From Darkness Won

by Jill Williamson

  “He went out there to spite me,” Sir Caleb said. “If I had acquiesced, Sir Shung would have been with—”

  “He is old enough to make his own choices, Caleb,” Sir Eagan said.

  “But that’s just it. He makes the wrong ones. Continually. How can I stand by and let him kill himself?”

  “He will not learn to make the right decisions if he is coddled.”

  “I don’t mean to coddle him, but… why does he insist on his way? He is so willful.”

  “He is merely trying to be a leader, I suspect.”

  “It would have been better for him to disobey me outright and take Shung along. But he sneaks off alone.” Footsteps tapped over wood and echoed along the stone wall of the corridor. “I don’t know how to control him.”

  “You cannot control him, Caleb. Nor should you. He needs to know that we believe in him. We must advise him, build up his confidence, not command him.”

  “I never intend to command him, but I’ve seen too many hurt. Killed. It’s a cruel and brutal world. My fears are well founded.”

  “That they are,” Sir Eagan said, “but your fears will not give him the insight of experience. He must learn that for himself. I daresay the headache he will wake with will teach him a strong lesson in heeding your advice in the future.”

  “But he didn’t learn from the cham attack.” More footsteps. “Why is Vrell here? I thought you said she was going to Allowntown.”

  Vrell nudged Gren away from the peephole and looked inside.

  Sir Eagan put the lid on a jar. “I never said I knew where she was going.”

  “Someone said it. Perhaps Gavin. I don’t understand why she’s here. And dressed so well. You spoke with her. What did she say?”

  “Only to give me her assessment of the prince’s injury.”

  “Should we be concerned about her? It’s good she left, don’t you think? I don’t want her becoming a distraction now that the prince is betrothed to Lady Averella.”

  Sir Eagan turned away from Sir Caleb, faced the peephole, and winked. “Ah, Caleb. I would not worry about Vrell Sparrow. Arman will work through her thick skull in his timing. All will be well.”

  Vrell pursed her lips. Sir Eagan knew of the secret passages as well? If Mother continued to tell people, they would no longer be a secret.

  Sir Eagan drew a blanket over Achan’s waist and walked to the doors. “We must let the prince sleep. At least two hours.” He winked in Vrell’s direction again. “Sir Shung, stand outside and let no one enter. Come Caleb, let us take this discussion elsewhere. Matthias, you as well.”

  The men and the boy left.

  Vrell nudged Gren. “Come.”

  She inched down the corridor, running her hand along the wall until her fingers felt the crack in the surface. She slid the panel open. Lamplight streamed through the doorway. She ducked inside and tugged her dress past the narrow opening. Gren followed, and Vrell slid the panel closed.

  Vrell hurried to Achan’s bed and sat on the edge. His skin had purpled over his right temple. Sir Eagan’s yarrow salve had slicked his hair flat around the wound. The thick paste smelled like fresh flowers. She smoothed the loose hair back off the other side of his forehead and studied his face.

  What was she to do about Achan now?

  “Go visit him.”

  Vrell sat on Gypsum’s bed, the skirt of her peach gown billowing around her like a mushroom. “I have, Gypsum.”

  Her sister sat at her embroidery frame, already half finished with a new tapestry depicting her abduction, Arne’s death, and her rescue by Achan, or as she called him, Prince Achan. How she could create new embroideries so quickly bordered on magical powers.

  “He saved my life, Vrella. Those men meant to take me to Esek’s camp.”

  The very idea horrified Vrell more than she cared to admit. “Truly, Gypsum, you heard them say Esek is alive?”

  Gypsum glanced up from her work. “The ogre man, the one who killed Arne, he said, ‘If yer sister won’t marry the king, you will. Once she’s dead, you’ll be heir to Carm.”

  Vrell’s stomach churned. “Maybe someone else is planning to be king now.”

  “Vrella, are you listening?” Gypsum stood and walked to the foot of her bed. “They plan to kill you. Are you not concerned?”

  “Not nearly as much as I am about them taking you.”

