From Darkness Won

by Jill Williamson

  He squeezed her hand. It is never impossible, child. As we have been telling you all along, you must simply choose truth.

  She sighed. You make it sound so easy.

  It is not easy, but it will set you free. That, I can promise.

  “We will have to fight them, I fear,” Sir Rigil said.

  His words brought Averella back to the present.

  The wolves.

  “Better here, with our backs protected, than on the trail when they can come at us from all sides, separate us,” Jax said.

  “Still a half day’s walk to Noiz,” Peripaso said.

  “It is a pity we do not have archers among us,” Sir Rigil said. “We could pick them off one by one from here.”

  “Duchess Amal could storm them if she could find us,” Sir Eagan said. “But I do not see how she could ever learn our location, especially in the dark.”

  Averella took a deep breath. “I could do it.”

  Sir Eagan gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Your mother said you are not strong for storming.”

  “I am not. That is why you both must help me. I’ll let Mother storm through me as we run.”

  Sir Eagan shook his head. “That will not work, Averella. To storm, you must remain stationary, as must your guard. That would mean you and I remain in the cave.”

  “Absolutely not,” Sir Rigil said.

  “Then no one will leave the cave until I have succeeded,” Averella said.

  “If you are weak afterwards,” Jax said, “I will carry you.”

  “Thank you, Jax.” Averella looked back to her father. As the highest ranking soldier, it was his decision to make.

  He nodded. “Very well. Contact your mother.”

  And so Sir Rigil, Bran, and Gren packed up camp while Averella messaged her mother and explained the situation. Averella put her armor back on, and Mother gave instructions.

  It will be just like before, dearest, in the forest with the black knights. You must relax and let me be your eyes.

  Averella could not imagine relaxing at a time like this. But I don’t remember what I did before. And didn’t I black out that time? What if that happens again before you can finish?

  I need your eyes for only a moment.

  Would it be better for you to use Father’s eyes?

  No. He is stronger than you. Should you pass to the Veil, he can bring you back. You could not do the same for him.

  Sir Rigil, Bran, and Jax stood at the mouth of the cave, swords drawn. Gren and Sir Eagan sat on either side of Averella, each clutching an arm for when she would undoubtedly fall. Noam sat to Sir Eagan’s left, positioned to catch him if he fell in an effort to retrieve Averella from the Veil.

  Averella’s hands trembled.

  “Do not fear, Averella.” Sir Eagan threaded his fingers with hers and squeezed. “Arman will keep you safe.”

  “Thank you, Father. I know I have nothing to fear with you guarding me.”

  Are you ready, dearest?

  Yes, Mother.

  Relax, then, and let me step through you.

  Averella lowered the shields around her mind. She focused on the largest wolf. It was simply sitting on the ground, watching, tongue lagging from its mouth. Sounds magnified in her ears now: the padding of the pacing wolves, the crackling fire, the clicking from trees, her father’s breathing.

  She felt nothing physical and had no way of knowing if her mother had begun, until the wolf yelped and collapsed. Something inside told her she should rebuild the walls around her mind, but she forced herself to ignore the impulse, to leave her walls down, her mind unguarded.

  One of the pacing wolves tripped and skidded to a stop. The other stopped to sniff at his companion and whimpered. As the third wolf fell, an overwhelming peace filled Averella. At first she thought Sir Eagan had manipulated her emotions, but then her soul left her body as subtly as a flutter in her stomach.

  She was floating up through the cave’s ceiling, through dark rock that seemed endless, until a glimmer of lights shone in the distance. Noiz, perhaps? It looked closer than ever. She willed herself to float toward the lights, but something snagged her hand. Turning back, she saw Sir Eagan’s transparent body floating beside her.

  You must not leave us, Averella. We would like to reach Noiz as a group, and you with your body and soul as one.

  Averella took one last longing look at the lights of Noiz and allowed her father to pull her back to the cave.

  Your mother knows how to storm better than a thundercloud.

  Mother. Veil warrior. Averella wanted to speak with her, but it would have to wait. Her weakness was pulling her toward sleep.

