From Darkness Won (6 page)

Which left Achan and Gren alone. Achan marveled at the irony. The last time he and Gren had been alone in the Fenny home, they’d been scolded. Clearly Achan’s station had changed enough that Master Fenny would give him Gren’s hand now. Yet it was far too late for that.

Gren broached the subject herself. “You’re engaged to Lady Averella Amal.” She reached out and touched the bell edge of the maroon sleeve tied to his arm.

“Aye,” Achan said. “Though I’ve never met her.”

“Me either.” Gren giggled. “As if the heir to Carm would be introduced to a peasant. But I never even saw her.”

An awkward silence descended. Gren stood between Achan and the table and chairs. A footstool sat under the window. Would she think to ask him to sit? He scoured his mind for something to say. “Have you heard from Noam?”

She leaned back against the table. “Not since before I was arrested.”

The memory of Gren in the Sitna cell filled his mind. “Gren, I’m sorry about this, about everything.”

She waved her hand about. “None of it was your fault.”

He glanced over her black dress. “It’s because of me that Riga is dead.”

This sobered Gren. “I do regret that, for Riga wasn’t as bad a husband as I feared.”

“You cared for him, then?”

“I didn’t hate him, though it’s a horrible thing to be married off against your will.” Her eyes widened. “Oh! For a girl, anyway. I’m sure it’ll be different for you.”

Achan lowered himself to the stool under the window. A familiar sensation filled his mind. This very spot was where Bran had been sitting when Achan had looked in on Gren during Sir Gavin’s lesson. He shook off the strange memory. “All I ever wanted in life was to be a free man, Gren. But it seems I’ve only exchanged one set of chains for another.”

“But you’ll be king, Achan. King of all Er’Rets.”

He scoffed. “Being a king is not as pleasant as one may think. I never wished for finery and jewels, though I do like the food. You would think I’m free, but I dare not make a decision without consulting my advisors. I had to all but sneak away to have this moment to myself.” He sighed. “I am glad to know who I am—who my parents were. But I’d rather not be king.” Guilt nagged at everything so many had sacrificed to get him here. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Gren lunged to the floor beside him, kneeling at his feet. “Oh, Achan. Why have the gods been cruel to us? If only I’d listened to you, we might be living in the forest in that cottage you wanted to build. This might be your child I carry. We could’ve—”

“Let’s not dwell on what was lost.” Achan stroked her curls. “I must marry a noblewoman. My advisors chose Lady Averella, and Duchess Amal has given her consent. That’s my lot now.” He helped her into a chair. “The old Achan would have fled such chains, but the new Achan cannot. For if I were to be so selfish, all Er’Rets would suffer.”

Gren smiled. “You’re the best of men, Achan.”

“’Tis kind of you to say so, Gren, with all I’ve put you through.”

“You’ve done nothing.”

“Your entire family uprooted, your husband killed, you in a cell—and only because Esek wanted to punish me.”

“It’s Lord Nathak I blame,” Gren said. “And don’t you blame another. He alone is at fault.”

Achan cupped Gren’s cheek in his right hand. “Do you care for Bran Rennan?”

She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes bulging.

He smirked. “Do not be frightened, Grenny. I only wish to see you happy.”

A soft laugh wisped through her lips. “Isn’t it ironic that you’ll marry Bran’s former love and that I might…” She sucked in a long, shaky breath. “You think there’s a chance he’d have me? I’m far below his class. My virtue is gone. I don’t think a man like him would choose a widowed peasant, yet I’m certain he cares a little. I see it in his eyes.”

Achan almost laughed at Gren’s babbling. “He asked for my blessing, Gren. Does that please you?”

She clapped her free hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes closed. This didn’t stop the tears from leaking past her eyelids and trickling down her cheeks.

Achan pulled a chair beside hers and sat. He took her into his arms and held her tightly. She sobbed and trembled. He stroked her hair with one hand and rubbed her back with the other. “You’re more than what you see of yourself, Gren. Any man would be blessed to have you as his wife.”

Gren pulled away, wet face beaming. “You’ve always been my hero. I’ve no doubt Lady Averella will love you.”

Achan gritted his teeth and recalled Sir Eagan’s words. Love was not taking because you wanted, he’d said.

Love was sacrifice.

Achan and Shung returned to the castle and entered his chamber to find Sir Caleb and a boy standing beside his bed, which was now covered in all types of armor and weapons.

“Ah, here he is, Matthias.” Sir Caleb set his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Look who has arrived, Your Majesty. I’m sorry Master Ricks didn’t stay to speak with you, but he was eager to return to Tsaftown.”
Probably feared
we’
d go back on our word and refuse the boy
, he added silently.

Matthias? The lad’s head barely reached Sir Caleb’s belt. Big brown eyes peeked out from a shaggy thatch of hair the color of hay.

It all came rushing back. A man had given his youngest son to Achan at a celebration in Tsaftown weeks ago. Achan had refused the idea of taking a slave, but Sir Caleb had explained that a poor man with many children often sent his youngest to work in a noble household. Little Matthias could do no better than to serve his future king.

