From Darkness Won (40 page)

Averella bit her bottom lip. She needed to look through his eyes and see for herself where he was.

How did she know to do such a thing? Yet, instinctually, she closed her eyes and concentrated on Bran’s face. A line of
m
en appeared before her. Dozens, perhaps hundreds. Distant torchlight made them look like an army of shadows. Chains rattled and clanked.

She gasped in a breath of rancid air. This was a prisoner escort. Such parties had come through Carmine many times during her life, transporting men to Ice Island.

Bran’s feelings pressed in on her. Fatigue. The tightness of shackles on his wrists and ankles. Soreness in his feet.
Master Rennan. This is Lady Averella. Can you hear me?

Bran’s familiar voice squeezed her chest.
I can, my lady. Are you well?

She forced her words to sound calm.
Your well-being is the concern at the moment. Where are you being taken?

They are moving us to Mahanaim, though it seems a waste. Please tell me you are still in Carmine?

I wish I could, Master Rennan. I am, instead, in a cottage outside Sitna.

Averella could feel annoyance rush through Bran’s body.
I should have known you would refuse reason.

There is no cause to be rude, Master Rennan. Much has happened in the past days.

I have time, should you wish to tell the tale, my lady, but know in advance I will speak my mind.

Speak his mind? Mercy! What an icy attitude he held toward her already.
Very well. Days ago, I lost my memory whilst in the Veil. Mother tells me horrors of how I have spent this past year. But none have distressed me as much as what a peasant woman named Gren has said. Master Rennan, please tell me it is false. Tell me we are still in love and that you have not deserted me for this peasant girl
.

Heat swirled inside Bran’s chest.
Averella, you go too far. I can no longer stomach your manipulation.

How dare you accuse me of manipulation! All I have confessed is truth. Ask my Mother if you do not believe.

I have no method of speaking to your Mother at present.

Well
…
ask the real Prince Gidon, then. For he is the one who rescued me from the Veil.

I have no method of speaking with the prince, either. I cannot bloodvoice, Averella.

Forgive me, Master Rennan. I did not know that I could bloodvoice until hours ago.

Why is Madam Hoff with you?

The name snagged in Averella’s mind.
Madam Hoff?

Gren. The “peasant woman.” What are you doing together?

Madam?
Gren is married?

Averella, please. You know fully well the details of Riga Hoff’s death and how his widow came to be in Carmine.

I do?
She suddenly recalled that Harnu had called Gren a widow. She squeezed her hands in frustration.
According to Gren, we left Carmine together. We went to Sitna to meet up with some of her old friends. That is where I was caught. Reggio Levy had me thrown in the dungeon, so Gren says. And Mother says I was stormed, which is to have the soul parted from the body. Lord Nathak planned to take my body to Mahanaim in a coffin. And Lady Fallina made horrible accusations of me. Prince Gidon was finally able to bring me back to myself. Yet they tell me that I—
No. She could not bear to tell Bran that she supposedly loved Prince Gidon.

The heat in Bran’s chest melted.
Averella, I am sorry I spoke harshly. You have gone through a terrible ordeal. And if you have truly lost your memory, I had no cause to speak to you so. But you
m
ust turn back. A war is brewing in the south. It is not a safe place for two women to travel.

There are four in our party, Master Rennan. Gren’s friends from Sitna. A blacksmith named Harnu Poe and a stableman named Noam Fox.

I know these men from my time in Sitna. They are not soldiers.

Bran’s voice soothed her. She found it familiar and comfortable, no matter what he said.
Is there no chance of you and I reconciling?

She could feel Bran’s stomach tighten.
If I believed you loved me
…
Yes, I would try again. But, Averella, give it time. Your memory will return, and when it does, you’ll know that the prince is the man for you. I only hope, for your sake, that he is a more patient man
than
I.

“We must help them, naturally,” Gren said. “Achan needs men of such quality. Sir Jax, Sir Rigil, and Bran can do him no good in prison.”

Averella and Gren now sat on one side of the table, across from Noam and Harnu, in the main room of the cabin.

“I do not doubt Sir Rigil or Master Rennan’s experience with a sword,” Averella said, “nor their loyalty to the rightful king. I do not know Sir Jax. Which house does he serve?”

Gren put a hand on Averella’s back. “You know Sir Jax well, my lady. He escorted you from Walden’s Watch to Mahanaim. He’s a dear friend to you, so you said.”

Averella wished she could remember. Not knowing the past was giving her a headache. Her left side ached, as well. And her
d
ress had so little structure she felt indecent before these men. If only she had changed into her own dress before leaving her room. “We must do what we can. Perhaps someone loyal to Prince Oren’s cause could assist us.”

