To Darkness Fled (69 page)

"But I..." She had stabbed him only once. "I have never killed anyone."

Achan sighed. "It's not a pleasant feeling, is it? Even in regards to a man like Khai."

It did not seem real. "What else happened?"

Achan cast his blue eyes her way. He opened his mouth but did not speak. He limped the rest of the way to her bedside, seeming so much taller standing over her. He pursed his lips and, wincing, lowered himself to his right knee. Her pallet was so low to the ground his face was level with hers.

"I've learned a new trick. Open your mind." He reached out and slid his hand over the back of her hand, tucking his fingers between hers. He closed his eyes.

She tensed at the intimate way he held her hand, but her thoughts were interrupted by his. Flashes of activity flitted through her mind. His memories. Achan riding into Darkness on Dove, he and Shung fighting Khai, lifting Sparrow off Esek's bed, carrying her out of the pavilion, hearing her scream, watching her through Khai's apparitions, catching her as she fell from Khai's sword, carrying her to Dove.

Her chest swelled with the memory of his feelings and emotions, but it all moved so fast she could not stop to think about one thing in particular. Pain shot through her thigh when Esek's sword struck true. She was with him as he cut down Esek, took Owr and his father's ring.

Then Achan slumped on a horse. She experienced his agony and surprise at the cham bear's attack. Its teeth. Defeating it. Returning to Mitspah. Trying to see Vrell. Tiring. Sir Eagan looking over his wounds.

Vrell's mind became her own again. She opened her eyes to see Achan smiling. What reason could he have to smile? "Oh, Achan, a cham! How horrifying!"

His smile faded. "Aye, it wasn't pleasant. Glad I wore my chain armor."

She met his eyes. "Where did you learn to do that? Show me your memories?"

"Sir Eagan." Achan focused on their interlocked fingers and rubbed his thumb over the back of hers. "I may have killed Esek. I hadn't intended...he was in a bad position when I..."

Vrell stared at his pained face. From his memories, she knew exactly what he was thinking, reliving, regretting.

Achan licked his chapped lips. "Sparrow, I want to...I must speak with you about.... Sir Gavin tells me you intend to leave us soon."

She wanted to stop him from saying things they would both regret, but the intensity of his gaze kept her from protesting. "I do not belong here, Achan. You must understand that much."

"You belong with me. I need you."

"Whatever for? Sir Eagan has proven an excellent healer."

His blue eyes pierced her defenses, chipped away at the shield around her heart. He opened his mouth twice to speak, but said nothing. His tongue-
tiedness
set her pulse racing. "My heart does not beat for Sir Eagan."

She wilted. "No, Achan. None of that."

His brows furrowed. "Why do you fight it? I promised myself I would marry you no matter what anyone says."

She tried to pull her hands from his, but he held tight. "We are from different worlds, you and I. This can never be." Yet Lady Averella could certainly marry the prince. Would her lies never cease? How had everything gotten so twisted?

His eyes pleaded. "Don't say that, Sparrow, please don't. I want you here. I..."

She wanted to believe him, but how could it be true? "You wanted Tara a short time ago."

He puffed out a long breath. "I wanted Tara over a stranger, though she nearly was one."

"And Gren before that."

"But she... But you are different. You are my dearest friend."

Unlike Esek, and the other suitors over the years, Vrell knew Achan did not seek her inheritance, for he knew nothing about it. Still, Vrell pulled her hand from his grip. "You fall in love with every girl who crosses your path. I will not forget how you stared at Beska or Yumikak. Even Lady Lathia."

"Those silly girls are nothing like you."

She set her jaw. "Precisely. I will never be pretty enough for your arm." Even Bran had deserted Vrell for Gren--a peasant!--because she was prettier. "For three months we've known each other, you never once suspected me to be a woman--I mean, look at me." Tears gathered in Vrell's eyes, blurring Achan's face. "I am a shapeless, pale...twig! With hair like, uh...like tree lichen! I am as feminine as a broomstick. And a voice like a mule. I may as well be an adolescent boy."

He rose onto his knees, eyebrows puckered in sympathy. See? He agreed! He could see plainly that she was everything she knew she was.

But then he took the sides of her face in his hands and brushed away her tears with his thumbs. "No, Vrell."

He had never called her Vrell before.

"You were never a very good boy. There was always something bafflingly odd about you. I never cared for any of those other girls. You are so smart and tough. And you
are
beautiful."

She shook her head.

"Yes. You're a flower. You have the sweetest face. Your hair is like black corn silk." He pushed his fingers back through her hair. "You always smell like rosewater and have made me crave the smell. And what I love best about you--besides how soft you feel--is how your eyes pierce me every time you look my way, like I'm your target and your arrow struck true, bringing me to my knees. And the only way I can live is to look on those life-sustaining green eyes."

Her resistance dissolved at the tender honesty of his words. Joyous heart! He did care. Without a word, she brushed her lips against his.

His kiss was soft, hesitant this time. She felt their minds connect, sensed his caution, his exhilaration. His hands massaged her head, then one moved to her waist and he pulled her to the edge of the bed. His movement jarred her wounded side. He pulled back his face and gasped with her, feeling her pain.

Sorry.

He moved his hand back to her face, kissed her forehead, then hugged her head to his chest. She could hear his heart drumming. His thoughts spilled into her mind like water from a jug.