  When she woke, Jax was carrying her through the forest. Branches snapped under his heavy footsteps. She could see Peripaso and Sir Rigil before them, moving down the trail. Light danced over the trees from Peripaso’s torch.

  Averella clutched Jax’s shirt.

  He glanced down on her. “Can you stand, Vrell?”

  She looked up into his eyes and nodded. He set her on her feet, but kept a hand on her shoulder. He was so much taller, she felt like a babe with her father as she walked beside him.

  They saw no sign of another wolf on the rest of their journey. The lights of Noiz became visible long before soldiers stopped them at the gate on the outskirts of the city. Sir Eagan declared himself, and the soldiers escorted their party through the army’s tents, past a small village, and up a steep trail.

  Averella had never visited Noiz, but now she remembered having heard stories of the kings who had spent time amongst the clouds. There were no clouds tonight. The stronghold glimmered on the mountain above. She wished she could see the land, for it was said that the view from Paniyn Gal was a breathtaking sight.

  Perhaps another day. Once Darkness was gone forever.

  This thought brought Achan’s face to mind. He would surely visit the king’s refuge more than once during his life. How handsome he had looked the day she found him wounded in the forest and tended his arrow wounds.

  How like a Hadar he had appeared when Sir Caleb had dressed him for the Council meeting.

  And how like a king in those clothes Sir Eli had provided in Mirrorstone. She recalled her anger when Jaira had kissed him. Such a manipulative creature, Jaira Hamartano, trying to steal the throne for herself with magic.

  Averella suddenly recalled other women who had been taken in by Achan Cham’s waggish smile.

  A pretty red-haired girl in Melas.

  Young Yumikak, who had danced with him all evening when their party had visited Berland. The girl had also snuck into his bedchamber to sing him to sleep that night.

  Cousin Tara. The way Achan had walked with Tara on his arm. His glowing praise of Tara’s character and wit. The way his eyes had gleamed when he spoke of his plans to propose marriage.

  And then there was that barmaid in Tsaftown. But Averella did not want to think about her.

  She recalled Achan’s wide grin the day he had said, “Oh, I see. All this time, all the strange things you’ve said on my behalf. Jaira, Ressa, Yumikak, Lady Tara, Beska. You were jealous.”

  Averella had denied it, of course, for his words had been cocksure and provoking. But he had been right.

  She had been jealous indeed.

  Averella’s legs were sore by the time they reached the entrance to Paniyn Gal.

  A guard stopped them before they could enter into the great hall of the fortress. “Sir Eagan is expected. The rest of you must wait until I have instructions.”

  Sir Eagan squeezed Averella’s hand. “Only a moment now.” His endearing gaze made her smile. He passed through the doorway and started up a grand staircase without calming her emotions.

  She peeked in the open doorway and up a grand staircase. From where she stood, she could barely see the tops of tables and the heads and shoulders of dozens of men and women who were eating in a great hall of sorts.

  A familiar laugh pulled her gaze to the far left. And ther
e, at the center of the head table, stood Achan Cham.

  The sight of him sent a tremor down her spine. He was handsome as ever, wearing a fine ensemble of blue and gold. He walked to the top of the stairs and greeted Sir Eagan in a warm embrace.

  Suddenly everything clicked. As if she had forgotten nothing, Averella remembered it all.

  He had tried to kiss her under the waterfall. She had been afraid and swum away. But he had found her the next day in his chambers, begged her not to go, told her he loved her. She had brushed it aside. Too set on her agenda. Pining away for the shelter of home. Wanting to hide from her heart and the vulnerability the truth would bring to her life. Because she was embarrassed that she had lied to him.

  The soldier at the doorway stepped aside. “You may all enter now. To the top of the stairs please.”

  Averella took a deep breath. Father was right. Only the truth would set her free now. And she longed for freedom from the bondage of her own lies.

  Achan would be surprised to see her. Would he make a scene? The idea made her wince. She removed her helm from her pack. Better not to give him time to think it over as he watched her climb that steep staircase. She pulled her helm over her head and started up the marble steps, hiding behind her mask for the last time.

