To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  She wanted to stop him from saying things they would both regret, but the intensity of his gaze kept her from protesting. “I do not belong here, Achan. You must understand that much.”

  “You belong with me. I need you.”

  “Whatever for? Sir Eagan has proven an excellent healer.”

  His blue eyes pierced her defenses, chipped away at the shield around her heart. He opened his mouth twice to speak, but said nothing. His tongue-tiedness set her pulse racing. “My heart does not beat for Sir Eagan.”

  She wilted. “No, Achan. None of that.”

  His brows furrowed. “Why do you fight it? I promised myself I would marry you no matter what anyone says.”

  She tried to pull her hands from his, but he held tight. “We are from different worlds, you and I. This can never be.” Yet Lady Averella could certainly marry the prince. Would her lies never cease? How had everything gotten so twisted?

  His eyes pleaded. “Don’t say that, Sparrow, please don’t. I want you here. I…”

  She wanted to believe him, but how could it be true? “You wanted Tara a short time ago.”

  He puffed out a long breath. “I wanted Tara over a stranger, though she nearly was one.”

  “And Gren before that.”

  “But she… But you are different. You are my dearest friend.”

  Unlike Esek, and the other suitors over the years, Vrell knew Achan did not seek her inheritance, for he knew nothing about it. Still, Vrell pulled her hand from his grip. “You fall in love with every girl who crosses your path. I will not forget how you stared at Beska or Yumikak. Even Lady Lathia.”

  “Those silly girls are nothing like you.”

  She set her jaw. “Precisely. I will never be pretty enough for your arm.” Even Bran had deserted Vrell for Gren—a peasant!—because she was prettier. “For three months we’ve known each other, you never once suspected me to be a woman—I mean, look at me.” Tears gathered in Vrell’s eyes, blurring Achan’s face. “I am a shapeless, pale…twig! With hair like, uh…like tree lichen! I am as feminine as a broomstick. And a voice like a mule. I may as well be an adolescent boy.”

  He rose onto his knees, eyebrows puckered in sympathy. See? He agreed! He could see plainly that she was everything she knew she was.

  But then he took the sides of her face in his hands and brushed away her tears with his thumbs. “No, Vrell.”

  He had never called her Vrell before.

  “You were never a very good boy. There was always something bafflingly odd about you. I never cared for any of those other girls. You are so smart and tough. And you are beautiful.”

  She shook her head.

  “Yes. You’re a flower. You have the sweetest face. Your hair is like black corn silk.” He pushed his fingers back through her hair. “You always smell like rosewater and have made me crave the smell. And what I love best about you—besides how soft you feel—is how your eyes pierce me every time you look my way, like I’m your target and your arrow struck true, bringing me to my knees. And the only way I can live is to look on those life-sustaining green eyes.”

  Her resistance dissolved at the tender honesty of his words. Joyous heart! He did care. Without a word, she brushed her lips against his.

  His kiss was soft, hesitant this time. She felt their minds connect, sensed his caution, his exhilaration. His hands massaged her head, then one moved to her waist and he pulled her to the edge of the bed. His movement jarred her wounded side. He pulled back his face and gasped with her, feeling her pain.

  Sorry.

  He moved his hand back to her face, kissed her forehead, then hugged her head to his chest. She could hear his heart drumming. His thoughts spilled into her mind like water from a jug.

  I never wanted to hurt Sparrow. Never. She means too much to me. Losing her was proof of that. But how can I keep her? What would Sir Caleb say? He recalled Sparrow’s joke of a stray mistress. Could she have meant that? Been hinting? Lots of noblemen took mistresses. Maybe my wife—from Sir Caleb’s arranged marriage—could have her own space, and I could keep Sparrow with me, always.

  Fire coursed through Vrell’s veins. She pushed away, closing her mind and sucking in a long breath to keep herself from crying. “I knew it! You are no different.”

  His wide eyes were unfathomable, as if he were innocent. “What’d I do?”

  If Achan truly knew Arman, he would know that yoking himself to multiple women would ruin them all. “This matters more than any feelings we may have for one another. You do not love Arman. You only love yourself.”

