From Darkness Won

by Jill Williamson

  She reached out for Gren again. Gren? Could you come and help me lace my dress?

  Right away, my lady.

  Averella caught sight of the ring on the sideboard. She quickly put the chain back around her neck and dropped the ring inside her bodice. It hung between her gown and bindings, creating an awkward lump over her stomach. She reached into her neckline and tucked the ring and chain inside the linen bindings.

  “My lady?” A knock followed Gren’s voice.

  She jumped and spun around so that her bare back faced away from the door. “Come in.”

  Once Averella was properly dressed, she went out to the main room of the cottage and sat at the table across from Noam, who was greasing horse tack. Gren sat beside her. Master Poe remained where he was across the room, leaning against the wall, arms folded.

  “Are we ready to depart?” Averella asked.

  “Should be, my lady,” Noam said. “We only need to fill all our water jugs.”

  “I must warn you,” she said. “My mother said that Darkness will play tricks on our minds, cause us to hallucinate. We must keep up conversation to prevent this.”

  “Told you there wasn’t a snake,” Noam said to Gren.

  She smirked. “Nor were the horses talking to you.”

  Noam shifted his gaze to Averella. “But, my lady, we only have two horses. Will we travel with the cart?”

  “I think that is best. That way we will look like a homeless merchant and his household.” Averella looked from face to face. “Master Fox will drive, Master Poe will ride with him on top. Gren and I will sit in the back.”

  “What if someone stops us?” Noam asked. “What if they check me for the mark of the stray?”

  “Do not fear, Master Fox. If we are truly at war, there are more important things for soldiers to worry about than a missing stray.”

  “Will you tell Achan of our plans?” Gren asked.

  The room became very silent. “I see no reason to. My mother is aware.”

  “He would want to know,” Gren said.

  Averella searched for some excuse. Any excuse. “I am not certain I can message the prince.”

  Gren shot her a daring look. “You’re not willing to try?”

  “Not until my memory returns. And if it does not, well, too much communication would only complicate matters.”

  Gren huffed a sigh. “Achan is the best of men.”

  “I am sure he is honorable and just and good in every way. But I have no memory of him, Gren, except of our time spent in the Veil. I simply need more time.”

  The wagon creaked over the dirt road, south, through Darkness, toward Mahanaim. Gren and Noam sang a song.

  Hear the pretty maiden sing,

  Hair and ribbons all flowing.

  She can take my heart away,

  By her side I long to stay.

  Averella did not know why, but this song made her uncomfortable. She tried to block out the words by focusing on their destination. If they could get inside Mahanaim…

  A sour smell grew. An animal must have died nearby. She covered her nose with her hand and stared into the black surroundings. Mahanaim sat on a maze of stagnant canals, she knew, but it would be days before they reached the city.

  Water lapped at the sides of the wagon. How could there be water beside the wagon when she could not hear the horses wading through it?

  The wagon jolted underneath her. She gripped the side. A deafening howl penetrated the night. Something rammed the side of the wagon. Water splashed into the wagon bed, drenching Averella in cold, slimy water.

  She yelped and drew back from the edge of the wagon. “What is happening, Master Fox?”

  But Noam was not there. No one was. In fact, Averella no longer sat in the wagon at all. She lay alone on the bottom of a small animal-skin boat.

  The keening howl ripped through the Darkness again. Averella pressed her hands over her ears. The boat rocked, hit something solid. A creature jumped on her.

  She screamed and slapped the creature. It was wet and furry and—

  “My lady, please! Ah!”

  Averella stilled at the sound of Harnu’s voice. Pale torchlight illuminated the wagon. No boat.

  Harnu held Averella on his lap, cradling her like a child, rocking back and forth. His dark eyebrows sank low over his eyes. “Are you well, my lady?”

  Averella squirmed off his lap and onto the wood floor of the wagon. Her heart was still beating so fast that it thudded in her ears. “I am fine, Master Poe. I—” She took a deep breath to clear her thoughts. “I had not experienced a vision of Darkness yet. It surprised me. I believed we were being attacked by a water beast.”

