From Darkness Won

by Jill Williamson

  Harnu’s dark eyebrows arched as he took in Vrell. Then he stomped off toward a cluster of thatched cottages. “Come.”

  Gren stared after him, her expression pinched.

  “Thank you for your good company, Master Poe.” Vrell dragged Gren after Harnu, but when they reached the cottages, Harnu had vanished. “Gren, do we trust this man?”

  Gren nodded, staring off into nothingness.

  “Good, for at least he looks capable of protecting us. Now, help me find him, for I cannot guess where he went.”

  Gren heaved a deep breath and came back to herself. She wove through the maze of cottages until stumbling to a stop before a small dwelling nestled between two older ones and the curtain wall that loomed above.

  The door opened and Harnu stepped out.

  When Gren did not move, Vrell asked her, “Is something wrong? Should we not enter?”

  Gren jolted, her gaze settling on Vrell. “This was Riga’s home. And my home. It’s… strange to be back.”

  Oh. Vrell took Gren’s hand and squeezed. “Let us go in, then, before we are seen. All will be well.” Would it not?

  Gren led Vrell over the threshold and into a small room that held a round table, two chairs, and a hearth. Two doors split the wall opposite the entrance. Harnu stood before the hearth, facing them, hands behind his back. His size made him an imposing figure in such a small place.

  Gren’s gaze danced along the shuttered windows, walls, and furniture. “You’ve done all this?”

  Vrell looked over the room again, for it looked very bare in her opinion.

  “In case you came back.” Harnu shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “In case you changed your mind.”

  Now Vrell felt like the imposing figure who had intruded upon some private conversation.

  Gren shook out her hair. “I have a different reason for returning, Harnu. Come with us to Armonguard.”

  “Armonguard?” His dark gaze shifted to Vrell. “Who’s she, anyway?”

  “That’s not your business. Will you help us?”

  Harnu’s ominous posture gave out, and he looked every bit a chastened little boy. “I can’t go to Armonguard, Gren. My father. I’m his only son. I—”

  Gren rolled her eyes. “What’s that matter?”

  Harnu’s neck bobbed as he swallowed. “Well, I—”

  “It needn’t be forever. Just to get us safely there. Then you can return.”

  “I would if I could, but—”

  “You swore on Riga’s grave you’d protect me and the baby.”

  Harnu seemed to shrink further. “I will if… if you’d let me.”

  “Your oath to protect me does not include marriage.”

  Vrell wanted to leave, yet her gaze flickered between Harnu and Gren.

  “I know that,” Harnu said. “But see? I’ve taken care of the house. Finished the windows. Divided the bedchamber in two.” He walked to the back of the cottage, pushed open the doors. “That way, should you want to live here, the child will have his own room for when he’s older.”

  “Who says the child is a boy?” Gren asked.

  “I’ll check on you every day. And if you change your mind I—”

  “I won’t change my mind!” Gren growled a scream, paced to the door and back, then softened her voice. “Two women traveling alone… so far… we won’t be safe.”

  Again Harnu’s gaze took in Vrell, his eyes seemed to grip her soul and plead, as if Vrell somehow could give him what he needed in life. Vrell suspected what he thought he needed was Gren.

  He looked back to Gren, forehead puckered. “My father… He sometimes forgets things. Things he never forgot before. I worry he’ll hurt himself. And if I’m not here to keep watch… Gren, I’m all he’s got.”

  Vrell looked away from the torment on Harnu’s face. She did not understand Gren’s cruelty toward this man. He clearly cared a great deal for her and her unborn child.

  Being here seemed all wrong. Vrell and Gren were two confused women trying to manipulate their destinies. Gypsum’s words came back to Vrell. It seems to me a smart lady would seize the chance to marry a good man.

  Yet Vrell and Gren both denied good men.

  Could her sister be right? Vrell meant to trust Arman, but what if He wanted Gren to stay in Sitna with Harnu?

  What if He wanted Vrell to marry Achan?

  Arman, am I mistaken? Does Achan follow you?

  ASK HIM.