  He pulled back, though not far enough to give her room to escape. “I-I love you. I told you so. I meant it.”

  “No, Achan. You think you can keep me in a room in your castle, to be your, your…” She blew out another furious breath. “Ladylove!” She seized her pillow and struck him with it, gasping at the pain stabbing her side. “Get out!” She struck him again and let her pillow fall to the floor. She panted, whispered, “Leave this chamber, now.”

  “I’m sorry!” He groaned to his feet, drew back a step. “I didn’t mean those thoughts. They were for me alone. Just me. Just… thinking. W-We don’t have to be together. No one even has to know you’re a woman. Or you could be the prince’s chosen sister. Wise female advisor. We could—”

  “Achan, such a thing could not be done. It would be scandalous.”

  “I don’t care. We could be the pair who changed their stations in life. W-We’ll vow to abolish strays from all Er’Rets. Grant peasant rights to everyone.” He stared at the floor. All was still, the crackling fireplace the only sound. “And if you grew to love me…”

  She wished he would let go of his scheming. It took all her effort not to look at him, his eyes, his lips. Her throat burned. “Achan, I became a man to avoid marriage.”

  “To someone horrible. I’m not so bad, right?” He grinned, but it did not reach his eyes. “And I love you. So it won’t be like marrying a man thrice your elder or one who only means to use you.”

  “It would be worse.”

  Achan pulled back farther as if she had slapped him. “You don’t care, even a little?”

  “Your own thoughts betrayed you, Achan. You must marry a noblewoman.” And he would never know her real name. She decided that then and there. She should never have let down her guard. He could not be trusted.

  Pain flashed through his pale eyes.

  How could she make him understand? “For you, it can never be about love. A king is not free to love. Too many things distract. His realm must always come first.”

  “But a king can do what he wants.”

  “You sound like Esek, demanding your way.”

  He huffed, eyebrows sinking over his eyes. “I’ll not lose you.”

  “You do not have me to lose.”

  “Tell me you don’t love me.”

  Vrell had no idea where she got the courage to answer so calmly. “I do not love you. And I do not see how you can honestly love me. You have known I am a woman three days.”

  Achan set his jaw. Pouting.

  She swallowed her threatening tears. “Achan, what you call love is your craving for love. And I do love you like a brother. But I will not be a convenience to any man’s fears of loneliness. Let me go. Learn to be king. Take a real queen. Serve Arman and your kingdom. That is your purpose.”

  “A purpose I’ll serve better with you at my side.”

  “It cannot be. Despite all the obvious reasons why we could not be together, I will not be a crutch for you to hide from Arman. He seeks your full heart, and you must face him.”

  “You kissed me back.”

  She glanced down at her hands, squeezed them, and forced cold words past her swollen throat. “It was a mistake.”

  His jaw jutted out and his gaze seemed to burn into her. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe what you must. I apologize if I misled you.”

  Achan’s eyes glazed. He seemed to shrink. He limped towar
d the door, turned back, ran a hand over his head, and shuddered a sigh. “Forgive me, I—” Still limping, he fled from the room, the door swinging in his wake.

  Vrell eased back down to her back and rolled on her side, finally allowing the tears to come.

  * * *

  Iron gauntlets squeezed Achan’s chest. He limp-skipped out of the inner gate and across the lawn to the edge of the pool side of the moat, seeking a tree to destroy. A small cluster of pine trees stood between the curtain wall and the curve of the pool. His right arm hung slack at his side. At least the injury wouldn’t hinder him as much, being left-handed.

  He squeezed Ôwr’s suede-wrapped grip in his left hand. A thin pine tree at the edge of the moat stream volunteered its service. Achan hacked into it. Ôwr, sharper than Eagan’s Elk, peeled back a long swatch of bark, baring the white inner wood.

  An image of Gren sitting under the allown tree flooded his mind, the day she’d watched him attack the wilted poplar with his waster. A great fury rose in his chest, and he sliced into the tree again and again, wanting to hurt it, wanting to make it look the way he felt. Broken, useless, vile, unlovable.

