From Darkness Won Read online

  Vrell swallowed another retort. She did not wish to quarrel with Sir Rigil. “Won’t you change your mind, Jax? I can take care of myself. I have my own horse.”

  “I cannot go against Prince Oren, Vrell. I’m sorry.”

  Sir Rigil gripped Vrell’s upper arm. “Lady Averella, whether you can protect yourself is not the issue. Prince Oren knows that your presence would still be a distraction to our men.”

  She pulled away. “I am plain enough that most men pay me no mind.”

  “Regardless, while your beauty would fluster many, all would be distracted by their need to protect you. Our men train to a certain code. We swear to protect women and children above all. No man would be able to focus on his task when you were nearby, vulnerable, without an escort.”

  “Your men need not concern themselves. I can—”

  “Forgive me, my lady, but it is not a question of need. It is simply the way Arman made men. We cannot, in good conscience, ignore the presence of a woman. Like it or not, you would be a great distraction.”

  The chivalry she had hoped for during her time as a boy had come too late. “I thank you both for your counsel. Good day.”

  Jax reached out for her again. “Please, Vrell, do not be cross.”

  She stepped back to avoid his touch. “Not cross, only disappointed. For I very much wish to serve as a healer.”

  “If your duchess mother should travel south,” Sir Rigil said, “I am certain Prince Oren would covet your assistance with any wounded.”

  “Thank you, Sir Rigil. I shall inquire as to whether she plans to make such a journey.”

  When the men had left, Vrell fell back into her chair. “Oh, Syrah, I am such a fool.”

  Syrah ran to Vrell’s side. “No offense, m’lady, but I’m glad Prince Oren said no.”

  For months Vrell had longed for home, and now she wanted to leave again. What was the matter with her? “But I can help, Syrah. I am a gifted healer.”

  Syrah released a shuddering breath. “The idea of you on a battlefield, m’lady, it terrifies me. Stay here where I can care for you.”

  “You are sweet. But there is no honor in doing nothing.”

  “There is plenty of honor in taking care of your sisters and the people of Carmine. There is much to be done here.”

  “And plenty of sisters to help Mother do it.” Sisters who were true heirs to Carm. Vrell was tired of hiding in her own home. She had changed. She was no longer content to marry and wear pretty dresses all her life. She wanted—no, needed—to participate, to be of use in the coming war. And if doing so took her away from Achan…

  Syrah offered her a glass of water. “’Tis only a few days until the prince and his men leave. Then you won’t have to see any of them for a long time.”

  That was what Vrell wanted, right? But the thought of never seeing Achan again brought tears to her eyes.

  Vrell slipped along the cool, stone passage. She knew her way so well it was hard not to run the straight stretches. She forced herself to walk slowly, watching the flame on her candle flicker with each step. It took ages to move about the castle using only the secret passageways, but she could not risk being seen until Achan was gone.

  Vrell was still furious Mother had permitted Anillo to show Achan the passages. Of course he should know of the secret meeting rooms, but not that he could walk to his chambers.

  No doubt Mother hoped Achan and Vrell might stumble upon one another in the dark corridors. Mother did not understand Vrell’s reservations. The sooner Vrell could find a way to leave Carmine, the better.

  At the northwest tower stairs, she started up. Her room was on the sixth floor, but she paused on the fourth. Achan had gone out to practice with the soldiers. She had seen him and Shung from Ryson Tower.

  No. Enough time had been wasted spying on Achan. She continued to climb. Her dress scraped along the stone steps and walls. She did not bother to lift her skirts and protect the fabric. She would have no need for such gowns on the battlefield.

  By the time she reached the sixth floor, her lungs were tight. She passed the first arrow loop and held the candle high until she spied a strip of white fabric. She had tied the swatch on the entrance to her sister’s room to make the door easier to find. She knocked once and pushed the door in.

  Gypsum sat before an embroidery stand, plump lips turned down. Baskets of colorful thread sat around her feet. Eyes on her work, she said, “By all means, Averella, enter.”