  Vrell gasped and sank to one of the chairs at the table. Never before had she heard such a clear word from Arman. It brought an overwhelming wave of heat and humility.

  Had Achan committed his heart to Arman? Accepted Câan’s sacrifice? The heat faded, and goose bumps popped over Vrell’s arms. When would she have the chance to ask him now?

  She could always… No. Not that.

  Gren’s raised voice drew Vrell back to the present. “We’re leaving in the morning. May Cetheria deal harshly with you if you let us go alone and we’re killed.” Gren stormed out of the cottage, slamming the door behind her.

  Vrell jumped. Her gaze shot to Harnu. The man’s face had paled, and he gripped the mantle as if he might fall over without its support.

  Vrell stood and smoothed her tunic. “Master Poe, had I known the details of your situation, I would have encouraged Gren toward another plan. I would never ask you to abandon your father for our foolish quest. Do not burden yourself further. I shall see that Gren is safe. Forgive us for wasting your time.” Vrell curtsied and walked to the door.

  Harnu crossed the room, his steps three strikes on an anvil. His strong hand gripped her wrist. “Who are you?”

  She swallowed, her pity for him lost in her sudden fear. “I do not know that I can trust you.”

  He released her, stepped back. “You’ve nothing to fear.”

  “Very well.” Arman help her if this was a mistake. “I am Lady Averella Amal of Carmine.”

  He bowed his head. “Forgive me, m’lady. I should not have touched you so.”

  Vrell relaxed, thankful for the sudden appearance of manners. “You are forgiven, Master Poe. I can tell your mind is on other matters at present.”

  “You’re not safe in Sitna. Soldiers are looking for you.”

  “We have made plans to meet Master Noam this evening. At a corner, I believe it is called.”

  “Noam?” His dark gaze searched hers. “Why?”

  “I think Gren plans to ask him to accompany us on our journey as well.”

  Harnu laughed. “Noam knows nothing ’bout protecting two ladies.”

  “Be that as it may, we hope to leave tomorrow.”

  Harnu stepped to the door. “I must return to Father. Stay here ’til tonight. No one will bother you here.”

  “I thank you, Master Poe, for your kindness. We are indebted to you.”

  Harnu left. Vrell peeked out the door to see him stop before Gren, who stood in the lane between the other two cottages. Harnu spoke to her, bowed, and stalked off.

  Mercy.

  Gren glanced to where Vrell stood in the doorway. “What’ll we do if Harnu won’t come? Noam’s the one I expect to say no, him being a stray and all.”

  “Gren…” But what could Vrell say? Lecture the girl for being heartless to poor Harnu? As if Vrell had any right to comment on that. “Come inside before you are seen.”

  But Gren turned the other way. “I’ll fetch us some dresses first.”

  “Harnu said we should stay hidden, and I agree.”

  “But if we’re going to the Corner tonight, my black dress and your fancy gown won’t do. I’ll find plain ones that’ll help us blend in.”

  “I suppose you must.” For Vrell could not go looking for dresses, nor could she parade about in her green one.

  Vrell shut the door and paced the cottage, admiring the little touches she suspected were from Harnu’s hands. Polished clapboard shutters covered each window and were held in place with decorative iron hinges molded into scrolls and leav
es. A circular iron candelabra with vines and flowers hung from a thick iron chain overhead. And a dozen intricately painted pewter toy figures stood on the mantle. Vrell picked up a white lamb and smiled at his tiny black face. There were horses, cows, sheep, and pigs. A chicken and rooster. Vrell picked up the figure of a girl with chestnut hair and knew immediately that it was Gren.

  How did Harnu find paint the color of Gren’s hair?

  A noise sent Vrell spinning around. Harnu walked in the cottage, arms laden with bundles. “Sorry for startling you, m’lady. Thought you might be hungry.” He set his bundles on the table. “Where’s Gren?”

  “She went to find us dresses.” Vrell held up the figure of Gren. “Did you make this?”

  Harnu shrugged. “A boy or girl will play with animals, don’t you think?”

  “You made them for Gren’s baby?”

  “Metal is all I’m good with.”

