Free The Shadow Within by Karen Hancock

assistance should you require it, sir, but will impose upon you no longer. Eidon’s Light be with you.”
    And with you would have been Abramm’s correct response. But he said nothing, and after a moment Prittleman beat a hasty retreat.
    “It wasn’t so bad out on the water,” Abramm murmured apologetically.
    Blackwell smiled. “I have sinus trouble, my lord. It doesn’t seem that bad to me.”
    “Ah.” Abramm didn’t quite manage to keep the dismay out of his tone. The pounding in his head was growing louder.
    The son of Count Blackwell, presumably Count Blackwell himself by now, regarded him speculatively. “Are you feeling all right, sir?”
    “I’ve had better days.”
    “I’ll not keep you, then.” But he lingered nonetheless. “They say you were actually on the water with the beast. That you stabbed it with a spear.”
    “I did,” Abramm said. “Which is why I smell as bad as I do and why I am so looking forward to a bath.”
    Blackwell still did not take his cue. “They say you used the power of Eidon to slay it.”
    In an instant, Abramm’s growing frustration transmuted to full wariness. “They are saying that, yes.”
    Blackwell’s spectacles magnified his brown eyes. “And did you?”
    “I and three others stabbed it with spears, but as I told High Father Bonafil, it was by the power and mercy of Eidon that we succeeded.”
    The brown eyes studied him shrewdly. “A politic answer, my lord. Perhaps you are not so naïve as we’ve been led to believe.” He waited as if he expected a response. When Abramm merely stared at him, he went on. “I, too, offer you my support, sir, in whatever capacity you desire it. I have little liking for your brother, and frankly I’ll be delighted to see you take the Crown from him. He has never really risen to its demands.” Blackwell paused. “But you realize he will fight you.”
    Abramm met his gaze for a long moment, seeking through the haze of his discomfort and fatigue to grasp the man’s mettle, to gain the knowledge only time and familiarity would bring. Was this friend or foe?
    When again he did not answer, Byron Blackwell nodded once, then bowed and departed, leaving Abramm at long last alone with his chamberlain and Lieutenant Channon, his silent shadow. It was the chamberlain who caught his attention, however, for he should have left long ago.
    Realization dawned. “You are not Grand Chamberlain anymore.”
    “No, sir. The king—er . . . uh, prince-regent brought his own man when he came to the throne.”
    “The more fortunate for me, it seems.”
    Haldon inclined his head. “I hope you will pardon the lack of attendants— with such short notice we’ve had a time finding any of suitable rank— but your bath has been prepared. If you’ll come this way?”
    Inside the bedchamber a handful of body servants waited before the open door of a tile-walled side closet where stood the steaming bath. As much as Abramm had yearned for this earlier, he wondered now if he had the stamina to see it through. What he really wanted was to be shown the bed and left alone so he could . . . what was it he needed to do?
    “Are you in pain, sir?”
    Haldon’s voice shattered his train of thought. “What? Oh. Yes. I do have something of a headache.” He unfastened the harness that held his two blades, rapier and dagger, and handed them over to one of the servants, as another took the Dorsaddi overrobe from his shoulders. There was something I was supposed to do here. Something important. . . . Plagues, that pounding is so loud. . . . They must be doing renovations, making more room for all the arriving peers.
    No. Wait. That’s not right .
    One of the servants gestured him into the provided chair. As a young valet knelt to remove his stiff, salt-crusted Dorsaddi boots, Abramm surveyed the circle of men surrounding him, and it dawned on him that if he continued to submit to their ministries they would find the mark upon his chest—
    He sprang out of