To Darkness Fled (42 page)

"How could your father do this to you? His daughter?"

Lady Tara folded her arms. "My father has more concerns than my comfort. He has a village to feed and little to feed them. My marriage feeds Tsaftown indefinitely."

"There must have been another way."

Tara sniffled. "Had I but known I was favored in your eyes--who you truly were--I might have convinced my father to alter his plans." She scowled suddenly, wrinkling her slender nose. "Were you not taught that proposals of marriage are made to the father of a lady, not directly to her? A lady has no say in who she marries. This is terribly awkward and could have been avoided altogether. And why would you come to my chambers? I should not have let you in."

"Forgive me, Lady Tar--" He ran a hand over his hair and sighed. "Madame G-Gershom, please forgive me, for I'm still learning decorum. I'm afraid I've blundered terribly. I didn't know of your union, nor the best way to inquire about--"

A fist pounded on the door. "My lady?" At Carmack's dire tone, Achan wished for a second door through which to exit the room.

He could take no more. "Forgive me, madam. I was foolish." He strode past Lady Tara and pulled open the door. Carmack framed the doorway like a gate. Achan patted Carmack's shoulder as he slipped by. "Good man."

He fled down the stairs, praying Carmack wouldn't follow. Pausing on the second floor landing, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Of all the stupid, foolhardy, sentimental...

* * *

Vrell followed Achan to the ground floor, wondering what inspired his stiff posture and stormy gait, but suspecting she knew. He jerked a torch from a ring on the wall and slipped out the front doors.

Vrell clomped through the dark foyer and pushed open the doors. The cold seized her, stealing her breath. She scanned the dark bailey and spotted Achan's torso midway down one of the trenches, moving so fast each step nearly put out his torch.

"Achan, wait!" Vrell ran--boots crunching over the snow, icy air burning her lungs--until she reached his heels. "Are you... Where are you going?"

He half-glanced over his shoulder. "You're not my nursemaid, Sparrow. Stop following me around." He waved his arm. "Lo! Where is the firewood kept?"

Vrell leaned around Achan. A man carrying a load of kindling jerked his head toward to the side. "Behind the stables, my lord."

Achan surged down the trench, past the stables, then tottered down a narrow channel sprinkled with bits of bark, his breath a thin, grey cloud above his head in the torchlight.

He slowed in an icy clearing before a shelter filled with chunks of firewood. The air smelled of bitter sawdust. Vrell wrinkled her nose. What kinds of trees had these been? The core looked like regular wood, but the outer bark was black.

Achan jammed his torch into a ring on the side of the structure, wrenched an axe from a wide stump, and grabbed a piece of firewood with his other hand.

"Ahh." The wood slipped from his grip and clunked onto the icy ground. Achan grimaced at the black slime smudging his fingers. He wiped it on his trousers and picked up the wood again. "Cursed Darkness." He set the wood on a fat stump, twirled the axe in his left hand, and circled, glaring at the wood as if it were Jaira Hamartano. He swung the axe above his head and brought it down. Crack! Two chunks flew in different directions. Vrell twitched and she backed up a few steps.

Achan grabbed another piece of wood and chopped it.

Vrell wanted to speak, but no words came. Her heart ached to see him so angry. She watched helplessly as he split log after log. She sent a knock to Sir Caleb. If Achan would not speak to her, maybe Sir Caleb could help. Besides,
Tara
expected Vrell to come have a bath, which Vrell longed for.

But she didn't want to leave Achan alone.

Eight logs later, a hand gripped her shoulder. Sir Caleb stood beside her now, watching Achan with furrowed brows.

"How long has he been doing this?"

"He has chopped eighteen logs, sir."

Sir Caleb sat on a second chopping stump under the eaves of the woodshed. "You've still not bathed or changed?"

Achan brought the axe down, cleaving a sliver off the wood chunk. He rotated the chunk, heaved the axe over his head, and this time, chopped it in two. "Does it look like it?"

Sir Caleb folded his arms. "I'm sure Lord Gershom will appreciate your efforts to stock his firebox, but we're expected at dinner soon. The household will be waiting for you."

"You know what the worst is?"

"Canker sores?" Sir Caleb asked.

Vrell smiled.

Achan let the axe swing to the ground, the head scraping over the snow and woodchips as he stood, panting. "I would have loved them well." He yanked another piece of wood from the shed. Two more fell to the ground. Achan set it on the stump and twirled the axe in his left hand, circling.

"Loved who, Your Majesty. Or am I to guess?"

"Gren.
Tara
. They deserve better." He brought down the axe and the wood split. One piece tumbled to Vrell's feet.

"Better than what?"

Vrell knew she should go now, but Achan's words had ensnared her.

He reached back and snagged one of the fallen wood chunks. "Than pigs. Lazy men who love only themselves."

"You would love them both?"

He swiped the back of his forearm over his forehead. "Yes--no. I don't know."

Sir Caleb sighed. "You're too young for this burden. If you'd been trained all your life, things would be different. But for now, Achan, let us take this kingship one day at a time."

"I'm trying. But it's not fair."

"What's not, Your Highness?"

"Everything. Why did my parents have to die? Why did Nathak do this to me? Why did Poril beat me? Why did Gren have to marry
Riga
?
Riga
! Of all the men in Sitna, why him? And now he's dead and she's alone with child. An outcast. And
Tara
's father has married her to an insane man almost four times her senior. Why?"

