Achan thrashed through the night, his right arm sore, his mind active with memories of Esek, the cham, and Sparrow.
The next morning, he and Shung found the great hall crowded for breakfast. The high table, however, was empty. Achan limped up the steps to the high table, ignoring the stares of those eating below. He and Shung must look half dead. Both had arms in slings, Achan's from the cham's teeth. Shung's from the cham's fire.
Shung stood against the wall behind Achan's chair, refusing to sit. Achan picked at his food, pondering what words might convince Sparrow to remain friends. He couldn't let anything inappropriate sneak into his confession and scare her away.
Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb approached the high table. Sir Gavin sat to Achan's left. Sir Caleb stepped over the bench on Achan's other side.
"Your Highness, did you really accost that poor girl? Kurtz won't stop talking about it." Sir Caleb pulled his other leg over the bench and reached for the pitcher of water.
"It was but one kiss." Achan straightened. "Two, actually. No doubt Kurtz has stretched whatever he saw."
Sir Caleb humphed and bowed his head.
Achan waited for Sir Caleb to finish his thanks. "I do hope someone has informed Kurtz that Sparrow is a woman. I hate to think what the man might be thinking otherwise."
Sir Caleb raised an eyebrow. "Kurtz is so informed."
Achan picked up a slice of bread and tapped the crust on the tabletop, feeling the need to explain further. "I liked Sparrow the boy a great deal. When I discovered the little fox was a woman…it stabbed. She lied to me. But even as a woman, Sparrow was Sparrow. I couldn't help but think how perfect everything would be if she and I could…" He drew in a heavy sigh. "I know, I know. I'm the biggest fool in Er'Rets."
"Not the biggest." Sir Gavin sipped from his mug. "I'm sure if I searched very hard I could find a bigger one."
"Trust you to be honest. I only felt…when she said she might be leaving…" Achan stirred his porridge, groping for the right words. "I don't want to lose her friendship."
Sir Gavin inhaled over his mug of tea. "She will always be your friend, lad."
Achan hoped that was true. He'd sensed deception in her when she'd claimed she didn't love him. Why would she lie? Did she think him insincere? He wished he hadn't thought about the mistress thing. That had been daft.
Sir Caleb propped his elbow on the table and stared at Achan. "What's the point for you, Your Highness? Of all this. Raising an army. Fighting Esek?"
"Arman called me to be king. You said it has to be me."
"Go back further. Before you heard Arman. What did you live for?"
"Not much. The hope of Gren, I suppose. Though I always knew her father would never allow it."
"So you lived every day, hoping for what you couldn't have. And when it was lost, what did you live for then?"
What could be the point of such questions? Didn't Sir Caleb already know all this? "To keep Gren safe. Esek threatened to harm her if I tried to leave his service."
"You sacrificed your freedom for her safety. That gave your life purpose. Every man must life for something, Your Highness. Serve a matchless cause beyond himself. Many live for the goal of riches, some for the love of a good woman, others for the affections of many. Some men live for their children or for the number of enemy soldiers they've killed in battle."
Sir Caleb paused to take a sip from his goblet. "Having lived longer than you, I'll tell you what I've learned. Though these causes are worthwhile and good, none will bring true, lasting satisfaction." Sir Caleb glanced at Sir Gavin.
The Great Whitewolf turned his mismatched eyes to Achan. "Only one cause has spurred my life, and it's the only one that follows a man into the Veil. I know Caleb serves the same cause."
Achan turned back to Sir Caleb. "Live for Arman, Your Highness. Serve him. He created you for a purpose. He's proud of who you are. He deserves your respect, your sacrifice, your service. Only he can bring you satisfaction and meaning in this life. No woman can do that-even if your every hope were granted. Live for Arman alone, and he'll give you the desires of your heart."
Achan tried to comprehend the idea of loving Arman more than anyone. Sparrow seemed to think he didn't follow Arman at all. "But he seems so far away. Like that temple." Achan pointed to the ceiling, toward the temple above the stronghold he still hadn't found time to visit.
"Aye, the stairs are high, and slippery," Sir Gavin said, "for I almost broke my neck climbing them this morning. But before I knew it, I'd reached the top. And what a view. Arman is always worth the climb, lad."
"But I never know when he'll answer me. I feel like I'm bothering him, like he's too busy."
"He hears every word you say, every thought you think. And he always answers, though sometimes his answer is 'no' or 'wait.' Live for him, Achan. Give him your trust."
"I will." Achan stood. "But first I'm going to speak with Sparrow and apologize for my recklessness. I hope she'll agree to remain friends."
Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb rose and bowed. Protocol for treating Achan like royalty in public. He still wasn't used to it.
Sir Gavin kept his head down, his curtain of white hair flanking his beard. "I fear Vrell has already gone, lad."
A savage rage swept over Achan. "What do you mean?"
"She left this morning. Sir Eagan agreed to escort her wherever she wanted to go."
Sir Eagan had betrayed him? "Why didn't you tell me?"
"She asked me not to."
"How is Sparrow going off with Sir Eagan alone following protocol?"
"Sir Eagan is trustworthy," Sir Caleb added.
Achan scowled at Sir Caleb. "And I'm not? Tell me where they went."
Sir Gavin frowned. "I cannot, for they didn't tell me."
"You lie."
"I never lie."
"You lied to me about Sparrow. Tell me what you know about her. You've always known more than anyone else."
"Achan. Calm yourself," Sir Caleb said. "You're acting irrationally. Moments ago you said you were going to revoke your proposal. All has worked out."
Achan gritted his teeth and reached out for Sparrow. Sparrow, what is this? You just leave?
He waited, wringing his hands. When she didn't answer, he tried to look into her mind. He felt her shields, strong and impenetrable as always. How did she do that? Sparrow!
Achan called to Sir Eagan next and received no answer. He lunged for Sir Gavin, slid his hands around Sir Gavin's neck, cradling the man's hairy cheeks with his thumbs. He stared into Sir Gavin's eyes. "You will tell me what I want to know." He tore into Sir Gavin's mind, seeking a conversation with Sir Eagan and Sparrow, but the knight seemed to know how to defend against such an attack, for Achan could find no shred of Sparrow in his thoughts. "Tell me!" He yelled so loud his throat seemed to rip.
"Achan." Sir Gavin gasped a breath of air. "This isn't what Arman would have for you."
"Your Highness!" Sir Caleb grabbed Achan's arm and pulled. "Please. He's an old man. This could kill him."
Do it, a boiling voice said. This man has betrayed you and deserves to die.
Achan withdrew instantly. Sir Gavin staggered back and fell onto the bench. His eyelids fluttered, his face pale and sweaty. Achan jerked free from Sir Caleb's grip and backed away, repulsed with his own temper, horrified to have again heard Hadad's voice, unable to use Darkness as an excuse this time.
"I'm sorry." He limped out of the great hall as fast as he could, clutching a hand to his arm to ease the ache. Sparrow, please don't do this. Just talk to me. Tell me where you are.
He climbed the tower stairs slowly, Shung, wisely silent, at his heels. Achan's temper rose the higher the stairs took him. Why did Sparrow not answer? Was she punishing him?
He limped to her chamber and fell on his knees beside her pallet, panting from fatigue. He placed his hand on the dent in her pillow. A jar sat in the middle of her bed, a red twine bow tied around the edge of the lid. A small scrap of parchment held three words in flowery script.
For your fleas.
Sparrow could write? Better than him? He lifted the lid on the jar and sniffed. It smelled of pine. He sat back on his heels, set his forehead on the edge of her bed. Sparrow gone? Forever? It couldn't be.
Picturing her face, he reached for her again, trying to push past her walls. Unfortunately, the fortress of Sparrow's mind was made of steel.
"Aargh!" Achan pulled himself up and limped back to the tower stairs, Shung shadowing him as usual. Moisture from the waterfall misted him as he stepped onto the lookout tower. He scanned the bailey and what little of the rolling road he could see before it twisted out of sight. No sign of Sparrow and Sir Eagan.
Achan turned and found the narrow stone steps off the right of the tower, just where Lord Yarden had said they'd be. He followed them up.
"Little Cham? Where are you going?"
"I must speak with Arman."
The stairs, cut from the mountain itself, tunneled through the moss-covered rock. Achan soon lost all light. Not having thought to bring a torch, he stumbled in the dark, his side, shoulder, back, face, and leg aching now. After a tediously steep hike, he exited into a green forest on the banks of the Betsar before the second major waterfall. Trees hung heavy with leaves and moss.
The white stone walls of Arman's temple appeared though the tangled greenery at the top of the first waterfall. The Evenwall misted most of it from view, but Achan could see the three circles etched onto the pediment of the temple roof. Despite his fatigue, he slogged up the mossy stone staircase that zigzagged up the rock wall. By the time he stood on the porch to the temple, his shirt was damp with sweat.
He stepped inside a square room built of stone with a cobblestone floor. A long polished altar covered in golden cups and flowers stretched across the far end of the room. No pillars. No gilded statue. Its beauty came from four long and narrow windows of colored glass, one on each wall. A fifth window with the design of three interlocking circles arched above the long window directly behind the altar. The sun shone brilliantly through the colored glass.
Achan had no patience to appreciate beauty at the moment. "I've done what you asked of me!"
A man at the altar jumped to his feet. One of Lord Yarden's advisors. Achan hadn't seen him, or he wouldn't have spoken aloud. The man bowed, then strode toward Achan.
"Forgive me, Your Highness. I'll come another time."
The man bowed again and breezed past. Achan felt a pang of guilt. These people treated him as if he were someone special. "But I'm not special!" he yelled after the man, who bounded past Shung on the porch.
Achan turned back to the altar. Why no statue? He wanted to look on Arman's face.
"I trusted you," he yelled to the tall window. "I listened to Sir Gavin. I listened to Sir Caleb. I've done what everyone said. I'm trying to do what you want for Er'Rets. I serve despite my own desires. So why do you betray me?"
The room remained still. Achan shivered. No heat meant no voice of Arman was coming to give him answers. Why did Arman say so little?
"I'll wait all day if I must! No wars will be fought until I hear from you. Nor will I marry any twelve-year-old girls."
Still nothing.
"You use me, make me act the puppet. Well, I need your advice, o great puppet master. What shall I do about my Sparrow? She has flown and I'm…" Achan knelt at the altar, placing his forehead against the smooth wood.
"What would you have me do? Why is it everyone else may do as they please, yet I am bound so?" A thought of Lady Tara entered his mind. He wasn't the only one who couldn't do what he wanted. It only frustrated him more. "I am trying. I thought you wanted me to be king. Then why don't you do something about Sparrow? How am I supposed to fix this?"
A bird's song caused him to raise his head. A tiny bird fluttered near the roof, then settled on a rafter of the hammer beam roof. Achan sat back on his heels and stared at the little black, grey, and white bird. A sparrow.
