From Darkness Won

by Jill Williamson

  “You must know that Mother rescinded that offer.”

  “Yes, but the prince has not yet given me an answer,” Mother said, fighting a smile.

  “See?” Gypsum bounced on the edge of the bed. “So there is still a chance I could marry him.”

  Averella couldn’t keep a deep laugh from escaping. “Then perhaps Mother’s wedding date depends on you and not on me, Gypsum.”

  “Oh, enough teasing, please!” Syrah said from her place at the door. “I can’t bear it. Tell us, my lady, please.”

  “First, Syrah, come and give me a hug.”

  The maidservant rushed to Averella’s bedside, and the two embraced.

  “I was so worried about you, my lady. When your mother said you were lost…”

  “None of that, now. I am perfectly well. And to ease your mind I shall tell you all that Prince Achan and I did speak before leaving Noiz.” She removed her necklace and slipped the half coin from its pouch. “Not only do I still carry his father’s ring, but he gave me this.” She held the coin up on her palm.

  Mother, Gypsum, and Syrah all leaned in, eyes wide.

  Syrah squealed and clapped her hands like a delighted child.

  “Half a coin?” Gypsum frowned. “I do not understand.”

  “Peasants sometimes split a coin as a token of an engagement,” Syrah said. “Because they cannot afford rings. But never with a gold coin, my lady.”

  Averella studied the coin. The idea of marrying Achan soon, of being able to see him every day—without a chaperone!— sent a thrill from her head to her toes.

  39

  Achan sat at a table in a vast chamber. It was yet another meeting, but this time only Sir Caleb, Sir Eagan, Sir Gavin, Shung, and Prince Oren were present.

  Dozens of reports had come in from allies across Er’Rets, who had until now been living in Darkness. People were celebrating, singing and dancing all hours of the day. An extraordinarily high number of people spent time outdoors, enjoying the sunlight and how nature was budding and blooming like spring. There would be one more hard winter there, but next fall would bring the first harvest western Er’Rets had seen in thirteen years.

  There were also reports of people hiding from the light, as if the sun was a different kind of curse. Many Poroo and Eben tribes and some entire families from Melas and Mirrorstone were said to have gone underground, locked themselves indoors, or moved into caves. Achan wondered if they would ever recover from the influence Darkness had left on their minds.

  Sir Caleb had recovered from his blow to the head. Achan and Duchess Amal had gone into the Veil, searching for Prince Oren’s stormed self. It took two days, but they had found him wandering the tombs of the kings in Noiz. Together, they had managed to reunite Prince Oren with his body. He had lost half his left leg from the green fire. A wooden cone was attached to his thigh and tapered to the floor. He moved about with a cane. He had lost a good deal of weight and his face was gaunt, but he was in good spirits. He’d accepted Achan’s thanks for saving his life, but refused to allow Achan to blame himself for the loss of his leg.

  “What of the Council of Seven?” Prince Oren asked.

  “I’d like to keep it,” Achan said. “But they will meet here three times a year. Do you think that reasonable?”

  “Why keep it?” Sir Caleb asked.

  “I think it’s important to leave some things as they were,” Achan said. “And the people of Er’Rets are familiar with the Council. I realize it was to be disbanded once the prince came of age, but I cannot see what goes on in Therion or Carm or Barth. Keeping the Council is a good way to know what’s happening elsewhere in Er’Rets and to see the dukes and Duchess Amal on a regular basis.”

  “I think you are wise to keep the council, Your Highness,” Sir Eagan said. “But you should appoint the members. And you must also appoint your Great Officers.”

  Achan had never heard of that. “What are they?”

  “The men who will serve you here, in Armonguard,” Prince Oren said. “Your staff, so to speak.”

  “Are there men serving in these positions now?”

  “No. The positions have been vacant for years,” Prince Oren said.

  And so, with a little help from the knights and Prince Oren, Achan spent the next hour appointing his Great Officers. Prince Oren would serve as Lord High Steward, which meant he would manage Er’Retian property and financial affairs.

