From Darkness Won (19 page)

Precisely. When you storm someone in battle, you push their mind from their body and strip it of its recent memories. This way, the mind is lost, drifting until it reaches one of the two eternal destinations.

How long does that take?

That varies, I think, depending on Arman’s will. Some go within days, some linger for years.

That’s
…
horrible.

No more horrible than being run through by a sword and left to bleed to death. As you can see, it is a peaceful, ignorant death. I suspect many believe they are dreaming.

And some would know that they are not?

Those trained to navigate the Veil would know. If you found yourself here, you would know—now that I’ve told you. You would know to try and return to your body.

So that’s possible then? I could get back on my own?

Certainly. As long as you have not passed through one of the two gates, you can will yourself to move.

And if I cannot? Like before when I was drifting?

You merely require practice, Your Highness. But if you could not, Sir Shung could come for you, once he’s trained.

And pull me as you have done?

As long as he knew where to find you, which is why it is essential to keep in contact with him, maybe even let him watch through you so he knows your location.

Achan thought again to the day he had found himself drifting.
If he didn’t know where I was, how would he know where to look?

It is difficult. When a person is stormed, I message them first. If they have lost their memory, I might look where I knew they last were and hope their mind has not drifted far. Touching their physical body would help. And if I could not do that, I would hold something that belongs to them.

Before, when I was drifting, what if you had not come? Could I have gotten back on my own?

Without a partner’s aid, it can be difficult. Only Arman could help you then. You would be completely at His mercy.

Do you have a partner now? Like I have Shung?

I do. Anillo’s connection to my mind anchors me in Er’Rets. Without that connection, I might drift as you did.

Achan recalled the time he had gone into the Veil to help Gren when the Carmine peasants attacked her. The knights who had been with his body had thrown water on his head to wake him.
Shung doesn’t have to enter the Veil to bring me back.

Usually, all it takes is a shake of your shoulder. If he cannot wake you, he can message you. But if you were stormed, your memory would be altered. And it would be difficult for Sir Shung to find your location.

I see.
Achan’s thoughts tumbled until one came to the surface.
How is it you can touch me now? For every time I’ve been in the Veil, I drift through people and solid objects.

The rules of nature are different in the Veil. We can touch each other, but we cannot touch objects or people in the physical world. That is why we passed through the roof. Now, you are to take us back, Your Highness. Concentrate and use your connection with Sir Shung to draw strength.

Achan did as she asked. He pulled Duchess Amal by the hand down toward the roof. He smiled. It was working. They passed through several rooms until they were floating in his chamber. Anillo and Mathias were talking over by the armoire. Shung stood at the foot of his bed.

Now take us back to our minds, Your Highness.

How?

Simply return.

Achan opened his eyes and found himself in bed. Something heavy pressed down on his legs. He glanced down and saw Duchess Amal’s limp body lying across the foot of his bed, one arm draped across her waist.

“Shung! What has happened to the duchess?”

“She went limp. But Shung did not let her fall.”

All is well, men. Do not fret.
Duchess Amal’s voice boomed in Achan’s mind.
I chose not to return to my body, for I wanted you to understand, Your Highness, that you cannot force me back. Only I can make that choice.

But I could force you out by storming?
Achan asked.

Not exactly. Storming is a trick. It’s all about making the other person lower their guard enough so you can pull their mind away from their body the same way you pulled me to this room. If you keep your shields up, you can resist.

The door opened and Sir Eagan entered.

Duchess Amal’s body shifted. She sat up, her delicate complexion tinged pink. She smoothed her hair, stood, and shook out her wrinkled skirt. “That is enough lesson for today. Next you will learn how to storm in battle.”

Achan wanted to ask when she would return—he couldn’t wait to learn how to be a Veil warrior—but Duchess Amal walked to the door and curtsied. “Good day, Your Majesty. Sir Shung.” She met Sir Eagan’s gaze and her voice softened. “Sir Eagan.” And she left.

Sir Eagan approached Achan’s bedside. “I am pleased to see you awake, Your Highness. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, fine.” Recovering from Duchess Amal’s presence. “How is all that going?” He gestured to the door. “You know, you and Duchess Amal?” For Sir Eagan and Lady Nitsa had loved one another in their youth but had been parted for nearly eighteen years.

Sir Eagan glanced at the door and smiled. “Very well, thank you.” He took Achan’s chin in one hand and set his other hand on his head. “This is healing quickly. You are a fortunate man.” He pressed on the lump.

Achan gritted his teeth at the pressure. “Shung tells me Sparrow is here.” He hitched in a short breath. “Perhaps she could serve as my healer again?”