  “Oh, I disagree. I’ve never seen such colors of paint on toys. And the construction of the cottage too. You are quite gifted, Master Poe.”

  “Thank you, m’lady. I’m, uh… not proud of how I was before. To Achan.”

  Vrell did not want any details of cruelty to Achan. “Yes, we all have dust under our beds, do we not?”

  Harnu retreated to the door. “I’ll come back later.” The door clumped shut behind him.

  Vrell sighed, knowing exactly what dust was hiding under her bed. Ask him, Arman had said.

  As much as Vrell did not want to be queen, feared confessing her lies to Achan, loathed the idea of women throwing themselves at her husband, and the small snag that she was no longer the true heir to Carm—the only legitimate reason to deny Achan had been his indifference to Arman.

  But if Achan believed… If he truly followed Arman…

  She set the figure of Gren back on the hearth.

  She would have to ask him.

  The first thing that came to mind when Vrell approached the corner of the outer bailey with Gren was The Ivory Spit in Tsaftown, the inn where Kurtz and Achan had gone dancing with women of questionable repute.

  This “Corner” was dark, though they’d posted rushlights around the perimeter. A man stood singing on the end of a small wagon parked against the curtain wall. Three musicians accompanied him with lute, flute, and tabor drum.

  Vrell sat on a wooden stump beside Gren on the perimeter of the clearing. They wore simple peasant dresses made of scratchy brown wool with no petticoats. Vrell could barely hold still with the itchy fabric against her skin. She berated herself for not bringing a separate corset. This gown had no structure at all. She felt completely exposed.

  She scanned the dark mob of people, but Noam had not yet arrived. Dozens of couples danced. Vrell could not bear to watch, for several were kissing in public. The very idea.

  Two young men approached. One had bright orange hair and a short beard with freckles to match. The other was towheaded with a smile that covered half his face.

  The towheaded man addressed Gren. “Grenny Fenny, when did yeh move back to Sitna?”

  “Cap!” Gren’s smile lit up her face. “I’m not back, just passing through.”

  Cap turned his wide smile to Vrell. “Who’s yer friend?”

  Gren gave the alias Vrell had chosen. “This is Ressa.”

  Cap bent down and propped his hands on his knees so his face was level with Vrell’s. “My, yer a pretty thing, Ressa. Dance with me?”

  Vrell’s eyes widened. She would most certainly not dance in such an environment. And with no corset? “Thank you, no. I do not mean to dance this night.”

  Though it seemed impossible, Cap’s grin widened. “My my. Aren’t yeh a proper little princess. Ol’ Cap ain’t good enough for the likes of yeh, that it?”

  “That is not what I meant to imply, sir. But I do not—”

  “It’s fine.” Gren jumped up and grabbed the redhead’s arm. “May as well enjoy ourselves ’til Noam gets here.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Cap took Vrell’s hands and pulled her off her stump. He dragged her into the dancing crowd. But just as he jerked her close, the music stopped.

  Vrell stepped back, pulling her hands from Cap’s as she went. “What a shame. The music has ended.” She turned toward her stump, but a new song began.

  Cap circled Vrell and cut off her path. “This is one of my favorites.” He grabbed her hand, wrapped his other arm around her waist, and propelled her through the mob.

  Vrell stumbled to keep up as he skipped back and forth and spun her around. Onlookers clapped and sang along.

  Hail the piper, fiddle, fife,

  The night is young and full of life.

  The Corner teems with ale and song.

  And we will dance the whole night long.

  Hear the pretty maiden sing,

  Hair and ribbons all flowing.

  She can take my heart away,

  By her side I long to stay.

  Grab that maiden, kick your feet

  Laugh and spin and keep the beat

  If you’re too shy to ask a dance

  Another man will take the chance.

  When the song ended, Cap kissed Vrell on the cheek. “Thanks for the twirl, Ressa.”

  Vrell squeezed her hands into fists, shocked at Cap’s audacity. But before she could scold him, he lunged up to a golden-haired woman and whisked her into a dance. Vrell retreated to her stump, dropped onto the unyielding surface, and folded her arms, hoping to look vexed and unsociable.