"Why do you toy with me? I'm not poetic enough to translate such symbolism. I demand to speak with you." He jumped to his feet. "I demand to see your face!"
The floor trembled under Achan's feet. Heat swept through the room as though a fire burned on the air. The gold cups on the altar rattled on the wood surface, trembling until each fell off the edge and clattered to the floor. The window with the three gold circles exploded inward.
Achan cowered on the floor, throwing his arms over his head. Heat coiled in his heart and spread through him until it reached the tips of his fingers. Wedges of glass crashed against the stone floor around him, breaking into even smaller shards. The sting of their sharp edges bit into the back of Achan's neck and arms.
His skin grew clammy from the heat. He sucked hot air into his lungs, fearing each breath might burn him alive. The floor stopped trembling, the room stilled, unnaturally quiet, but the heat remained.
"Arise, Gidon Hadar, son of Axel." A deep voice reverberated in the temple.
Achan peeked out from his arms and over the altar.
A warrior dressed in antique armor stood before the broken window, his presence so bright Achan could hardly look. Achan rose on shaky knees, keeping his eyes focused on the altar. The heat and light from the warrior's presence still smote Achan's eyes until they watered.
Achan forced himself to look the warrior in the eye. Brown eyes. This young man couldn't be Arman. The brightness and heat stung and he looked away. "Where is Arman? Why won't he answer?"
"Because no one comes to the father except through me."
A familiar phrase, one Achan had heard before. "You quote from the Book of Life."
The warrior raised his eyebrows. "I am the author."
Really? "You are Arman?"
"I am his son, Caan."
His son. Figures. Caan had his father's burning heat in common. Achan squeezed his hands into fists and dared eye contact once more. Caan's face was scarred, but his eyes were peaceful, despite the heat. "Why won't Arman answer me?"
Caan's gaze seared Achan's eyes. "It is also written: 'Do not put Arman to the test."
Achan squeezed his eyes shut, his eyelids cool against the burning. "But he's answered me before."
"Your thoughts are not His thoughts, nor are your ways His ways."
Why so confusing? "But if Arman has chosen me above all others-"
"Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, son of Axel. You have been invited, but you have not accepted the invitation. For many are invited, but few accept."
Had not accepted? Achan glared at Caan, then dropped his gaze to the wooden surface of the altar. "But I have. I've been trying to do my duty as Crown Prince."
"If you acknowledge Arman in everything, he will make your path clear and straight."
Frustration oozed from Achan's pores. He felt foolish for not understanding Caan's words. "What more do you want? This is a difficult role. Why must I do it alone? I lose everyone I care for. Why does Arman allow this?"
"Arman forces no man against his will, nor should you."
"But…Gren was taken against her will."
"Gren obeyed her father."
"But she didn't want to marry Riga."
"Yet she chose to, in order to obey her father."
Obey her…what? "And you would say the same for Tara?"
"She obeyed her father as well. Both women's respect for their parents pleases me. They sacrifice to show love for me. I will bless them greatly in time."
What kind of an answer was that? Caan was twisting things around, just like his father. Achan's knees pinched against the hard floor. He shifted them on the bumpy cobblestone. "But if their fathers loved them, they wouldn't force such a life on their daughters."
"You know these men personally?"
"I–It's not fair!" Achan recoiled as his voice resonated in the temple. A spoiled child having a tantrum.
"You are free to make your own opinions and choices."
Achan gripped the far edge of the altar, resting his forearms on the smooth surface. "But what I choose never works out. No one agrees with me."
"And you blame Arman for that? You think he should force people to obey you?"
Achan frowned. That wasn't what he meant. "No."
"But you suggest He should make people choose your will." Caan's powerful voice softened. "You do not know me at all. Until you choose me fully, you will understand nothing."
Achan forced his head up and stared into Caan's face.
The man had tears in his eyes. "You have honored me with your lips, son of Axel, but your heart is far from me."
"My heart?"
"I am the tree. My Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit. No branch can bear fruit unless attached to the tree. Neither can you bear fruit unless you are connected to me. For I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
"You said that, but I don't understand."
"Because you do not know me. No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both Arman and yourself. Commit to Arman whatever you do and your plans will succeed."
Achan floundered to pinpoint what plan Caan referred to. "My plans to find Sparrow?"
"Your plans are your own, but if you are truly committed to Arman, your plans will be his plans. You must commit yourself to Arman so the people may know him. For I died to ransom all. To ransom you."
The words struck Achan like a fist to the face. He sat back on his heels and churned the words in his mind. Love Caan.
Achan thought back to the Teshuwah service in Melas. Trajen Yorbride has said Caan had come to Er'Rets so Light would shine in Darkness. But Darkness had not understood.
Achan had not understood because there was Darkness in his heart.
Yet he was called to bring Light back to Er'Rets. But how could he push back Darkness if there was no Light in him?
Caan is Light. Achan needed Caan's light to banish the Darkness in his heart. Fear. Selfishness. Anger. Hate. Insecurity. Loneliness. These things were not Light. And Achan clung to them.
Achan's heart was far from Arman's, clinging to Dark things. He had never discovered Arman's will for his life because he spent all his time consumed by his circumstances. He had carelessly guessed his role and tried to align that with his own desires for happiness.
Comprehension dawned, overwhelming Achan in grief. He needed to believe. To trust Arman's plan, even when that plan was unclear. "I'm sorry. I didn't understand."
"Your faith has ransomed you, son of Axel. Go in peace."
While the last word still echoed in the chamber, Caan vanished, taking the heat and light and sorrow with him.
Achan gasped in a few deep breaths to get his composure and broke into a cold sweat. It took a while for his eyes to readjust to the sunlight streaming through the broken windows. Lord Yarden wouldn't be pleased with the state of his temple.
The sunlight vanished as if a storm cloud blocked the sun. Achan pushed himself up and turned to face the door.
Shung stood in the doorframe, staring at Achan with wide eyes. "Rare the man whose prayers move the earth."
Achan stopped before his Shield. "What did you see?"
Shung gestured his good arm at the altar. "The little cham knelt at the altar and the earth shook."
"You didn't see Caan?"
Shung shook his head, brown eyes wide.
The diminished light distracted Achan from Shung. He stepped over the shards of glass, past Shung, out the door, and onto the temple porch. The wide, fair valley stretched out below, sunny and bright, yet mist coated his arms. He descended the porch steps and turned to look back.
A thick fog hovered around three sides of Temple Arman.
"The Evenwall." Achan stumbled back, heart stampeding in his chest. Darkness was growing, as Sir Gavin had predicted. At this rate, it would reach the back of the Mitspah stronghold by morning.
Achan rubbed more rue juice over his arms, inhaling the thick piney scent, pondering Caan's words. He missed Sparrow. He didn't understand why she ignored his messages. But a peace had settled over his heart. Arman was in control, so Achan needn't fear.
He had been ransomed.
The door opened and Shung entered. He reached into his pocket and held up a sliver of bone on a leather cord, grinning, exposing his yellow teeth. "A symbol of your victory and the one to come."
Shung placed the charm in Achan's hand. Closer now, he saw, not a bone shard, but a claw the length of his index finger. He shuddered and rolled his sore shoulder. "Is this from…?"
"Aye. There are more, but Shung thought the little cham too modest to wear them like Koyukuk."
Achan laughed, dryly. More like he'd have nightmares with a clutch of cham claws round his neck day in and day out. He supposed he could manage one, though the sight of it chilled him. He accepted the necklace and bowed his head, keeping eye contact with Shung. "Thank you, Shung. You honor me with this gift."
"Shung will not finish cape for many weeks. Little Cham needs symbol of victory now."
"You're making a cape?"
"The hide is tanning. Then Shung will trim and shape it."
"Thank you, Shung. You're a good friend."
Shung returned to his post outside the door. Achan inspected the claw. It was shaped like a long, curving beak, wide at the paw end and tapering to a sharp point. Shung had bored a hole through the wide end and strung it onto a braided leather cord. Achan reached over the jar of rue juice Sparrow had made him and picked up the length of red twine from the tabletop. He held one end at the knot of the leather cord on Shung's necklace, and drew the twine along, measuring its length. He smiled. It was long enough.
Achan spent the next hour unbraiding Shung's leather cord and adding Sparrow's length of red twine. This way, she'd be with him always.
"Are you certain it is working?" Vrell had eaten more karpos fruit that she had ever cared to and duplicated herself as sentries in her mind. Sir Eagan had promised this would help keep Achan from seeing her thoughts. "I can still hear every word he says to me."
"As can I." Sir Eagan chuckled. "Does the prince even know how to knock? Or does he always charge his way into any mind he wants?"
Vrell stroked her horse's neck and smiled to herself. "I tried to teach him."
"Well, my lady, until he leans the way into your mind, he will continue to message. I cannot mute him. The karpos will give you extra strength, but I doubt it will stop him once he is taught. And from what Sir Gavin told me, he plans to have your mother teach him."
Surely Mother would not help Achan break into Vrell's mind. Thankfully, Vrell would be able to discuss this with Mother before she had a chance to teach Achan anything.
The journey with Sir Eagan should have been awkward, but Vrell found herself unnaturally calm until Carmine appeared on the horizon and excitement brought her to tears.
She was home!
She rode with Sir Eagan to the front door of GrantonCastle. Anillo stood waiting on the steps. A stable boy took their horses.
Vrell ran to greet Anillo, overcome with joy, but he held up a hand. "If you both will follow me."
Vrell sobered. Mother did not want to make a scene of her return. Could Lord Nathak still have spies lurking?
Anillo led them to Mother's study. Mother stood at the widow overlooking the northern fields, her back to them. She wore a lavender and black gown. Her hair was down, curling in auburn ringlets to the center of her back. As soon as the door shut she turned. Her tear-filled eyes studied Vrell, flashed to Sir Eagan, then back to Vrell.
She lifted her skirts and ran across the room. "Averella, my darling!" She grabbed Vrell in a tight hug.
"Gently, Nitsa, she is wounded."
Sir Eagan's voice softened Mother's grip. She took Vrell's hand in her gloved one, gently kissed her forehead, and turned to face to Sir Eagan. Her bottom lip trembled. "Oh, Eagan. Time has aged you well."
Sir Eagan stared at Mother like a man in a dream. "'Tis kind of you to say so, my lady, though from my eyes, not a day has passed. You are as lovely as ever."
Mother inched closer to Sir Eagan, her lavender skirt swaying like a bell with each step. "You brought her back to me."
He reached out his hand. "I did."
Mother set her gloved one in his. The three of them stood in a line, holding hands. Vrell swallowed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She watched her mother and Sir Eagan stare at each other, wondering, wondering.
*
Vrell sucked in a short breath. She had always despised corsets. Having lived as a boy for nearly a year, this one felt horribly tight. It especially aggravated the wound in her side, though her maidservant, Syrah, had taken care not to lace the corset as tight as was proper. Vrell did feel pretty for the first time in ages. Syrah had aired out a green velvet gown with peach accents and had twisted Vrell's hair up on her head and secured it with a gold-beaded caul net.