Sir Eagan raised an eyebrow. “You think she would not have to determine the level of your pain?”

Achan grunted, for Sparrow took healing just as seriously as Sir Eagan. “She’s nicer to look upon, at least.”

“True.” Sir Eagan ran his fingers over Achan’s chest, neck, head, and stomach, pushing down and asking how much everything hurt.

Nothing hurt but his head, though his cham wounds and thigh were still tender.

“My assessment is that you are fine,” Sir Eagan said. “We should be able to depart as planned.”

Depart. “Will Sparrow visit again? Has she returned for good?” Would she come back to him? Could she, now that he was betrothed to Lady Averella?

“I have not seen her since the vineyard.”

“So that wasn’t a dream?”

“Not a dream, Your Highness. She found you, called us to bring you in, and so we did.”

Achan closed his eyes and reached for Sparrow. He found her mind impenetrable, as always. A giddy thought grew within. If the duchess taught him more, he might somehow be able to find Sparrow in spite of her shields.

The little fox could not hide from him forever.

8

Vrell had hoped to ride out at dawn amongst the harvesters, but Gren’s joining her delayed their departure until after breakfast. To Vrell’s frustration, Gren had never ridden a horse. How the girl thought she would steal one and make it through the gates unnoticed—black mourning gown and all—Vrell would never guess.

After a lesson in how to ride, they left the stronghold behind a group of wagons headed to the orchards. They rode through the partially burned vineyards that the enemy had destroyed and out of Carmine.

The air smelled sweet and fresh as they passed by hay fields. Dozens of men waded through the timothy grass, swinging scythes against the golden hay. Boys with pitchforks scurried behind, spreading it flat so it could dry.

The day passed slowly. Vrell stopped at a creek to water the horses, and she and Gren changed from their dresses into dingy blue tunics and brown trousers. Though this time, Vrell did not bother with fake bellies. Once Gren’s black mourning dress and Vrell’s green travel dress were packed away in their saddlebags, they continued their journey more comfortably. Men’s clothing was much cooler to wear.

When night fell, they made camp in a grove of olive trees at the foot of a grassy knoll not far from the road. The trees sheltered them and their horses from any passersby. They sat on bedrolls under a bushy olive tree, munching on dates and cheese. Gren inhaled her food like a man.

Vrell supposed the child within wanted his or her share, so she gave Gren a bit more. “When is your child expected?”

“Mother guesses the end of winter.”

“That seems so far away.”

“I think so too.”

“Does it hurt? Being with child?”

“I get sick in the mornings, and I seem to live with a never-ending headache.”

“I have feverfew in my satchel.” Vrell pointed to her things propped against the tree trunk. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Gren lifted the satchel and dug inside it.

Vrell closed her eyes and sought out Bran. He, Jax, and Sir Rigil were sitting on bedrolls in their own camp, hashing out their suspicions as to whether or not Esek was still alive.

Gypsum seemed to think so. But the only way Esek could have survived the loss of a limb was if a skilled healer had been present. Perhaps one had been.

Vrell fingered the chain at her neck that held Achan’s signet ring. She wanted it close until she decided what to do.

“Is this Achan’s hair?”

Vrell glanced up to see Gren clutching feverfew leaves in one hand and a lock of black hair in the other. “It is.”

“I cut his hair so many times… It looked familiar.” Gren twirled the lock in her fingers. “Did he cut this for you?”

Vrell laughed heartily. “Does that sound like something Achan would do?”

A small smile curved Gren’s lips. “I guess not.”

“
I
cut it,” Vrell said, “back when he was wounded in the Mahanaim dungeon. I was learning to bloodvoice at the time.”

“Locks of hair help with bloodvoicing?”

“Personal possessions increase the ability of connection. I thought hair would be personal enough.”

“So you met Achan in Mahanaim?”

“I did.”

Gren’s tone hardened. “Then how come he’s never met you? For he confessed as much to me only days ago.”

“I…” Vrell would never escape her own lies if she could not prune herself of all deceit. What was that Bran had claimed? That the truth would set her free? “When we first spoke, Achan believed I was a boy.”

Gren studied her. “A boy? But you’re so beautiful.”

Vrell’s cheeks warmed. “I am not shapely like you. Once I put on a tunic and trousers like these, no one suspected a thing.”

“But why dress as a boy, my lady?”

“It is the same as what we’re doing now, Gren.” Vrell sighed. “Back when we all thought he was Prince Gidon, Esek wanted to marry me. When Mother refused, he tormented us. So Mother sent me to Walden’s Watch to hide under the guise
o
f a stray boy. But a man sensed my bloodvoice and brought me to Mahanaim to train as his apprentice.”