To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  Sir Gavin inhaled deeply. “Aye, Achan. She’s a stunning woman, I’ll grant you that.”

  “Plus she was kind to me when she thought me no more than a servant. Where else could I find such nobility of character amongst nobility? All the rest are like Jaira.”

  “That is unfair,” Vrell said. “How many eligible noblewomen have you met, Achan? Four at my count. I don’t trust Mandzee, though she is not as calculating as Jaira. But Lady Gali’s kindness equaled Tara’s.”

  Achan paled slightly. Vrell knew he loathed the idea of marrying Lady Gali.

  Sir Caleb jumped in. “Try to see the bigger picture, Your Majesty. We’ve traveled hundreds of miles and only passed over a portion of your kingdom. A king must reach as many of his people as he can—all of them, should be your goal. Taking Lady Tara as a bride will help little. Meaning her no disrespect, but she’s no one to the majority of your subjects.”

  That stung. The way these men spoke of a woman’s future…as if any woman would be thrilled with whatever offer came her way. Vrell dressed as a boy because she refused to fall victim to the false Prince Gidon’s demands. But she sympathized with Achan’s desire to choose his own wife, even if he had set his sights on the most perfect-looking woman Vrell knew.

  Achan’s scowl told Vrell he understood and didn’t like it. “And you would have me marry who? Lady Gali?”

  “No,” Sir Caleb said. “Someone of greater title than Lady Tara or Lady Gali.”

  “And what if this person doesn’t want me? Should we suffer an unhappy life together?”

  “For the sake of your kingdom? Yes,” Sir Caleb said. “You’re misled indeed if you think being king is a warrant to do whatever you please. A good king sacrifices his needs for those of his kingdom. A good queen would do the same.”

  “You’re wanting to be a good king, are you not?”

  Achan’s smoldering glare fixated on Inko. “I never said I wanted to be king at all. Maybe I’ll sign treaties with everyone and marry Gren.” He pivoted on his heel and stalked away.

  “Arman be helping us,” Inko said.

  Vrell hung her head. She wanted to be angry at Achan. Why, she couldn’t say. Jealousy over the way he doted on Tara, her own cousin? She hated to think herself so catty. She hadn’t wanted to marry Esek enough to go into hiding dressed as a boy. What if Achan fled as Vrell had? What would Er’Rets do without him? Esek would rule unchallenged.

  Achan faced a terrible burden indeed. Vrell would not wish it on anyone.

  * * *

  True to her word, Tara showed them to their rooms. Before Vrell could follow Inko into the chamber, Sir Gavin drew her aside.

  “I’m to follow Lady Tara downstairs to discuss what supplies we need. Would you like to speak with her privately regarding your situation? You’re family, are you not?”

  “She is my cousin. Do you think I should remain here?”

  “If that’s your wish, but I’d have to settle it with your mother first. I promised to see you safely home. For now, shall I speak to Lady Tara on your behalf?”

  What would Tara think of Vrell traipsing across Er’Rets with a pack of men? “Yes, thank you, Sir Gavin.”

  She followed Sir Gavin down to a small solar with a crackling fireplace. Vrell waited in the doorway while Sir Gavin requested supplies. He sat beside Tara on a high-backed sofa. Carmack stood at Tara’s side, recording Sir Gavin’s requests. With his furs removed, Vrell recalled where she knew him. He had been a high-ranking soldier on Lord Livna’s guard, a man Tara and their other cousin, Lathia, had fawned over on Vrell’s many visits to Tsaftown. How strange to see him acting as Tara’s servant. Why was he here? And why was Tara here?

  Vrell’s stomach clenched, heavy with dread. What if the knights permitted Achan his wish to marry Tara? She would make a lovely queen. She was so beautiful… So perfect.

  Sir Gavin leaned close to Tara and whispered. Carmack straightened, his dark eyes boring into the top of Sir Gavin’s back, clearly concerned for his mistress. Vrell’s heart pounded. She licked her lips, praying Tara would not make a scene.

  Sir Gavin bid farewell to Tara and winked his brown eye at Vrell on his way out.

  Tara kept her eyes downcast. “Leave us a moment, Master Demry? Stand guard outside?”

