From Darkness Won (59 page)

“Just a dream,” he said.

She sucked in long breaths through her nose. Darkness smelled sour.

“Are you with me, Vrella? If I let go, you’ll be silent and not scratch me anymore?”

She nodded, hoping he could discern her answer from the motion of her head.

Bran lifted his hand. “I’m sorry. You were screaming so loud I don’t doubt all Nahar Duchy heard you. And you scratched my face good.”

Vrell?
Jax bloodvoiced.
Are you well?

A dream, Jax. Forgive me. I did not mean to fall asleep.

Would you like me to relieve you?

No. I’m awake now.
“I’m sorry, Master Rennan.” She opened her satchel and felt for her jar of salve. “Let me put something on that scratch.”

“It’s not that bad, I’m sure.”

“Do not argue.” She dipped her fingers into the cold salve and rubbed it on his cheek where she thought she saw
d
iscoloration. “I do not like Darkness, Master Rennan. I never have.”

“Nor do I, Vrella.”

Something in that name gave Averella pause. “It’s been a long time since you called me
Vrella,
has it not?”

“Aye. Much is different now.”

“Can we not go back to how it used to be?”

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “I will always care for you. But both our hearts have changed.”

“Completely? Surely not.”

He did not speak for a moment, as if considering it fully. “He loves you. And you him.”

Her chest tightened at the mention of “he.” She pushed herself up and twisted around to face Bran. “That is not what I asked, Bran.”

“Ahh.” There was a laugh to his sigh. “So, you are calling me
Bran
again, are you?”

“Do you love me?”

The soft glint of his eyes met hers. His breath was shaky. “Aye, Vrella. I do…”

Averella’s heart leapt within her plate armor. She knew it! Merciful heart, there was still hope.

“…but I will not take you from him,” Bran said. “He needs you more than I do.”

“I do not want to talk about Prince Gidon’s needs. What about Gren? Do you love her, as well?”

“I-I don’t know, Vrella. I care for Gren, but it’s not the same. And she does not believe Arman’s truth, so…”

“
I
still love
you
.”

Another dry laugh. “No. You only think you do because you cannot remember that you don’t.”

“Sounds somewhat silly when you say it like that.”

Bran’s tone went sour. “The whole ordeal is maddening.”

“Mother says we quarreled.”

“I was angry. You left me without a word. Told me nothing of Esek, of dressing as a boy. And you never once spoke to me with your bloodvoice, though you were more than capable. I begged your mother for an explanation, and she finally told me some of it. But not where you were or when you would return. And then… when you did come back… you had changed. I came to understand that you did not love me as much as you loved the idea of me.”

She pushed up onto her knees and brushed her lips over his.

He gripped her shoulders and turned his head. “Vrella, please.”

She grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him again. It was like kissing a post.

Then Bran’s posture relaxed. He slid his hands into her hair and moved his mouth against hers, tasting of mentha. He slid his hands down to her throat. One finger tangled in the cord at her neck. Achan’s ring.

She pulled away. “I am sorry!”

Silence descended but for Bran’s heavy breathing. He finally growled. “Why must we always kiss to test our love?”

“I…” Had they done that before?

“Were you able to figure things out this time?”

Averella swallowed her shame. “Not really.”

He grunted. “Here.” He patted the ground beside him. “Sit and I’ll tell you what I know of the prince. Perhaps it will help you remember.”

Averella did as Bran asked, not wanting to hear about Prince Gidon, but feeling too guilty to protest. He told her
h
ow Achan had beaten Silvo Hamartano at a tournament, long before he’d known he was of royal blood, and how he was brave enough to insult Lady Jaira back after she’d insulted him for being a stray.

After a long while, Bran’s voice faded. Averella lay awake, trying not to think of all Bran had told her. But visions of Darkness came then, so she focused on herbs, picturing them in her mind and thinking about their medicinal uses, wondering how she knew so much about them all. When she finally did sleep, it was restless.

Dreams came again. Ebens. Esek. Prince Gidon. A man named Khai Mageia. Macoun Hadar. Sir Gavin. And Bran. In her dreams, she walked along a stone corridor, exiting the Mahanaim dungeons, wondering where might she find the best apples.

Mags would know.

“I don’t put ’em here, I just keep ’em here,” a man’s voice snapped from up ahead. “Take it up with Lord Levy if you like.”

Averella rounded the corner to see the back of a guard standing at the dungeon gate. The man he was talking to sidestepped as if preparing to leave.

Bran.

It felt strange to see him after so long. He looked different, but the same. Maybe even taller. She wanted him to recognize her, sweep her off her feet, and take her home. At the same time, she hesitated. If she revealed herself in front of this guard, he would report it. She might be taken prisoner.

As she approached the gate, she struggled to know what to do. She wanted to go home, did she not?