Vrell stood at the window of Mother's study overlooking the inner bailey. Beyond, she could see the outer bailey and the road leading north from Carmine, edged on both sides by grape vines. It had been three days since Vrell left Mitspah. Captain Tristan Loam's soldiers milled about, anxious, no doubt, for the prince's arrival. Captain Loam had dressed his men in Old Kingsguard capes as a sign of Carmine's support.
Achan and his contingent of volunteer fighters were due to arrive in Carmine today. According to Anillo, the men could hardly wait to swear fealty to Achan and go to war. These were Mother's soldiers, of course, who knew all too well of Lord Nathak's persecution over the years. It would be more difficult to persuade all of Carm to go to war on Achan's behalf.
Vrell had remained hidden since her arrival. Besides her mother and Sir Eagan, only Anillo and Syrah were aware of her return. She had chosen Mother's study to hide in because the secret passages that led out from it took her all over the stronghold. She might spy on Achan's welcome banquet but would not attend. If she were to meet Achan as Lady Averella, more time would have to pass. Preferably enough time for him to marry and forget her. The thought made her teary-eyed again. She had been crying since she arrived home. She was sick to death of tears.
A knock sounded on the door and Anillo poked his head in. "My lady? The duchess asked that Master Bran Rennan be brought to this room."
Vrell tensed and closed her eyes. The duchess. Anillo's use of Mother's title was a signal of a request not to be argued with. Vrell had put off her reunion with Bran Rennan, despite all Mother's urging to speak with him right away. Apparently Mother's patience had run out. Vrell had waited so long for this moment. Now that it had finally arrived, she dreaded it.
She nodded. Anillo opened the door fully. Bran stepped inside, looking strange in the red Old Kingsguard cape. The color matched his sunburned face and made him look red all over. She shook off the critical thought and forced a smile.
Bran looked her up and down, clearly uncertain of her identity. "Averella?"
She nodded.
He crossed the room at a run and swept her into a hug, twirling her in a circle.
Vrell cried out at the pain in her side. "Bran, please. Put me down. I am injured."
He set her down and, holding her shoulders, stepped back and peered into her eyes. He seemed shorter than she remembered him. Or maybe Achan was taller.
"Where?"
"My side. It is a long story."
"We have all the time in the world, my lady." He led her to the sofa and helped her sit. "You're so thin. Are you hungry? I could have Anillo bring a tray." Bran jumped up but Vrell snagged his hand.
"No, Bran. I have eaten. Please sit. You are making me nervous."
He slid beside her on the sofa. He took her hands again, brought them to his nose, and sniffed. "I want to breathe you in. How I've missed you. Is it true, what Prince Oren told Sir Rigil? Were you traveling with the prince?"
"I was."
"Is it true the prince can bloodvoice?"
"He can."
"And Sir Gavin?"
"Yes. He can bloodvoice as well. As can I."
"You, Averella? Why didn't you say so?"
"I only discovered it just before I left."
Bran's smile faltered. "Why couldn't you or Sir Gavin send word that you were well? For so long I didn't know. I begged Sir Rigil to ask Prince Oren, and I heard some rumors, but…Averella, how could you leave me wondering? When all this time you could have sent word to your mother yourself, you had no message for me?"
Vrell saw the hurt in his eyes. She did not know why she had not thought to ask her mother to pass along a message to Bran. "F-Forgive me, Bran. These past many months…I have not been myself. I have lived in constant fear of discovery. My life has been threatened time and again. I have no other excuse."
"You were hiding from Esek and your mother sent you to Walden's Watch. That story your mother eventually confided to me. But then Esek issued a warrant for your arrest, claiming you'd run off with the prince. But others claimed no woman traveled with the prince. Only the Kingsguard knights and his-" Bran's nose wrinkled-"squire?"
"Mother did not tell you I had taken on the guise of a stray boy to aid in my shelter?"
Bran shook his head, and Vrell launched into her story. Bran's expression hardened when she told of how she had spoken to him in the Mahanaim dungeon, then how later, they all stood together in the Council chambers. But Vrell plunged on, anxious to get the whole ordeal over and done with before the fight, for she knew there would be one.
She left out Achan's latest declarations. They would do Bran no good to hear, and they were simply in Achan's mind. It was not possible he felt so strongly about her. Give him a few weeks and she would be as Tara was.
A silly, sad smile and a laugh at his folly.
She finished her story with, "Sir Eagan offered to bring me here, and so I am finally home. All is well."
Bran folded his arms and leaned against the opposite end of the sofa. "So the prince does not know you're Lady Averella Amal? He thinks you're a stray trying to avoid life as someone's mistress?"
Vrell nodded.
Bran's eyes widened. "You lied to the future king?"
She stared at her hands in her lap. "Long before I knew he was the future king. To tell him the truth now would hurt him. I figured bide my time as Vrell until I could slip away."
"You love him."
Her cheeks tingled. She turned her head, staring at Bran. "Who?"
He released a breath. "Who indeed? I've waited all my life for you to look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"The way you look at one of your hybrid plants."
"Do not speak riddles, Bran. There is no one in this room but you."
Bran fiddled with the hem of his Kingsguard cloak. "You must tell him who you are."
Vrell sighed. "We have been over this already. Why does it matter?"
"Because he can't very well marry a stray, my lady. Sir Rigil tells me he's being pressured to marry. Had he known your true identity, he might have asked."
Vrell huffed a cynical laugh. Achan's plea, fresh in her mind, brought a stab of sorrow. "Why would you think such a thing?"
"Because you're a jewel. Kind, smart, hardworking. I'm sure that even in trousers you would win any man's heart."
"Bran. Be serious."
"Your mother could make the offer. It's easily done. Let the prince decide. All you have to do-"
"No." Vrell glared. "I will not be queen. I did not marry Esek because I did not want to be queen. That has not changed."
"As if not being queen was your reason for refusing Esek. Achan is not Esek. Esek is a snake, my lady. Even his followers attest to that. I like the prince. He's a good man. I can tell."
"I know he is a good man."
"Sir Rigil said he attacked Sir Gavin when he discovered his squire had gone. At first I thought him mad, but now I imagine he was simply madly in love."
Vrell's eyes went wide. "Achan attacked Sir Gavin?"
Bran smirked as if he had caught Vrell in a lie. "Make the offer, my lady."
"Enough!" Vrell scooted to the edge of the sofa and straightened her skirts. "For many months, I have been desperate to get home, to Mother and to you, Bran. To put this wretched experience behind me. I am betrothed to you. I would not pledge my heart to another."
"With all due respect, my lady. I can see you no longer love me."
"Do not be ridiculous. Of course I love you. Mother said she would speak to me after the banquet about our engagement. I am sure she will give her consent."
Bran scooted to Vrell's side, set a hand on her shoulder, and kissed her. She stiffened. His lips were soft and familiar, but she felt awkward, disappointed, and wished he would stop. Was it because they had been parted for so long? Tears welled at her lack of emotion.
He broke away and his brown eyes studied hers. He released a shaky breath and swallowed. "Averella. I would never break my vow to marry you if that's your heart's desire. But I beg you be honest with yourself and me. I don't wish to see either of us married to someone we don't truly love. I'd hate to know you'd forced yourself to keep your vow to me, and I'd hate to have a wife who'd settled for me. Please. Think on it."
She inhaled a shaky breath. "I will consult Mother on the matter."
Bran stifled a laugh and shook his head.
"What?"
"Be honest. If you truly don't know, say so. If you no longer love me, say so. But don't use your mother like a crutch."
"It is wise to seek the council of one's elders."
"Aye, but that's not what you do, Averella. You only seek your mother's council when you don't want to face your own problems. When you don't like her answer, you do as you please. And if you can't have your own way or are too craven to deal with your own problems, you run back to your mother and beg she fix it. That's not seeking her wise council. That's seeking a method to get your own way time and again. You're a spoiled child."
Vrell gasped. "How dare you."
"Yes, yes. How dare I speak truth? The vicious barbarian, Bran Rennan. The man who recklessly tells women what they refuse to hear. Well, hang me if you must, my dear, but at least take a moment to consider what I've said. I fear you will see I'm quite right.
"You secretly love our king to be. I can see it plain as the Evenwall approaching. And the only reason you've stayed a stray-nobody in his eyes was so he could meet you on your own terms." Bran raised his thick eyebrows. "But what now, my dear? Your ploy has failed. Now he catches you in your lie or you never meet him again. My, what a tangled web a spider weaves."
Vrell stood. "You dare call me a spider? What of you and the widow Hoff? Now who is weaving a spider's web? She clearly loves you, but you will not sink to consider a mere peasant when you could marry a noblewoman. Wait and see if things work out with the duchesses' heir first. If not, there is always the widow Hoff."
Bran paled so much he didn't look at all sunburned. "I don't know what the servants have been saying, Averella, but I ignore Gren's affection because of my promise to you. It has nothing to do with my social status or hers. Don't twist this around. You're angry because I'm right. You and I are not meant to be. And it pains me I'm not more grieved. But that's wide of the point. I forgive you, Averella, for loving another. But don't punish me over your lies to the prince. And don't punish him, either."
Vrell pressed her hand to her heart, trying to control her breathing and the threatening tears.
Bran paused at the doorway. "Be warned, he still seeks you, my lady. He has men in the area."
Her eyes widened and she looked out the window, scanning the inner bailey. "Achan is here? Already?"
Bran chuckled. "No, my lady. King Esek. It was rumored you'd come home. His men have been seen nearby."
"Oh." Vrell fell back on the sofa. Surely this rumor had been before Achan had crippled him? If Esek were still alive, would he be a broken man or as much of a tyrant as ever? Would he give up his claim to the throne, or, after all her hiding, would he find her in her own home and take her away?
"Marry Achan, Averella. Be our queen. For you would be a marvelous one."
Vrell glared at Bran. What had she even seen in such a rude individual? "Please go."
"Very well." Bran bowed. "Farewell, my lady."
Achan sat atop Dove, his right arm in a sling to keep the pressure off his shoulder. Shung rode on his left, Cole on his right, riding Scout. The procession to Carmine passed several families migrating from the encroaching Evenwall. People carried packs and baskets, led animals, drove wagons, or pulled carts, packed with all their possessions.
Achan now understood his purpose, more than to be king, was to bring Arman's love to the people. Being king was simply the role he needed to complete such a task. But he knew so little of Arman. He had so much to learn before he could proclaim Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad with confidence.
Lord Yarden had been distressed by Esek's attack, apologetic, even, as if he were to blame for Atul being a traitor. Achan had allowed the man to blame himself a bit longer than necessary before explaining about the broken windows in the temple. For a moment he'd feared Lord Yarden might faint, but Shung had spoken, repeated the words he'd said to Achan when Caan had vanished.
