From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [149]
“I still love you.”
Another dry laugh. “No. You only think you do because you cannot remember that you don’t.”
“Sounds somewhat silly when you say it like that.”
Bran’s tone went sour. “The whole ordeal is maddening.”
“Mother says we quarreled.”
“I was angry. You left me without a word. Told me nothing of Esek, of dressing as a boy. And you never once spoke to me with your bloodvoice, though you were more than capable. I begged your mother for an explanation, and she finally told me some of it. But not where you were or when you would return. And then… when you did come back… you had changed. I came to understand that you did not love me as much as you loved the idea of me.”
She pushed up onto her knees and brushed her lips over his.
He gripped her shoulders and turned his head. “Vrella, please.”
She grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him again. It was like kissing a post.
Then Bran’s posture relaxed. He slid his hands into her hair and moved his mouth against hers, tasting of mentha. He slid his hands down to her throat. One finger tangled in the cord at her neck. Achan’s ring.
She pulled away. “I am sorry!”
Silence descended but for Bran’s heavy breathing. He finally growled. “Why must we always kiss to test our love?”
“I…” Had they done that before?
“Were you able to figure things out this time?”
Averella swallowed her shame. “Not really.”
He grunted. “Here.” He patted the ground beside him. “Sit and I’ll tell you what I know of the prince. Perhaps it will help you remember.”
Averella did as Bran asked, not wanting to hear about Prince Gidon, but feeling too guilty to protest. He told her how Achan had beaten Silvo Hamartano at a tournament, long before he’d known he was of royal blood, and how he was brave enough to insult Lady Jaira back after she’d insulted him for being a stray.
After a long while, Bran’s voice faded. Averella lay awake, trying not to think of all Bran had told her. But visions of Darkness came then, so she focused on herbs, picturing them in her mind and thinking about their medicinal uses, wondering how she knew so much about them all. When she finally did sleep, it was restless.
Dreams came again. Ebens. Esek. Prince Gidon. A man named Khai Mageia. Macoun Hadar. Sir Gavin. And Bran. In her dreams, she walked along a stone corridor, exiting the Mahanaim dungeons, wondering where might she find the best apples.
Mags would know.
“I don’t put ’em here, I just keep ’em here,” a man’s voice snapped from up ahead. “Take it up with Lord Levy if you like.”
Averella rounded the corner to see the back of a guard standing at the dungeon gate. The man he was talking to sidestepped as if preparing to leave.
Bran.
It felt strange to see him after so long. He looked different, but the same. Maybe even taller. She wanted him to recognize her, sweep her off her feet, and take her home. At the same time, she hesitated. If she revealed herself in front of this guard, he would report it. She might be taken prisoner.
As she approached the gate, she struggled to know what to do. She wanted to go home, did she not?
Of course she did, but first she had to help Achan.
Her surroundings shifted. She stood in a dungeon cell. The smell of mildew and human waste made her gag. Across the cell, Achan hung from his wrists, shackled face-first against the stone wall. Deep red welts crisscrossed his back. A guard raised his arm and whipped him again. Averella jumped and looked away, hands covering her face. But nothing could mask the sound of the leather against flesh and Achan’s grunts as he fought the pain.
She awoke, panting. Her chest burned as if coals were smoldering inside. It had been a dream. Simply another vision from Darkness. She lay on her side on the hard ground. She clutched the blanket to her chest, wanting to burrow under it. The blanket did not give.
She propped herself onto one elbow to see what the problem was. Master Rennan lay on his side, facing her. She had been pulling