself. He intended to make no mistakes. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because Arman does not fail."
"Right. I keep forgetting."
"It takes time."
"What? Becoming a good king?"
"That too, but I mean, getting to know Arman."
Hmm. "Ever been to Carmine?"
"Sure I-" She choked on her words. "I mean…yes. I have. Before Walden's Watch. It is a lovely place."
He bumped his arm against hers. "Do you have any concerns for me? Any premonitions of young married women I might accidentally propose to?"
She laughed and her voice, that throaty sound…how convenient for her to have such a voice. It had aided her disguise well. Lady Tara couldn't have pretended to be a boy even for five minutes.
"No," Sparrow said, "but the Carmine vineyards are the prettiest land in all Er'Rets. On a summer day like this, when the sky is so clear and blue and it meets the endless green vineyards on the edge of the horizon as far as you can see in all directions…" She sighed, head tipped back to stare at the sky. "It's the most peaceful, breathtaking view."
Achan stifled a smile. Sitting with Sparrow like this, as much as she talked, Achan couldn't believe it had never occurred to him that she was a girl.
He remembered the drumstick in his hand and bit into it, the meat now turning cold. "So. You don't want to marry a guy like Lady Tara's husband, and I want to marry a woman like Lady Tara. Why can't we figure this whole thing out?"
She faced him, eyebrows pinched together. "What would Sir Caleb say if he saw you talking with half a chicken leg in your mouth?"
How like a woman to be so critical. At least the mystery of Sparrow's moodiness had been resolved. He ripped off another chunk of meat with his teeth and forced himself to burp.
Sparrow turned away. "Charming."
"I'm serious, though. Do you think we'll end up miserable despite all our protests?"
Sparrow stirred her feet in the water. "I think you will probably war until you are forty. Then you shall finally move into Armonguard and take a bride of twelve."
"Take a bride… Sparrow, I tried to find a bride my age. I failed." He took the last of the meat off the chicken leg and spoke over a full mouth. "Perhaps I'll wed thrice my elder."
Sparrow giggled. "And what good would it do you to have no heir?"
"Who says I won't have an heir?"
Her cheeks pinked, and she straightened, prim and proper. "Old women cannot bear children, Your Highness. Their seeds have all dried up."
Achan frowned. "Really?"
Sparrow shook her head and poked out her bottom lip. "Such a fool is to be our king?"
"Watch your tongue, Master Sparrow, or I shall have to best you. You know I can."
She rolled her eyes. They were silent for a while. The sun cast a golden glow atop Sparrow's black hair. It had grown since Achan had met her, now long enough to tie back in a tail, the way Achan wore his. Was it soft like Gren's hair?
Her voice jolted him away from his drifting. "Did you love her dearly? Lady Tara?"
"Love her?" Achan shrugged and tossed the chicken bone into the moat. "I don't know. No. I loved the idea of her. When first I met her, she treated me kindly in spite of my station. It was like a test of character that she passed so well. I knew she was worthy through and through. And she could ride a horse like a man. And, of course, she is not painful to look upon. I could think of no better combination." He sighed. "I knew I'd never marry-who would have me?"
"Another stray?"