  Carmack’s scowl flashed between Vrell and Tara. “Of course, my lady.” He bowed and marched out the door, casting his stormy expression down on Vrell as he passed.

  “Close the door, boy,” Tara said.

  Vrell obeyed, flushing at Tara’s playful tone.

  “Now come closer where I can get a good look at you.”

  Vrell took a deep breath and moved before the sofa.

  Tara’s narrowed eyes darted over every inch of Vrell. “Averella? This cannot be true!”

  Despite Vrell’s smile, tears gushed from her eyes. “Oh, Tara.”

  Tara stood and seized Vrell in a tight embrace. “Dear one, sit and tell me your tale. I had heard from your mother you were on holiday.” Tara held Vrell’s hand, sat on the sofa, and drew Vrell beside her. “Aunt Nitsa confessed Prince Gidon still sought your hand. I could not blame you for your refusal. I hid in this room trembling when I believed he had come here today. But what of it now? For I discover the stray squire in my solar and not the evil prince. I can scarcely believe it. Certainly that traitor no longer seeks you?”

  “Oh, but he does.” Vrell told Tara of Esek’s warrant for her arrest, both as Vrell Sparrow and as Lady Averella Amal. “I only want to get home. Can you assist me?”

  Tara’s expression tightened. “I wish I could, but I am all alone here, as you can see. We have little funds, and I do not trust my husband’s men—”

  Vrell’s breath snagged. “Your husband?”

  “Lord Gershom.” Tara held out her left hand to show a thick silver and jade ring. “My father made the match three weeks past.”

  Vrell clapped a hand over her mouth, but it did not stop the tears.

  “Oh, Averella. Do not cry on my account. It is not so bad. He is rarely lucid and when he is, he forgets what he is doing and often falls asleep.”

  Vrell managed to squeak out, “Is he ill?”

  Tara nodded. “He had a fever last year that left him altered. It still comes and goes. Sometimes he is quite pleasant, sometimes he is a tyrant, but mostly he is queer or sleeping.”

  “But you…are you well?” Vrell couldn’t imagine anything so horrible. Arman, why?

  Tara’s expression softened. “I confess, I never imagined I would be the lady caught in Old Lord Gershom’s web. But Mother sent Carmack as my guard. He makes sure I am safe. Do not dwell on my marital woes,” she squeezed Vrell’s hand and whispered, “for our marriage has yet to be consummated. Thank Arman for that—and Carmack. He manages to steer me and my husband in opposite directions every chance he gets.”

  Vrell threw her arms around her cousin. “Tara, I am so sorry I was not here for you.”

  Tara squeezed Vrell tight. “You are, and always will be, forgiven. Let us talk no more of my depressing life. What of you?” She raised her sculpted brows and grinned. “Traveling with the lost prince? How thrilling it must be. He is the most handsome young man I’ve ever met, and sweet too, don’t you think? The story will undoubtedly go down in history, and you are in the midst of it all.”

  The heaviness left Vrell’s stomach. Tara could not marry Achan. Joyful heart!

  Then she squeezed her eyes shut. Arman forgive her! That she should be pleased with Tara’s misfortune… She could hardly think straight.

  “Tara. Achan…he…” She opened her eyes. “He seeks to marry you.”

  Tara gasped. “Me?”

  “He doesn’t know you are already wed. None of us did. Weeks ago, the knights told him he had to marry. Jaira tried to get her hands on him in Mirrorstone—it was the most disgusting display. But Achan thought of you instantly. You so enamored him at Esek’s coming-of-age banquet. Sir Gavin and the knights said you were not the best match, and
he has been cross ever since. He can be quite stubborn, Tara. I do not doubt he will go behind their backs and try to speak with you. Have you told Sir Gavin you are Lord Gershom’s wife?”

  “I did not.” Tara reached under the sofa and pulled out a wicker basket. She drew out a handkerchief, dabbed her eyes, and fell back in the sofa, her golden curls spilling over the brown cushion. “What bad timing my life has had! Who will they choose for him then? You? It must be you, for I can think of no one else but Glassea, and she is a Hadar already.”

  Vrell shook her head. “Achan thinks me a boy—his squire, Tara, and a poor one at that. I do not wish him to know who I am. Not like this.”

  “But you are Lady Averella Amal, heir to Carm! Surely they would consider you. The traitor did.”

