From Darkness Won (11 page)

“Sir Rigil, you are
not
my father. You have no right to lecture me so.”

“Well, someone must. I’ve always known you were headstrong, my lady, but not so selfish. Perhaps I mislaid my opinion of your character. For at this moment, you are no better than any spoiled young noblewoman I’ve met.”

“It is not my fault I was raised in Granton Castle, given everything I wanted—even things I did not. I am tired of having my life lived for me.
I
choose my path, not Mother, not any prince, and certainly not you. Who invited you to this meeting, anyway?”

“Forgive me, Vrell,” Jax said. “I asked Sir Rigil to come. I hoped—”

“That he would talk some sense into me? I see now that I have put my hope in the wrong comrades.”

Sir Rigil stood and circled the table to stand before her. “Now see here—”

Vrell turned her back to him. “Please leave, Sir Rigil. And I trust you will keep this conversation—and my identity—to yourself.”

“I would never betray your trust, but the prince—”

“Need not know. You yourself have given your opinion of the attributes of my heart. He would be better off without such a deceitful woman in his life, would he not?”

“You put words in my mouth, my lady. And whether or not he would be better off should be his choice.”

“My choice, Sir Rigil, and I have made it.”

“I will not lie to my prince and future king. Should he ask me of Lady Averella’s whereabouts…”

“You will not know them.”

Sir Rigil sighed. “But you will inform Master Rennan of this, will you not?”

“I have already spoken with Master Rennan. He is aware of my situation.”

“And what did he say?”

Vrell averted her eyes.

Sir Rigil snorted a knowing laugh. “That’s what I thought. Good lad, Master Rennan.”

Vrell swallowed another retort. She did not wish to quarrel with Sir Rigil. “Won’t you change your mind, Jax? I can take care of myself. I have my own horse.”

“I cannot go against Prince Oren, Vrell. I’m sorry.”

Sir Rigil gripped Vrell’s upper arm. “Lady Averella, whether you can protect yourself is not the issue. Prince Oren knows that your presence would still be a distraction to our men.”

She pulled away. “I am plain enough that most men pay me no mind.”

“Regardless, while your beauty would fluster many, all would be distracted by their need to protect you. Our men train to a certain code. We swear to protect women and children above all. No man would be able to focus on his task when you were nearby, vulnerable, without an escort.”

“Your men need not concern themselves. I can—”

“Forgive me, my lady, but it is not a question of need. It is simply the way Arman made men. We cannot, in good
c
onscience, ignore the presence of a woman. Like it or not, you would be a great distraction.”

The chivalry she had hoped for during her time as a boy had come too late. “I thank you both for your counsel. Good day.”

Jax reached out for her again. “Please, Vrell, do not be cross.”

She stepped back to avoid his touch. “Not cross, only disappointed. For I very much wish to serve as a healer.”

“If your duchess mother should travel south,” Sir Rigil said, “I am certain Prince Oren would
covet
your assistance with any wounded.”

“Thank you, Sir Rigil. I shall inquire as to whether she plans to make such a journey.”

When the men had left, Vrell fell back into her chair. “Oh, Syrah, I am such a fool.”

Syrah ran to Vrell’s side. “No offense, m’lady, but I’m glad Prince Oren said no.”

For months Vrell had longed for home, and now she wanted to leave again. What was the matter with her? “But I can help, Syrah. I am a gifted healer.”

Syrah released a shuddering breath. “The idea of you on a battlefield, m’lady, it terrifies me. Stay here where I can care for you.”

“You are sweet. But there is no honor in doing nothing.”

“There is plenty of honor in taking care of your sisters and the people of Carmine. There is much to be done here.”

“And plenty of sisters to help Mother do it.” Sisters who were true heirs to Carm. Vrell was tired of hiding in her own home. She had changed. She was no longer content to marry and wear pretty dresses all her life. She wanted—no,
n
eeded—to participate, to be of use in the coming war. And if doing so took her away from Achan…

Syrah offered her a glass of water. “’Tis only a few days until the prince and his men leave. Then you won’t have to see any of them for a long time.”

That was what Vrell wanted, right? But the thought of never seeing Achan again brought tears to her eyes.

Vrell slipped along the cool, stone passage. She knew her way so well it was hard not to run the straight stretches. She forced herself to walk slowly, watching the flame on her candle flicker with each step. It took ages to move about the castle using only the secret passageways, but she could not risk being seen until Achan was gone.

Vrell was still furious Mother had permitted Anillo to show Achan the passages. Of course he should know of the secret meeting rooms, but not that he could walk to his chambers.

No doubt Mother hoped Achan and Vrell might stumble upon one another in the dark corridors. Mother did not understand Vrell’s reservations. The sooner Vrell could find a way to leave Carmine, the better.