The boy wore a thin tunic that might have once been pale blue. A frayed hemp belt cinched his waist, accentuating his thin frame. His leggings were the kind Achan used to wear, brown and sagging in the knees. His face was dirty, his fingertips blackened. Odd that Sir Caleb had not yet bathed and redressed the lad. Appearance and decorum were Sir Caleb’s specialties, if not obsession.

“Matthias will train to be your valet, Your Majesty,” Sir Caleb said. “He will learn to choose your clothing and help you dress. When he is older, we’ll teach him to groom you. For now, he can also serve as your page.”

Achan should say something. Greet the boy, at least. “How old are you?”

“Seven, sir.”

The soft voice melted Achan’s heart. How could any man give up such a child, especially one of his own blood?

And seven. So young, yet it was the age most pages began training. Achan wanted to argue—he didn’t need anyone to dress or groom him—but little Matthias looked him over with those wide brown eyes and rewarded Achan’s silence with a trembling smile. So Achan swallowed his complaints. He was to have a valet.

“We are going to ready the prince for a meeting of the war council, Matthias,” Sir Caleb said. “Tomorrow, you and I will have a clothes press and armoire brought up, and I’ll show you how to store everything for our journey.”

Achan glanced at Shung.
What do you make of all this?

Shung likes the mouse. His eyes learn much.

A mouse. Did the man have an animal nickname for everyone?

If I am a cham, Sparrow is a fox, and Matthias is a mouse, what is Sir Caleb?

A lion.

Achan chuckled. Sir Caleb did have a mane of shaggy blond hair. But his wild, penetrating eyes looked more like an owl’s.

Sir Caleb waved Achan over. “Your Highness, come take off those clothes—which everyone knows you wore yesterday. Matthias and I will see you ready for dinner.”

Achan sighed and began to unlace his doublet. He inched toward Sir Caleb, hoping to get the shirt off by himself, at least. With every other step, his left thigh cried out.

“It’s imperative, Matthias, that the Crown Prince not wear the same ensemble in the same week. You must see that his clothing alternates and is clean and pressed, so that he always looks his best.”

Achan snorted. “Even on the battlefield?” He envisioned men dying while he was busy changing into a fresh shirt.

“On the battlefield as well.” Sir Caleb pushed Achan’s hands away and finished unlacing the doublet. “As crown prince, and later, king, your presence must instill consistency and order. If you appear bedraggled, your men will feel all the more bedraggled. If you look sharp and rested, you will boost their spirits.” Sir Caleb slid the doublet off Achan’s shoulders and laid it on the table.

Achan rolled his sore shoulder. He wasn’t sure he agreed with this logic. If he were a soldier, he’d want to fight alongside his king. And if his king looked like he’d been eating grapes all day, Achan wouldn’t feel much like risking his life. Sometimes Sir Caleb’s obsessions were just that.

Achan started to unlace his shirt placket, but Sir Caleb swatted his hands. Achan dropped his arms to his sides and glanced across the room. Movement below caused him to look down. Matthias now stood at Sir Caleb’s side. Achan winked at the lad, earning a smile in return.

“Normally, we wouldn’t dress the prince until he had bathed, Matthias, but since he is late and we have little time, we will not concern ourselves with that at the moment.”

Matthias nodded as though he understood perfectly, yet Achan bet the boy hadn’t bathed in over a week. Those rags he wore were probably his only clothes. Achan would have to see that Matthias got something new to wear.

Sir Caleb and Matthias dressed Achan in a green ensemble trimmed in gold ribbon and frills. Achan blew out a long breath and stared up at the frescoed ceiling.

When Sir Caleb finished cinching him into the fitted doublet, he patted Achan on the back. “Put on your brown boots.”

Achan found the boots beside his bed. He sat down and pulled them on.

“Little Cham.”

Achan turned to see Shung holding Lady Averella’s dress sleeve in his scarred hand.

Oh, yes. Mustn’t go anywhere without that.

“Do you know what this is, Matthias?” Sir Caleb snatched the sleeve from Shung and walked toward the bed.

“No, sir.”

“It is a token from Lady Averella Amal, the prince’s intended bride.”

A yoke Achan must wear at all times, a reminder to all who saw him that he’d made an alliance with Carm Duchy, a promise to wed Duchess Amal’s eldest daughter in exchange for Carm joining them in the battle for Armonguard.

Sir Caleb threaded the sleeve around Achan’s left bicep and tied it snugly.

Achan glanced at the knight. “Have you met Lady Averella, Sir Caleb?”

“No. It’s been twenty years since I attended court.”

“Shung has seen her. First year squiring for Koyukuk.”

Achan met Shung’s black eyes. “You dog! Why didn’t you say?”

Shung shrugged. “There is little to say.”

“Tell me.” Achan relished any word about his bride to be. He couldn’t even find a painting of her in Granton Castle. With all the frescoes in this place, someone had to have painted the heir to Carm somewhere.

Unless she was too hideous. Yet Bran had said otherwise.

“A tournament in Nesos,” Shung said. “Saw her from a distance. Sir Marken Hamartano remarked on the lady to the other knights.”

Achan stiffened at the mention of the Hamartano name. “What did he say?”