Jill Williamson - By Darkness Hid

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.”

Achan stared at the snip of cloth. Sir Gavin had been the one to cut from his blanket under the ale casks in Poril’s cellar. Achan turned to Sparrow, the fabric collector. The boy offered a loopy grin.

Sir Gavin went on. “This Council has not heard the true story of Prince Gidon’s ambush two weeks ago. Achan has been charged with attempting to murder the Crown Prince. He was thrown into the Mahanaim dungeons. But this was more deception from Prince Gidon and Lord Nathak.

“The truth of it? Achan rescued Prince Gidon, almost single-handedly, from more than twenty poroo attackers. Through my bloodvoicing I was with him, encouraging him. I saw him save this false prince’s life and nearly lose his own. Yet Lord Nathak pressed charges. Accused him of attempted murder! When I got word of Achan’s arrest, I broke him out of the dungeons, and upon dressing him for court today—”

“Sir Gavin,” Lord Levy said. “This court does not condone breaking into our dungeons.”

“—I was reminded of one last confirmation of his true identity.” Sir Gavin strode back to Achan’s side and circled behind him. “It was well documented the infant prince bore a birthmark on his left shoulder. Not only does Achan have this mark, he bears the brand of the stray over it — despite the rule that all stray brands be placed over the right shoulder. Clearly this accident was meant to further conceal the truth.”

Achan reached over his shoulder to feel the mark. He’d always assumed he’d been branded on the left by mistake.

“He’s a fake!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Absurd,” Lord Nathak yelled.

Lord Levy banged his gavel and stood. “I will have no more outbursts in this assembly. The next person to speak out of turn will be held in contempt.”

The room went silent.

“Continue, Sir Gavin,” Lord Levy said.

“If we compare the two young men,” Sir Gavin said, glancing at Prince Gidon, “I assure you, the evidence is stacked against this impostor. He cannot bloodvoice. He bears no birthmark. And he looks little like King Axel. Whereas this boy,” he said, turning to Achan, “can bloodvoice, does bear the mark, and looks exactly like the King Axel I knew since boyhood.” He pointed at Gidon. “This is a fake. An imposter. A puppet prince Lord Nathak substituted after finding King Axel’s signet ring.”

Achan’s gut churned. He sucked in a long breath to settle his nerves and realized he hadn’t been breathing much at all.

Someone called out from the crowd. “Let us see the birthmark!”

“Yes! Let us see for ourselves!”

Lord Levy banged his gavel. “We will examine both men for the birthmark. Step forward.”

Achan was already standing before the high table, so he continued to stare at the floor, unsure of what was to happen next.

“Um…Prince Gidon,” Lord Levy said. “We will need your participation in this matter, as well.”

Achan turned to see the prince gripping the arms of his throne. “And if I refuse?”

The chairman nodded to a burly Kingsguard knight standing at the end of the high table. The knight stalked across the room toward Prince Gidon, but the prince jumped up at the last possible second and strode forward.

He ripped open his black satin doublet and tossed it dramatically to the floor, then he pulled his red linen shirt over his head and threw it at Sir Gavin. Raising both hands above his head, he twirled in a slow circle for all to see.

He did indeed have a mark on his left shoulder. It was pink, but that was all Achan could see about it.

“You too,” the chairman said to Achan. “I call Master Ricken to the floor. Are you in the stands today?”

“Aye!” a voice called from the grandstands. A short, bald man hurried down the steps.

“Master Ricken is a medical expert I have known for many years,” Lord Levy said as a short, thin man approached Prince Gidon and Achan.

Achan unlaced his doublet and shrugged it off. He untied his shirt and pulled it over his head. He draped the fine clothing over one arm, then folded his arms together across his chest.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t feel comfortable showing the audience whatever was on his back, so he faced away from them. His heart pounded in his chest and vibrated all the way to his head. He wanted a good long nap, free from whips, arrows, dungeons, Prince Gidon, Lord Nathak, bloodvoices, and standing half-naked in front of people. At that point, even his bed under the ale casks would’ve been welcome.

Master Ricken approached Gidon first. He stepped behind the prince and leaned close, humming to himself. He touched the prince’s back and Gidon flinched.

“Show us the stray’s mark,” someone yelled.

Sir Gavin nudged Achan’s elbow and nodded.

Achan gritted his teeth and turned.

The crowd gasped. A woman cried out. Achan squeezed his fists and closed his eyes, mortified to have the brutality of his life on display. He knew his back was scarred. Sir Gavin hadn’t been the first person to comment on it.

Master Ricken stepped toward him and sucked in a sharp breath. His cold fingers trailed over Achan’s shoulder and back.

Achan held his breath, not knowing what the man was looking for, not caring. He only wanted to be dismissed. He threw up a desperate prayer to Sparrow’s god. The boy claimed there was only one god, and so did the voice. It was worth a try.

Arman, help me. Why is this happening?

A burning rose in Achan’s chest like a flash of fear, but continued to swell until he felt like he’d stepped into a sauna.

For I have appointed you as king over this nation. There is no one like you among all the people.

Master Ricken jerked to the side and looked at his own hand.

Achan gasped as the heat subsided. He pressed a hand against his forehead and wiped away the sweat. He breathed deeply as his pounding heartbeat slowed, trembling at the meaning behind the words he’d just heard in his mind from that other, mighty voice. The one that had told him nothing but truth. Achan, appointed by the gods— the God? — as king over Er’Rets? A single tear fell down to his chin.

Master Ricken stepped to the high table and whispered to the chairman. He turned, glanced at Achan with bulging eyes, then walked between Achan and Gidon back into the grandstands. Achan pivoted to face the audience and hide his back. He kept his head down.

The chairman cleared his throat. “Master Ricken has served as healer to the Mahanaim stronghold the past twenty years. No one doubts the validity of his expertise in matters of health and healing. It is his professional opinion that this man, Achan, bears an oval birthmark on his left shoulder that was branded over with the mark of a stray. He claims the mark on Prince Gidon’s shoulder is not a birthmark at all, but a scar from some kind of burn, likely one that was inflicted more than once.”

Shouts rang out from all sides. Achan flinched.

The chairman pounded his gavel into the hardwood table again and again until the crowd silenced. “Thank you, Prince Gidon and Master Cham, for your willingness to submit to examination. You may both be seated.”

Achan hurried to his seat on the far left of the room and sat beside Sparrow. His wooden scabbard knocked against the bench, but he hardly noticed the sound over all the talk in the auditorium. He pulled his clothing back on with shaking arms.