From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [48]
“Is this Achan’s hair?”
Vrell glanced up to see Gren clutching feverfew leaves in one hand and a lock of black hair in the other. “It is.”
“I cut his hair so many times… It looked familiar.” Gren twirled the lock in her fingers. “Did he cut this for you?”
Vrell laughed heartily. “Does that sound like something Achan would do?”
A small smile curved Gren’s lips. “I guess not.”
“I cut it,” Vrell said, “back when he was wounded in the Mahanaim dungeon. I was learning to bloodvoice at the time.”
“Locks of hair help with bloodvoicing?”
“Personal possessions increase the ability of connection. I thought hair would be personal enough.”
“So you met Achan in Mahanaim?”
“I did.”
Gren’s tone hardened. “Then how come he’s never met you? For he confessed as much to me only days ago.”
“I…” Vrell would never escape her own lies if she could not prune herself of all deceit. What was that Bran had claimed? That the truth would set her free? “When we first spoke, Achan believed I was a boy.”
Gren studied her. “A boy? But you’re so beautiful.”
Vrell’s cheeks warmed. “I am not shapely like you. Once I put on a tunic and trousers like these, no one suspected a thing.”
“But why dress as a boy, my lady?”
“It is the same as what we’re doing now, Gren.” Vrell sighed. “Back when we all thought he was Prince Gidon, Esek wanted to marry me. When Mother refused, he tormented us. So Mother sent me to Walden’s Watch to hide under the guise of a stray boy. But a man sensed my bloodvoice and brought me to Mahanaim to train as his apprentice.”
Gren’s eyes were saucers. “You must’ve been terrified.”
“I was.” Vrell went on to tell about her journey to Mahanaim with Jax and Khai, her training with Macoun Hadar and his obsession with Achan.
Gren frowned. “I don’t understand bloodvoicing. You mean that people could feel Achan’s mind?”
“Before he learned to contain it, his power released a painful pressure into every bloodvoicer in Er’Rets.” Vrell recalled Achan’s experiment the other day. “So, Master Hadar, hungry for another apprentice, sent me to fetch Achan. I found him injured in the wake of a battle. Once he was transported to Mahanaim, I cared for his wounds. And when he woke, he thought I was a boy named Vrell Sparrow. That is how we became friends.”
Gren’s eyes widened. “He called you Sparrow in the field. He knows you’re a woman?”
“He knows now,” Vrell said. “But he does not know that Vrell Sparrow and Lady Averella Amal are one and the same.”
Gren rolled onto her knees. “Yet you are betrothed.”
Vrell tugged at her necklace. “The betrothal is a political match Achan’s advisors planned with my mother.”
“But why didn’t you tell him you are Lady Averella?”
Why indeed? “Things are complicated, which is why I needed to leave.”
“But…” Gren stared, mouth flapping. “You love him. You sang to him. He looked so forlorn when he spoke about his engagement.” She gasped. “It’s because he loves Vrell Sparrow and thinks he will never have her. The poor dear.”
Vrell looked at her hands. “I do not know what to do.”
“Tell him the truth and marry him,” Gren said.
“If life were that simple, you and he would be married.”
“I suppose.” Gren nibbled at a feverfew leaf. “But from a woman who was forced to marry, believe me, to marry for love would be worth any complication.”
Even breaking Arman’s laws? “I grow weary of this discussion. Please, I would like to sleep now.”
Gren rolled her eyes and leaned back against the olive tree. “Must be nice to order your problems away.”
Vrell lay down on her bedroll and pulled the blanket up to her chin. “It is not nice. Ordering them away only prolongs the pain of indecision.”
“So make a decision,” Gren said, as if Vrell were choosing which dress to wear.
Vrell rolled on her side, putting her back to Gren. “I have. That is why I’m following Jax.”
“You won’t marry Achan?”
“No. I will not.” Though even as she said the words, she did not know if she meant them. Tears pooled in her eyes. She did her best to stifle the sound of her crying.
The following day passed as slowly as the first. Sitna