  His blade cleaved deep into the trunk, and he screamed in frustration as he ripped it free. A sudden calm oozed over his fury. His arm fell to his side. Ôwr’s tip swished through the grass. He stepped back, blinked at the mutilated tree, and recoiled.

  “If it is firewood you seek, there are better ways.”

  Achan spun around to face Sir Eagan. Now he understood his sudden calm. He scowled, knowing Sir Eagan had used his bloodvoicing trick to pacify Achan’s emotions. “Withdraw from my mind or I’ll force you out.”

  Sir Eagan tipped his head to one side and smiled. “Only if you promise to let the tree go.”

  Achan choked up a knot of phlegm and spit it out. “This tree is helping me cope with my latest prison.”

  “It is not the tree that concerns me, Your Highness, but my sword. You shall dull the blade using it as an axe. I am certain we could find you an axe if you must chop, though I do not recommend such physical labor with your wounds.”

  “This isn’t your sword. It’s Ôwr. I took it from Esek after I cut off his arm. You may have Eagan’s Elk back.”

  “Rhomphaia.”

  “Whatever.” Achan lifted Ôwr in front of him and studied the gleaming crossguard. It was so beautiful, but had caused so much pain. Would it continue to kill at his direction? He tossed it onto the grass. A sudden ache seized his right shoulder and his body tensed against the pain. Gloom hung heavy on his body, like clothing drenched from rain.

  Sir Eagan must have withdrawn his calming thoughts. Achan lowered himself to the wet grass, groaning, and leaned back on the mutilated tree. Spray from the waterfall misted him and he welcomed the coolness.

  Sir Eagan slid is boot a step closer over the slick grass. “Care to talk about it?”

  Achan’s lips parted. “There’s nothing to say.”

  “Maybe not. But confession is often like steam from a kettle. Without a place to release, it will explode.”

  Achan gestured at the tree. “That’s why I chop.”

  “Are you certain I cannot help?”

  Achan shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “No?” Sir Eagan sighed. “In your infinite wisdom of—what is it, fifteen years?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Beg your pardon, sixteen years. By your aged wisdom, you must have a detailed account of my life, is that correct, Your Highness?”

  “No.”

  “Then do not assume you know me. I loved a woman in my youth. We were younger than you when we met. Known each other since our births, really, but it was not until I moved to Tsaftown to squire for Lord Livna that she captured my heart. Lady Nitsa Livna. Some know her today as—”

  “The Duchess of Carm,” Achan said. “I know. Sir Caleb told me.”

  “Aye. Then she was merely a lesser noblewoman from Tsaftown, and I was a lesser nobleman from Zerah Rock. I knew the gods had blessed me. We were perfect for each other. I spent the summer courting her with all my efforts. It worked quite well. She professed her love for me daily, and I her.”

  “But her father refused?”

  “Her father did not care either way, until Duke Amal saw her at a banquet that fall. He saw her and wanted her. He was older, richer, and Duke of Carm. Nitsa’s father gave his blessing that night. That night, my boy. Amal did not love her. He had never even spoken to her. But he snagged her from me and there was nothing I could do. I begged her to run away, of course, but she would not desert her family. They were married a month later.

  “My father expected me to go on like nothing had changed. ‘Pick another girl,’ he told me over and over. But I did not want another girl. And I refused to go to court and pretend I did not see Nitsa by his side…then Averella.”

  “Averella? That’s the lady Esek wishes to marry.”

  Sir Eagan met Achan’s eyes. “What do you know of that story, for I have heard little?”

  “Oh, I know little, as well. Esek wanted to marry her to gain control of Carm. So she went into hiding. She’s betrothed to a friend of mine. Bran Rennan is your brother’s squire.”

  “He is a nobleman?”

  “The cousin of one, I think. Yet I fear Bran’s feelings have changed.” Achan frowned at the thought of Bran and Gren but forced himself to stay on topic. The conversation distracted his pain. “Both Esek and Lord Nathak have been trying to take Carm by marriage. Esek to the lady Averella and Lord Nathak to the duchess. He’s been asking for her hand for the past few years. Before Duke Amal was in the ground, they say.”