"Rare the man whose prayers move the earth."
That had been enough to bring Lord Yarden back, nodding and beaming as if having his property destroyed were the greatest honor to be had in all Er'Rets. Perhaps now he would intentionally never repair it.
The city of Carmine could be seen from miles away in the center of a luscious green valley. Farms and vineyards stretched to the horizon in all directions. The cupola roof on a brownstone tower, as tall as the one on Ice Island, peeked out of a matching curtain wall.
They approached the grounds from the northwest. A simple, six-foot brownstone wall enclosed the vineyards of Granton Castle. There were no guards at the first gate. The procession raised a cloud of dust as it trampled the dirt road. Vines stretched on and on, heavy with bunches of plump red grapes. Achan mouth watered. He hoped he'd get to try some.
At the end of the vineyard, Sir Gavin stopped before a single tower gate at another brownstone wall. A wide moat separated another dirt road-which appeared to circle the inner edges of the vineyard-and the three-level curtain wall. The narrow drawbridge was down, but the guard had to raise the portcullis to let them enter.
A group of soldiers clustered on the sentry wall near the tower, looking down on their group. They pointed and chattered. Some cheered. A few guardsmen further down the wall ran toward the tower as if hoping to get a glimpse of the visitors.
Achan considered reaching out to hear what they were saying, but he had a guess. Which one is he?
He kept his head down and spurred Dove along. He, Shung, and Cole rode five pairs back from Sir Gavin. They crossed the drawbridge and entered an outer bailey ten times larger than the one at Sitna manor. Soldiers on horseback wore red Old Kingsguard capes like Sir Gavin's. Women bustled about with loads of fabric or laundry, boys carried wood or led animals, dogs and chickens ambled underfoot, children played games and laughed. The cool tones of a lute drifted on the air. As Achan's men neared, all went silent and stopped to stare.
The procession paused at yet another wall, this gate a double tower five levels high, like two rolls of stone parchment standing on end. More guards stared down from the wall.
Shung's voice pulled Achan away from the guards. "You are downcast, Little Cham?"
Achan glanced at his hairy friend. "I'm tired of traveling, and I know it won't stop until a war has killed many. I don't look forward to the coming months."
"But we do not fight tonight. Tonight we eat grapes and drink wine." Shung smiled. "Perhaps dance as well?"
"I don't want to dance."
"You are missing Little Vixen. Shung does not think she will be gone forever."
Achan hoped that were true.
The horses moved again, under the tall, double tower gate of the inner curtain wall. Inside, Granton Castle loomed, massive, like Mahanaim, only clean. It even smelled sweet. The building sat like two interlocking manors. The front, southwestern section was much smaller. Two narrow towers flanked a set of massive maroon doors, the front entrance to the castle. The western tower stood eight levels high. The other stretched as high as the Pillar. Each had cupola roofs as if topped with gazebos.
The back, northeastern section of the castle stood like a gigantic brick, six levels high, with dozens of arrow loops on each level. Smaller towers supported the center and corners.
Hundreds of soldiers in red capes cheered and waved Armonguard's flag. Achan pushed the overwhelming sensation aside and searched every black-haired head for Sparrow's round face. He tried again to look through her eyes and failed.
Achan and the knights dismounted at the entrance. Cole scurried over and took Dove's reins.
"Thank you, Cole."
The boy beamed and led Dove and Scout away. Achan's body still ached. He limped after Sir Gavin and followed the knight inside one of the tall maroon doors.
A small foyer opened into a great hall. Bronze candelabras hung from a vaulted ceiling. Servants lined both sides of the aisle leading to the dais, which stretched the width of the hall. To Achan's right, a brownstone staircase fanned out into the foyer. Dozens of people stood along the railing, peering down. Achan kept his eyes on the back of Sir Gavin's head and trailed the knight to the foot of the stairs.
A woman descended, petite yet regally imposing. Her auburn hair was tucked under a gold circlet and gauze veil. She wore a maroon gown-the same color as the front doors-trimmed in ivory lace. The long skirt spilled over the steps behind her. Her bell sleeves trailed within inches of the floor.
A slender, white-haired man shadowed her like a bobcat, agile and aware. He wore a plain white tunic with a maroon vest and black trousers. A scar across his neck suggested he could cheat death. "I am Anillo, advisor to the duchess." His voice carried a slow authority, as if crossing him would be a poor, perhaps fatal, choice. "May I present her ladyship, Nitsa Amal, the Duchess of Carm?"
The woman flowed off the bottom step like a petal on a stream. She wove around the others and stopped before Achan. How did she know what he looked like? She probably owned the painting of his father.
So short, she looked up into his eyes. Achan felt like a giant. Her skin was like a porcelain vase. Not a blemish or wrinkle. She couldn't have lived more than thirty-five years. Hers eyes were green and bright, calculating yet kind.
No wonder Sir Eagan loved this woman still.
The duchess' silky and kind voice pulled Achan's attention to her lips. He knew this voice.
"Your Highness, I am honored to finally meet you. You are most welcome at Granton Castle. My home is yours." She curtsied then held out her hand.
A wave of heat rushed over him as he scrambled to remember what Sir Caleb had advised him to do and say. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Then a deep bow, keeping eye contact, while he released her hand. "It's I who am honored, my lady. I hear you have many concerns. I pray we're not a burden to you at this time."
"You are anything but. I have been praying to meet you ever since I first heard your bloodvoice."
Achan bowed his head again, comprehension dawning. He'd heard her so many times in his mind and hadn't known who she was. "I thank you for your kind words that day, my lady, for I feared I had lost my mind."
"My heart aches for what you have suffered at the hands of Esek." She glanced at his arm. "Are you badly wounded?"
"I am mending." He wanted to say something of Esek. "I hear Esek has plagued you as well. I'm troubled over the safety of your daughter, Lady Averella. Prince Oren informed me of her plight. Is there any way we might come to her aid?"
"Thank you, no. She is well and safe, though unable to greet you this visit."
Achan nodded, though his thoughts strayed. If the lady Averella ever made it home, how would she react when she discovered she'd lost her suitor to a peasant widow expecting a child? And if she were one of the candidates the knights thought might make for a good queen, he'd want to see if she looked like a horse or not. But he forced his mind back to business. "Has Lord Nathak caused any mischief for you recently?"
"We have not seen him in weeks. It is my hope he has moved on to Armonguard."
"There's much I have to share with you on that matter." Achan glanced at Sir Caleb. "Perhaps there will be a time later where we can talk privately with you and my men?"
The duchess smiled and curtsied again. "Of course, Your Highness. Are you hungry?"
"I'm sure my men could empty your kitchens in a day, my lady. We've brought provisions and don't wish to impose."
"Nonsense."
Offer your arm, Your Highness, Sir Caleb said.
Achan spun to her side and held out his left arm so that his sword and sling would be away from her.
She gripped his bicep with both hands and led him into the great hall. "How long do you plan to stay with us?"
"A week, to recruit men to our cause."
"You shall stay as long as you like. I offer Granton Castle as a base for you and your generals to plan your strategies."
Generals? "Thank you, my lady. You're most generous."
The duchess steered Achan up the center aisle toward the high table. They passed a host of servants and staff, including Sir Rigil, Bran, and Sir Eagan. Achan sensed each man's guilt and guessed the reasons. Sir Rigil for failing to keep an eye on Bran and Gren. Bran for his growing affection for Gren. Sir Eagan for taking Sparrow away.
Bran could wait. But Achan stopped before Sir Eagan. "I must speak with you right away, Sir Eagan."
Sir Eagan bowed. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
"Forgive me, Duchess," Achan said, "I require a moment with my father's Shield."
Duchess Amal released his arm and curtsied. "Of course, Your Majesty."
Sir Caleb knocked, but Achan ignored it. He gripped Sir Eagan's arm and led him between two rough hewn tables, not bothering to lower his voice, though Sir Eagan's calm already poured into him. "Where did you take her?"
"As far as the front door." Sir Eagan's blue eyes looked pained, as if he missed Sparrow too.
Hope welled in Achan. "She is here, then? In Carmine?"
"She could be, yes. She did not confide her plans to me."
The crowd murmured. Achan sensed their curiosity. "Did she give any clue where she might go? Where she was from?"
"Only that she had been living in Walden's Watch."
"You think she plans to return there?"
"I cannot say, Your Majesty."
Achan wanted to harangue this man, despite his being so much older, but Arman had taken his anger. "I was prepared to heed your council, to let her go. I only wanted to say farewell."
Sir Eagan's sympathetic gaze needled Achan. "Sometimes it is easier this way. Farewells can be difficult. Dangerous."
"Perhaps, but I am not you, Sir Eagan."
*
After a hearty lunch with the duchess, Anillo ushered Achan to a bath and fitting. The duchess had insisted on providing Achan a new wardrobe. Maybe she doted on him because she was a woman with no sons, or maybe his clothing had been truly shabby for a king. He could hardly tell.
Dinner followed. Achan wore a fancy gold and maroon outfit that reminded him of Esek so much he loathed wearing it. He met the duchess's four younger daughters, ages twelve, ten, seven, and four, and danced with them more than any other, though he feared encouraging the eldest, for there were several twelve-year-olds on his list of possible brides.
Still, better to dance with twelve-year-old Gypsum Amal than the older, lesser nobles of Carmine who flaunted and flirted. He'd never seen a crowd of young women more bedecked, with the exception of Jaira Hamartano. Clearly these poor girls had been instructed to win his favor at any cost.
When Achan finally fell into his bed on the fourth floor, he couldn't sleep. This room was bigger than two full cottages from Sitna. The bed itself could have slept six comfortably. He lay on his back and spread his arms and legs wide, gently stretching his sore arm and leg. He liked the silky feel of the sheets and the way his body sank into the featherbed.
Shung's snore grumbled steadily from the pallet Sir Caleb had insisted be brought in. Achan felt safe. Peaceful. No fear of Esek or a traitor killing him in his sleep.
Had Esek died? If so, Achan doubted Lord Nathak would report it right away, if ever. Achan shook the horrifying image of Esek's severed arm from his head and turned onto his side, burrowing into the mattress again.
His stomach rumbled. It was truly no use. He supposed he find sleep by shadowing one of the sleeping knights. Or maybe he could wander a bit, perhaps find the kitchens and a snack.
He climbed out of bed, put on an old tunic, and crept to the doors. Opening one a crack, he peeked out and sighed. Sure enough, three guards crouched at the end of the hall, next to the stairs, playing dice. More strangers willing to die for him because he was the Crown Prince. It still felt so awkward.
He peeked the other way. No guards to the left. Had the guards broken ranks to play dice? Clearly they were not concerned about Achan's safety. If he could sneak to the corner without being seen, he could go down that stairwell.
