From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [39]
The men and the boy left.
Vrell nudged Gren. “Come.”
She inched down the corridor, running her hand along the wall until her fingers felt the crack in the surface. She slid the panel open. Lamplight streamed through the doorway. She ducked inside and tugged her dress past the narrow opening. Gren followed, and Vrell slid the panel closed.
Vrell hurried to Achan’s bed and sat on the edge. His skin had purpled over his right temple. Sir Eagan’s yarrow salve had slicked his hair flat around the wound. The thick paste smelled like fresh flowers. She smoothed the loose hair back off the other side of his forehead and studied his face.
What was she to do about Achan now?
“Go visit him.”
Vrell sat on Gypsum’s bed, the skirt of her peach gown billowing around her like a mushroom. “I have, Gypsum.”
Her sister sat at her embroidery frame, already half finished with a new tapestry depicting her abduction, Arne’s death, and her rescue by Achan, or as she called him, Prince Achan. How she could create new embroideries so quickly bordered on magical powers.
“He saved my life, Vrella. Those men meant to take me to Esek’s camp.”
The very idea horrified Vrell more than she cared to admit. “Truly, Gypsum, you heard them say Esek is alive?”
Gypsum glanced up from her work. “The ogre man, the one who killed Arne, he said, ‘If yer sister won’t marry the king, you will. Once she’s dead, you’ll be heir to Carm.”
Vrell’s stomach churned. “Maybe someone else is planning to be king now.”
“Vrella, are you listening?” Gypsum stood and walked to the foot of her bed. “They plan to kill you. Are you not concerned?”
“Not nearly as much as I am about them taking you.”
Gypsum slid her hand around the bedpost and hugged it with one arm. “Well, if you will not marry Prince Achan, I shall. I still do not wish to marry a man who loves you, and I am frightened of marriage, but Prince Achan is so kind and attentive… and handsome.” She straightened her arm and swung around the bedpost as if dancing. “I know he would not hurt me.”
Vrell scowled at the dreamy expression on Gypsum’s face, as if Achan were the bedpost. Her sister’s eight minutes spent alone in the company of Achan Cham had apparently made her an expert on his countenance. “Why ever would you think your husband would hurt you?”
“Well, that is what some say about their husbands.”
“Who says?”
Gypsum sat on the edge of her bed. “Halley married a soldier who is very brutal. And Meglan says that her husband only ever wants to make babies and that it hurts her but he doesn’t care. And even Havella, my maidservant, has a fresh bruise every now and then. She never said outright Marden struck her, but I can tell it was him. Oh, and Suzelle—”
Vrell wrinkled her nose. “No more, Gypsum, please. You depress me. I had no idea how many wretched men lived in Carmine.” Yet her comment brought to mind the men who had attacked Gren. She shook the thought away.
“It’s not only Carmine men. Lady Melita Thorvald married Derno Sigul of Hamonah, and he is a hideous man. You wouldn’t believe the things he does and says and—”
“The Siguls are pirates, Gypsum. They are hideous at birth. Really, for all your tales of horror, I can tell you as many tales of joy. Think of my Syrah. Jonol has courted her this past year and has only ever kissed her hand. And Princess Glassea and Keano Pitney.”
“But they are not yet married. Things are different then.”
“Prince Donediff and his wife, Lady Yulessa. I’ve heard from her mother that they are blissful. And Lady Katiolikan and Lord Eli seemed to get along well enough. And the priest Trajen Yorbride and his wife Ressa… They were sickly sweet to one another.”
Her sister sighed, a long, sing-song sound, and tucked a strand of Vrell’s hair behind her ear. “All I am saying is that it seems to me a smart lady would seize the chance to marry a good man.”
Gypsum’s eyes were shining. Had Vrell been so dreamy about romance at Gypsum’s age? Yes. And pining after Sir Rigil. She felt the need to give her sister some wisdom, as if she knew