  Gypsum slid her hand around the bedpost and hugged it with one arm. “Well, if you will not marry Prince Achan, I shall. I still do not wish to marry a man who loves you, and I am frightened of marriage, but Prince Achan is so kind and attentive… and handsome.” She straightened her arm and swung around the bedpost as if dancing. “I know he would not hurt me.”

  Vrell scowled at the dreamy expression on Gypsum’s face, as if Achan were the bedpost. Her sister’s eight minutes spent alone in the company of Achan Cham had apparently made her an expert on his countenance. “Why ever would you think your husband would hurt you?”

  “Well, that is what some say about their husbands.”

  “Who says?”

  Gypsum sat on the edge of her bed. “Halley married a soldier who is very brutal. And Meglan says that her husband only ever wants to make babies and that it hurts her but he doesn’t care. And even Havella, my maidservant, has a fresh bruise every now and then. She never said outright Marden struck her, but I can tell it was him. Oh, and Suzelle—”

  Vrell wrinkled her nose. “No more, Gypsum, please. You depress me. I had no idea how many wretched men lived in Carmine.” Yet her comment brought to mind the men who had attacked Gren. She shook the thought away.

  “It’s not only Carmine men. Lady Melita Thorvald married Derno Sigul of Hamonah, and he is a hideous man. You wouldn’t believe the things he does and says and—”

  “The Siguls are pirates, Gypsum. They are hideous at birth. Really, for all your tales of horror, I can tell you as many tales of joy. Think of my Syrah. Jonol has courted her this past year and has only ever kissed her hand. And Princess Glassea and Keano Pitney.”

  “But they are not yet married. Things are different then.”

  “Prince Donediff and his wife, Lady Yulessa. I’ve heard from her mother that they are blissful. And Lady Katiolikan and Lord Eli seemed to get along well enough. And the priest Trajen Yorbride and his wife Ressa… They were sickly sweet to one another.”

  Her sister sighed, a long, sing-song sound, and tucked a strand of Vrell’s hair behind her ear. “All I am saying is that it seems to me a smart lady would seize the chance to marry a good man.”

  Gypsum’s eyes were shining. Had Vrell been so dreamy about romance at Gypsum’s age? Yes. And pining after Sir Rigil. She felt the need to give her sister some wisdom, as if she knew anything at all about romance.

  “A lady should consider a man’s goodness before she agrees to be courted, not married,” Vrell said. “She should know him very well by that point.”

  “And you do not dispute Prince Achan’s goodness?”

  “Every man—and woman, for that matter—is capable of doing good or evil. So, yes, dear sister, Prince Achan is a good, kind man. But he does not follow Arman as you and I do. So when temptation comes to him—and it will—how will he choose good? That is my question of Prince Achan. He snuck to the battlefield this morning. His idea of doing good was following his own pride. Even Mother agrees with that. Until he conquers what hinders—”

  “And how did you come to be on the battlefield, dear sister? You dare judge his pride when your pride is equal to his? You claim to follow Arman, but still you go your own way. None of us are perfect, Vrella. Least of all you.”

  “But I am trying to follow Arman.”

  “You follow your own will first. Arman’s will second. And if Prince Achan hadn’t done what he did today, I would be lost to Esek. Arman used Prince Achan’s pride to put him in my path. It is not too late for Arman to make good of your bad choices either.”

  The words shocked as much as a slap to the face. Heat w
elled up inside, for Vrell recognized the truth in Gypsum’s words, though she could not admit it aloud. “You know not what you…” Her voice hitched. “There is more to it than—”

  “I am saying, sister, that I will marry Prince Achan should you not. And I will be happy to do it. So you had best figure out what you really want before it is too late.”

  Again Vrell led Kopay through the clusters of horses and toward the exit of what remained of the stables. The fire had cost her a day. And the last time she had looked in on Bran, he and Jax’s men were already nearing the Sideros Forest.

  A girl in a black dress stepped out from the shadows as Vrell approached the brand new plank doors.

  Gren Fenny again. This time she clutched a burlap sack in her hands, wringing the fabric as if she might squeeze water from it. The sack twisted gently, full of something that made it bulge like a teardrop.