  33

  Achan stood at the top of the staircase. A half dozen people spilled into the foyer below. A woman led them up the center stairs. She wore a green dress with a bronze breastplate over it. A matching bronze helm covered her face. How bizarre.

  “It’s Iamos!” a soldier yelled from one of the tables.

  Achan turned toward his men. Most had stood to stare down the steps as the newcomers approached.

  “Aye, I saw her and Marpay healing men in Mahanaim,” another soldier said from the end of the opposite table.

  “They healed a hundred men,” a man near Achan said.

  “She healed me!”

  “She scaled the sorcerer’s tower and killed him.”

  Suddenly everyone was standing, beginning to move toward the newcomers.

  Achan frowned. “Enough! Sir Eagan killed the Hadad. And there is no Iamos or Marpay. Any god but Arman is false.” He turned his gaze to the woman, who was now halfway up the stairs. “Though you are a guest here and I owe you civility, if you claim to be Iamos, I say you’re a liar.”

  The woman stopped. Her gaze, visible only through the slot in the helm, locked with his. “I am a liar, Your Highness, but I promise you, I never claimed to be Iamos.”

  The woman’s raspy voice, muffled through the air holes in her helm, pulled Achan’s eyebrows low over his eyes. “Then who are you, and what do you want?”

  She removed her helm, revealing a tangle of black hair.

  “Sparrow?” Achan’s heart leapt. “Sparrow!” He started down the stairs.

  She tucked the helm under one arm. “Not quite, Your Highness. I am not Sparrow or Vrell, as you have known me.”

  Achan stopped so suddenly he almost fell down the stairs. “Sparrow, what game is this? I’ve spent more time with you than anyone. I have imagined your face every day we have not been together. I have made no mistake. You are Vrell Sparrow.”

  “No, Your Highness, that is the lie I told you and everyone else.” She stood tall and seemed to be collecting herself. “I am…” She breathed heavily and started again. “My lord, I am Lady Averella Amal, formerly of Carmine. Currently without home.” She went down on both knees in the middle of the stairs and bowed her head low. “I pledge service to the true crown of Er’Rets.” Her next words were so muffled, he could hardly understand them. “If you will have it.”

  A chill gripped every inch of Achan’s body. It was as if he was back at Ice Island, standing before the men in the Prodotez. The hall quieted. Achan could only stare at the top of Sparrow’s head. But not Sparrow. Never really Sparrow. Always Lady Averella Amal. He seemed to be melting into a pool of lava.

  All this time? All along, Sparrow—and Scratch, and Vrell—all along she was really Lady Averella? He descended two more steps. “Sparrow, you—”

  Wait. Wait! If Lady Averella were really Sparrow, then he was betrothed to her! He could marry Vrell! The girl who possessed his heart could truly be his wife.

  No. He was no longer betrothed to her. She’d refused him. It seemed like all his old wounds hurt him at once, especially all his head wounds. It felt like he was the one who had lost his memory. He’d been betrothed to her, but now he wasn’t. She’d renounced her birthright. Wasn’t that it? Because Sir Eagan was her father she didn’t have the right or the heritage to be heir of Carm.

  He descended another step.

  Her true rank shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter to him!

  But the men had to have known! He turned back and looked up the stairs to where Sir Eagan stood beside Sir Caleb’s place at the head table. “She is your daughter?”

  Sir Eagan bowed his head. “She is.”

  Flames coiled within Achan’s chest. He looked back and forth from Sir Eagan to Sparrow. Why hadn’t he seen it? It made perfect sense. “And you knew all along?”

  “From the night you freed me from Ice Island, Your Highness. Her face could not fool me.”

  Achan walked up three steps. He felt furious and elated and betrayed and relieved at the same time. He didn’t know how to respond. At the moment, anger won out. “I see she gets her deceit from you.” Then another wave of implications rose to mind. “Surely the duchess also knew?”

  “It was not our secret to tell, Your Highness.”

  Achan barely heard him. He remembered the duchess in his room, in his mind, in the Veil, in her sitting room—training, teaching, encouraging—but never telling the truth. No wonder the duchess had never introduced him to her daughter. “I feel I have been betrayed by you all!”