Achan slipped out of the room and pressed against the wall. Dice clattered over the wood floor and the guards erupted in a loud cheer. Achan sidestepped to the corner where a tower staircase stood. In Sitna, the kitchens were in the outer bailey. But this was a vast stronghold, similar to Mahanaim. The kitchens in Mahanaim had been in the basement.
Achan descended the stairs, his bare feet cool on the stone. A sudden though made him wince. He should have dressed better, at least put on boots. If he were seen, Sir Caleb would berate him for not being properly dressed. Nothing could be done about it now. He was too far into his quest.
He reached the bottom without seeing a soul and found himself in the corner of a damp passageway that stretched out like an L. Concentrating on what he remembered from outside, Achan tried to rebuild the stronghold in his mind. Logically, the kitchens would be near the great hall.
He went right. At the next corner, the corridor turned left and led him past a laundry room, a bathhouse, a massive wine cellar, and a buttery.
The smell of yeast and smoke urged him on. The walls fell away into a vast open area. Achan gaped. The kitchens in Sitna had consisted of two small rooms. This place was the size of the great hall above.
Drum pillars rose to the ceiling every ten feet or so. Fat candelabras hung from thick iron chains. Baking ovens ran along the left wall, fireplaces along the right. Dozens of long tables filled the center, some covered with bowls, some empty, some stone with iron grills built into the surface. Achan saw no movement at the moment, but with the size of this castle, cooks and maids likely worked around the clock.
He veered toward the fireplaces on the right wall and lifted a bowl from a shelf as he passed. Only one fireplace still burned under a round, iron cauldron pot. Achan pulled his sleeve over his hand and lifted the lid on the pot. The smell of beefy, hot stew flooded his nostrils. He grinned and ladled his bowl to the brim, then carried it to a rack of fluffy rolls beside a drum pillar. He dunked a roll into the stew and bit down.
Shamayim.
Standing by the rack, he finished the first roll in three bites. He grabbed three more and walked toward a table surrounded by squat stools. Likely where the kitchen staff ate. He sat down and finished half his bowl when the sudden urge seized him to sit under the table. At Sitna Manor, when he hadn't wanted to be seen, he often sat under the tables.
A prince probably shouldn't sit under a table like a dog.
Despite the foolishness of the idea, he did it anyway. Crossing his legs, he pulled the stool in and set his bowl on top. He smiled as he ate, feeling at home for the first time in months. Silly considering his comfort was due to a life of deceit and cruelty at the hands of Lord Nathak and Poril. Still, no amount of fancy clothes, featherbeds, or "Your Highnesses" could change his past. Being a stray was a part of him.
So engrossed in the stew, Achan didn't hear the light scuff of footsteps until it was too late. He sat motionless, hoping whoever it was would come and go quickly.
The rustle of fabric drew near until soft blue velour brushed his left hand. He jerked it into his lap, staring at the gold satin slippers that had stopped by his left knee. Slippers so fancy could only belong to a noblewoman. He held his breath. What noblewoman would walk in the kitchens at such an hour? The duchess' lady in waiting sent to fetch a snack, perhaps?
The layers of velvet rumpled as the woman crouched down, revealing inch by inch an immaculately embroidered robe and curling auburn hair cascading over her shoulders.
"Duchess Amal." Achan scrambled back and bumped into another stool. He pushed a stool to get out, but her hand on his arm stopped him.
"Why does the Crown Prince of Er'Rets sit under a table in my kitchen?"
Achan's cheeks flushed. "I…was hungry."
"Could you not call for a tray?"
"I wanted…" Achan cast his eyes to the bowl of stew on the stool. How could he explain without insulting this woman? He swallowed but could not meet her eyes. "I could not sleep and thought a snack might help. Take no offense, my lady, but I'm not used to such gracious hospitality."
"But not just a snack, Your Highness. Under the table? Why?"
Achan's face burned. "As a boy, I spent many a night under the bread tables in the Sitna kitchens. Despite his best efforts, Sir Caleb has not been able to train the slave boy out of me entirely. I'm afraid I am still most comfortable in a kitchen. I know it must sound mad, but it… feels like home."
To his great relief, the duchess smiled. Her green eyes flitted over his face, hair, cramped body, and bare feet. Sweat moistened his brow at her scrutiny. Something tickled his wrist. He glanced down to see a tiny black bug. He jumped, dropped his roll, swatted the bug away. Every muscle tense. He'd used Sparrow's pine juice. The fleas had been gone. He scratched his wrist, arm, shoulder, neck. They couldn't be back.
The duchess chuckled. "It's only a few ants, Your Highness. I would think one so seasoned to eating on the floor would be used to them by now."
Achan ran both hands through his hair, which was loose and not tied back. Oh, horror. Again he couldn't look at the duchess. What would she think? "I thought they were fleas." His breath hitched. Why had he said that? Fleas? Blazes!
The lady raised a sculpted brow. "Did you enjoy your time with the soldiers?"
He studied his father's ring. "Except for the fleas."
"You'll go to war, then? And fight alongside your men?"
"Should there be one, yes."
"And your wife?"
Achan blinked and met the lady's green eyes. "I have no wife, my lady."
"But you will soon."
Could this conversation become any more awkward? He picked up the roll and dropped it in the remainder of his stew. "I suppose I might."
"And what will she do while you are at war?"
Achan shrugged. "Whatever pleases her. If she's good with a sword, I'd welcome the company."
The duchess smiled. "Ah, you are droll. But what if she is with child? When this war comes."
Achan's lips parted, his cheeks filled with heat. He would not come to this kitchen again. He didn't appreciate Duchess Amal's midnight interrogation. She'd clearly thought more about his bride than he had.
She pressed on. "I mean no disrespect, but these are things a man must consider when taking a bride. Many say you traveled with a woman. What will your wife think of her?"
Achan sucked in a sharp breath. "Please. It wasn't like that, my lady, I promise you. Sparrow wasn't who she claimed to be. We all thought her a boy. Have you seen her? Did she pass through Carmine? Do you know where she lives?"
"Why do you ask, Your Highness? I would think you better off without her presence tainting your reign."
"Vrell could never taint anything. She's sweet and good and lovely-"
"You care for her, then?"
Achan thudded his head back against the table leg. "My feelings don't matter. She refused me, and Sir Gavin berated me for my recklessness and Sir Caleb for my carelessness and I for my foolishness and Caan for my selfishness. I'm a wretched prince. Far too impulsive. But I'll do my duty and marry whom they choose, and I'll love her as best I can. Does that satisfy your curiosity, my lady?"
She smiled. "It does."
Finally something had. "You know, I was freer as a stray."
"I understand that feeling. I hadn't wanted to marry the duke. It was the loneliest time in my life. At first."
Achan recalled Sir Eagan's tale of their past and decided she did understand. "Your intuition is right on target, my lady. I haven't once considered the inner workings of my future marriage past the identity of my bride. If it were my choice I'd marry Sparrow and live in a cottage in the mountains. I'd hunt and she'd keep a garden of herbs. We wouldn't be rich, but we'd have our freedom and each other."
He sighed and met Duchess Amal's green eyes. "Alas, my life isn't mine to live. I've now given it freely to Arman. He appeared to me, you know. Fairly destroyed his own temple. He's my master now and I trust his plan, even if I can't understand it. I only wish my obedience didn't come so bitterly. I fear if he could, Arman would give me a sound flogging for my demeanor of servitude."
Duchess Amal's eyes widened. "I think you misunderstand how Arman loves his people. He does not punish them."
Such a statement didn't align with what Achan knew of masters. "I only mean that I've never been a very contrite servant. Ask Lord Nathak." Achan chuckled softly, then bowed his head low. "Forgive me, my lady. I must beg leave of your gracious company. I'm very tired and if I continue to prattle on, you'll think me drunk."
"Of course." Duchess Amal stood, allowing Achan to crawl out from under the table. "Please do not go out alone again, Your Highness. You are welcome to sit under the table, but we recently had a traitor in our kitchens, and I would feel better knowing you were not wandering alone. At least bring your Shield under the table with you next time."
"As you wish." He scraped the contents of his bowl into the slop pail, rinsed the bowl, and set it on the drying rack. He bowed to the duchess again. "Good evening, my lady. You have a magnificent kitchen."
"Thank you, Your Highness. Good night."
Vrell perched on a stool in the dark corridor and stared through the peephole. The five Old Kingsguard knights sat around an oval table in Achan's bedchamber. Achan had dragged his chair down to the fireplace at the end of the room, where he sat alone, staring into the flames.
Sir Caleb held a parchment open on the table. "First we have Lady Tova Sigul of Hamonah, age fourteen. I still object to this offer. Hamonah worships Thalassa. We cannot consider anyone who does not follow Arman."
"But Hamonah is being at war with Jaelport," Inko said. "They're being extremely rich and would be bringing an immense dowry. The diamonds alone would be buying weapons and armor to be fitting a thousand soldiers. Surely Achan could be teaching the girl about the Way."
"Achan barely understands the Way himself." Sir Gavin said. "Don't burden him with an unbelieving spouse."
"Arman forbids it," Sir Caleb said. "In the Book of Life."
"Besides, 'tis too far away and unstable," Sir Gavin said. "And I trust Lord Sigul as much as I trust Queen Hamartano."
"Agreed," Sir Caleb said. "What say you, Eagan?"
Sir Eagan shrugged. "I say let him pick his own bride."
"Thank you," Achan said.
Sir Eagan continued, "But I would not marry him to any enemy, and I agree with Sir Caleb. He must wed a believer."
"But it would make for an interesting relationship, it would," Kurtz said. "Lots of sparks, eh?"
Vrell blanched. Could Kurtz think of nothing else?
"Is there a noblewoman at Zerah Rock?" Sir Caleb asked.
"None I know of," Sir Eagan said, "but it has been many years."
"A second cousin to Sir Rigil." Sir Gavin sniffed a short breath. "Were Achan a younger prince in a house of princes, he could marry whomever he wishes. We need a noblewoman of vast connections."
"And wealth," Inko said.
Achan groaned by the hearth. No one paid him any mind.
"Ladies Mandzee and Jaira are out," Sir Gavin said.
"Praise Arman for that," Achan mumbled.
Vrell smiled. A blessing indeed.
"I also recommend we reject Ladies Jacqueline and Marietta Levy of Mahanaim," Sir Caleb said.
Sir Gavin tapped his fingers on the table. "Agreed."
"You're throwing out all the options that are being the strongest," Inko said.
"Remind me your concern there?" Sir Eagan asked.
"They're Lord Levy's daughters," Sir Caleb said. "He voted for Esek as king."
"Ah." Sir Eagan nodded. "Wise to cut them, then."
Sir Caleb lifted the list again. "This leaves us with three options: Lady Gali Orson of Berland, age twenty-six-"
"Bah!" Kurtz wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Berland women are rough. Trust me, I know."
