From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [173]
Achan frowned. “Enough! Sir Eagan killed the Hadad. And there is no Iamos or Marpay. Any god but Arman is false.” He turned his gaze to the woman, who was now halfway up the stairs. “Though you are a guest here and I owe you civility, if you claim to be Iamos, I say you’re a liar.”
The woman stopped. Her gaze, visible only through the slot in the helm, locked with his. “I am a liar, Your Highness, but I promise you, I never claimed to be Iamos.”
The woman’s raspy voice, muffled through the air holes in her helm, pulled Achan’s eyebrows low over his eyes. “Then who are you, and what do you want?”
She removed her helm, revealing a tangle of black hair.
“Sparrow?” Achan’s heart leapt. “Sparrow!” He started down the stairs.
She tucked the helm under one arm. “Not quite, Your Highness. I am not Sparrow or Vrell, as you have known me.”
Achan stopped so suddenly he almost fell down the stairs. “Sparrow, what game is this? I’ve spent more time with you than anyone. I have imagined your face every day we have not been together. I have made no mistake. You are Vrell Sparrow.”
“No, Your Highness, that is the lie I told you and everyone else.” She stood tall and seemed to be collecting herself. “I am…” She breathed heavily and started again. “My lord, I am Lady Averella Amal, formerly of Carmine. Currently without home.” She went down on both knees in the middle of the stairs and bowed her head low. “I pledge service to the true crown of Er’Rets.” Her next words were so muffled, he could hardly understand them. “If you will have it.”
A chill gripped every inch of Achan’s body. It was as if he was back at Ice Island, standing before the men in the Prodotez. The hall quieted. Achan could only stare at the top of Sparrow’s head. But not Sparrow. Never really Sparrow. Always Lady Averella Amal. He seemed to be melting into a pool of lava.
All this time? All along, Sparrow—and Scratch, and Vrell—all along she was really Lady Averella? He descended two more steps. “Sparrow, you—”
Wait. Wait! If Lady Averella were really Sparrow, then he was betrothed to her! He could marry Vrell! The girl who possessed his heart could truly be his wife.
No. He was no longer betrothed to her. She’d refused him. It seemed like all his old wounds hurt him at once, especially all his head wounds. It felt like he was the one who had lost his memory. He’d been betrothed to her, but now he wasn’t. She’d renounced her birthright. Wasn’t that it? Because Sir Eagan was her father she didn’t have the right or the heritage to be heir of Carm.
He descended another step.
Her true rank shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter to him!
But the men had to have known! He turned back and looked up the stairs to where Sir Eagan stood beside Sir Caleb’s place at the head table. “She is your daughter?”
Sir Eagan bowed his head. “She is.”
Flames coiled within Achan’s chest. He looked back and forth from Sir Eagan to Sparrow. Why hadn’t he seen it? It made perfect sense. “And you knew all along?”
“From the night you freed me from Ice Island, Your Highness. Her face could not fool me.”
Achan walked up three steps. He felt furious and elated and betrayed and relieved at the same time. He didn’t know how to respond. At the moment, anger won out. “I see she gets her deceit from you.” Then another wave of implications rose to mind. “Surely the duchess also knew?”
“It was not our secret to tell, Your Highness.”
Achan barely heard him. He remembered the duchess in his room, in his mind, in the Veil, in her sitting room—training, teaching, encouraging—but never telling the truth. No wonder the duchess had never introduced him to her daughter. “I feel I have been betrayed by you all!”
Achan pinched the bridge of his nose. His own advisors had lied to him. Sparrow had lied! Blazes! He had never felt like a bigger halfwit in all his days. He twisted to look back on Sparrow. Her eyes watched him, wide and waiting. She was so beautiful. The object of his yearnings. Yet a duplicitous liar! And she had the nerve to make him feel bad for being tempted by