"Lady Tara has wed Lord Gershom?" Sir Caleb rubbed his short beard and sighed. "You ask questions I cannot answer, and even if I could, would it matter? It's the way of the world. What's done is done. The past cannot be changed."

Achan let the axe fall to the ground and buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?"

"I'm headstrong. Foolish. Know nothing of being a prince."

"You will learn."

"I don't listen very well."

"How so?"

"I asked Lady Tara to marry me."

Sir Caleb uttered an, "Ahh," as if discovering the answer to a riddle long pondered.

Achan straightened. "I know you think me foolish, but I thought... Well... I hoped..."

"That she would love you?"

Achan kicked the log at his feet and sent it rolling. "I was certain she might...given time. She seemed so agreeable.
I'm
agreeable."

"Achan, whomever you marry will grow to love you."

"How do you know? Look what happened to Gren. Look at
Tara
. Will
she
grow to love her husband?"

"Perhaps."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I've lived longer than you. I've seen things that would surprise you greatly." Sir Caleb set his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. "Gavin and I, we had a friend like you. Passionate about everything. He fell in love with a woman whose father had other ideas."

"What happened?"

"In the end, she obeyed her father and married another. And I can tell you she did grow to love her husband. They raised several wonderful children."

"And your friend? What became of him?"

"Ah, well. I'll let him tell you himself. He's one of the prisoners we'll free from
Ice
Island
."

"He's in
Ice
Island
? That is your story of comfort?"

"Your Highness, I know this is difficult, but you and I are called to something bigger than ourselves. Er'Rets is depending on us to deliver them from Darkness. We're talking about the life and death of a world. Can you try to understand that?"

"Aye." Achan slammed the axe into the stump and left it there. His next words were so soft, Vrell almost couldn't hear them. "I just don't want to be alone anymore."

Sir Caleb stood and came to Achan's side. He put a hand on the scruff of his neck. "I know we're old men, but we're your friends. And you've got Arman."

"And Sparrow."

"Aye, you've got Sparrow as well."

At the mention of her name, Vrell snapped to her senses. She returned to the keep for a bath and
Tara
's side of this story.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sir Caleb didn't leave Achan's side, grooming him, encouraging him. Achan appreciated his efforts but found it patronizing.

Dinner's full course of awkward conversation didn't help matters. Carmack seated Achan to Lord Gershom's right. The man was a child's stick drawing--frail and withered--who reeked of body odor and rotting teeth. Lady Tara introduced him to Achan, but he didn't respond, simply stared straight ahead, a dab of drool at the corner of his mouth.

Then, halfway through dessert, he revived and yelled at the servants, accusing them of trying to kill him. He threw his cobbler at Lady Tara, knocked over the wine, and tried to choke Carmack.

The whole scene only depressed Achan further.

At breakfast the next morning, Achan sat at the arched high table with Sparrow, staring at his food, half asleep. Thoughts of his blunder the day before flitted through his mind like a dream. He shoved it away. His eyes drooped, then popped open in time to see Sparrow snag a slice of bacon off his trencher. The boy shoved the bacon into his mouth.

Achan scowled. "Thief."

Sparrow shrugged and grinned, cheeks bulging.

Achan elbowed him. Sparrow fell off the bench and crashed onto the floor.

Achan slid in front of Sparrow's trencher. He lifted the boy's honey bread and smiled. "Thanks for the seat."

As Achan bit into the bread, Sparrow scrambled to his feet and pounced. Achan laughed as he tumbled off the bench. Sparrow landed on top, and Achan shoved the remaining honey bread against Sparrow's cheek. Sparrow reached for the bread, but Achan flipped him onto his back before he could grab it. He pinned Sparrow's arms above his head with one hand. He peeled the honey bread from Sparrow's cheek and took a huge bite, over half the slice, and chewed slowly.

"Mmm. Thanks for sharing." He squished the remaining bread back on Sparrow's face and stood. As he stepped over the boy, Sparrow grabbed his boot, causing Achan to slip. His chin nearly whacked the tabletop, but he managed to get a hand on the bench and hop on one foot to catch his balance.

Sparrow let go and scurried back to Achan's place at the table. So Achan claimed Sparrow's spot. The boy fought to keep a straight face as he ate another slice of Achan's bacon as if nothing were amiss, bread still stuck to his cheek.

Achan reached over and peeled the honey bread away. He shoved the whole thing into his mouth.

"Really! Is this how the Crown Prince and his
squire
behave in a foreign stronghold?"

Achan's chewing slowed. His gaze flickered to Lady Tara, who stood beside Sparrow, her scowl fully devoted to the boy. Sparrow grinned sheepishly, face as pink as the bacon.

"Vrell!" Sir Gavin stood at the entrance of the great hall, waving Sparrow over.

Sparrow stood, bowed to Lady Tara, said, "Good morning, my lady," and scurried away.

Achan wanted to ignore Lady Tara but supposed that, after all his mistakes yesterday, a little decorum might go a long way. He stood and gave her a small bow. "Lady Tara."

She pressed her fingers to her lips, then pointed at his face. "You have some bread on your chin, Your Highness."