  “Duke Amal is dead?” Eagan gripped Achan’s wounded arm. “Are you certain?”

  Achan cried out. “Careful!”

  Sir Eagan released Achan’s arm. “Forgive me. I forgot.”

  Achan cradled his arm until the throb lessened. “The duke died three or four years back. From a fever, I think.”

  Eagan exhaled. “Perhaps there is still hope.”

  “For what?”

  “That after all this time, almost eighteen years…that Arman might reunite me with my family. This old man might find love yet.”

  Achan studied Sir Eagan’s wistful expression. “Then you do understand.”

  “I do, my boy.”

  “But I’ve loved two women and both denied me.”

  “Two women and only sixteen years of age? My, you are wise to protect your heart so.”

  “You mock me?”

  “I seek only to lighten your melancholy. You are a prince. You cannot marry just anyone, nor should you pledge your heart or body to anyone until you do marry. And frankly, Your Highness, I do not recommend taking multiple wives and mistresses. It is not how Arman designed it. I know kings have different views on such things, but—”

  “I would never.” Sparrow’s horror had been enough to strike that idea from his mind. What might Gren say about such a thing? Would she agree with Sparrow?

  Sir Eagan patted Achan’s shoulder. “An admirable declaration now, but when the desire comes into your heart and you have the power to have anything you want… Temptation is a cruel thing. I urge you to understand: love is much more than what you feel. That, Your Highness, is the desire of a man for a woman. You would be wise to discern the difference before those feelings best you.”

  “Then what is love?”

  “For you to love Vrell? Love is sacrifice, letting her go because it is her choice and the right thing to do.”

  But Achan had done that for Gren. He had arranged her marriage to Riga to keep her safe from Esek. And what good had come of it? Riga was dead. Gren with child. And Achan was still alone. “How can you say your sacrifice was right when your lady didn’t wish to marry the duke?”

  “Because I have lived through my pain to see the other side. Duty calls men and women to all kinds of sacrifice. But when the lusts of our hearts blinds us, we sacrifice goodness to get what we want. In anger I
turned away from my birthright, I gave it up to wallow in my pity of losing Nitsa. Now I discover my father’s second son has pledged his service to you. So who will rule Zerah Rock when my father dies? He has no other heir. Some minor noble will likely take the stronghold. Maybe he will be true to the Barak heritage, maybe he will not.

  “And Zerah Rock is but a small city in a distant corner of your kingdom.” Sir Eagan poked Achan lightly in the chest. “It means little in the scheme of things. But consequences are often more far-reaching than any man realizes. Should you forsake your birthright to chase after the love of your heart, what will become of Er’Rets? Who will rule in your stead? Esek? Lord Nathak? Who will protect your people? Each faction will attack the other. They will take the land in small bites until all is devoured by Darkness. Innocent men, women, and children will die.”

  Achan stared at Ôwr, partially hidden by the short grass.

  Sir Eagan went on. “Whether you like it or not, Arman has chosen you. This is the highest calling a man can receive. So ask yourself, my prince, what price is the love of your heart worth? The death of your father and mother? Lord Livna? Fifteen men in battle yesterday? How many would you allow to die for nothing so you and the love of your heart can be together? You may not like the meal you have been served, but will you at least show yourself worthy of it? Many have given their lives to see you to this place. Would you forsake their sacrifice for your own?”

  “Why can’t I have both?”

  “You will, someday, find what you seek. Arman will give you the desire of your heart when his timing is right.”

  Achan searched his memory for his least-favorable match on Sir Caleb’s list. “Lady Halona of Nesos? She’s twelve.”

  “She will grow. Girls do, you know, grow into women.”

  “But she’s not my choice.”

  “No. And for that, I am sorry, and I do understand. You need only say the word ‘sacrifice’ to me and I shall spirit you and Ôwr away to the nearest forest and you shall attack whatever trees you see fit, if that will help you with the pain. But I assure you, my prince, from a man who understands your pain, destroying trees will not help. Only Arman can.”