  Sir Eagan would serve as Lord High Chancellor, or secretary to the king, until he could train Manu Pitney, as Sir Eagan wished to return to Carmine with Duchess Amal and travel to Zerah Rock to reconcile with his father.

  Achan could think of no one better for the position of Lord Great Chamberlain, officially charging Sir Caleb with the management of the king’s living quarters, wardrobe, and general well-being.

  Achan appointed Sir Gavin as Lord High Commander of the Royal Armies, which Sir Gavin had been doing already.

  Duchess Amal became Lady Chairman of the Council of Seven. But due to Cela Duchy’s rebellion, Achan divided Cela duchy in two for the time being. Half the land went to Barth Duchy and half went to Nahar Duchy. If the Hamartano women could not be reasoned with, perhaps the Council of Seven would become the Council of Six. Or there could be another war. Only time would tell.

  Duchess Amal would remain duchess over Carm Duchy, Lord Orson over Therion, Duke Pitney over Allown, and Lord Dromos over Nahar. Inko son of Mopti would become Lord Mopti and rule over Barth Duchy. With the strife there, it would not be an easy assignment.

  As king, Achan would preside over Arman Duchy. He left Lord Levy in Sitna for now. And he decided that Prince Oren’s son, Donediff Hadar, would move to Mahanaim as ruling lord, and Donediff’s second in command would be promoted to warden of Eret’s Point.

  Achan appointed Toros Ianjo as Lord High Priest.

  Which left only one position undecided: The Lord High Master of the Horse. Unfortunately, the stablemaster and his assistant had both died in the battle for Armonguard.

  “I would like to appoint Noam Fox,” Achan said.

  “The stray?” Sir Caleb said.

  Achan could only stare at Sir Caleb.

  “Forgive me. I mean no disrespect, Your Highness. I only wonder how much this young man could know about running a stables for a palace like Armonguard.”

  “Noam has run the stables in Sitna for the past five years,” Achan said. “He is young, but I have no doubt in his ability to care for and train horses.”

  “I’ll vouch for him,” Sir Gavin said. “He took masterful care of my horses when I was in Sitna.”

  “I shall draft official letters of appointment and send them to each individual appointed this day,” Sir Eagan said.

  “I’d like to take Noam’s letter myself,” Achan said.

  “Very well,” Prince Oren said. “If you do not have anything further to discuss, I would like to show you the how the repairs are coming along.”

  So Prince Oren led Achan and the knights to a balcony overlooking the northern arc of the keep.

  Achan turned in a circle, taking in the view now that he had the chance. The sunlight cast glittering diamonds over Lake Arman and warmed Achan’s head. The lake surrounded the whitestone castle on all sides with three bridges leading back to land: north, east, and west. The Gadowl Wall stretched across the western land like a line drawn in charcoal. To the north, the Gate Road wound up the Cela Mountains. In the distance beyond, he could see the peak of Mount Bamah, which stood halfway between Armonguard and Barth. The King’s Road twisted off over the eastern prairie until it vanished into the Nahar Forest on the horizon.

  Below, the bailey swarmed with movement. Men towed carts filled with supplies into the stronghold through the northeastern gate. Hay and rushes, food, firewood, lumber, and stone. Directly below the keep wall, two peasants sprinkled seed on the ground for a flock of chickens that fluttered about, clucking and pecking up breakfast.

  At the foot of the watchtower, masons mixed sand,
straw, lime, and water in a square trough, making mortar to repair the holes. Soldiers used a basket hooked to a rope to raise new stones up to the broken wall. A faint chorus of “The Pawn Our King” carried over the sound of building below.

  Achan should feel happy. The curse of Darkness had gone. He would soon be inducted as king. He was home, finally. Home for good. But the knot in his stomach consumed this thoughts. Would Sparrow blame him for Bran’s death? If only he had tried to help Bran sooner.

  “Armonguard has been home to the royal family since Echâd Hadar first came to Er’Rets,” Prince Oren said. “It will be so again.”

  Achan met his uncle’s measured gaze. “It’s a big house.” Much bigger than a cottage in the woods.

  Prince Oren chuckled. “It is what you make it, nephew. Would you like a tour of your home?”

