Gren giggled and the sweet sound lessened his pain. “Of course not.”
Achan regarded Gren’s tanned, freckled face and dark hair. How different she and Lady Tara were. One golden, one bronze. Achan decided at that moment that he preferred Gren’s coloring. Tara’s resemblance to Cetheria almost made her intimidating. Gren was familiar and warm and sweet.
Gren looked at him sympathetically. “You’re a mess, Achan. Your hair…” She fingered his frizzy braid. “Did you braid this?”
“My valet,” Achan said, thinking of Wils.
Gren giggled again. “Your valet. You’re one for surprises, Achan Cham.” She took his hand and brought it up to his shoulder. “Press down.”
Achan did, a bit softer than Gren had. She moved to her knees and patted the grass in front of her. “Sit here.”
He scooted into place, his back to her, and she combed out his hair with her fingers. Achan closed his eyes. The sensation distracted him from his stinging wounds.
“I skinned your deer,” she said.
Achan opened his eyes. “You did? I thought the butcher had claimed it.”
“He took the meat. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“How’d you even know about it?”
“Father left the keep late that night. He’d been working all day on a brocade for the prince’s coming-of-age ensemble. He saw the whole thing.”
So Gren’s father knew of Achan’s…position? Did Achan even have a position now? Squire to the prince sounded good in theory, but like Shelga had said, most ended up tying nettle-hemp. Gren would say something if there was anything worth saying.
But she didn’t. She rebraided his hair and came to kneel before him. She tugged off the glove on his free hand. “I’m tanning the deer’s hide to make you a jerkin. Shelga has taken me as an apprentice. It will keep me busy when I’m…married.” She didn’t meet his eyes.
Achan winced, but not from the pain of Gren scraping at his fingers with her handkerchief. “Gren, if I could do anything, I—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “I don’t like you serving Prince Gidon. He’s cruel. You know what they say here about a maid with a bruised face?”
“What?”
“That she must have displeased her prince. Yet you purposely provoked him today. That’s unwise, Achan. When I finish your jerkin, you should leave. Run away north to Carmine or Zerah Rock or Tsaftown. The people up north are kinder, so I’ve heard. They don’t keep slaves in those cities. And when I’m done with you, you won’t look a stray, plus carrying a sword like that…”
Run away. Without Gren.
Achan knew he should be concentrating on Gren’s words, but the idea of leaving Sitna without her brought his thoughts back to Lady Tara. Lady Tara of Tsaftown.
Thinking of one pretty girl while in the presence of another was probably something that would get him in trouble. Not that he had any experience with such things. Why did he feel compelled to follow a woman? Why not go alone? Yet his mind did wander north. Tsaftown was the northernmost city in all Er’Rets. Perhaps Lord Livna could use another guard for his watch.
“Would I freeze in Tsaftown?”
Gren twisted her lips in a frown. “You prefer Tsaftown?”
He shrugged and looked at a tuft of grass beside his leg.
“If you make it there before summer’s end,” she said, “you could hunt on your way and trade the furs to a seamstress who could sew you something warm.”
Achan let his imagination drift to a snowy city he’d never seen. A sharp pain in his finger jerked him back to reality. “Ow!”
“Hold still,” Gren said. “You’ve got a sliver of leather wedged into the cut. Why would you grab his sword?”
“I’ve seen knights do it.”
“With mail mittens!” Gren rolled her eyes and stood. “Let’s go for my needle.”
Achan rose. He paused for his head to clear, then picked up his sword and sheathed it, grabbed his cape, and followed Gren out of the inner bailey toward her family’s cottage. “I can’t believe he stabbed me!”
“It’s his way.” Gren weaved behind the armory to a narrow corridor between cottages.
Achan stepped to the side to allow two boys to run past. “I looked a fool. I wanted to win, but I don’t know him well enough to even try.”
Gren stopped beside him. “Win? Achan Cham, do you know how it would look if the prince’s squire beat him in a practice match? A match performed before the nobles to make His Highness look good?”
Achan grinned.
Gren swatted his stomach with the back of her hand. “Don’t be foolish! You’ve already pushed your luck. He’ll worse than prick you next time.”
Inside Gren’s family’s cottage, Achan sat at the oak table and waited for her to find a needle. She returned to the table, lit a candle, and held the needle in the flame. “Give me your hand.”
Achan obeyed. Gren dug into his finger with the hot point. It tickled, and her expression as she bit her bottom lip amused him greatly. His laughter shook his hand and the needle poked. “Ow!”
She glared at him, then went back to her task. “You’re much handsomer than the prince, you know.”
He huffed a laugh. “Of course I am.”
She slapped his leg. “Modesty, dear stray.”
Achan sighed. “But what matter my very good looks if I’m dead?”
“I think the maids — and even some of the noblewomen — were hoping you’d live.”
He fought another chuckle that trembled his hand.
She looked up, her face serious. “You fought well, Achan. Sir Gavin would be proud. You did so much better than the day you bested the tree.”
12
A cool breeze woke Vrell. She felt a gentle rocking. She opened her eyes to a sky so bright she had to immediately shut her eyes again.
The boat was in the ocean. They’d left the tunnels. Praise Arman!
She sat up and turned to see Jax paddling, alternating his oar from side to side. Khai slouched against the side of the boat, asleep, his neck tipped over the edge at an awkward angle. Apparently it was his turn to rest.
Slate grey waves surrounded every side but the left. A rocky coastline topped with a thick forest stretched in both directions as far as she could see. The sun shone down from a cloudless, pale blue sky.
“Good morning,” Jax said.
“How much farther?” Vrell asked.
“We should reach the first gate before lunch. Then it’s another hour to the city.”
Gate? She focused for a moment to remember where they were going. Right. Mahanaim could be reached by water from the south through the Reshon Gates.
The dream she had been having came back to her mind full force. The man with the bloodvoices had been hurt. “Jax?” She glanced at Khai, heard his low snore, and continued. “What happened that night in Xulon? When the voices called out?”
Jax nodded. “Someone discovered his bloodvoice.”
Vrell had guessed that much. “But why did people call to him? And how is it we heard the exchange?”
“His gift is greater than any I’ve sensed in a long while. It does not happen that way for many.”
“Who is he?”
Jax propped the oar on the side of the boat and water poured off the blade and into the ocean. “That’s what we all would like to know. It’s why so many called out — to ask him.”
Vrell twisted her lips and looked out over the peaking waves. “You have sensed others who are great?”
“I’ve never sensed such strength in someone’s discovery. The greatest power I have felt has come from old men. Macoun Hadar, your new master, for one. King Axel was another.”
“You sensed the king?”