At the northwest tower stairs, she started up. Her room was on the sixth floor, but she paused on the fourth. Achan had gone out to practice with the soldiers. She had seen him and Shung from Ryson Tower.

No. Enough time had been wasted spying on Achan. She continued to climb. Her dress scraped along the stone steps and walls. She did not bother to lift her skirts and protect the fabric. She would have no need for such gowns on the battlefield.

By the time she reached the sixth floor, her lungs were tight. She passed the first arrow loop and held the candle high until she spied a strip of white fabric. She had tied the swatch on the entrance to her sister’s room to make the door easier to find. She knocked once and pushed the door in.

Gypsum sat before an embroidery stand, plump lips turned down. Baskets of colorful thread sat around her feet. Eyes on her work, she said, “By all means, Averella, enter.”

Vrell ignored her sister’s tone and sank down on the foot of the bed. In many ways, twelve-year-old Gypsum acted older than Vrell. The girl had been an exceptional seamstress since she had first touched needle and thread, an admirable skill for a young noblewoman. She never disagreed with Mother, never climbed trees, and never argued with squires or knights. Vrell doubted she had ever touched a weapon in her short life.

Gypsum’s room was always spotless, of her own accord. Maids had little to clean here. Gypsum had chosen lavender and deep purple floral bedding and matching solid upholstery on her chaise lounge and chairs. Frescoes of children and angels covered the ceiling, but the walls were white. Framed tapestries hung every two feet, most of which Gypsum had crafted herself. Vrell spotted a new one near the door and heaved herself off the bed to examine it more closely.

Two sheets of silk, one black, one white, had been sewn together with raw, jagged stitches. The outline of a map was embroidered in gold. On the white silk, happy people danced among the ripe vines of Carmine and full orchards of Allowntown. On the black side, Vrell’s gaze stopped on a small boat in the water west of Mahanaim. Five figures sat in the small craft. Three men in red Kingsguard capes, a young man, whom Gypsum had stitched with a golden glow over his head,
a
nd a girl, staring out from a hooded cape with wide eyes, her black hair blowing out from the side of the hood.

Vrell shivered. “This is amazing, Gypsum. When did you do this?”

Still absorbed in her latest masterpiece, Gypsum pulled the thread with an easy rhythm. “When you were gone. Mother told us much of what you relayed. Your journey spoke to me, so I made that.”

I made that.
As if the girl merely whipped the piece out in an afternoon, which, for all Vrell knew, she had.

“Do you want something, dear sister?” Gypsum asked.

“Just your chatty company.”

Gypsum rewarded Vrell with a fake smile. “Do not mock my silence when I am concentrating. Besides, Mother says men prefer silent ladies.”

Vrell blew a wry laugh out her nose. “I do not doubt that most do.”

“If you have no news to lighten my mood, go away.”

Not this again. “I am sorry your mood is sour, but you are too young to understand. I cannot do what I feel is wrong.”

Gypsum’s hands stilled and she looked up. “You feel the truth is wrong?”

“Not the truth part. The other part.”

“You can do both, Averella. You simply refuse. And who is to pay for your disobedience to Arman and to Mother? I am. For I will do my duty, even if I have to marry this prince of yours.”

“He is not
my
prince.”

Gypsum rolled her eyes and continued stitching. “You mope about the castle, scuttling within the walls like a spider. I do not have to be as old and wise as you to see that he owns your heart.”

Vrell crossed the room, toward the tapestry of the kittens that hid the secret entrance. She did not need yet another lecture, especially from her little sister—half-sister, though Vrell had not shared that secret with anyone. Maybe she should. Maybe then Gypsum would understand.

She turned back to spill the truth, but Gypsum’s tear-filled eyes pleaded. “Normally I would be ecstatic about marrying a prince, especially the real Prince Gidon Hadar. Imagine it! He is handsome and kind, good-mannered. And he is only four years my senior, which is nothing compared to what most girls suffer in marriage. After what happened to Tara, how could I refuse such a match?”

Vrell lifted the kitten tapestry aside. “It appears that you cannot. Congratulations.”

“Vrella, please do not force me to marry him.”

Vrell set her jaw. “I will not force you to marry anyone. Nor will Mother.”

“No, but she will lose honor if the agreement is not fulfilled. I will not put her in that situation.”

Vrell dropped the curtain and folded her arms. “It has been said that some make an idol out of obedience. Such perfect standards cannot bring you joy at all times. I suspect that even you sometimes rebel in your heart.”

Gypsum’s wide-eyed glare was all innocence. “I am simply doing what Arman asks of me.”

“Is that so? And have you consulted the Book of Life? I recall this printed in its pages: ‘Anyone who loves his father or mother more than Arman is not worthy of Arman.’”

Gypsum straightened. “‘Children, obey your parents in Arman, for this is right.’”

“‘Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but Arman disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness.’”

“‘In the same way be submissive to those older than—’”

“‘Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?’”