  Harnu pushed to his feet and climbed back onto the driver’s seat. “Choose a song we all know, Noam.”

  Averella shivered, her heart still beating faster than normal. “What songs do you know, Master Poe?”

  He grunted. “I rarely went to the Corner.”

  “Look! Lights!” Gren pointed to the right where a dozen torchlights glittered to the southwest. “Let’s see who it is.”

  “No,” Averella said. “We should steer clear. If they are unfriendly, we would not know until it was too late to flee.”

  “But what if they are friendly?” Gren asked.

  “We cannot take that risk. We should stay on the road. The road we can trust.”

  “Whatever you say, my lady,” Noam said.

  Averella slouched against the side of the wagon. What did she know about anything? Why should she be in charge? She could be wrong about the lights. Maybe they were friendly people. People who could help them free Bran.

  More bizarre thoughts assailed Averella throughout the day—or was it night?—but she was able to stop them before they went too far. She lay down in the back of the wagon, eyes drooping heavily. She should message Mother and inquire as to what would happen when she fell asleep. But before she could form the connection, her mind drifted.

  Pain shot through her skull. She cowered in a briarberry bush, clutching her temples. The soldier was close, debilitating her with the pressure of his untamed bloodvoice.

  She concentrated on closing her mind, something she had never needed to do simply to keep from experiencing pain. The pressure eased some, and she crawled to the top of the ridge and peeked over.

  Shrouded in fog, a Kingsguard soldier fought two Poroo in a small clearing, his movements quick but careful.

  She had been right. The gifted one was a soldier. Younger than she had expected, but no mere boy. He was tall, strong, and wounded. Plum bruises covered his handsome face. His dark, wet hair and soggy Kingsguard cape whipped about as he swung his sword. Studded jewels on the ivory crossguard caught her eye. He must be a noble to wield such a weapon, yet she had never seen him at court.

  Movement to the far left turned her head. Prince Gidon! The heir to the throne of Er’Rets leaned against an allown tree, watching the soldier fight.

  Where were his distinguished guards? The mighty Shield? And why was His Highness just standing there? He was quite gifted with the sword, or so his reputation said. He could be helping the soldier fight off the Poroo.

  She snorted. Our new and noble, lazy king.

  A third Poroo charged up behind the soldier.

  Look out! She yelled to his mind.

  Scratch? The soldier spun around just in time to parry the jab of a spear. He scurried back in the pine needles, holding his sword up to his attackers. “If you’re not going to help, Your Highness,” the soldier said to the prince, “at least climb the tree. I’d hate for you to be killed. Your death would secure my own.”

  Her brows shot up at his snide tone. Prince Gidon only smirked. One of the Poroo charged. The soldier waited until the last moment before dodging and swinging his blade into the creature’s side. The soldier stiffened and the Poroo fell at his feet.

  She felt his horror of having killed. He swallowed and exhaled before wrenching his blade free with a growl. His grey eyes flashed to t
he other two Poroo. He steeled himself and stepped forward.

  He could do this.

  Averella awoke, chilled by the sweat soaking her skin. She sat up, simply breathing until her heart fell into a steady rhythm. Dreams of Darkness felt so real, yet she had a feeling this last one had been more than a dream. A memory. Of how she came to meet the man known as Achan Cham. He had served the false Prince Gidon, the man everyone now called Esek, who had been a pretender to the throne for thirteen years. And Esek had left the real prince to die.

  But Vrell Sparrow had saved him, removed arrows from his flesh, packed his wounds with spider’s webs and yarrow.

  Averella frowned. What in all Er’Rets was yarrow?

  Her mind tumbled through the scenes again. The real prince bore the mark of the stray on his shoulder, and his back carried more scars than she could ever imagine.

  According to Gren, Averella had transported him to Mahanaim, tended his wounds and sat with him in his dungeon cell, nursing him back to health. Until the Great Whitewolf and his men had freed him. She had been torn over his departure from prison, missed his company.

  And that was all Averella could remember.

  She shook her head. Missing his company was not love. She pitied him for what Lord Nathak had done and for the horrible life he’d been forced to live. But pity and compassion were not love. Not romantic love, anyway.