“Achan’s cause,” Gren said. “For Prince Oren swore fealty to him. Achan showed me Prince Oren’s ring.”

My, how much had happened in so short a time.

Harnu crossed his arms across his chest. “If we can’t find anyone to help, how will we get to the dungeon?”

“In all the times I have visited, I have never seen the dungeons,” Averella said.

Gren took Averella’s hand and squeezed. “But you have, my lady! It’s where you nursed Achan back to life.”

Of course. Averella had forgotten that part of the story. “Well, I remember nothing of that time.”

“Servants might talk,” Harnu suggested. “I bet they don’t like what’s happening with the change of leadership.”

“We’d have to be careful,” Noam said. “Asking the wrong servant could get us arrested.”

“Master Poe, you are a forbidding fellow,” Averella said, taking in his muscular arms. “And my green travel dress is plain enough to allow me to pass as a merchant’s wife. Let us pose as man and wife. Master Fox, you and Gren can be our servants. We shall claim to be fleeing Darkness and offer our services to the New Council Mother told me about. That should be enough to get us inside the city. Have you any fabric, Gren? Perhaps you could make Master Poe a merchant’s tunic.”

“The bedspread might work.” Gren got up and entered the bedroom.

Averella smiled at the men. “We ride for Mahanaim in the morning. Pray that Arman will guide our steps.”

• • •

Averella’s decision made Mother unhappy. This did not deter Averella in her promise to Gren, however, which puzzled her. Though she often disagreed with her mother, she had never been bold enough to disobey. Perhaps this was some of Vrell Sparrow’s persona coming to light.

Whether Vrell Sparrow was inside her or not, the next morning Averella unpacked her green travel gown, thankful to have something proper to wear.

When she unlaced the peasant dress and slipped it off her shoulders, three things startled her. First—and she had suspected this since she awoke yesterday—she was wearing no corset. Second, a man’s ring hung on a gold chain around her neck. And third, linen bound her waist. No wonder she had been feeling sore.

No one had mentioned her being wounded in their tales of Vrell Sparrow. But this explained why she wore no corset, for it would aggravate a wound in such a location.

Averella clutched the bodice to her chest and stepped up to the candle to inspect the ring.

The wide gold band was topped with the crest of Armonguard—a castle—and engraved with the letters AEH. A ruby glimmered in the castle’s entrance. Three smaller rubies decorated each tower on the castle.

Merciful heart! This was King Axel’s signet ring.

It was all true. And even if Mother had pledged Averella to this mysterious Crown Prince, Averella would never wear such a token around her neck unless she cared for the man.

Achan Cham. Prince Gidon Hadar.

Not the Gidon Hadar she had always known and loathed. For all this time he had been an impostor.

She must truly care for the real Prince Gidon, then.

She set the ring on the sideboard and unwrapped the linen bandage. An ugly pink gash marred her smooth skin. A crusty brown scab held the wound together like wax. She could not be sure, but it looked like she had been stabbed.

She reeled over this. What kind of danger had she gone through? Hoping her travel pack held some answers, she searched it and found a satchel filled with herbs, jars of salves, linen strips, a lock of dark hair, a man’s red sleeve, and a small sword she somehow knew was called Firefox.

But no corset. Even with her wound, why would she travel so far and not bring one for when she was healed? The very idea was scandalous. Perhaps Gren had it in her things.

She pulled the bodice back over her arms and cracked open the door. “Gren? Could you come here a moment?”

A shadow passed between the distant lantern and where Averella stood. The floor creaked. The shadow stopped before the door and the faint light from Averella’s candle illuminated Harnu Poe’s face.

“Gren went out with Noam to check on the horses.”

Averella gasped and pushed the door closed. “Thank you, Master Poe. I shall wait until she returns.”

She remained beside the door until the heavy footfalls faded away. Merciful heart! How awkward to have such a man under the same roof. She couldn’t very well prance around in front of him without a corset. The very idea!

She could not wait until Gren returned. She pictured Gren’s face in her mind.
Gren? Can you hear me?

My lady?
Gren’s voice squeaked.
Where are you?

In my chamber, of course. Has no one spoken to you with bloodvoices before?

I did not think I was capable of such magic.

It is my magic, not yours.
This fact seemed obvious to Averella, though she could not guess why.
I need my corset. Do you have it?

No, my lady. You told me you disliked how tight they were. You said the boning in your gown was corset enough.

I would never!

Gren sighed as if exasperated with Averella.
Maybe not before, but that is what you told me on our journey. Something about having to wear a disguise for so long.

Heat flushed up Averella’s spine and burned her cheeks.
Thank you, Gren. Forgive my tone. I am not myself.