From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [112]
Achan’s heart leapt at the sound. “Dismissed from what?” Footsteps scraped over dirt behind Achan. He turned to see his guardsmen trudge away. “Oh, them.” He scowled. “What is my cousin’s name? I can’t remember.”
“Manu Pitney.” Sir Caleb motioned Achan toward him.
Achan walked that direction and banged his shin against something solid. “Pig snout.” He cowered and rubbed his leg. In front of him, the chaise lounge came into view.
“Sit,” Sir Caleb said.
Achan lowered himself down slowly, careful not to jar his aching head. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for Sir Caleb’s lecture.
“You smell… pretty.”
And there it was. A hint of chastisement in tone. Achan sighed, not unhappy to have the subject broached. For he wanted answers of his own. “Kurtz said…” Achan lowered his voice. “He said my father kept concubines.” He opened his eyes, concentrating to focus on Sir Caleb’s expression.
Sir Caleb pursed his lips then sighed. “If King Axel had been present the night of your manhood ceremony, I’ve no doubt he would have confessed that very thing.”
Achan wilted. “But I thought… He and my mother…”
“He loved your mother very much.”
“Then why—?”
“Certain things snare a man. Women. Power. The pipe. Anger. Wine.” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t judge your father on his mistakes alone. For Arman conquered his snares. From the moment of your birth your father never paid mind to any woman but your mother. Arman changed him.”
What did that mean? For Achan knew Arman, and he had nearly lost himself in Challa’s embrace. Was he not changed? “There was a girl. Kurtz introduced us. I didn’t know she was a prostitute.”
Sir Caleb nodded as if he’d been expecting this confession. “Would you have brought her back here?”
Achan’s face flamed, but he could only stare. His lips felt dry, his tongue and throat too. His stomach roiled.
Sir Caleb chuckled. “I would have made it a merry trio. We could have played dice.”
“Do not jest. I… I don’t… I’m afraid.”
“Of?”
“Toros said, what mastered the father will tempt the son. I never realized…”
“So you have been tempted. Did you fall to it?”
“No.” Achan ran his hands over his head. “No. I apologized. I didn’t know that Kurtz had paid— I’m sorry, Sir Caleb. I know you said to treat women with—”
“Shh. You are forgiven.” A long moment of silence passed. “Is there something else?”
“I never felt like that. So lost in… I wanted so bad to just…” He let his head fall back against the chaise lounge. There was no other way to put it. “I had no intention of stopping her.”
“Why did you?”
“Sparrow.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it was Arman. Or the things you told me. Or all of it together.” Achan sighed. “I cannot say, exactly. But I don’t trust myself.” For what if Kurtz threw another pretty woman into his arms?
“Nor should you.”
“Will you always be sitting in my bedchamber?”
Sir Caleb laughed. “Once we are at Armonguard, I will likely never be sitting in your bedchamber. In times of war, however…” He crouched before the long chair and slapped a hand on Achan’s shoulder.
“Listen well,” he said. “If you wish to break your vows to Arman and your wife, you will do it. But it takes more than wishing to keep those vows. It takes strength and character and determination, all qualities you have in great measure. Do not despair, Achan. You are not a weak man. But temptation will always be there. And when you are tempted, resist, flee from it, refocus your thoughts. Find your strength in Arman. Only by Arman’s strength can you prevail.”
Achan released a long, cleansing breath. It felt like he hadn’t breathed since he had talked to Sparrow.
Please, Arman. Help her to remember me. I need her.
YOU NEED ME.
Achan closed his eyes. Aye, Arman. I need You.
Achan woke to blinding pain.
He must be dying. Esek must’ve hidden in his tent, stabbed a blade through his skull while he’d been sleeping.
The gorbellied coward.
Achan opened his eyes, which made the pain worse. He ran his hands over the sides of his head and found no knife.
A sound made him turn to the other side. Matthias