From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [14]
“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?”
“Shung will not repeat it. He favored her. Though not honorable, his regard. Sir Rigil rebuked him. Remarked on the lady’s wit. And Shung could see the lady was fair. Small, like Duchess Amal.”
Achan had heard this much. At least she wouldn’t outweigh him. And if crude men thought enough of her to make crass remarks, she must be as beautiful as Bran had claimed. There was a chance he might like Lady Averella. Especially if she looked anything like her mother, for Duchess Amal, though twice Achan’s age, was one of the most enchanting women he’d ever met, both in appearance and countenance.
But was that enough? How could he have pledged his life to a stranger?
He should be free to court Sparrow, to choose her as a bride. That Sparrow was a stray should not matter. But he’d already agreed to marry Lady Averella, given his father’s signet ring as a token of his promise. It would be dishonorable to go back on his word.
Besides, he had decided to trust the One God, Arman, with his life. He had to stop worrying over things like this and serve Arman with each breath.
“Time to go, Your Highness,” Sir Caleb said. “The men are waiting.”
It was no use.
Achan opened his eyes and glanced around the table. He and the war council had assembled in one of the secret rooms outside Duchess Amal’s study, a room only slightly bigger than the table they sat around. A small hearth lay cold along one wall. A lamp on the table cast golden light over the walls and the faces at the table. Achan sat at one end, Sir Gavin at the other. To Achan’s left sat Inko and Kurtz. To his right, Sir Eagan and Sir Caleb, who had brought a pile of scrolls.
“I still cannot sense either of them,” Achan said. “I’ve never