“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Sparrow. Well, next to Gren.”
Vrell perked up at the name from the letter. “Who’s Gren?”
Achan twisted the stem of the apple until it popped free from the core, then tossed both into the waste bucket. “A peasant girl I grew up with. She made me this shirt.” He puffed out his chest. “Isn’t it nice?”
Vrell nodded then pointed at the doublet. “And that?”
“Yeah.” He beamed and pulled on the doublet, leaving it hang open like a vest. “She made this from the deer I killed. Clever, huh?”
Vrell should get back. Master Hadar would be waiting for an update. But she wanted to hear more. Achan told about serving wine to Silvo and Jaira at Prince Gidon’s banquet, then lingered on another moment shared with Lady Tara. Vrell was not a bit surprised that Tara had been kind to Achan. Tsaftown did not keep slaves, and Achan was waggish and handsome. Still, it bothered Vrell how his face lit up when he spoke of Tara, beloved cousin or not.
Such thoughts! Vrell berated herself. She loved Bran, and he loved her. She had been gone from home too long. Life as an outcast was starting to take its toll.
Achan fiddled with the ties on his jerkin. “Lord Nathak discovered my training. After that, Sir Gavin left me. I still haven’t learned why. And Gidon punished me for insulting Jaira, by making me his sparring partner. I think he wanted to accidentally kill me. Silvo and his demented cohorts ambushed me on the first night of the trip to Mahanaim, claiming to avenge Jaira’s honor. As if she had any.”
He smirked. “Anyway, you saw the bruises. Bran and Sir Rigil came to my aid. And that’s that. To answer your question then: yes, Bran is a friend, if not for very long.”
As Achan tucked the small bag of food into his sack he paused and pulled out the parchment. He held it in his lap, staring down at it, his face paling. Then he crumpled it into a little ball and tossed it into the privy bucket in the corner.
Vrell gasped and scrambled to her feet to retrieve it, but it had already soaked into the foul liquid. She spun back to Achan. “What did you do that for?”
“There’s no reason for me to—” His eyes narrowed. “You little fox, you read it!”
Vrell straightened and turned up her nose. Hands on her hips, she stomped to the door. “Guard!”
Achan jumped up and grabbed her arm, dark brows furrowed, pupils swelling. “You had no right!”
“Back up!” the guard snarled.
Achan released his crushing grip, and Vrell slipped out, heart pounding. The guard slammed the door and clicked the bolts into place. Vrell glanced back to see Achan scowling through the black bars.
Maybe she should have denied his accusation.
Maybe she should not have read the parchment in the first place.
*
That evening, Master Hadar led Vrell to a lovely receiving chamber on the ninth floor and introduced her to the Levy family.
Vrell had been there years ago, and everything sat just as she remembered. Cream and indigo tapestries boxed in a spacious, warm expanse between two fireplaces, one on each end of the room. The family of five sat on carved couches that fanned out in a half circle around the fireplace nearest the door.
The valet announced, “Master Macoun Hadar and his apprentice, Vrell Sparrow,” and led them before the family seated on the couches.
No one stood. Lord Levy nodded politely, an ivory pipe between his lips. His white hair and short, pointed beard made him look more snobbish than ever. She knew how Lord Levy felt about strays. As chairman of the Council of Seven, he had spearheaded the campaigns to brand strays and ban them from Kingsguard service.
Lord Levy’s wife, Lady Fallina, sat near the hearth — elegance in human form. Her golden hair piled onto her head, held by a dozen sapphire clips. Gold embroidery embellished her cobalt silk gown, which draped over her body like a second skin. Her every movement captivated the eye. She smiled and said, “Welcome to Mahanaim.” Even her voice was musical.
“Thank you,” Vrell said with a bow.
Lady Fallina’s charm had not been passed on to her daughters. Vrell had met the girls on several occasions, but thankfully they did not recognize her or give her more than a fleeting glance.
The eldest, Jacqueline, was Vrell’s age. She looked like her mother, but whined like a mule. She too wore a gown of cobalt silk, but hers hung on her bony body like a tent. Her younger sister, Marietta, at fourteen, was blessed with her mother’s figure and smile, and, had she been less chatty, might have been a real contender for queen. But everyone knew that Prince Gidon despised what he considered insipid women and would certainly never choose one as his queen.
Reggio, a scrawny twelve-year-old and even more stuck up version of Lord Levy, said, “Really, Father, another stray?” He glared at Vrell, then Master Hadar. “They’re not staying for dinner, are they? I’m certain Prince Gidon would not appreciate their presence.”
Vrell shot Reggio her nastiest glare. She had heard he was a squire now. She pitied the knight who had taken him on. Whoever it was had most likely been pressured or paid, or both, by Lord Levy. She would have to ask Achan if he knew.
If he would still speak to her.
Marietta stood from the couch and skipped up to Vrell. She took her hand and twirled underneath Vrell’s arm. “Can I borrow him, Father? He’s ever so polite and not too tall.”
Lord Levy looked up from his pipe. “Borrow him for what?”
“To practice dancing. My chambermaid doesn’t do the boy part very well, and I want to be the best dancer at Prince Gidon’s wedding.”
“He’s announced a bride?” Jacqueline clutched Lord Levy’s arm, jerking the pipe from his lips. “Father?”
Lord Levy sighed and moved his pipe to his other hand. “Nothing has been formally announced, but it appears the match will be made with Mandzee Hamartano.”
Jacqueline shrieked. “Mandzee! Oh, Mother! How will I tolerate her as queen? It’s not fair. Am I not pretty enough?”
Vrell stood silently beside Master Hadar, glad to have been momentarily forgotten.
“Oh, Jacqueline,” Lord Levy said, “you’re a jewel. You must understand that this marriage is more for the political match than the prince’s fancy. That I know from Lord Nathak. Mandzee Hamartano is from Jaelport, a strong city far south and in Darkness. An alliance with them will fortify the area for the kingdom.”
“It will fortify my forever being subject to Mandzee’s scorn,” Jacqueline said. “She’ll never let me forget this.”
“Then you shouldn’t have told her he’d pick you,” Marietta said.
Jacqueline stuck out her tongue at Marietta.
Vrell worked to keep her reaction internal. If Mandzee Hamartano really was to be queen, Vrell would have to consider moving across the sea. Jaelportian women had an eerily persuasive way about them. It was little wonder how she was chosen as Prince Gidon’s bride. She had simply worked her magic, whatever it was.
Reggio sighed dramatically. “Who cares about queens and weddings?” He turned to Lord Levy. “Has the stray that attacked the prince been sentenced?”
“Sentenced? A stray has no right to trial, as far as I’m concerned,” Lord Levy said. “I believe Lord Nathak is keeping him in our dungeons for now.”
“Why not execute him?” Reggio said. “I could do it, if you’d let me use an executioner’s axe.”
Lady Fallina sucked in a sharp breath. “Reggio! For shame, to think of such things.”