“No,” Achan said. “He said if she ran, he’d kill her parents first, then hunt her down.”
“What madness is this?” Master Fenny said. “He’s never once shown interest in Grendolyn.”
“If I may,” Achan croaked. All three looked to him. “I’m to fetch Gren tomorrow morning for the prince. If I were to find she’d already been”—he closed his eyes—“married, I could tell the prince I was mistaken that she was only betrothed.”
Master Hoff’s eyes bulged. “Married today?”
“He knows Gren and you are friends?” Master Fenny asked.
“Aye.”
“Then he won’t believe you didn’t know.”
“He might not.” Achan glanced at Riga. “But after all, I’m just a stray. Why would anyone share such intimacies with me?”
“That’s true,” Master Hoff said.
Riga’s coloring returned to normal. His everyday glare had vanished. His face softened and Achan could see his pale blue eyes.
“There’s no time!” Master Fenny said. “We need three days for a wedding.”
“We could say the ceremony had already begun,” Master Hoff said.
Gren’s father shook his head. “Still, Gren needs to make temple offerings of her childhood clothing and toys. With a priest present.”
“Go and do that now.” Master Hoff pushed his chair in and wiped his face with a napkin. “Riga and I will tend to the feast. We’ll need guests to stand up as witnesses.”
“The women can see to that. Perhaps she could wear her mother’s veil.”
Master Hoff paused. “Such deceitfulness could anger the gods.”
“Better a cursed marriage than have my daughter made a concubine!”
“Well, I don’t desire a cursed marriage for my son! He’s my only heir, as Gren is yours. If the gods are angered, they could curse her womb. Where would that leave us both?”
“Do I have a say?” Riga looked to Gren’s father. “The dowry has already been agreed upon. I’ve made dozens of sacrifices for this union. The gods won’t curse us. It’s my dedication to the gods that brings this warning to us. It is their gift to us in our time of need.”
Achan bit back a sarcastic remark. If the voice was right, and all the gods were idols, what did any of this superstitious talk matter?
Master Fenny sighed. “It shall be done then, if you agree, Vaasa.”
Master Hoff scratched his chin. “The cottage isn’t finished, but it’s livable. I’ll go to the priest this moment and ask him to perform the ceremony tonight. Word should spread fast.”
Achan slipped to the door and let himself out, unable to bear any more. He stopped to suck in a long, fresh breath. He could see the barn from here and the plumes of smoke from the kitchen chimneys. The door opened behind him. He turned to see Riga pulling it closed.
“You think she’ll be happier with me than the future king?”
Achan grimaced. “I do.”
“Why?”
“Because Gren loves Sitna, and you’re in Sitna. Be kind to her. Be kind to her family. If I ever hear you weren’t…” Achan set his hand on the hilt of his sword. Riga’s squinted eyes flew wide. Achan turned and stalked away.
That night he lay under the ale casks, mourning the death of the girl he loved. Come morning, she’d be a married woman.
He had once watched a wedding from a distance. In the final act of the ceremony, the unveiling of the bride, the father had announced to the groom, “In front of these witnesses, I give this girl to you.”
Tonight, Gren’s father would say that to Riga, and she’d be his.
Achan would not torture himself by watching the ceremony, even from afar.
His stomach churned. Now his own plans had been foiled as well. He couldn’t flee for fear of Prince Gidon’s wrath against Gren and her parents. Tomorrow they would both start a new life. Gren as Riga’s wife and Achan as the prince’s personal slave.
*
The next morning Achan lay staring at the casks overhead. He hadn’t slept well. Memories of Gren haunted his every thought.
He tugged his blanket over his head and noticed a jagged tear in the top corner. Someone had cut a square from the thick wool. Trivial as it might be on any other day, this morning Achan seethed. Could he have nothing that wasn’t rags? He’d just been given a new Kingsguard uniform, which Prince Gidon had shredded little by little each day. At least his sword was still intact.
He pondered his coming adventure as he dressed, then rolled the brown shirt and the doeskin doublet inside his blanket. Gren would make clothes for Riga now, but these might yet come in useful. He tied his blanket with his old belt and carried the bundle upstairs.
Poril stood at the bread table. He sprinkled flour on the surface and dumped out a lump of bubbly dough. Achan’s tonic sat on the table, but Poril made no mention of it.
“I’m leaving for Mahanaim.”
“That yeh are.” Poril sprinkled more flour over the dough, then kneaded his hands into it.
“I don’t know when…” Achan shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
“Yeh’ll be fine, yeh will. And if yeh never see Poril again…Poril wishes yeh well.”
A tight ache welled in Achan’s throat. Would he actually miss this old goat? “Well, I…thank you.” Achan stood in the entrance to the kitchens, watching Poril go about making bread. He wanted to leave but his feet wouldn’t move. His eyes misted and he clenched his jaw. “Farewell, then.” Achan turned and fled.
He was five steps from the entrance when Poril yelled, “Achan!”
Achan turned expecting to see the cook holding up the mug of tonic.
Instead, Poril hobbled up and handed Achan a bulky sack. “’Tis a long journey ahead. Maybe yeh’ll be hungry. Guards can’t cook worth much.”
Achan dropped the bag and hugged the old man. “Thank you, Master Poril.”
Poril wiggled away, rubbing his eye. “No trouble, boy. No trouble at all.”
Achan sniffed and shoved his blanket into Poril’s bag. Did the old man regret naming him Achan—“trouble”? Was he trying to say he was sorry? It was a nice thought, and he tried to keep it in the center of his mind as he hurried to the Fenny’s cottage, anxious to get this over with and be gone from Sitna. He’d had his fill of emotions.
He knocked on the door and stepped back, secretly hoping Gren would open the door like always. Instead, her mother did.
The woman squealed and pulled Achan into a hug. He stood stiffly as her body trembled with sobs. He patted her back.
Thankfully Master Fenny came to the door. “Ah, Achan. What can we do for you this fine morning?”
His words came out monotone. “I…I’ve come for Gren. Prince Gidon requests her company on his journey.”
Gren’s mother reeled into a new chain of sobs and squeezed Achan so tight, he feared she might sever his body at the waist.
“I’m sorry,” Master Fenny said. “You’ll have to check with her husband. She’s a married woman now.”
Achan couldn’t help but smile at his performance. “Oh, that is new information. I’ll relay that to His Highness.” Achan peeled away from Gren’s mother. He wanted to see Gren, but that would be hugely inappropriate. “I cannot write… so I couldn’t say farewell…could you tell Gren I—”
Gren’s mother burst into tears again. Master Fenny clapped him on the back. “She already knows, Achan, but I’ll tell her.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Achan left Gren’s cottage behind and ran over the drawbridge. There, the caravan of horses and wagons was lined up along the river. He stood with Noam as his friend harnessed a horse to a wagon, neither saying a word.
Finally Noam spoke. “Chora says you aren’t allowed a horse.”
Achan closed his eyes and smirked. “That sounds about right.”