  “I would like that very much.”

  And so went the rest of the morning. Prince Oren took Achan around the bailey, through the northern arc, into the western arc, and finally into the southern arc of the keep. They toured the dungeons, the kitchens, the stables and barn, the temple of Arman, the great hall, and the gardens.

  It all left Achan dumbstruck, especially the gardens.

  And then Prince Oren led Achan from the gardens into the foyer of the southern arc, passing under the grand staircase. This was the most ornate room yet. The ceiling rose two levels high. Eight whitestone pillars ran side by side, holding up the vaulted cathedral ceiling, which was a turbulent ocean of white plaster and dark walnut ribs and bosses. Intricate murals were painted onto sections of the walls. Achan made a note to study each painting another day.

  Prince Oren hobbled through the foyer and turned to face the grand staircase of red mosaic tile with a gold leaf banister. The rails were the same dark walnut as the wood on the ceiling.

  The staircase mirrored itself and swept up both sides of the room. It curled around the contours of the arched wall and met back in the center on the second level. There, a balcony wrapped around the room with a half dozen corridors leading out from it. Underneath stood the doors they had entered through. The doors to the gardens.

  Prince Oren led them up the stairs, down one corridor, and through a double doorway.

  “The throne room.”

  Achan’s pace slowed until he stood in the middle of the room. It was also two levels high with a flat coffered ceiling of gilded squares. Scarlet fabric lined the walls and was divided by gilded pilasters and gold torch sconces. Mosaic tile in a combination of porphyry, alabaster, shell-pearl, and turquoise covered the floor and sparkled in the torchlight.

  Two thrones sat side by side on a raised dais at the end of the room. The chairs had high backs and were upholstered in white satin that was embroidered in gold with the crest of Armonguard. Behind them, another dais, this one higher, held a simple altar crafted from walnut.

  “Would you like a moment here?” Prince Oren asked.

  “No.” Though Achan could not help but wonder who would sit on the chair beside his. Sparrow would, wouldn’t she? He wanted to go see her.

  Prince Oren led him to the king’s quarters next. The room was as large as three of Sitna’s cottages, but all the furniture and walls were draped in sheets of white linen. It was like walking through clotheslines. An ornate canopy bed stood against one wall. A fireplace occupied the opposite wall. To his left, on the arched wall, were a set of double doors. Two single doors divided the right wall into three.

  Achan lifted a linen sheet from the wall and found a mural beneath it. “You never used this room?”

  “I was not king,” Prince Oren said.

  Achan walked to the double doors and pulled one open. The linen sheet covering them swung out, revealing doors paneled in stained glass. They led to a large balcony that hung over where the northern arc’s wall met the southern arc.

  “King Axel liked to watch the sunsets from here.”

  Achan could only imagine. An image of Esek on the balcony in Sitna ran through his memory. He shuddered and went back inside. “Where do these other doors lead?”

  “The one in the corner is a privy. The one in the center leads to the queen’s quarters.”

  Why would the queen have her own chamber? Achan walked through the door. The walls were whitestone. No tapestries, no linen drapes, no furniture save an oak canopy bed stripped of even its mattress. “Why is this room not preserved like the king’s chambers?”

  “The queen did not sleep here,” Prince Oren said.

  “Who did?” When no answer came, Achan turned and caught Prince Oren exchanging a glance with Sir Gavin.

  “Me?” Achan asked, recalling how Sir Gavin said King Axel carried his son everywhere.

  “Nay,” Sir Gavin said. “King Axel used this chamber for his mistress.”

  A chill flashed over Achan. “What was her name?”

  “There were many, Your Highness,” Sir Caleb said, “as we discussed before.”

  Achan’s stomach twisted. “Did my mother ever sleep here?”

  “She did,” Prince Oren said. “In the beginning.”

  “And she slept where at the end?”

  “The northern arc, Your Highness,” Prince Oren said.

  “Way over there?” Unbelievable! For the northern arc was across the castle. “Show me.”

  Prince Oren took them another way, twisting through a labyrinth of corridors. Achan’s anger grew with every step that carried him further from the king’s chamber.