  Achan pinched the bridge of his nose. His own advisors had lied to him. Sparrow had lied! Blazes! He had never felt like a bigger halfwit in all his days. He twisted to look back on Sparrow. Her eyes watched him, wide and waiting. She was so beautiful. The object of his yearnings. Yet a duplicitous liar! And she had the nerve to make him feel bad for being tempted by other women. For all his weaknesses, he had always been honest.

  He realized with a start that everyone in the great hall was staring at him. The intensity of every set of eyes and the deceit of his own advisors filled him with heat. He tried to contain his anger, but his limbs turned to fire. He ascended the stairs to get a good view of Sir Caleb. “What about you, Sir Caleb? Did you know this secret, as well?”

  “I did not, Your Highness.” Then Sir Caleb’s stony expression broke into an incredulous smile. “But it does explain a few things.”

  Achan scanned the tables. Where was Sir Gavin? Right. He had gone down to talk with the Mârad general. Achan paced toward Sir Eagan. “Does Sir Gavin know?”

  “Aye.”

  “Yet I suppose it was not his secret to tell either, was it?”

  “Nay, it was not.”

  Achan walked back to the top of the stairs and looked down on Sparrow, who remained kneeling. Beyond her, scattered on the steps below, stood Sir Jax, Sir Rigil, a handful of Bodwin’s guards, Gren… His heart softened to see Gren’s teary face. Noam! He smiled at his old friend, who smiled in return. Bran Rennan, who looked completely exhausted.

  Achan asked softly, “Did you know of this, Master Rennan?”

  Bran’s voice was almost a whisper. “I did.”

  Achan struggled to comprehend the meaning. His brain hurt, but he forced himself to look back over his entire past year, seeing it all in a new light. Lady Averella had disguised herself as the boy stray Vrell Sparrow in order to avoid marriage to Esek—so she could return home and marry her true love: Bran.

  “Bran… I—I never knew! I—” Achan swayed on the steps and grasped the bannister to keep from toppling over.

  Eben’s breath! After all his prideful tirades against Bran for his mistreatment of Gren, and all along it had been Achan who had bet
rayed Bran. Fire burned within his chest. He sucked short breaths through his nostrils, hoping he did not lose control and fall into a rage. Or tears like a child. This was not his fault! He had not known who she was. She had kept it from him.

  He closed his eyes. Arman, give me wisdom.

  But he did not pause long enough to listen for any divine reply. He looked down on Sparrow again. It all came back to her. Despite his desire to hate her, a joy arose in him at seeing her again. Yet she had made him feel a remorse that she deserved more than anyone. He managed two words.

  “Explain yourself.”

  They sounded cold and cruel and Esek-like, but he didn’t care. He knew he was not the villain here. He wanted only to hear her speak.

  Sparrow—his mind would not yet let him think of her by any other name—sat back on her heels. Her eyes, wide and green like Duchess Amal’s, stared into his. “I went into hiding when Esek demanded to marry me. Macoun Hadar sensed my skill and sent the Kingsguard knights to fetch me. Jax and Khai. I was afraid to reveal my identity, so I kept up my charade, hoping Mother would know someone in Mahanaim who might assist me. Then you entered the story. And you know the rest. I was swept along with you on an adventure into Darkness.”

  Sparrow’s emotional tone chipped at his anger, bored holes through it, piercing his heart from all sides. He wanted to run and take her into his arms and marry her on the spot. Where was Toros Ianjo? And yet, his heart was tentative, as if she might really be a black knight’s illusion that would turn into a flock of gowzals any second and tear him to pieces. He steeled himself against her charms. “Why didn’t you give me your true name? At least in Mitspah?”

  Sparrow’s eyes filled with tears. “Achan, please. Could we speak of this in private?”

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “Answer my question.”

  She blinked, and a stream of tears ran down one cheek.

  He towered over her like a marble statue, cold, hard, and paralyzed by his mixed emotions. He couldn’t decide whether to comfort her or throw her in prison.