  Vrell sighed. “They have mentioned my name.”

  Tara grasped Vrell’s knee. “You mean…they don’t know you are you? They talk about you as if you’re not there?”

  “Not often. Sir Gavin is the only one who knows who I am. The rest believe I am a boy.”

  Tara sucked in a sharp breath. “Even Achan, the prince? He thinks you’re a boy?” Tara’s eyes sparkled, intoxicated with the juiciness of this information. “So they still might choose you.”

  “No. Maybe. Tara, even if they did, I would refuse. I love Bran, as you well know.”

  “Bran.” Tara rolled her eyes and waved her handkerchief. “He is not to be king.”

  Vrell drew in a sharp breath. “I have been hiding nearly a year to avoid what has happened to you. The title of king means nothing to me. Achan is like a brother. And besides, he loves you.”

  Tara threw up her hands. “He cannot possibly love me. We’ve only spoken a total of five minutes in our life. No, he loves the idea of me, poor dear.” She sniffled. “I am convinced, Averella, that true love is a myth. Still, I do hope you and Bran can make it work. And I pray whoever is chosen for Achan… well… that he will be happier than I.” She reached out and stroked Vrell’s hair. “Averella. You are disgusting. When did you last bathe?”

  Vrell wrinkled her nose. “In Mirrorstone, and then the water was not fresh.”

  Tara clucked her tongue. “And how many days have passed since Mirrorstone?”

  “Almost three weeks, I am afraid,” Vrell whispered.

  “Gracious! The men as well?”

  “Oh, no. They have taken several baths, but… Oh, Tara. It has been such a trial. And men can be so revolting. They bathe together, often in a steam room or lake where I could not go. If not for bloodvoices, and Sir Gavin’s help, I would have been discovered long ago.”

  Tara straightened. “You have the king’s gift too? How could I not have known this?”

  Vrell shrugged. “We only discovered it before I left for Walden’s Watch.”

  “You went to Coraline?” Tara’s eyes sparkled. “How did Shoal look?”

  Vrell grinned. “Handsome as ever, and in love with a fisherman’s daughter.”

  “Mercy. Let us speak no more of thwarted love.” Tara dabbed her eyes again. “I may not be able to take you home, but I can help you bathe, at least. Go gather your things. I will have a bath drawn for you in this room. Tell Sir Gavin you are staying with me tonight, then come back here. If I have not returned, wait outside the door. I am going to fetch a few things from my room.” She took Vrell’s hand in hers and squeezed. “I will take care of you tonight, dearest.”

  25

  Achan stood by the door of his bedchamber listening to Sir Gavin’s heavy footsteps fade down the hall. He glanced at the tub, at the steam rising above the clear water. A bath would warm his very bones, but first…

  He cracked open the door to an empty hallway and crept out, uncertain what he was looking for or how he’d know if he found it. He turned a corner and almost ran into Sparrow.

  The boy frowned, his cat-like eyes scanning Achan. “I was told you were talking a bath.”

  “And?”

  “Well…clearly you have not.”

  Achan narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care?”

  “I simply… Well… I thought…”

  Achan laughed. “Take my bath, Sparrow. Tell Sir Gavin I said so if he asks. Enjoy.” He leaned close to Sparrow’s ear. “I do believe they scented it with rose water.” He waggled his eyebrows, stepped around the boy, and continued to the stairs.

  “Achan.”

  He spun around.

  “Please do not go to her.”

  Achan’s muscles stiffened. “To who?”

  “Lady Tara.”

  Achan gripped the boy’s shoulder. “Are you reading my thoughts?”

  Sparrow’s eyes widened. “Of course not. I just know you. But you might save yourself the trouble and hear her thoughts first.”

  “I won’t violate her mind.” Again. “It isn’t right.”

  Sparrow shook his head. “I only meant… Well… You do not have all the information.”

  “And you do?”

  “I…I believe Lady Tara is married. She wears a ring on her finger.”

  Achan couldn’t tolerate Sparrow’s meddling today. “I wear a ring and I’m not married.” Achan spun the boy around and shoved him toward his bedchamber. “Don’t fret, Sparrow. Go, take my bath, enjoy it, smell like roses, and leave me be.”

