From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [33]
He bowed. “My lady, I did not know you were in Carmine. Does your mother know you have returned?”
“She does.” Though Vrell had no desire to speak with Captain Loam about her mother. “Is the battle truly over?”
“For now. Sir Gavin would like to take the offensive as soon as possible. I can’t help but agree. Carmine will only be safe once we eradicate these traitors for good. To attack peasants under cover of night. It isn’t right.”
“Darkness has been their master for years, Captain Loam. They do not hold true to your high standards of conduct and chivalry.”
“My lady, I am grateful for your care of my men.”
“I consider them my men as well, Captain.”
“That they are, my lady. But I’d feel better if you’d return to the castle. We have other healers out now.”
“I can help a bit longer. The outer gates will keep me safe.” Vrell changed the subject, hoping to glean some knowledge that would help her. “If Sir Gavin does take the offensive, will Sir Jax and his party ride south with the army?”
“Sir Jax departed last night, my lady. I pray they got through without running into the enemy.”
“Last night?” The blood drained from Vrell’s face. Had Jax changed his plans because of her? And what if the enemy had intercepted them? What if Jax and Sir Rigil had been killed? What if Bran had been killed? Vrell nodded to Captain Loam. “Good day to you, Captain Loam. I must continue my work.”
“I’ll send some soldiers to assist you.”
Guard her, he meant. There was nothing to be done about it now. The whole stronghold would know she was home. “Come, Gren.” Let the guards seek them out.
Vrell stumbled toward the southwestern vineyard. The wounded needed her now. She could worry about Bran later. “We shall walk along the road and check each row of the vineyard, since that is where our men found the enemy.”
Gren plodded alongside Vrell. She sniffled and heaved in a deep breath.
“Are you well, Gren?”
“I—” Gren turned her tear-streaked face toward Vrell. “How do you know my name?” She curtsied. “If you please, my lady.”
Vrell pursed her lips, scrambling for a suitable answer, then stopped herself. No need to fib. The truth would do fine. Some of it, anyway.
“You are the prince’s childhood friend. My mother brought you here to keep you safe. My knowing your name cannot be the reason for your tears.”
Gren’s eyes widened. “Oh. No. I… the battle, I suppose.”
Vrell doubted Gren was giving her the full truth either.
They moved along the road, peering down each row they passed. Vrell wanted to use her bloodvoice to check on Bran, but she needed to be sitting down to do that, for watching made her weak. It would not be wise to try until she finished assisting the wounded and was safely indoors.
“There!” Gren pointed past Vrell, down the next row. A young soldier lay on his back, writhing.
Vrell ran toward him. Upon seeing his condition, she bit back a cry. He had been hit with a mace in the neck and chest. Blood had completely soaked his scarlet Kingsguard cape to a deep maroon. Vrell crouched at his side.
The man’s eyes focused on hers. Deep brown eyes, pleading for help. He sucked in short, strangled breaths and grunts, as if trying to speak. From the wound on his neck, Vrell feared he could not. His entire body trembled as if he were freezing. The shock of pain to his body had taken control. Vrell began to tremble herself as she considered what, if anything, she could do to help.
Gren’s footsteps approached. “Sorry, my lady. I can’t keep up. I’m queasy most mornings and I— Cetheria’s hand! What happened to him?”
Vrell spun around, fixing the deepest scowl she could muster. This man would not live, but there was no reason he need know. “He fought bravely, Gren—that is what happened. Now, hold your tongue and get me some fresh linen.” Vrell turned back