  Vrell ignored her sister’s tone and sank down on the foot of the bed. In many ways, twelve-year-old Gypsum acted older than Vrell. The girl had been an exceptional seamstress since she had first touched needle and thread, an admirable skill for a young noblewoman. She never disagreed with Mother, never climbed trees, and never argued with squires or knights. Vrell doubted she had ever touched a weapon in her short life.

  Gypsum’s room was always spotless, of her own accord. Maids had little to clean here. Gypsum had chosen lavender and deep purple floral bedding and matching solid upholstery on her chaise lounge and chairs. Frescoes of children and angels covered the ceiling, but the walls were white. Framed tapestries hung every two feet, most of which Gypsum had crafted herself. Vrell spotted a new one near the door and heaved herself off the bed to examine it more closely.

  Two sheets of silk, one black, one white, had been sewn together with raw, jagged stitches. The outline of a map was embroidered in gold. On the white silk, happy people danced among the ripe vines of Carmine and full orchards of Allowntown. On the black side, Vrell’s gaze stopped on a small boat in the water west of Mahanaim. Five figures sat in the small craft. Three men in red Kingsguard capes, a young man, whom Gypsum had stitched with a golden glow over his head, and a girl, staring out from a hooded cape with wide eyes, her black hair blowing out from the side of the hood.

  Vrell shivered. “This is amazing, Gypsum. When did you do this?”

  Still absorbed in her latest masterpiece, Gypsum pulled the thread with an easy rhythm. “When you were gone. Mother told us much of what you relayed. Your journey spoke to me, so I made that.”

  I made that. As if the girl merely whipped the piece out in an afternoon, which, for all Vrell knew, she had.

  “Do you want something, dear sister?” Gypsum asked.

  “Just your chatty company.”

  Gypsum rewarded Vrell with a fake smile. “Do not mock my silence when I am concentrating. Besides, Mother says men prefer silent ladies.”

  Vrell blew a wry laugh out her nose. “I do not doubt that most do.”

  “If you have no news to lighten my mood, go away.”

  Not this again. “I am sorry your mood is sour, but you are too young to understand. I cannot do what I feel is wrong.”

  Gypsum’s hands stilled and she looked up. “You feel the truth is wrong?”

  “Not the truth part. The other part.”

  “You can do both, Averella. You simply refuse. And who is to pay for your disobedience to Arman and to Mother? I am. For I will do my duty, even if I have to marry this prince of yours.”

  “He is not my prince.”

  Gypsum rolled her eyes and continued stitching. “You mope about the castle, scuttling within the walls like a spider. I do not have to be as old and wise as you to see that he owns your heart.”

  Vrell crossed the room, toward the tapestry of the kittens that hid the secret entrance. She did not need yet another lecture, especially from her little sister—half-sister, though Vrell had not shared that secret with anyone. Maybe she should. Maybe then Gypsum would understand.

  She turned back to spill the truth, but Gypsum’s tear-filled eyes pleaded. “Normally I would be ecstatic about marrying a prince, especially the real Prince Gidon Hadar. Imagine it! He is handsome and kind, good-mannered. And he is only four years my senior, which is nothing compared to what most girls suffer in marriage. After what happened to Tara, how could I refuse such a match?”

  Vrell lifted the kitten tapestry aside. “It appea
rs that you cannot. Congratulations.”

  “Vrella, please do not force me to marry him.”

  Vrell set her jaw. “I will not force you to marry anyone. Nor will Mother.”

  “No, but she will lose honor if the agreement is not fulfilled. I will not put her in that situation.”

  Vrell dropped the curtain and folded her arms. “It has been said that some make an idol out of obedience. Such perfect standards cannot bring you joy at all times. I suspect that even you sometimes rebel in your heart.”

  Gypsum’s wide-eyed glare was all innocence. “I am simply doing what Arman asks of me.”

  “Is that so? And have you consulted the Book of Life? I recall this printed in its pages: ‘Anyone who loves his father or mother more than Arman is not worthy of Arman.’”