I never wanted to hurt Sparrow. Never. She means too much to me. Losing her was proof of that. But how can I keep her? What would Sir Caleb say?
He recalled Sparrow's joke of a stray mistress.
Could she have meant that? Been hinting? Lots of noblemen took mistresses. Maybe my wife--from Sir Caleb's arranged marriage--could have her own space, and I could keep Sparrow with me, always.

Fire coursed through Vrell's veins. She pushed away, closing her mind and sucking in a long breath to keep herself from crying. "I knew it! You are no different."

His wide eyes were unfathomable, as if he were innocent. "What'd I do?"

If Achan truly knew Arman, he would know that yoking himself to multiple women would ruin them all. "This matters more than any feelings we may have for one another. You do not love Arman. You only love yourself."

He pulled back, though not far enough to give her room to escape. "I-I love
you
. I told you so. I meant it."

"No, Achan. You think you can keep me in a room in your castle, to be your, your..." She blew out another furious breath. "Ladylove!" She seized her pillow and struck him with it, gasping at the pain stabbing her side. "Get out!" She struck him again and let her pillow fall to the floor. She panted, whispered, "Leave this chamber, now."

"I'm sorry!" He groaned to his feet, drew back a step. "I didn't mean those thoughts. They were for me alone. Just me. Just... thinking. W-We don't have to be together. No one even has to know you're a woman. Or you could be the prince's chosen sister. Wise female advisor. We could--"

"Achan, such a thing could not be done. It would be scandalous."

"I don't care. We could be the pair who changed their stations in life. W-We'll vow to abolish strays from all Er'Rets. Grant peasant rights to everyone." He stared at the floor. All was still, the crackling fireplace the only sound. "And if you grew to love me..."

She wished he would let go of his scheming. It took all her effort not to look at him, his eyes, his lips. Her throat burned. "Achan, I became a man to avoid marriage."

"To someone horrible. I'm not so bad, right?" He grinned, but it did not reach his eyes. "And I love you. So it won't be like marrying a man thrice your elder or one who only means to use you."

"It would be worse."

Achan pulled back farther as if she had slapped him. "You don't care, even a little?"

"Your own thoughts betrayed you, Achan. You must marry a noblewoman." And he would never know her real name. She decided that then and there. She should never have let down her guard. He could not be trusted.

Pain flashed through his pale eyes.

How could she make him understand? "For you, it can never be about love. A king is not free to love. Too many things distract. His realm must always come first."

"But a king can do what he wants."

"You sound like Esek, demanding your way."

He huffed, eyebrows sinking over his eyes. "I'll
not
lose you."

"You do not have me to lose."

"Tell me you don't love me."

Vrell had no idea where she got the courage to answer so calmly. "I do not love you. And I do not see how you can honestly love me. You have known I am a woman three days."

Achan set his jaw. Pouting.

She swallowed her threatening tears. "Achan, what you call love is your craving for love. And I do love you like a brother. But I will not be a convenience to any man's fears of loneliness. Let me go. Learn to be king. Take a real queen. Serve Arman and your kingdom. That is your purpose."

"A purpose I'll serve better with you at my side."

"It cannot be. Despite all the obvious reasons why we could not be together, I will not be a crutch for you to hide from Arman. He seeks your full heart, and you must face him."

"You kissed me back."

She glanced down at her hands, squeezed them, and forced cold words past her swollen throat. "It was a mistake."

His jaw jutted out and his gaze seemed to burn into her. "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you must. I apologize if I misled you."

Achan's eyes glazed. He seemed to shrink. He limped toward the door, turned back, ran a hand over his head, and shuddered a sigh. "Forgive me, I--" Still limping, he fled from the room, the door swinging in his wake.

Vrell eased back down to her back and rolled on her side, finally allowing the tears to come.

* * *

Iron gauntlets squeezed Achan's chest. He limp-skipped out of the inner gate and across the lawn to the edge of the pool side of the moat, seeking a tree to destroy. A small cluster of pine trees stood between the curtain wall and the curve of the pool. His right arm hung slack at his side. At least the injury wouldn't hinder him as much, being left-handed.

He squeezed Owr's suede-wrapped grip in his left hand. A thin pine tree at the edge of the moat stream volunteered its service. Achan hacked into it. Owr, sharper than
Eagan
's Elk, peeled back a long swatch of bark, baring the white inner wood.

An image of Gren sitting under the allown tree flooded his mind, the day she'd watched him attack the wilted poplar with his waster. A great fury rose in his chest, and he sliced into the tree again and again, wanting to hurt it, wanting to make it look the way he felt. Broken, useless, vile, unlovable.

His blade cleaved deep into the trunk, and he screamed in frustration as he ripped it free. A sudden calm oozed over his fury. His arm fell to his side. Owr's tip swished through the grass. He stepped back, blinked at the mutilated tree, and recoiled.

"If it is firewood you seek, there are better ways."

Achan spun around to face Sir Eagan. Now he understood his sudden calm. He scowled, knowing Sir Eagan had used his bloodvoicing trick to pacify Achan's emotions. "Withdraw from my mind or I'll force you out."

Sir Eagan tipped his head to one side and smiled. "Only if you promise to let the tree go."

Achan choked up a knot of phlegm and spit it out. "This tree is helping me cope with my latest prison."

"It is not the tree that concerns me, Your Highness, but my sword. You shall dull the blade using it as an axe. I am certain we could find you an axe if you must chop, though I do not recommend such physical labor with your wounds."