Of course she did, but first she had to help Achan.

Her surroundings shifted. She stood in a dungeon cell. The smell of mildew and human waste made her gag. Across the cell, Achan hung from his wrists, shackled face-first against the stone wall. Deep red welts crisscrossed his back. A guard raised his arm and whipped him again. Averella jumped and looked away, hands covering her face. But nothing could mask the sound of the leather against flesh and Achan’s grunts as he fought the pain.

She awoke, panting. Her chest burned as if coals were smoldering inside. It had been a dream. Simply another vision from Darkness. She lay on her side on the hard ground. She clutched the blanket to her chest, wanting to burrow under it. The blanket did not give.

She propped herself onto one elbow to see what the problem was. Master Rennan lay on his side, facing her. She had been pulling at his sleeve.

Reality came rushing back. They were in Darkness. Achan was far away, likely engaged in battle.

She shook her head. Why did it matter where Achan was? She lay back down, putting space between her and Master Rennan.

She suddenly knew that those last scenes had been memories. She had seen Bran in the Mahanaim dungeon. He had brought Achan’s bag. But Vrell had not confessed her identity. She could not fathom why she had kept silent.

But she already knew. She had not confided the truth to Bran that day because she had been too concerned for Achan’s welfare. More concerned about this mysterious young man than her betrothed.

She turned around and stared into the darkness where Bran lay sleeping. He had not been to blame for their parting.

She had been the one to go astray.

27

Achan and his army moved south toward Armonguard and the eventual battle—now only eight thousand strong, having lost a thousand in the battle of Reshon Gate. Desperate to be outdoors in the sun, Achan rode Scout behind Shung and Manu. Sir Caleb had insisted he wear his armor if he were going to ride, though he couldn’t wear his helm due to the burn on his ear. His new haircut garnered more stares than ever. The fireball had singed so much hair that Achan’s short haircut made him look like a little boy.

The army moved in one seemingly endless line, stretching in both directions as far as he could see, which wasn’t far considering the thickness of this massive forest. Achan rode beside his wagon, which moved at the back of the vanguard and at the head of the center of their procession. He could see the archers before Shung and Manu, bows strapped to their backs
o
r saddlebags. Scouts moved through the forest, keeping watch for any who might come at them from the sides.

Since Achan had ridden Dove yesterday, he rode Scout now. Scout tended to get jealous of Dove. Bart, the piebald packhorse Cole was riding, didn’t seem to care who he belonged to. Though he likely believed Cole his owner, if anyone, since Cole rode and cared for him.

Achan steered Scout up to Bart’s side. “How are you today, Cole?”

“I’m well, Your Highness. Thank you for asking.” Cole always spoke to Achan with more decorum than a noblewoman would use.

“Have you thought any more about training as a squire?” Achan asked.

Cole shook his choppy brown hair out of his eyes. “I’m but a stray, Your Highness.”

“So am I, in case you forgot. Both my parents are dead.”

Cole merely stared.

“Do you want to train as a squire or not, Cole? Let your rank have nothing to do with it and answer the question.”

Cole flushed so that his face blended in with his hundreds of freckles. He combed his fingers through Bart’s mane. “Suppose I’d like to try, Your Highness.”

“Then try you shall. Come to my tent after dinner tonight.”

Cole looked up with wide eyes. “I’m to be
your
squire?”

“Why not? I don’t have one. Only four shadows and a valet-page.”

“But you should have a trained squire, one who can serve you well. I could squire for someone else. Kurtz, maybe.”

Achan glanced behind him to where Kurtz and Cortland rode side by side. Sir Caleb had freed Kurtz at Achan’s request. “You’re
not
squiring for Kurtz.”

“But I bunk in the same tent as him. It makes good sense,” Cole said. “Then you could pick someone better.”

The last thing the lad needed was Kurtz teaching him the ways of the world. “Only knights and royalty take on squires. Since Kurtz is neither, he’s not an option. I’d prefer to train my own squire, Cole, and have chosen you. What say you?”

“I’m… I’m honored, Your Highness. Thank you!”

Achan chuckled. The boy was honored whenever Achan looked at him. “You’re welcome, Cole. Until tonight.” Achan rode up beside Shung’s mount. “I’m going to ride down the line.”

Shung nodded and turned his horse. “Kurtz, Cortland, ride ahead. Manu and Shung will follow the prince.”

Achan stifled a grin. Shung only ever referred to him as “the prince” when he spoke to others as the head of Achan’s guard. Otherwise, Achan was always Little Cham.

Achan followed Kurtz and Cortland down the line, greeting the men, especially those who bore injuries. Thanking them for their service. Most seemed happy to talk with him. Only two glared openly. Perhaps they’d been deeply affected by the segregation of Kurtz’s lady friends.