From Darkness Won (13 page)

She imagined going to him now. He would show his joy, scold her for leaving, perhaps an embrace…

No. She would not accept any affection until she spoke her mind. She would remove his hands and say, “I am Lady Averella Amal. I am sorry for deceiving you.”

And he would say…?

Dash it all, she did not know what he would say, but her stomach knotted just thinking on it. Or perhaps what truly upset her was the thought of his embrace.

Vrell led Kopay out of his stall and toward the stable doors. Dawn had not yet broken. Dressing as a boy would have allowed her to leave at daybreak, but the guards would not permit just anyone to ride Kopay through the gate.

She patted his neck. “I have missed our rides together, boy. I am sorry I have not come to see you until now. I could not risk it. But I also could not leave you behind this time.”

Kopay dropped his head and snorted, plodding alongside Vrell. He was a sleek white courser with a white mane and tail and flecks of black on his hindquarters.

Her desire for taking Kopay meant she couldn’t afford leaving in daylight. Everyone in the castle thought she was away still. Rumor of her “return” would spread like wine on linen. She needed to be on the road by the time word reached Mother. Or Achan.

She would leave as Lady Averella, ride south under cover of night, and wait near the fish pond. She could change her clothes there. And once Jax’s party passed, she would trail them as a lagging soldier.

Vrell had Kopay three paces from the stable doors when one side creaked open. A young woman carrying a lantern slipped inside. Vrell froze, hoping this girl would not think Vrell a horse thief and call the watch.

The girl lifted the lantern above her head, took two steps before her eyes locked onto Vrell, then screamed. She dropped the lantern, which tipped on its side, igniting bits of hay strewn across the dirt floor.

“Oh!” The girl lunged for the lantern, but pulled back when the flames licked at her shoes. “I’m sorry!”

Vrell jumped forward, righted the lantern, and batted at the fire with her skirt. The flames died, and Vrell breathed out a long sigh.

“Thank you, miss!” The girl lifted the lantern, casting light over her black gown. “I’m so clumsy.”

“All is well now, since nothing—” Vrell stared, for Gren Fenny stood before her, the girl Achan had pined for in his youth. The girl whose husband had been recently killed, leaving her widowed and with child.

The same girl Bran found so pretty.

What was Gren doing in the stables at this hour? At any hour, for that matter?

Before she could ask, a distant yell distracted her. She cocked her head to the side. “Did you hear that?”

“I didn’t hear nothing, miss.”

Kopay whinnied. Vrell could hear other horses dancing in their stalls. A thump overhead drew her gaze to the ceiling. “Something is on the roof.” She ran to the doors and opened them. The light from the torch stands greeted her. Men’s voices drifted from beyond the curtain wall. Yelling. She listened hard to make out any words.

A trumpet blared. A man yelled.

“Raise the drawbridge and close the gate!”

Heat flooded Vrell. Something was happening. A quick glance at the roof of the stables confirmed it. A coil of grey smoke drifted against the black sky. Fire!

She ran back inside. “The roof is on fire. We must get the animals out. Now!” She grabbed the lantern from Gren and hung it on a hook by the door. “Take the east end. Open all the stalls and send the animals out. Go, hurry!”

Vrell ran past Gren and reached for Kopay’s reins. “Outside, boy.” She twisted the reins loosely around the saddle horn, pointed him toward the open doors, and slapped his rear. He lurched and trotted toward the exit.

Vrell ran down the west end, opening stalls and ushering horses out. Most broke free from their leads and ran. She hoped Gren knew to keep out of their way. By the time Vrell had emptied the stalls on the west end, burning bits of thatch were falling from above. Thick smoke curled down from the roof. It hadn’t rained in days. The roof would go quickly. Vrell ran toward the exit and met Griscol halfway.

The stable master, though grey-haired and aged, had the build of an adolescent boy with a voice to match. “My lady! How many more?”

“I have cleared everything on the west end, Griscol. I sent a woman to the east end. Would you check on her?”

Griscol took off at a run.

Vrell kept back as several more horses jogged out from the east wing. Smoke grew thicker, pulling ragged coughs from her lungs. Chunks of smoldering thatch fell around her. Finally, Griscol and Gren returned. Griscol pronounced the stables empty, and they all hurried out into fresher air.

“I thank you both for clearing the stables.” Griscol wiped soot from his forehead. “That trumpet was what woke me. I stepped outside, saw the smoke, and came running. Something sure has the soldiers in a tizzy.”

Vrell gazed at the top of the curtain wall. Soldiers crouched low, aiming their bows out at the vineyards. Her words came out in one breath. “We are under attack.”

As if in agreement, an arrow slammed into the side of the stable.

Gren shrieked.

“Best get inside, my lady,” Griscol said.

But Vrell had other ideas. She ran a few yards, scanned the outer bailey, then turned back to Gren. “Help me find my horse. He was the only one saddled. He’s a white courser. And take care not to get trampled. The fire has upset the horses.”

Gren’s eyes widened, but she ran off to the east of the bailey in the direction the last of the horses had gone.