  Gypsum straightened. “‘Children, obey your parents in Arman, for this is right.’”

  “‘Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but Arman disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness.’”

  “‘In the same way be submissive to those older than—’”

  “‘Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?’”

  A stream of tears ran down Gypsum’s cheek. “Please, Vrella. I do not want to marry the man you love.”

  “Then refuse. But until I see his heart set on Arman and not on a whim or on any pretty face that walks by, I will not give him my heart.”

  “Rubbish.” Gypsum withdrew a handkerchief from the thread basket under her embroidery frame and dabbed her eyes. “You already have.”

  “Maybe partly…” Vrell blinked away her own tears. “But not all of it. Which is why I cannot confess now. He would forgive me, then be sweet and charming and steal more of my heart no matter how I tried to keep it from him. And then he would turn to some tavern wench, and I would be destroyed. My heart is already weak. Staying away is my only defense.”

  “But Mother speaks so highly of him. You truly believe he would play with your heart?”

  “Not intentionally. He would be sincere at first. But it would not be long before temptation whisked him away. And even if he remained loyal and true all his days, he does not live for Arman. How can I—”

  “Mother says he has met Arman.”

  Vrell frowned, wishing it were so. “I cannot trust Mother’s word of late.”

  “For shame, Averella! How can you say that? When has she ever deceived us?”

  “Oh, you want to know…” But Vrell could not bring herself to destroy Gypsum’s good impression of Mother by telling her about Sir Eagan. “It is not your concern. Simply know that Mother will not make you marry anyone if you tell her your heart.”

  “She is not making me marry anyone. She only suggested I think about it in case she is unable to change your mind. I do not think she intends to make a final decision until after this coming war.”

  “Then we both have time to consider the situation.”

  Gypsum picked up her needle. “I suppose. But I pray you make the right choice so I do not have to.”

  5

  Vrell looked down on the training fields from the top of Ryson Tower. The wind whipped her loose hair about her face as she watched the soldiers practice drills.

  Achan’s shiny breastplate and Shung’s black armor made them stand out from the soldiers dressed in red. It reminded Vrell of when she used to watch her father, Duke Amal, train from this tower.

  Tears flooded her eyes. The innocent memory had come so naturally. But the wave of sorrow, confusion, and guilt that followed nearly brought her to her knees.

  Duke Amal, dear father he had been, was not her blood. Just as Carmine had never really been her home. Months of trying to get back, and this was the truth she now faced.

  Where did she truly belong?

  She swept down the spiral staircase, filled with such confusion and uncertainty. She pleaded with Arman to set it right. She knew better than to petition Him when she refused to obey. But she hoped Arman understood her heart. She barely understood it herself.

  Vrell pushed through the secret door into Mother’s study and peeked out from behind the changing screen. The room was empty, so she went to the door, rang the bell, then stood at the window and looked out on the practice field again.

  She had no intention of living a lie any longer. To be true to who she really was she had abandoned her birthright and sought out a place with Prince Oren and the Mârad. But he had refused her services as a healer—suggesting instead that she reconcile with her mother. As if it were that simple.

  And now that Jax had refused to take her along, her last hope rested with her former fiancé, Bran Rennan. Their relationship had been strained since they had parted ways. He disliked her plan to serve the Mârad, but she hoped she could convince him to take her along to Armonguard.

  She wanted—needed—to assist in this war. If she were on the battlefield, there was little chance she would run into Achan. He would be kept safe, protected by his guard. Months, maybe years, would pass before she saw him again. She hoped so, anyway, for she had promised Arman that when she did see him again, she would tell him the truth.

  Bran could not refuse her. He had courted another woman while he and Vrell were engaged. That alone should indebt him a bit, should it not?

  The door to Mother’s study swung inward, and Anillo entered. Mother’s steward was thin and old, but had bested men on the practice field as young as Vrell. “Yes, my lady?”

  “Anillo, I require a visit with Master Rennan. Here, as soon as possible. It is an emergency.”