  Why so very far away?

  They finally entered a room preserved as the king’s chambers had been. Achan fell into a chair draped in linen, sending a poof of dust around him. “Where did I sleep?”

  Prince Oren pointed to a narrow door gilded in gold. “Through that door, with your nurse.”

  “A nurse.” So formal. So cold. So… depressing. After having waited so long for a child, could his mother not handle him on her own? “Was I a difficult child?”

  “Oh, no, Your Highness,” Prince Oren said. “You were a very pleasant babe.”

  Yet his mother clearly hadn’t been preoccupied with his father’s attentions, either. “What did she do all day?”

  “Busy being queen,” Prince Oren said.

  “Too busy to mother her own child?”

  “Course not,” Sir Gavin said. “You were Dara’s joy.”

  “You are forgetting, I fear, that royalty, even nobles, do not live as peasants,” Sir Eagan said. “A nurse is a common thing amongst the upper class. And that does not mean your mother did not care for you herself. Simply that she had help.”

  “But my father? Sir Gavin, you said that they were more in love than ever at the end. You told me—”

  “Aye, but it was a long road back to repair all the hurt that had been done,” Sir Gavin said.

  Achan took this information as a lesson from the father he would never know. He would not make that mistake for himself. “Take me back to my chambers.”

  When they reached the king’s chambers again, Achan pulled down the sheet that covered the bed, then the one that covered the balcony doors. Dust clouded the room. He opened the balcony doors and waved in fresh air. He looked to Prince Oren. “Am I permitted to make some changes?”

  “Of course,” Prince Oren said. “Change anything you like. We could remove the tapestries, repaint the room. All the furniture needs reupholstering anyway. I’ll have some swatches brought up and call the carpenters.”

  Achan held up a hand. “All that can wait.”

  “What, then, do you have in mind?” Prince Oren asked.

  Achan peeked through the door into the queen’s chamber. “Put this bed elsewhere. Make this into a solar.”

  Silence filled the room. Achan turned to see the men watching him. “Can I do that?”

  “You could,” Prince Oren said.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Highness,” Sir Caleb said. “But do you plan to marry Lady Averella soon?”

  Achan felt for the coin in his pocket. “I
honestly don’t know.”

  “Perhaps we should wait on such a major change until we know for certain,” Sir Caleb said.

  “I don’t see why,” Achan said. “If I don’t marry her, I shall have a relaxing solar. If I do marry her, then we shall have a relaxing solar.” He grinned.

  “So you would like your queen to have your mother’s chambers?” Prince Oren asked, his tone flat. “On the northern wing? I thought they displeased you.”

  “They did,” Achan said. “My dear advisors, whomever I marry will share my chambers.”

  Sir Eagan’s thin lips drew into a line. Sir Gavin’s eyes twinkled. Prince Oren hid a smile. And Sir Caleb honked out laughs like a goose.

  “What is so funny?” Achan asked.

  “The queen will be expecting her own space,” Sir Caleb said. “Privacy.”

  Achan frowned at whatever it was he was missing this time. “Privacy from her husband?”

  “Undoubtedly,” Sir Caleb said.

  Achan shook his head. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

  Sir Caleb laughed heartily now, as if Achan had asked Sparrow to live in the privy chamber. “You cannot surprise Lady Averella Amal with no chamber of her own.”

  Achan massaged the back of his neck. He did not understand any of this. If he was to be married, why wouldn’t he and Sparrow live together? They would have in his cottage in the woods. So why not here? “Very well. Sir Eagan, send a message to Lady Averella making this known.”

  “With all due respect, Your Highness,” Sir Eagan said. “It is customary that the queen have her own chambers.”

  Achan set his jaw. “Why?”

  “Because noblewomen are used to having space of their own,” Sir Eagan said. “For their maids and gowns and such.”

  Sparrow had grown up in a castle. She was used to such luxuries. “But I want us to share the same space.”

  “Once you are married, there is no impropriety in your sleeping in each other’s chambers,” Sir Caleb said, “but you should still have your own.”