  “Whoa, boy.” Vrell and Kopay stopped. “Good morning, Gren. You are up early. Again.”

  Gren fidgeted with her bag. “I wanted to thank you for taking me to see Achan yesterday.”

  “You are welcome.” Vrell eyed Gren’s sack. “I never asked why you were in the stables yesterday. You work in the kitchens, do you not?”

  Gren’s face flushed. “I was going to steal a horse.”

  For some reason, the very idea tickled Vrell. She giggled in spite of the seriousness of Gren’s confession. “You do not strike me as a horse thief.”

  “I can’t stay here. The people of Carmine hate me.”

  Vrell’s mind filled in what Gren had not said, what she knew had happened this past summer when Gren had been attacked. “They blame you for my broken betrothal. I thought Master Rennan had made an announcement.”

  Gren approached until she stood right before Vrell. “He did, but some think it’s a lie, that your lady mother forced him to say it. And now that he’s gone, I won’t stay with no one to watch over me.”

  Vrell stroked Kopay’s neck. “Master Rennan cares for your welfare. I am sure he would not have left you here had he believed it dangerous.”

  “He didn’t say nothing like that. He said he’d be back after the war. But I don’t know what that means.”

  “That he did not want to risk your heart. To ask for your hand or to marry you before he left would be irresponsible.”

  “I don’t understand you nobles and all your rules. All I know is he’s gone. What if his master bids he stay in Armonguard after the war? If I’m not there, he may forget me. But if I follow him, I’d be there when the war’s over.”

  “I know that you care for Master Rennan, but you will cause him nothing but trouble to follow him now. How can he assist his king if he is worried about you?” Vrell winced at how much her words mirrored Sir Rigil’s. But that was different. Vrell was not chasing after a man. She was running from one.

  Gren gazed up at Kopay. “Oh, I don’t wish to worry him. Only to be near when all this is over. Plus, I have to look out for my child. And it’s not safe here.”

  “My mother will see that you are cared for.”

  Gren turned her eyes back to Vrell. “I don’t doubt your mother’s kindness, my lady, but she can’t watch me always. I’ll be safer in a war.”

  “After all Master Rennan and Jax and Sir Rigil went through to bring you here?”

  “Achan said he isn’t worried for me no more. He figures Lord Nathak has his hands full with other things. And if Achan’s not worried, I’m not worried.”

  “But what of your parents? I am certain they would want to go with you.”

  “They’re happy here.”

  “But they will want to see their grandchild.”

  “They can visit once the baby comes. But I can’t put my baby’s life in danger because Bran might come back someday. Please, my lady. Can’t I come with you to Sitna? I have friends there who’ll take me the rest of the way.”

  The very idea stunned Vrell. “I do not plan to travel through Sitna.”

  “It can’t be far out of your way. Please? I’ll serve you. I’ll cook for you.”

  Vrell would not mind a companion or a cook. She was so far behind Jax and the others that it was dangerous for her to travel alone, though it was the road from Sitna to Mahanaim that truly frightened her. And she wouldn’t be able to ride as fast with Gren along.

  “I am sorry, Gren, but I cannot take you with me. I must ride like the wind to catch up with Jax. As it is, they are a day ahead of me.”

  “Then I’ll tell your mother you’ve gone.”

  Vrell’s chin dropped. “You would blackmail me?”

  A tear streamed down Gren’s cheek. “I don’t want to, my lady. But I’m desperate. Have mercy, I beg you.”

  Vrell sighed. “Oh, very well. Run and get your things and meet me back here.”

  Gren held up her sack. “I’ve no things to be getting. Just tell me which horse I can ride and we’ll be on our way.”

  This foiled Vrell’s plan to ride off while Gren was packing her bag. Vrell was worried enough for her own safety. Two women riding alone—and one with child. It was more than foolish.

  She heaved a long sigh. Vrell’s stick-like frame made her a believable boy, but it would take a masterpiece of disguise to make Gren’s curves look like those of a plump man. And that black dress would never do. Still, if anyone saw them from afar… She released her hold on Kopay. “We should find you some trousers and a man’s tunic before we go. It will be safer that way.”