  “Emergency, my lady?” he asked, his expression blank.

  “Well… it is very important.”

  “An emergency of great importance, then?”

  “No, just that… Oh, well. Go on, then. That will do, thank you.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Anillo bowed and left the room.

  Vrell’s side ached. She wished it would heal quicker. She sat at Mother’s jade desk and let her thoughts drift. She grew tired of hiding from Achan. Of spying on him. She needed distance. The sooner the better. She did not wish to fulfill her promise to Arman anytime soon.

  Fiery pain gripped her skull. She grasped the edge of Mother’s desk to keep her balance.

  Your Highness? Sir Caleb said. He was one of the knights who advised Achan. Are you injured?

  Achan’s mellow voice answered. Sorry, Sir Caleb. Just a little experiment.

  And the pain subsided.

  Vrell released the desk, her breath shaky. An experiment? Merciful heart! Did he have to experiment in such a way that brought all bloodvoicers to their knees?

  She rested her head on Mother’s desk and dozed off, until a knock sounded on the door. She sat up. “Yes?”

  The door cracked open, and Anillo slipped inside. “Master Rennan has arrived, my lady.”

  Vrell stood. “Thank you, Anillo. Please, show him in.”

  Anillo bowed and pulled the door open. “Master Bran Rennan, my lady.”

  Bran swept into the study, black boots clomping on the redwood floor. He looked a fright, face flushed and sweaty, hair matted to his forehead and cheeks. His Old Kingsguard uniform was wrinkled and dirty.

  “Are you well, Master Rennan?”

  “Yes, my lady. I’ve come directly from the practice fields. I was told it was an emergency.” His deep brown eyes regarded her, filled with concern that quickly led to impatience. “What, Averella? What is so urgent?”

  She hesitated at his tone. If he was already angry, how would she obtain his help? She held her chin high, employing every ounce of her training as a future duchess, and gritted her teeth at her aching side. “I require your assistance, Master Rennan. I wish to journey south to Armonguard and would like to—”

  “This is your emergency?”

  “I require an escort.”

  His mouth fell open. “I will not
be your escort.”

  She wilted. “I only wish to ride along. No pomp or protocol. No one need know. I will even dress as a boy to—”

  “No,” Bran said. “You ask me to lie to Sir Rigil? To Jax? To Prince Oren? I beg you, stop this ridiculous plotting and go talk to the prince.”

  She stifled a whimper. Was everyone against her? “I most certainly will not.”

  Bran tipped his head back. “But why, my lady? He will be thrilled to discover that you are you.”

  Would he? Vrell was not so certain. “I will not marry him.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “He does not follow Arman.”

  “But he is Arman’s chosen—”

  “Not good enough. Many a king has been Arman’s chosen. I recall not one truly righteous man among them.”

  “You did not know the kings of old. Do not judge based on rumors of history.”

  “My fath— Duke Amal knew King Axel. I heard much from him about the former king’s philandering ways. And what is that saying? ‘For where the father stumbles, the son falls?’ I have seen Achan tempted, heard his thoughts on the subject. It is only a matter of time.”

  “Averella.” Bran propped his hand on his hip. “That is hardly fair.”

  “I do not trust Achan with my heart.”

  Bran all but snorted. “He already has your heart. You love him.”

  “Do not say that! It is not true.”

  “You are a poor liar, my lady.”

  “Am I? I went almost a year as a man without anyone suspecting I was not.”

  “The prince discovered it.”

  “Only when he looked into my mind, where he had no right to be, and saw things he should not have. His mischief with bloodvoicing is another reason I do not trust him.”

  “Well, I trust him.”

  “Good for you, Master Rennan. You marry him.”

  Bran rolled his eyes.

  How could she make him understand? “Achan is my friend, Bran, but that is not enough to pledge him my life.”

  “My lady, you are too hard on our future king. He did not have your sheltered childhood. And he has turned out remarkably well, considering. He is fair and kind.”