Sir Caleb continued, "Lady Halona Pitney of Nesos, age twelve-"
Kurtz blew a raspberry. "Oh, come on! The lad won't even be able to-"
"Kurtz," Sir Eagan said, "silence your useless comments."
"I'm just pointing out what none of you are bold enough to say. How many of you would wish to marry a child, eh?"
Sir Caleb sighed. "And finally, Lady Glassea Hadar of Armonguard, age fourteen."
"Prince Oren's daughter?" Achan's forehead wrinkled. "Isn't she my cousin?"
"Aye," Sir Gavin said.
"It would be making a strong blood match," Inko said. "A Hadar and a Hadar."
Achan's eyes bulged like he had swallowed a fly.
"Let us talk this out," Sir Eagan said. "The ladies from Nesos, Armonguard, and Berland are all heirs to duchies?"
"All but Glassea," Sir Caleb said. "Achan will rule that duchy."
"So marrying Glassea gets him nothing," Sir Eagan said. "He already has Prince Oren's support and rule of Arman Duchy. There is no bonus in this match. Cross her off."
"Thank you," Achan said.
"That leaves us Nesos and Berland," Sir Caleb said.
"Both of which voted for Achan as king," Sir Gavin said.
"Is one stronger than the other?" Sir Eagan asked.
"I see them as equal," Sir Caleb said. "Both have decent control over their duchy. Neither are the strongest. Nahar has Nesos, Xulon, and Walden's Watch. They're also in a civil war with the Ebens. That could divide their service. Therion has Berland, Meribah Corner-which we now know is useless-Zamar, and Har Sha'ar."
"A bunch of nothing, eh?" Kurtz said.
"True," Sir Caleb said. "Berland is strong, but Darkness has weakened Therion, I fear."
"Well, Pacey? What do you think, eh?" Kurtz asked. "Aged twelve or twenty-six? Personally, I'd go with the twenty-six-year-old. At least she'll look like a woman, she will."
"You'd be surprised," Achan said. "She's quite…brusque. Six feet tall and built like you. Tough as nails and a little scary. Nice, though. I vote against her because Shung dotes on her."
"Achan, Shung would never be permitted to marry her," Sir Caleb said. "He's a peasant."
"Not if I knight him."
Vrell smiled. Achan would make an excellent king. He cared about all people, down to the peasants and strays.
"Oh, lad," Kurtz said. "You're just a bleeding heart, you are. We can't let that get out."
Achan stood and approached the table. "Shung is a good man and a great warrior. Why shouldn't I knight him?"
Kurtz reached across the table and grabbed a handful of grapes. "Knight him if you want. Marry the child. I don't care, eh? Just don't come weeping to me when all falls to dung."
Achan sighed. "Is there truly no one else?"
"None we deem safe, Your Highness," Sir Caleb said.
"What of Lady Averella?" Sir Eagan asked.
The room fell silent.
Vrell stiffened. A chill flashed over her arms. What was Sir Eagan doing?
Sir Caleb shrugged. "I don't believe she is an option."
"She's not," Sir Gavin said. "She's betrothed already."
"Bran Rennan," Achan said. "though he has proved himself unworthy of such devotion, in my opinion."
An ache passed over Vrell at the rawness of these words, and from Achan of all people.
"Well now, none of that matters any, eh, Eagan?" Kurtz said. "A prince beats a local lord any day, it does."
Vrell stifled a gasp. Kurtz deserved a slap. What a horrible thing to say in light of Sir Eagan and her mother's past.
Yet Sir Eagan did not seem bothered by Kurtz's audacity. "I will speak to the duchess about it. It is my understanding the engagement has been broken."
Vrell could not bear it. Bring her home to Carmine, then betray her? What was Sir Eagan's game?
"Carm is being the strongest duchy in all Er'Rets. Both Therion and Nesos would be siding with Carm," Inko said.
"That's true," Sir Caleb said. "But what of Sitna?"
"Many would side with Achan given the chance," Sir Gavin said. "There's little love for Esek or Lord Nathak there."
"Plus they're traveling," Inko said. "Who's ruling in their absence?"
"Likely Lord Nathak's steward," Sir Gavin said.
"If she were an option, I'd vote for Lady Averella," Sir Caleb said.
"Agreed," Inko said. "Esek was having that plan, after all."
"As would I," Sir Gavin tugged his braid, "yet I don't think that's the case."
"How old is Lady Averella?" Achan asked.
"Now you're thinking along the right lines," Kurtz said.
"Uh…seventeen, I think," Sir Gavin said.
"Eighteen next month," Sir Eagan said.
Heat swelled in Vrell. Sir Eagan knew her day of birth?
"Oh, that's much better." Achan took a long breath and sighed. "Okay. I vote for her too. To ask, anyway."
"Then you must give her a token," Sir Caleb said. "If the wedding is not to take place until after the war, you must offer something that will assure the young lady you're serious."
Vrell slid the peephole shut and laid her forehead against the wall. She would have to talk to Mother right away to stop this discussion from going any further.
*
Unfortunately, when Vrell sought out Mother, the duchess was in a meeting of her own. And when Vrell returned before dinner, Mother was already meeting with Sir Eagan.
Vrell stormed through the inner walls of Granton Castle, keeping to passages where she would not be seen. The peephole overlooking the great hall was low since it looked out of the second story of the hall. Vrell never liked this location. She had to sit on the floor and stomach rats and spiders that might scurry past. But if she wanted to look on the great hall, this was her only option.
She set her candle a few feet from her skirt and peeked through the slot in the wall. No celebration tonight. Achan sat alone at the high table, looking forlorn. Shung stood against the wall behind him. Shung should sit. Achan needed company.
"Still shadowing the prince?"
Vrell cowered. "Mother! You scared me." She clapped her hand over her heart and felt its rapid beat through her gown. "What are you doing here?"
Mother set her lantern beside Vrell's candle. "I would ask you the same question."
Vrell turned back to the peephole. "Well, I asked first."
"Seeking out my reclusive daughter. Shadowing the Crown Prince could be considered treason should the wrong person find out. Dearest, why not confess and end all this?"
"Mother! I am trying to save him a broken heart."
"I can attest it is far too late for that, Averella. I sense great sorrow in him."
"Which is why I will not parade out there in my finest dress and give him false hope."
Mother stepped up to the wall and looked down on Vrell, blocking the light. "Master Rennan came to visit me yesterday."
Vrell winced.
"He said you are no longer interested in his proposal."
Vrell looked up. "I never said that! Bran told me I was not interested. What kind of thing is that to say to a lady?"
"A very noble thing, I should think. Dearest, he is willing to give you up to see you happy. He knows, as well as I, that you care for our young prince."
"Do not try to make Bran look noble. He has fallen in love with a peasant and changed his mind about me."
Mother folded her arms. "Do you know, I found His Highness in the kitchens last night. He was sitting under a table, barefoot, eating a bowl of stew."
Vrell looked up to Mother's shadowed face. "Was he? Why?"
"He confessed he is trying but cannot erase his past. To him, sitting under the kitchen table feels like home."
Vrell found Achan's face in the peephole again. Two maidens walked by his table and giggled. He simply stared straight ahead, as if seeing nothing but his own thoughts.
"He is an interesting and honest young man," Mother said. "I know you do not wish to be queen, but if you are no longer interested in Master Rennan, I have no reason to deny the prince's offer of marriage."
"Mother! He believed me a stray when he said those things. It was not a true offer."
"That is not the instance I am referring to. This afternoon I received an official offer for you, Lady Averella Amal."
Vrell sighed. "Nor is that his proposal. That comes from his Kingsguards-from your Sir Eagan-for I heard the vote."
"Regardless, my dear, the offer is excellent and would provide a way to unite this duchy. If you can think of no better refusal than having to admit your falsehoods, I shall have to accept."
"Be reasonable, Mother! Achan pledges his heart to everyone but Arman. If I married him, it would not be long before he found a prettier wife to replace me. He admitted his temptation to give his heart to every pretty woman he sees."
"And yet look at him, Averella." She smiled sadly. "Your fear has you imagining a different man, I think."
Vrell got to her feet. "Perhaps. But as you say, I do not want to be queen. I have studied what happens to kings in Er'Rets. With power comes control and overindulgence. I do not wish to spend my life fending off those who would twist my husband's ear for their own gain or women who would throw themselves at my husband to steal his heart from me."
"If he has strong advisors, that responsibility would not fall to you alone."
"Regardless, I do not want that life."
"Won't you at least consider it? He's a dear young man. He says he has had a recent encounter with Arman."
"He does? What did he say?"
"Nothing much. But I sense Arman has his attention. Perhaps your leaving has made him look upward. At any rate, I trust Arman to sharpen his integrity, not weaken it." Mother took Vrell's hand. "This token accompanied the offer." She slid a small metal object into Vrell's palm.
Vrell crouched, held her hand to the candlelight. A ruby on the king's signet ring gleamed in the pale light, stealing her breath. "Mother." Vrell's voice cracked. She cleared her throat. "Do you know how Achan came to possess this…token?"
"It is the Hadar ring, passed down from King Echad himself."
"Yes, but Esek had it, and Achan took it from his finger after having cut off his arm." Vrell shuddered. "Mother, this token is a symbol of violence." To help rescue me, she thought before she could stop herself.
"That ring is over six hundred years old. It has seen much violence on the hands of kings," Mother said. "It has also seen much joy. Achan is barely a man. His time with this ring has barely started. If he is successful, and Light can be brought back to Er'Rets, I have no doubt this ring will see much joy and happiness on his finger."
Vrell twisted back to the peephole. Achan still stared forward. What could leave him so blank? She gently reached for his thoughts.
Achan bolted to his feet, jostling the table and spilling his soup. "Sparrow?"
Vrell's breath caught and she closed her mind. He must have left his mind open to her, in case she initiated contact.
Achan scanned the room and ran down the dais steps to the men sitting at the nearest table. "Pardon me, do you know Vrell Sparrow?"
The men shook their heads.
Achan asked the same of the next three tables. He returned to the dais and looked up the wall beneath where Vrell hid. He put his good hand on it, his other arm still in its sling. "Sparrow?"
Vrell doubled her efforts to close her mind. Achan appeared to be staring right up through the peephole. Impossible. Still, she slid back out of sight and stood.
"Oh, Averella." Mother took her arm. "No more of that."
Vrell could still hear Achan calling. "Sparrow? Sparrow!"
She wrinkled her nose, his pleading tone bringing tears to her eyes. "I'm sorry. That was foolish."
They retrieved their candle and lantern and followed the corridor back to one of the secret rooms on the other side of Mother's study.
The room held a table and chairs and a cold hearth. Vrell sank into one of the chairs, folded her arms on the table, and laid down her head. Tears burned her eyes.
She felt Mother's hand on her back. "Do you love him?"
