To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

Home > Fantasy > To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2) > Page 50
To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2) Page 50

by Jill Williamson


  “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 Câan 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 Câan.

  Achan thought back to the Teshuwah service in Melas. Trajen Yorbride has said Câan 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?

  Câan is Light. Achan needed Câan’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, Câan 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 Câan?”

  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 Câan’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 Granton Castle. 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.”
<
br />   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.

 

‹ Prev