Jill Williamson - By Darkness Hid

“Thank you, Mags.”

“Aw, ’twas nothin’.”

Vrell hugged the serving girl and stepped into the cellar. The room overflowed with baskets, barrels, and sacks of food. Mags pulled the door closed, which turned out to be a shelf stocked with flour.

More than one set of footsteps sent Vrell ducking behind a barrel of pickles. She held her breath, hoping she would not be caught so soon after having escaped.

She heard Sir Rigil’s voice. “Sir Caleb was supposed to meet us here.”

Then came a voice as familiar as a dream. Bran’s voice. “I hope he wasn’t caught again.”

Vrell tingled with joy and indecision. What should she do? Should she reveal herself? This was her best chance to speak with Sir Rigil. And there was no time to spare. If Lord Nathak’s men had done something to her mother, she needed to get home right away.

“Bran,” Sir Rigil said, “run up and see if Prince Oren can make contact with Sir Caleb. Have him find out where he is.”

“Aye, sir.”

Vrell heard the slapping of boots on stone. And just like that, Bran was gone.

Sir Rigil spoke to someone else. “Are you sure you’re all right? Those cuts look nasty.”

“I’m fine.”

Vrell peeked over the pickle barrel. She spotted Achan, his face covered in blood. He leaned back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position, straightening his legs out in front.

Tears flooded Vrell’s eyes and she stood. “Achan! What’s happened?”

Sir Rigil drew his sword, and Achan dove away from the wall.

Vrell flinched and met Achan’s eyes. His head cocked to the side. He huffed and leaned back against the wall. “You. Sparrow, where did you come from? And what’s with you today? What was that stunt you pulled at the Council meeting?”

Vrell ran to him and crouched at his side. The cuts on his cheeks were not so deep, but they needed to be tended or they would scar terribly. “How did this happen?”

“Just Esek venting a little steam.”

“Oh, Achan.” She stood and her foot caught on something. She looked down. His scabbard was empty. “Where is your sword?”

Achan’s expression drooped. “Lost. I dropped it when Sir Kenton bested me. The guards took me away, and I don’t know if anyone picked it up.”

“I am so sorry. What a terrible loss.”

Vrell took in the shelves that filled the wall behind Sir Rigil. They were stocked with baskets of apples, pears, onions, and turnips. A shelf of hard bread lined the next wall. Vrell took a deep breath and her stomach pinged at the scents of food.

Sir Rigil sheathed his weapon. “You’re Hadar’s apprentice. The one they dragged out of the Council chambers.” He turned to Achan. “You sure you trust this lad?”

Achan sighed. “I don’t know who to trust anymore. Every time I think I’m on the right track, something happens to prove me wrong.”

Vrell opened her mouth to speak, to reveal to Sir Rigil who she really was and perhaps hasten the rescue of her mother. But no words came. How embarrassing to admit such deceit in front of Achan — her king — especially when he felt he could trust no one. Maybe she could wait until he was away. Then he never need know.

Her ears tingled.

Jax mi Katt.

Vrell let him in. Jax?

Are you safe now?

Yes. Thank you.

I have your sword. I ran into a blacksmith’s apprentice, who mentioned you had it commissioned. I paid the balance. Would you like it before you go?

Vrell clapped her hands. “Yes!” Oh, Jax, thank you!

“Are you talking to someone, Sparrow?” Achan asked.

“Yes. Just a minute. Achan, this is a cellar. Grab a sack and collect some food for your journey. If you are to go with Sir Gavin, he might not have had time to gather supplies.”

Sir Rigil’s jaw dropped like a drawbridge.

Achan held up his hands. “Hey! Who’s the king? You or me?” But he smirked at Sir Rigil and clambered to his feet. “As if I don’t know what a kitchen cellar looks like. I only slept in one all my life.”

Sir Rigil glared at Vrell. He dumped out a sack of potatoes and started filling it with chunks of bread from the back shelf.

Jax voiced to Vrell. You deserve proper training to go with this weapon. Perhaps our new king can teach you.

You will not serve Esek?

I never really did. I am a Mârad spy, Vrell. I served Prince Oren Hadar until he swore fealty to the true king. Now I serve that king myself. Can I do anything else for him or you?

Vrell looked at Achan, who cradled a pile of green apples in his arms, holding the top one under his chin. A thick stripe of blood dripped down his cheeks, off his jaw, and onto the apples.

Vrell wrinkled her nose. I need the satchel from my room. It is my healing kit. The king was wounded.

I shall bring it right away. You are in the cellar?

Vrell paused a long moment. She trusted Jax, but if she was wrong, it would be a terrible mistake. The first kitchen.

I’ll be there soon.

Vrell turned to Achan. “Someone is coming with my healing kit so I can tend to your wounds. I suggest you stay here in case he turns out to be against you. I do not think he is, but it is best not to risk it.”

Sir Rigil gave the bag of bread a spin. “Who is this person?”

“His name is Jax mi Katt. He is a Kingsguard giant from—”

“I know him,” Sir Rigil said. “He’s on our side. Still, it’s best he doesn’t see us. That way, if he’s interrogated he won’t know anything. Let us hide ourselves, Your Highness.”

“Fine.” Achan bit into an apple, then froze, eyes narrowed, jaw stiff. “That hurts.”

“Then do not eat,” Vrell said.

He pouted. “But I’m hungry. In case you forgot, we didn’t have breakfast or lunch.”

“Then eat bread or something soft.”

Achan dug his thumbnail into his apple, ripped out a chunk, and slid it into his mouth.

Vrell rolled her eyes.

Jax’s voice came like a whisper, Vrell?

“He is coming,” Vrell said. “Go.”

The corner of Achan’s mouth curved up. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Vrell sneered as Sir Rigil ushered Achan to the shelves filled with flour sacks. She had had her fill of his teasing. It would be nice to be a woman again and spend time in the company of people with manners. In Bran’s company, especially.

Vrell hurried out into the first kitchen and made her way past cooks and servants bustling between the tables and hearths. The smells of fresh bread, pheasant, and mince pies set Vrell’s stomach to growling. She had not eaten a bite all day, either.

A massive shadow spilled through the doorway and over the stone floor. Jax ducked inside. He smiled down, eyes twinkling, and held up a steel sword and her satchel.

“Afternoon, Mr. Jax,” a serving girl said. “You hungry?”

“Not now, thanks. I’ve just come to see Master Sparrow.”

The serving girl smiled and went back to her kettle.

Vrell led Jax to the far corner of the kitchen, where they would be out of the way. She took the satchel and draped its strap over her head and one arm. “Thank you, Jax, so much.”

He shook the sword. “You know how to wear one of these?”

“I am certain I can manage.”

He lowered his bulk onto his knees and waved her over. Vrell stepped toward him. He drew a metal ring out of his pocket. “Untie your belt.” Vrell did and Jax took it from her. He looped the cord through the metal ring, securing it with a knot so it wouldn’t slip. Then he handed it back. “You need this to hold your weapon, since you have no scabbard or sheath.”

Vrell retied the belt over her tunic so the ring sat over her left hip. Jax handed her the sword and she threaded the point through the loop. The metal hung at her side, resting against her leg. She beamed. Now she could protect herself on the journey home, though traveling with Sir Rigil and Bran, she would surely have no need.