Vrell lifted her head and blinked away the tears. "I fear I do not know what love is. When I think of Achan, I have very strong feelings. But I once felt the same of Bran and that went away in time. Can love be so easily set aside?"
Mother claimed the chair beside Vrell's and took her hands. "Sometimes, wanting to be loved is half the passion. You convince yourself it is real because it is new and exciting. And maybe it is true. But that is why young women should not run off with men in the vineyards or traipse across Darkness. When you give your heart to a man who does not or cannot keep it, you lose a part of it and have less to give the next man who comes along. That is how Arman intended it. He designed a whole heart for one man. But alas, it cannot always be."
Vrell's throat burned at the idea of Achan marrying Lady Halona Pitney. "I confess I allowed Achan to capture my heart-"
Her eyes widened. That one statement of truth shocked her so much, it opened a flood of tears. She cupped her hands over her nose and mouth and let them come. Somehow her mother's presence made it worse. There was now a witness to the truth. Someone to hold her accountable.
It was some time before she managed to speak again. "I never intended to, Mother, I swear. And I will not consider him until he pledges his life to Arman. His heart must go to Arman first. That is what you taught me." She sniffled. "So what shall I do?"
"Pray, dearest child."
Anillo approached Achan and Shung as they were leaving the great hall. A full breakfast weighed down Achan's belly. Perhaps he would gorge himself daily and become a fat swine king. Why not?
"The duchess has prepared a private room for your gathering this morning. If you will follow me."
Anillo led them into the duchess's study on the third floor of the entrance hall. A small, carved desk with a shiny jade surface and matching throne-like chair sat before a wide, brownstone fireplace that stretched to the ceiling. A polished redwood floor matched redwood wainscoting carved in scrolls and flowers. Gilded ivory paneling, murals, and the occasional niche covered the top half of the room. The murals were of vineyards or people making wine, and each niche held a vase or small sculpture of a figure. A floor-to-ceiling tapestry divided each wall into thirds.
Anillo approached the wall on the east end of the study and touched the chair rail. A click sent an arched niche swinging outward. "For your safety, the duchess has granted you access to her secret meeting rooms and tunnels."
Anillo steadied the vase on the niche and motioned for Achan and Shung to enter.
Shung entered first, then nodded for Achan to enter. Achan ducked sideways through the opening into a dark, narrow corridor, careful not to bump his slinged arm on the doorframe. Anillo followed, holding a pottery lamp. Its single flame gave off plenty of light once Anillo pulled the secret door closed.
"Are these passageways all over the castle?" Achan asked.
"Yes, but please, Your Majesty. Do not go exploring alone. The last man who tried got lost and had nearly starved when he stumbled out into the barracks ten days later. I would be happy to give you a quick tour if the duchess agrees."
"Thank you." Did Armonguard have secret passageways too? Had Sitna?
Anillo barely moved before knocking on the wall opposite Duchess Amal's study.
The door swung in, spilling a stripe of yellow light across the dark corridor. This doorway was short and wide. Achan ducked inside after Shung, into small meeting room.
Sir Gavin and the other knights were seated in high-backed chairs around a long table that held two bright oil lamps, a tray filled with grapes, apples, and tarts, a sweating jug, and a stack of stone cups. A fireplace blazed in the corner.
A sudden bout of nerves seized Achan's gut at the sight of the empty chair at the head of the table. He poured himself a mug of water and approached the chair, knowing he needed to take charge. The knights continued to proclaim him Crown Prince and tell him what to do. Achan needed to step forward. Either he was the future king or he was not. It was time to decide, time to act.
He gripped the cham's claw at his neck and squeezed. He'd killed the bear. He could do this.
Achan pulled out his chair and settled into it. No one spoke to him. They continued their private conversations. Sir Gavin and Inko were arguing whether Esek still lived, and if so, whether he would try another attack. Sir Eagan and Sir Caleb were pouring over a scroll and a scrap of burgundy fabric. Kurtz held a stack of tarts in one hand and popped one into his mouth whole.
Shung stood beside the secret entrance as if someone might come bursting in at any moment and try to kill Achan.
Anything was possible in Achan's life, after all.
Clearly Achan needed to do something to take charge. Speak perhaps? A wave of heat crept up the back of his neck, yet the fire in the hearth seemed no bigger than before.
COMMIT TO ME WHATEVER YOU DO, AND YOUR PLANS WILL SUCCEED.
Achan smiled, relieved. Of course. Thank you for the direction, Arman.
He took one last gulp of water, scooted back his chair-which scraped loudly over the rough wooden floor-and stood. All eyes turned to him.
"Achan," Sir Caleb said. "We've received an acceptance for-"
"A moment, please, Sir Caleb," Achan said. "I feel we should first commit this meeting to Arman, so he may bless our endeavors."
Suddenly he had the knights' full attention. They watched Achan silently.
"Quite so, Your Majesty." Sir Caleb smiled and started to stand.
Achan held up his left hand. "Thank you, Sir Caleb, but…I'll do it."
Sir Caleb lowered himself back into his seat and stared at Achan, bushy blond eyebrows raised.
Achan bowed his head as he would before any great leader. "Arman, we come together this morning to discuss our plans to obey your call. You've set me apart as king, so I ask you to come, hear our plans, and speak, should you like to. We'll be listening for your voice in all we discuss. Thank you for Duchess Amal's support. She's everything I could have hoped for in a new comrade. So may it be as you say."
"So be it," the knights said.
Achan took a deep breath. "Now that you've all had your say, it's my turn. Here's what I plan to do. I'd like your opinions as to whether my choices be wise."
Achan fought to keep the tremor in his joints out of his voice. "First, I appoint Sir Gavin Lukos as commander over all the armies. Each duke or duchess loyal to me may suggest generals to Sir Gavin and me. Each general, once appointed, may determine his own captains and ranks as he sees fit. Yet Sir Gavin will be over them all to instruct and lead.
"Those in service to Prince Oren Hadar will return to him. I no longer fear for Gren's life. If Esek is still alive, he will soon be far too busy to harass my loved ones. Therefore Jax mi Katt, Sir Rigil Barak, and Bran Rennan will seek out their next order from Prince Oren. I'll ask my uncle to command the southern troops and Marad and that he and Sir Gavin be in constant communication with each other and me so that, in time, we can coordinate our efforts.
"I appoint Sir Caleb Agros, Sir Eagan Elk, and Inko son of Mopti as my royal advisors. Kurtz Chazir, you're a fighting man. My inclination is to put you to Sir Gavin, but what is your will?"
Eyes wide, Kurtz swallowed whatever bit of food he had in his mouth. "What are my choices, Pac-Your Highness?"
"I've given you three: service to Sir Gavin, Prince Oren, or myself. Unless you have a fourth idea?"
Kurtz frowned. "No, Your Highness. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to stay with Gavin, I would."
"Very well. I had thought to appoint Trajen Yorbride as my priest, though his children are so young and he has such a strong flock in Melas, I hate to filch their leader. Ideas?"
"I am sure Duchess Amal would have a suggestion," Sir Eagan said.
"Could you ask her?"
"I will."
"Good." He paused, waiting to see what the men had to say of his ideas so far. When no one spoke, he continued.
"War is upon us, gentlemen. Esek commands the New Kingsguard and several powerful duchies, including most of what lies in Darkness. He fields an army whose size and location we must determine. Sir Gavin, please see to this.
"The task before us, as I see it, is to unite all of Er'Rets under my rule, so that Arman's rule may extend through it and thus eradicate Darkness. Our first task must be to raise a bigger army than we have now. Then, once Sir Gavin's scouts have located Esek's army, we must make our way to Armonguard. It is the prize, I feel. One Esek would already possess if he hadn't been so obsessed with destroying me."
"A fine plan, Your Majesty," Sir Gavin said, beaming.
"Have you tried to see into Esek's mind?" Sir Eagan asked.
Achan had never even considered it and suddenly felt foolish. "I haven't. An excellent suggestion, Sir Eagan, thank you. I shall do so directly following our time here." Achan paused and took a quick drink. He expected someone to jump in and contribute, but the men simply stared. He set his cup down with a trembling hand.
"We need to determine the agenda of this New Council that Duchess Amal spoke of. We should also consider what other forces might come against us-apart from Esek. There are the black knights-led by the shadow sorcerer, Hadad, perhaps? We must discover this man's identity."
The sooner the better, for Achan hadn't told anyone about hearing Hadad's voice again since Barth.
"Jaelport also seems to have plans of their own. Lord Nathak. We now know he has a motive apart from Esek's. I cannot say whether Esek will join him or strike out on his own, or if he's dead. Add Lord Levy and Macoun Hadar to the list of opposition. Then there are the Poroo and Eben forces. They likely support one of the factions mentioned."
"Yes, but which is it being?" Inko asked.
"I'd guess Poroo fights alongside Barth, eh? And the Ebens have partnered with Jaelport," Kurtz said.
"We cannot guess," Sir Eagan said. "We must know."
"I've never been knowing an Eben to associate with a Jaelportian," Inko said.
"You think the Ebens are with Barth, then?" Kurtz asked.
"The Eben we were slaying was giving us Lord Falkson's name" Inko said. "But is Lord Falkson to be serving Esek or Hadad? And who is Jaelport to be serving?"
"I believe Jaelport serves Jaelport," Sir Caleb said.
Achan lowered himself into his chair. The men had gone off debating, but he'd said what he'd planned to. No one had disagreed. Did that mean they agreed? He shifted his sling arm and reached for a tart. He'd done enough for today. He'd taken the floor and made his appointments. It was a start.
"Lord Levy paid Eben mercenaries to keep Prince Oren's Marad from traveling into Mahanaim," Sir Caleb said.
"You're suggesting Lord Levy was sending the Ebens after us in Darkness?" Inko asked. "And not Lord Falkson?"
"If he had a business relationship with them already, maybe he paid them to get Achan back to Mahanaim. Maybe Lord Levy and Lord Falkson work for Hadad."
"According to Vrell, skilled archers aided the Poroo who attacked Esek's procession," Sir Eagan said. "Who may have wanted to kill Esek?"
Achan tensed at the mention of Sparrow. "Anyone who has met him."
The men laughed and continued their debate. Achan couldn't help but think of Sparrow. She had opened her mind to him yesterday. Why? Did she want to speak? Did she wonder where he was? Was she nearby? And why open her mind only to close it again so quickly? What was the matter with her?
The men talked until the food tray was empty and their stomachs growled for lunch. Achan decided to conclude for today. Sir Caleb would work on recruiting new men. Sir Gavin would send out scouts. And Sir Eagan would speak with Duchess Amal about a suitable priest.
Anillo arrived to see whether they would like lunch brought in, but Sir Caleb jumped to his feet. "Your Highness, I almost forgot you've not yet heard our good news. Sir Eagan, please, you tell him."