  Averella’s ears itched. She now knew this was a sign that someone was about to message with their bloodvoice.

  Achan Cham.

  Oh dear. Averella had hoped a few days might pass before he spoke to her again. If only she remembered more.

  Yes, Your Highness?

  Sparrow! How do you fare? Has your memory returned? I have been praying that Arman would restore it.

  I am well, thank you. I have remembered only a small flash.

  That’s a good sign, then, don’t you think? If you’ve remembered some, surely you’ll remember more.

  Perhaps, though I do not expect it to happen soon. I have nearly a year’s-worth of memories to restore.

  They’ll come. Have you decided what to do? Shall I send someone for you?

  We are going to Mahanaim to free Master Rennan, Sir Rigil, and Sir Jax. We travel south along the King’s Road.

  Mahanaim! It’s not safe. Esek’s soldiers patrol all of the King’s Road. Allow me to send men to escort you here.

  Do not worry, Your Highness. Master Poe and Master Fox are with us. We travel under the guise of a merchant and his wife and their two servants fleeing Darkness.

  Silence stretched on for a long moment before the prince said, Who is married to whom?

  I am posing as Master Poe’s wife. Gren is—

  Why him?

  Master Poe is much more confident to pose as a merchant. And I am the logical choice over Gren.

  I don’t like this, Sparrow. It sounds dangerous and involves Harnu. I should come for you myself.

  Gren told me of your unpleasant history with Master Poe. I am sorry for that. But I assure you, Master Poe is no longer a brute. And without him we would surely—

  Fine, Sparrow. Just take care. I’ll feel better once you are in camp with me again.

  Averella winced. Your Highness, forgive me if I sound presumptive, but I must make myself clear. I have gleaned much from those around me about what transpired between us. I understand we did not part on good terms.

  That was my fault. I—

  Please allow me to finish. Without my memories of our time together, I think it would be best, for now, if we officially parted ways. You have plenty to concern yourself with, upcoming war and all. And I am responsible for Gren. Perhaps later, should my memory return, we might discuss how to proceed. I do not wish to be cruel, but my reputation has already been tainted due to my falsehoods. For that I apologize. Let us have no more communication for now. We shall each do our duty to Arman and Er’Rets. And later, should Arman will it, we can speak again. What say you?

  What say I? Sparrow, I cannot stomach your formal tirades. And now you no longer wish to communicate? Am I really that horrible of a conversationalist?

  Of course not, Your Highness. Bother. He had taken her words more harshly than she had meant them. But in light of our past… it would be wise to tread carefully. I cannot pretend to care for you when I do not recall ever doing so, especially since you do not know who I really am. And I do not wish to mislead you in hoping my feelings may rekindle. For at the moment, I have no feelings for you at all.

  I see. Very well, then, Miss Sparrow. Forgive me for trying to save your life. From now on, you are on your own.

  Your Highness, please do not be cross. I am simply trying to exp—

  But Prince Gidon had closed the connection.

  Averella did not know why, but his silence brought tears to her eyes.

  17

  Arman, help Sparrow remember everything. Now.

  Achan should be paying attention to Sir Gavin explain the plan to seize the eastern Reshon Gate, but Sparrow’s rejection still throbbed like a hornet’s sting.

  He sat at the table in the meeting tent with the generals and his advisors. They had stopped on a coastal prairie just west of the Lebab Inlet. The smell of the sea reminded him of home. Sitna, anyway. And it felt good to be in Light again, no matter what his mood.

  How foolish to dwell on Sparrow. If she had forgotten their entire friendship, perhaps that was best. Full recollection would only remind her why she had rejected him the first time, and she’d probably feel the need to reject him again. He didn’t think he could take that a second time.

  Do what you must, Arman. Still, I pray for what I want. And I want Sparrow to remember.

  “I need to scout out the gate, see if Esek has men there and how many,” Sir Gavin said. “Inko, Sir Eagan, and Captain Demry will accompany me.”

  “And me?” Achan asked.

  “You remain here,” Sir Gavin said. “I’ll message you if there’s something you need to see.”