  “But—”

  “Now!” He winced at the level of his voice and added in a soft tone, “Please. I’ll beat you if you insist.” He grinned to make it clear he was only jesting, then walked to the stairs where he met a boy carrying a bolt of cloth.

  “Boy? Can you tell me where I might find Lady Tara? I must speak with her.”

  “Aye, m’ lord. I’ll take you to her.”

  Achan followed the lad to a large wooden door on the third floor. The crest of Meribah Corner was carved into the wood with great care, the dagger fabulously ornate with jewels encrusted into the hilt. Odd that Lady Tara should have the best chamber in the house. Perhaps Lord Gershom slept in the garrison with his men as some captains did.

  “Many thanks, boy.”

  The boy bowed and hurried back down the hall. Achan knocked on the door. After a long moment, the door swung in and a slender maid curtsied. “My lord?”

  “I wish to speak with Lady Tara. Is she in?”

  “One moment, my lord.”

  The maid shut the door in Achan’s face. Hurried steps clumped inside the room followed by whispers and scurrying about. Again the door opened.

  The maid said, “Lady Tara will see you now.”

  Achan stepped into a warm bedchamber. Tapestries hung over the timber walls, depicting the history of Meribah Corner. A dark wood sideboard ran along one wall, a large fireplace beside it. Two large windows, solid with tracery circles, filled another. A vast canopied bed with green and blue striped drapes trimmed in gold fringe dominated the third wall. Two white fur pelts covered the center of a red clay tile floor. A pair of man-sized slippers sat on a long footstool near the bedside. Achan frowned and found more signs of a man. Two swords hanging on the wall. A fur jerkin draped over a chair.

  Yet there was also a standing embroidery frame and stool. Nearly complete, it depicted a large ship at sea.

  “It’s my brother’s boat, the Brierstar.” Lady Tara stood before the sideboard, wringing her hands.

  Achan glanced at her fingers. Indeed, she wore a large gold ring. He swallowed. Sparrow couldn’t be right, could he? There must be another explanation. Achan pushed aside his doubts and forged ahead with his plan.

  He bowed low. “Lady Tara, I must speak with you.” The maid who stood against the door watched him with narrowed eyes. “Alone, if that’s permissible?”

  The maid looked at the floor.

  Lady Tara’s cheeks darkened. “No, Your Highness. Forgive me, but that would be quite improper.”

  Of course. Achan’s resolve shrank. He didn’t know how to offer marriage properly. His heart galloped in his chest. He licked his chapped lips and took several short breaths.

 
“Are you well?” Lady Tara poured liquid into a mug and offered it with trembling hands. “Drink. The ale will settle your stomach. I hope Meribah Corner has not made you ill?”

  Achan gulped the lukewarm ale and handed her the empty mug. “No, my lady. It’s nerves alone that have upset me.”

  She set his mug on the sideboard, keeping her back to him. “Nerves, Your Highness?”

  Achan didn’t speak. He couldn’t do this. Yet he clenched his fists, determined to try. He wouldn’t marry a stranger. If he won Lady Tara’s favor, surely Sir Gavin and the others wouldn’t force him to go against his oath.

  Lady Tara spun around. “You are a mystery. When first I met you, you were a squire. Later that evening, you donned a servant’s uniform. The following days you were a Kingsguard knight. Now you are a prince. Tell me, what will you become next?”

  One long step brought him within inches of her blue eyes. “Your husband, if you’ll have me.”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.

  The maid squeaked and ran out of the room.

  Achan’s heart raced. He should do something better, more dramatic. He knelt at Lady Tara’s feet and grasped her free hand in both of his. She shook her head and tried to pull away but he held fast. “As heir to the throne I’ve been charged with choosing a bride. I would have none but you.”

  Tears snaked down her rosy cheeks. This wasn’t going well. He reached up to dab her cheeks with his fingers.

  She grasped his hand and squeezed. “Your Highness, I am desperately sorry, but—”

  “Unhand her!” Boots stomped over the floor. Before Achan could turn, a strong hand gripped the neck of his doublet and dragged him back.

  “Carmack, stop!” Lady Tara yelled.

  Carmack flung Achan back through the embroidery frame. He skidded over the tile on a white pelt, rigid with shock.