  Yet another man approached from her side. Vrell looked away. If their eyes never met, perhaps he would give up.

  But he sat on the stump beside hers. Vrell stiffened, wanting nothing more than to return to Gren’s cottage.

  “Where is Gren?” a familiar voice asked.

  Vrell turned, delighted to see that it was Noam. “She is dancing.”

  Noam squinted at the crowd, his eyes dark under his messy brown hair. “You really going to Armonguard?”

  “Who told you?”

  He flashed his dark eyes her way. “Harnu questioned my ability to protect two women and bid me think hard before agreeing to help you.”

  Vrell laughed silently. “He has a way with words.”

  The rushlights elongated Noam’s narrow face. “I’m not brave, like Achan. Thought he was mad for the reckless way he lived. But I’d like to see him again. Think he’d see me?”

  “Of course he would! But we are not going to see Achan. Not right away, at least.”

  “But if I made it that far—if we made it, I mean. You think he would pardon my crimes?”

  “What crimes have you committed, Master Fox?”

  His face went slack. “None. But if I leave my master…”

  “I can assure you, if we make it to Armonguard, you will be safe. Achan will not continue to imprison strays.”

  “Then I’ll come,” Noam said. “Though I’m too scrawny to be much help, I’ll do my best to look forbidding.”

  The song ended. Gren returned arm in arm with the redheaded man. The band segued into another song.

  Noam chuckled. “Ah, the new favorite of Sitna Manor. Have you heard this one, Lady Averella? I bet you’d like it.”

  Vrell winced and hoped the music had drowned out Noam’s use of her real name.

  He grew up here in Sitna Town,

  The hand his life was dealt.

  He milked the goats and fetched the wood

  Or Poril gave him the belt.

  The pawn our king, sing merry, merry, merry.

  The pawn our servant king.

  For he was once the lowest of all strays

  And now claims to be king.

  Then the Great Whitewolf took him up,

  Taught him to use a sword.

  He fought quite well, his blade struck true,

  And blood from Esek poured.

  Remember us, sing merry, merry, merry.

  Remember us, O king.

  For you were once the lowest of all strays


  And now you’ll be our king.

  Vrell smiled at the lyrics. Achan had become a legend in Sitna. What would he say if he heard this song?

  The band continued to play. But the minstrel jumped off the cart and broke up a dancing couple. He twirled around twice with the maiden, then left her standing and interrupted another couple. Men from the crowd roared with laughter, as if such rudeness was hysterically clever. Two men from the crowd ran into the mob and copied the minstrel, breaking up couples and dancing with the ladies.

  Cap suddenly appeared before Vrell and dragged her back into a dance. He spun so quickly her head tingled. She pulled back, trying to slow them down. Their connection broke. Vrell stumbled. Someone caught her and threw her into a jig. She squealed and held on for fear she might fall.

  Yet another man ripped her arm away from her partner. The minstrel! He spun Vrell round and round and round before releasing her. She staggered a few steps and fell to her knees, her surroundings whirling around her.

  The minstrel’s voice sang out again.

  For he and we were all deceived,

  By our own Lord Nathak.

  And now the Pawn King marches south

  To take Armonguard back.

  O rescue us, sing merry, merry, merry.

  O rescue us, O king.

  For you were once the lowest of all strays

  Save us, our precious king.

  Vrell still sat on her knees. Couples twirled around her as if she were not there.

  “Brazen animals!” a voice said to her left. “Don’t know how father abides them. Look how they treat their women.”

  Vrell scanned the crowd for this critical onlooker who was bold enough to judge but unwilling to assist a lady in need. He stood with two much taller men. He was young, not yet a man, and horribly familiar.

  Reggio Levy’s gaze locked onto Vrell the moment she recognized him. She pushed herself to her feet and ran.

  “Stop that woman!” Reggio screamed, like a boy throwing a temper fit.

  Vrell darted past dancing couples, toward Gren and Noam, then thought better of it. For Lord Nathak might try and capture Gren too. Then what would become of her child?