  Figured. The moment Achan needed to keep his mind busy, he had nothing to do. “Why ride to the gate, Sir Gavin? Scouting the location through the Veil would save time.”

  “It’s no longer safe for this old man to enter the Veil,” Sir Gavin said. “Shamayim’s pull is too great for my bloodvoice to resist. I could send Sir Eagan, but I’m the general of this army and must see for myself what we’re up against.”

  The meeting ended and the men filed outdoors. Only Achan and Sir Eagan remained at the table. Achan had no intention of moving. There was no place to go, anyway, but to be mobbed by soldiers wishing to greet him.

  “Your Highness, may I speak with you a moment?”

  Achan regarded Sir Eagan’s pale face. “Of course.”

  Sir Eagan cleared his throat. “There is a situation with your betrothal to Lady Averella Amal.”

  An invisible wave rushed into Achan’s stomach and tossed it around. “Oh?”

  “Duchess Amal messaged me. She felt the matter could not wait for a messenger who might be intercepted.” Sir Eagan shifted in his chair. Achan had never seen him so uncomfortable. “First and foremost, a confession. Lady Averella was unaware until recently that I am her father.”

  The room seemed suddenly ten times smaller. Achan choked on a breath, yet felt a strange, thrilling calm. Before he could speak, Sir Eagan continued.

  “I never expected to leave Ice Island, so I figured she was better off not knowing. But when I returned to Carmine and saw Lady Nitsa, well, things changed. Lady Averella has now learned the truth.”

  Sir Eagan pounded his fist into his palm. “She was understandably shocked and angry. But she has taken it further. As a result of this news, she has renounced her inheritance and her claim to Carm. Which brings me to the part that concerns you, Your Highness.”

  Achan already understood. If Lady Averella had renounced her inheritance… “It’s Duchess Amal’s business to appoint her heir. The details of Lady Averella’s birth don’t matter to m
e. You must know that.”

  “That is very generous, Your Highness, but only part of the problem. Lady Averella… well… she refuses to marry you.”

  Achan could only stare, numb.

  “Naturally, Duchess Amal is extremely apologetic. On one hand, this means I might, someday, claim my daughter publicly. On the other hand…”

  “The duchess can no longer fulfill her side of our bargain.”

  “Correct. To compensate for this mishap, she offers you Lady Gypsum, who is now heir to Carm Duchy.”

  “Lady Gypsum?” That little girl?

  “Yes. But the duchess wishes you to know that she in no way expects you to accept this offer. She makes the offer freely, with Lady Gyspum’s consent, but understands if you would like to make other plans.”

  “Me?” Achan could hardly dare think it.

  “Should you decide to choose your own bride, you still have Carm Duchy’s full support in your campaign.”

  “I see.” Achan sat very still, though inside he danced.

  “Forgive me for deceiving you, Your Highness. All Er’Rets believed Lady Averella to be Duke Amal’s daughter. It was not my place to speak until Nitsa chose to.” Sir Eagan blew out a long breath. “Now you know why I said I would not change my past. Nitsa and I suffered great consequences for our choices. Yet a lovely young woman breathes because of it. Only Arman can reverse such sorrow. My one regret now is how Lady Averella’s anger may affect you.”

  “Oh.” Achan tried to sound sorry to be set free. “Don’t burden yourself, Sir Eagan. And please inform Duchess Amal that I am not angry, or saddened, even. I never met Lady Averella, so I feel no great loss toward her.”

  Sir Eagan lowered his gaze to the table. “You are very kind, Your Highness.”

  “What will Sir Caleb say about all this? Will he insist I marry Lady Gypsum?”

  “I have already spoken to him and the others.”

  Achan could read nothing from Sir Eagan’s impassive expression. “Please, Sir Eagan, what did they say?”

  Sir Eagan chuckled. “The point of your betrothal to Lady Averella was to secure an army. You have that army. We think it wise that you continue to wear Lady Averella’s sleeve until the throne is won. But we leave the choice of your bride up to you. No matter her station. You need only message Duchess Amal to officially break the betrothal. After that, you are free. We only ask that you wait until after the war to take your bride. Is that acceptable to you, Your Highness?”