  P A R T 3

  LESSONS

  7

  Achan lay on his back in a vineyard. The sky draped overhead like a cerulean tent. Leaves and vines rustled in a cool breeze that blew his hair across his face. He felt no pain.

  Hadn’t he been wounded?

  Perhaps he was in the Veil again. He tried to float off the ground, and he suddenly stood on the platform in Berland. Drums beat a low cadence that rumbled deep in his belly. Bodies danced around him in a blur of slow motion. All but one. A woman, clear and close, sang in a haunting voice.

  View not my face, I am undone beside you

  The beating of my heart will not cease

  Whilst I am near you, whilst I am near you.

  A jeweled tiara held her silky black hair in place. She wore a green gown as fine as any of Duchess Amal’s. Her skin was soft and white like the petal of a daisy. Her green eyes drew him in.

  Vrell Sparrow.

  He reached out for her but grasped nothing but air. Why couldn’t he get to her?

  He opened his eyes to the frescoed ceiling of his chamber in Granton Castle. Pain stabbed his head like a gowzal’s bite. He took a deep breath and the stabs struck again, sharp and angry.

  Trying to sit made it worse, so he lay still, gasping shallow breaths. His stomach churned, threatening to expel whatever might be inside. Nothing, if he went by memory, for he had not eaten before sneaking out.

  He lay in his bed, shirtless, a blanket pulled up to his waist.

  The stripe of sunlight that spilled through the door of his privy proved it daytime. But what hour? And what day?

  Footsteps padded across the wooden floor, and Matthias’s brown eyes came into view.

  “Matthias…” The room blurred, taking the boy’s face and blond hair and twisting them with the colors of the frescoed ceiling above. Tingles danced behind Achan’s eyes. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, then opened them to a clearer view. “What’s happened?”

  “You were struck down in battle, sir.”

  The mace. Achan ran his fingers over the side of his head. It felt swollen, tender. “How long have I been sleeping? What of the battle?”

  “The battle has ended, sir. Though Sir Caleb says we leave soon to fight again. You’ve been sleeping two days.”

  Two days? No wonder his stomach ached. He blinked at the boy and realized he was wearing a new red tunic and black trousers. “You have new clothes.”

  Matthias smiled. “Yes, sir. Thank you for them, sir.”

  “You�
�re welcome.” Achan took a deep breath and smelled a hint of roses on the air. “Did someone bathe in rose water, Matthias? Or was a woman here?”

  “Aye, sir. Three.”

  “Three women? All at once?”

  “No. First come the duchess with her man, the scarred one. What happened to his neck, sir?”

  “Anillo? Lord Nathak’s men tried to kill him. What of the other two women?”

  “They came together.”

  “Maids, you mean?”

  “Oh, no, sir. Not maids. One wore a black dress. The other looked like a cornsilk doll and sang like an angel.”

  Achan perked up. “One of them sang? As she worked?”

  “She didn’t work. She sat with you and held your hand.”

  “Did she?” Sparrow. It had to be. Hope spread through Achan, coiled around his chest like armor.

  “Who was she, sir? The one who sang?”

  “The woman I love,” Achan said, almost to himself.

  Matthias’s snicker turned Achan’s head.

  “You find that funny?”

  Matthias sobered. “Do you kiss her?”

  Achan sighed, fighting a laugh he suspected would make his aching head worse. “No, Matthias, I do not. We are not permitted to be together.”

  Matthias seemed to mull this over. “Armas loves a lady not of his station.”

  “And who is Armas, again?” Matthias spoke of so many siblings, Achan couldn’t keep them all straight.

  “My oldest brother. He’s lived nineteen years.”

  Right. The son who would inherit Master Ricks’s net-making enterprise. “Is the lady above or below him?”

  “Oh, far above, sir. She is Lady Lathia. Her father is captain of the Brierstar.”

  Achan’s eyes widened, recalling his dances with Lady Lathia the night before her grandfather, Lord Livna, had been killed. “I’m familiar with Lady Lathia. Has she ever spoken to your brother?”

  “Oh, yes. They kiss when they think no one is looking.”