By Darkness Hid by Jill Williamson Read Free Book Online Page A

Poril’s careful eye, Sir Gavin entered the kitchens.
    The knight’s presence sent Achan’s heart racing. Had Sir Gavin convinced Lord Nathak to give him up already? Achan breathed deeply to calm his stomach.
    The three serving women who were gathering meals for Prince Gidon’s officials stopped what they were doing and stared at Sir Gavin.
    Poril hovered around him like a fly. “How can Poril service yeh, my good sir knight? Do yeh desire bread? Some porridge?” Poril waved one of the women over. She carried a tray that was being readied for Chora, Prince Gidon’s valet.
    Sir Gavin ignored Poril’s offerings and stared over the cook’s shoulder, his expression curious. “What does the lad drink?”
    Achan stumbled around the other two other serving women and headed toward the spice baskets in search of mentha leaves. He didn’t want to miss a moment between Sir Gavin and Poril, but he also didn’t want to lose his stomach on the kitchen floor.
    “’Tis a tonic to keep the ills away,” Poril said.
    Sir Gavin’s boots scuffed against the dirt floor as he moved to cut Achan off between two tables. Achan stepped back as the knight snatched the empty mug away and sniffed it. “If it’s sour enough to turn his stomach, perhaps the recipe is wrong or the ingredients stale.”
    “I assure yeh, my good sir knight, the recipe is precise. Poril does not make errors in measurements or ingredients.”
    The smell of hardboiled eggs and sausages set Achan’s stomach roiling. If only he could reach the mentha basket. “That’s how it always tastes, sir.”
    Sir Gavin held out his empty hand to Poril, still clutching the mug in his other. “A crust of bread?”
    Poril fluttered to the racks and handed the knight a chunk of flatbread. Sir Gavin ripped off a corner, wiped the inside of the mug, and popped it into his mouth.
    Achan watched, cringing slightly, but knowing it couldn’t taste as bad muted by bread. Nevertheless, Sir Gavin’s face flushed. He spat the doughy lump into the mug and rounded on Poril. “You’d poison this boy?”
    “Gods, no, my good sir knight! ’Tis not poison!”
    “Nor is it given to ‘keep the ills away.’” Sir Gavin spat again. “Why, then, do you give him this?”
    Poril’s eyes widened. His face flushed. “Because…Poril is sworn to…to keep him from…infecting the prince.”
    Sir Gavin turned to Achan. “Have you ever met the prince, lad?”
    Achan couldn’t speak. His tongue seemed to shrivel in his mouth. Poison? Who would want to poison him? Sir Gavin stared, waiting to be answered. Achan shook his head. He had seen the prince lots of times, but he had never been close enough to breathe on him.
    “And you never thought to question before you drink?”
    Achan didn’t know what to say. He’d sensed the tonic was wrong, but what could he do? He was a stray, branded by his owner. “I—”
    “’Tis not the boy’s place to question orders,” Poril snapped. “Lord Nathak demands the boy drink the tonic. Poril doesn’t question His Lordship, nor should you.”
    Achan struggled to comprehend what was going on. Did Poril’s answer mean Lord Nathak wanted to poison Achan? Why? He’d been drinking the tonic for years. It hadn’t affected his health—had it?
    Sir Gavin gripped Poril’s shoulder. “Never give this to him again! Do you hear?”
    But Poril stood his ground. “Poril does beg yer pardon, my good sir knight, but Poril does his master’s bidding. If my good sir wishes the boy not take the tonic, then yeh must take the matter up with Lord Nathak hisself.”
    “I will.” Sir Gavin released Poril, tossed the remaining bread into the mug, and banged it down on the bread table. “And I’m taking the lad with me for today. Don’t expect him ’til morning.”
    Poril sputtered. “Well—what do yeh mean, my good sir knight?”
    “I mean, my good cook , I’m in need of an assistant today, and I’m taking yours. Let’s go, lad!”
    Achan took one