Vrell went the opposite way. But before she could see a single horse, a groan pulled her away. A soldier Vrell did not recognize lay on his back alongside a cart, gripping his stomach and moaning.

Vrell knelt at his side. She tried to move his hand, but he fought her. “Let me help you.” She looked into the man’s eyes. He was young, Bran’s age, perhaps.

“My lady? You’ve come home?” The man’s eyes rolled back. The tension left his body, and he fell limp.

Vrell leaned close and felt his warm breath on her cheek. He had only fallen unconscious. She moved his hand and examined the dark patch of blood that had soaked his uniform. Unfortunately, he wore no armor to protect him from injury, but that made it easier to get to the wound.

A shadow fell over her patient. “What happened?”

Vrell twisted around to see Gren clutching Kopay’s reins. “Thank Arman. Unlatch the left saddlebag. You’ll find a small, leather satchel. Bring it to me.”

Vrell pulled the cape over the soldier’s head and pushed up his shirt. A jagged shaft of wood protruded from the wound on his side. Vrell winced. He must have broken off the arrow.

Gren crouched beside Vrell, holding the healing satchel. Vrell took the bag and set it on the grass beside her so that she would have easy access to the contents.

“I need some water, Gren. Fresh water. Do your best.”

Gren loped away.

Vrell used linen to mop away some of the blood. Gren returned with a bucket of water with leaves floating in it. Vrell shot her a scowl.

“It’s all I could find.”

Vrell fished out the leaves and cleaned the wound. Using a set of arrowspoons Sir Eagan—her real father—had given her, she withdrew the arrowhead, cleaned and packed the wound with yarrow, and bandaged the man up.

A boy ran over. “Please, miss. My pa’s hurt. Can you help?”

“I shall try.” Vrell grabbed her satchel and followed the boy.

Gren trailed along. “Where’d you learn to do this?”

Vrell increased her stride to keep up with the boy. “Practice.”

The boy scurried toward a shack behind the chicken coop. Part of the roof was charred and had partially collapsed. “The soldiers put out the fire, but they couldn’t stay to help my pa.” The boy ducked inside and knelt on the dirt floor. “He’s here.”

A man sat on a straw-covered pallet, cradling his arm. It was Fredic, the man who tended the chickens and brought eggs into the kitchens each morning.

Vrell knelt in front of the man. “May I see, Fredic?”

“By this day, my lady! What are you doing out here?”

Vrell ignored the question. “What happened?”

“Broken, I think.” Fredic held his arm out. His forearm was swollen abnormally, his tanned skin bruised purple atop the bump. “Piece of timber fell from the roof when I was chasing old Bessol. That old rooster’s a rascal. Heard something snap. Know how to fix a broken arm? Didn’t think noblewomen learned healing arts.”

“Most do not.” Vrell ran her hands along his arm. Her thumb could feel the broken bone, right below the swelling. “Gren, I need a piece of kindling, no thicker than my wrist, a smooth piece if you can find one.”

“How ’bout an axe handle?” The boy jumped up and snagged a worn length of wood from the end of the pallet
.

“That will do fine.” Vrell removed a roll of linen and took the axe handle from the boy. She wrapped it in linen until it was completely covered. She handed it to Gren and rose to her knees. “Gren, hold this under his arm. Fredic, I’m going to try and move the bone into place. It’s going to hurt badly. Would you like something for the pain?”

“Nay, my lady. For my pain is only a reflection of Câan’s pain. I shall bear it well and give Him praise for it.”

Vrell smiled. “You are a brave and faithful man.”

Once Gren had the handle in place, Vrell molded Fredic’s arm until she felt the bone fall back in place. She ignored his screams, for they only agitated her, and she needed to concentrate to do the job well.

When she finished, she rubbed yarrow salve on the bruise, then wrapped his arm to the axe handle with strips of linen, tight enough to hold, but not so tight that Fredic’s fingers would purple. She made a sling from a larger strip of linen to hold Fredic’s arm close to his body.

“You are to visit the castle daily to have this checked by the duchess’s healer. Tell Anillo I sent you, do you hear?”

“Yes, my lady. I thank you for your kindness.”

Vrell smiled, then turned to the boy. “You be a help to your father, now. He must not lift anything for a while.”

“Don’t you worry ’bout me, my lady. I’ll take fine care of Pa. I’m strong enough to lift anything he can.”

Fredic winked at Vrell. “My boy thinks he’s ready for the Kingsguard already.”

“Or your personal guard, my lady, should you need another man.” The boy grinned.

Vrell gathered her bag and curtsied. “Why thank you, young man. I shall inform Anillo to keep watch for you.”

When Vrell and Gren walked away, Gren asked, “Do you h
ave
a personal guard, my lady?”

“Not since I returned.” But her mother would assign one if she discovered Vrell had been planning to leave.

Gren and Vrell continued to help wounded peasants and soldiers until pale, predawn light filled the smoky sky. When
t
hey had assisted everyone inside the stronghold, the need took them outside the sentry walls. Soldiers on their way inside the castle told Vrell the battle had ended. She was helping a man with a cut on his leg when Captain Loam approached.

He bowed. “My lady, I did not know you were in Carmine. Does your mother know you have returned?”