Sir Eagan reached for the scroll wrapped around a swatch of burgundy satin. He turned his piercing blue eyes to Achan. "Duchess Amal has accepted our offer."
"Which offer?" Achan could hardly keep up with all the tasks to be done.
"Your offer to wed her eldest daughter, Lady Averella."
A chill ran over Achan's arms. "Oh."
Sir Eagan held up the scroll and passed it to Sir Caleb, who passed it to Sir Gavin, who handed it to Achan. Achan unrolled it, hands shaking, and set the fabric aside. He anchored the top of the scroll with his cup and held the bottom with his fingertips. The neat and curvy writing took him longer to read than he would have liked with everyone watching.
Your Royal Highness, Prince Gidon Hadar, otherwise known as Achan Cham,
It is with great honor that I received your request for my daughter's hand in marriage. I must confess she had long ago pledged her hand to another. Time and recent events have changed that matter, however, and I assure you her relationship with her previous suitor has desisted peaceably with no harm to her virtue.
I vouchsafe to you my eldest daughter and heir, Lady Averella Amal, to wed once Armonguard has passed into your hands. As a token of this agreement, I have enclosed a sleeve from one of Averella's gowns. I chose one of the colors of Carmine so that when you wear this token wherever you go, people will know of our alliance.
Though this wedding be delayed, I pray Arman give you patience to endure until the day you kiss your bride. Until then, allow me to think of you as my son.
Lady Nitsa Amal, Duchess of Carm
Achan leaned back and released the scroll. It sprang into a tight coil against his mug. Well, that settled it. A lightheaded spell gripped Achan. He hooked a finger around the cord at his neck. Farewell then, Vrell Sparrow.
The knights burst into laughter. Laughter!
Achan looked up, eyes wide, heat warming his face. "Does anyone know what she looks like?"
Another bout of laughter.
"She's a very comely young woman, Achan," Sir Gavin said.
"As pretty as her mother," Sir Eagan added.
Well, that was comforting. He reached one trembling hand for the silky burgundy fabric and lifted it up. It was, indeed, a woman's dress sleeve. Made of thick satin, the sleeve was narrow around the arm but tapered into a pointed bell at the end. A single golden cord ran down the sleeve's edge. The scent of rose water made him think of Sparrow.
He supposed all women liked rose water.
He stared at it for a long time, then found his voice. "I'm to wear this?"
The men sniggered. Achan dropped the sleeve, refilled his cup, and downed the water in one long gulp.
Sir Eagan came to his aid. The knight walked to Achan's side and snagged the sleeve from the table. "You have never seen a knight wear a lady's token at tournament?"
Achan nodded. "I've seen them tuck handkerchiefs into their helm or tie them 'round their arm."
"That is what you will do with this sleeve." Sir Eagan threaded the fabric behind Achan's right arm, around his sling.
"He's naturally left-handed," Sir Gavin said. "It should go on his sword arm."
"Is he?" Sir Eagan said. "I should have guessed."
He gently tugged the sleeve from Achan's sore arm and, within moments, had tied it around Achan's left bicep. It hung bright against his light blue tunic, tied snugly so it wouldn't fall, a constant reminder of yet another yoke on his life.
Again he thought of Sparrow.
He met Sir Eagan's eyes. The knight smiled. "You look as though we have asked you to walk the castle in naught but your skin. 'Tis not so bad, Your Highness." He stepped behind Achan and rubbed his shoulders. Head bent down, he spoke softly in Achan's left ear. "Now, you are not only a hero to this land, you are a hero to one woman, which will tug at the heartstrings of every woman in Er'Rets, who will beg their men to go out and support you. For people are easily caught up in a great love story and are often eager to do their part in making it succeed."
And if the groom wasn't eager to be caught up in his own great love story, what of that?
Achan stood and handed the scroll to Sir Eagan. "Let us go eat, then, and tug at some heartstrings."
*
"How dare you!"
"I gave you opportunity to give me good reason."
Hot rage flashed through Vrell's body. "A day? One day? Mother! How could you do this to me? You have no right."
"I have every right. Averella, I have coddled you far too long. Not only can I see you love that boy, I know he cares for you a great deal. He respects you, dearest, enough to sacrifice his honor for a girl he thinks is a stray. I understand you are embarrassed, but I am convinced this is Arman's will. It is also the best possible match for uniting the people of this duchy and Er'Rets. It is far better than an arranged marriage, this-"
"— is an arranged marriage. Mother, you promised."
"Promised what?"
"That I could choose whom I would marry."
"No. I promised to consider your own choice for a husband. And I did consider allowing you to marry Master Rennan. But now that you both have relinquished your desires, and now that the perfect offer has come along, one from a good man, a man you love and who loves you-and happens to be our future king-so that you are marrying and choosing whom to marry, because you are too stubborn to admit your love, I am taking charge."
Vrell steeled her emotions. "I will not do it."
"You will leave your king standing at the altar? The man you love? You will disgrace him publicly in front of the whole kingdom? He already wears your sleeve. Averella, stop ranting about and act your age."
"My age?" Vrell could not stand it. She had been home less than a week and felt more trapped and suffocated than she ever had inside that disguise. She dug deep into a place she did not want to go, to concerns and questions she did not want answers to. "This is a nonissue if I am not your heir."
"Do not be absurd, dearest. You are the eldest. You are my heir."
"But if I am not the daughter of Duke Amal, I am not heir to Carm." She paused, watching her mother's porcelain skin pink, her sculpted eyebrows crumple.
"I do not understand you, Averella. What are you hedging about?"
Vrell stood tall. "I do not think Duke Amal is my father. My heart tells me you have deceived me in this matter. My heart tells me Sir Eagan Barak is my father. Do you deny it?"
Mother lowered herself to the sofa, put a hand to her cheek, and released a shaky breath. "What in all Er'Rets led you to believe such a thing?"
"Besides the fact that he and I have the same face?"
Mother stared at Vrell a moment then clutched her ashen face in her hands. Jagged sobs erupted from her, bringing tears to Vrell's eyes as well.
"I knew it." Vrell started to cry. "Mother, how could you allow yourself to…?"
A silence passed where both women wept. Mother caught hold of her composure first.
"I did not want to marry Duke Amal. My heart was broken and I was weak. I felt Arman had abandoned me. In my sorrow I turned from Arman and clung to the one my heart loved. And it only made me love Eagan more, which made everything harder. But I obeyed my father and married the duke. Months passed before I discovered I was with child. I had no way of knowing who…"
Mother shook off her tears and lifted her chin. "But when you were older it was plain to my eyes. And when Eagan saw you, he knew at once. He promised not to claim you. He promised he would let me live in peace. But I could not. I had planned to tell the duke the truth, but King Axel died and Eagan went to Ice Island. I lost all hope and figured the truth would do no good then."
"And now?" Vrell sniffled. "Sir Eagan still does not wish to claim me?"
"He begged I tell you the truth but promised not to publicly claim you, not to upset your life."
"Whether all Er'Rets knows or not, my life is already upset. Mother, how can I live as I have? How can I pretend to be your heir? It is a lie."
"No," Mother said. "You are my eldest. I choose my heir."
"That is not how it is done. Carm should go to the Amal bloodline."
"No one need know."
"But I know." Vrell wandered to Mother's desk, trembling with a myriad of emotions. "I cannot live a lie any longer. It is all I have done these past months, and it has nearly destroyed my sanity. I will not be a fraud. I abandon my birthright to Gypsum. Let her accept this proposal."
"Averella!"
Vrell darted behind Mother's changing screen, behind the tapestry, and into the dark corridor.
Up, up, up the steps she ran, to the top of Ryson Tower. She hugged one of the stone posts that held the tower roof and gazed out over the vineyards that stretched to the horizon on all sides of Carmine. The sun hid behind a fluffy white cloud. A cool breeze blew against her face and tightened her skin as it dried her tears.
For so long she had ached for home. But now that she was here, it no longer felt like a home. Where did she belong? Queen of Er'Rets? Heir to Carm? An illegitimate daughter did not deserve either. She could stay here and serve Gypsum, ready her for her calling as duchess. But if Vrell refused to marry Achan, did that mean Gypsum would have to?
Vrell wept. She could not bear to witness such a thing.
She stared at the signet ring in her palm. The ruby stone shone in the sun. Achan had agreed to marry a stranger. It might not have been his plan, but he had not fought it. Barely a week had passed since his declarations in Mitspah. He had given her up much more easily that even she expected. Was it because he was respectful of her choice to be apart from him or because he did not care?
Mother had said he still cared about Vrell Sparrow.
She should confess the truth and accept his proposal. But the proposal was breeched now that her lineage was confirmed.
"Ahh!" Vrell screamed out her frustration and sank to her knees. Three birds fluttered out from their perch in the roof's rafters, startled by Vrell's cry. She watched them fly away, wishing she could fly too, like a real sparrow. Wishing she could start over fresh, honest.
She hugged her knees to her chest. True, she did not want to be queen. Such a life would be so difficult, so demanding. But what else could she be? She was a decent healer. Perhaps she could serve in the coming war, use the gifts Arman had given her to help Achan's cause.
A thought sprang up at the back of her mind. It seemed insane, wild, scary, and completely reckless.
She sought the face of Jax mi Katt and sent a knock.
Vrell! It's good to hear from you. How can I be of service?
Are you still in Carmine?
How did you know I was in-
Never mind. Could the Marad use another healer? A healer who is a woman?
A long silence. War is coming. We can always use healers. But you must be able to defend yourself. I cannot watch over you.
I do not need a nursemaid. When you are ready to ride south, I shall join you.
Vrell broke the connection. She would ride south, join the Marad rebels as the stray healer girl Vrell Sparrow, a name that now fit her in every way, since her father would not publicly claim her. She would serve her king.
But she would do it her way.
NOT THE END
Thanks to God for getting me through this last year. It has been an amazing journey. God is good to me, all the time.
Big thanks to Brad, Luke, and Kaitlyn for their patience and support.
Thanks to Jeff Gerke, a brilliant editor. He points out the best things, like magically appearing freckles and chairs. I have learned so much from him.
To the members of the Christian Young Adult Writers and Readers critique groups-Ann, Bridgett, Carman, Christopher, Crystal, Claire, Deb, Diana, Durga, Gretchen, Jacob, Kasey, Katie, Kathleen, Laura, Lynn, Maria, Mary H, Mary W, Nicole, Patrick, Shanti, Shelley, Stephanie, and Vernona-for your wisdom, support, prayers, and encouragement. You all are the best!
Thanks to my local readers: Philena English, Rachel Bentz, and Kylie Emery. I appreciate you taking the time to help me.
Laura Schuff, thank you! You are a brilliant young woman. What an amazing help you were.
Thanks to Cheryl Secomb and her friends JoAnna and Tamar for helping me with my Hebrew translations.
Hugs to all my readers. Thanks for reading about Achan and Vrell. One more book to go!