She held up a finger. "Do not say things you are not permitted to say."
He straightened to his full height. "I can say what I want."
"Then do not waste your breath saying things we shall both regret."
"I won't regret it."
"This is utterly inappropriate. You should never have entered a room with a woman alone. Have you no propriety?"
"Me? This is my room, Sparrow. And you're the woman running around in trousers. I'm no expert at propriety, but I'd say you were in violation first."
"I was simply looking out your window, as my room does not have one. I will leave. Good day, Your Highness."
"Sparrow, wait."
But she stormed past like a winter wind and jerked the door shut behind her.
Pig snout. Achan fell back on his bed and stared at the low timber ceiling. It had been going so well there for a moment. Hadn't she kissed him back? A moment of abandon-bah! No doubting it. He was a miserable failure at romance.
The door to Sir Caleb's room scraped open. Achan twisted his head to see Kurtz closing the door behind him, a handful of clothing under his arm.
Achan sat up, heart thumping wildly. Had Kurtz entered back when Achan heard the click? Back when…?
Kurtz crept to Achan's door, eyes shifting slightly as he reached for the handle.
Achan jumped to his feet. "Kurtz!"
The knight paused, facing the door.
"Kurtz…uh…please sit a moment." Achan swallowed, for his mouth had gone quite dry. "It, um…what you saw…it wasn't what it looked like. I can explain. Sparrow's not-"
Kurtz pulled open the door and spoke to the floor. "Your business is your own, it is." He swept out the door as fast as Sparrow had.
Achan groaned and fell back onto his bed.
Pig snout!
Vrell fled down the stairs, trying unsuccessfully to stopper her tears. Her boot caught and she stumbled down the last four steps. She caught herself on the door jamb at the foot of the stairwell and held tight, gripping the stone as if doing so might remove the last few minutes of her life.
How could she have been so foolish! She had convinced herself that she had misunderstood Achan's behavior at the waterfall. How wrong she had been! Had she encouraged him? But they had been playing games since they had entered Darkness. She turned her back to the curve of the tower and sank, weeping to the floor. Silent wails shook her.
Approaching footsteps in the hallway broke her tirade. She gasped in short breaths, calming herself, hoping the person would pass right up the stairs without seeing her. She smoothed her hair back behind her head, twisting it into a tail, though she no longer had a thong to fasten it.
A brown rope swept through the door jamb, followed by Atul's weathered face. As if he knew she were there already, he immediately looked down. "Master Sparrow, just the person I was lookin' fer."
"Me, Atul?" She sniffled and lifted her chin. "How can I assist you?"
He held a hand out. "Need approval on 'n alteration. Fer the prince's wardrobe."
"But that is something to ask Sir Caleb. He supervises the prince's wardrobe." She tucked her hair into the neck of her tunic and accepted his hand. A chill combed her spine when he pulled her to her feet.
"Sir Caleb's 'n a meetin'. 'Tis a simple matter. But my seamstress don't wanna proceed without a go-ahead o' some kind. Won't yeh take a look?"
"Of course." Vrell followed Atul to a room on the first level, attempting to keep the memory of Achan's kiss from kindling more tears. Atul held open the door.
Vrell walked inside. The long and narrow room was lined with shelves that were loaded with folded fabric. A small candle burned in an iron sconce mounted beside the door, muting the many colors of fabric to dull, earthy tones.
There were no seamstresses here.
The door clicked shut. Vrell spun around. Atul grabbed her and clamped a moist cloth over her mouth. The familiar, bark-like scent called forth panic from every nerve in Vrell's body. This was the same substance Macoun Hadar had given her outside the Council meeting. She seized Atul's robes and pushed him, hooking his leg at the same time. His dark eyes flew wide as he thudded to the stone floor.
Vrell leaped over him, but Atul grabbed her ankle and she tripped. Her hands scraped down the bottom half of the door. She winced at the stinging splinters in her palms and tried to push herself up despite the pain. A fog settled over her mind, blunting her movements. She tried to focus, to call out to Achan, but even her mind had been crippled by the soporific.
She could hear Atul moving, feel him pulling her across the moist floor by her boots, then all went dark.
Vrell moaned, stretched her stiff back. Her head throbbed. She tried to stretch her arms, but they did not move. She pulled harder, opened her eyes to discern the problem.
A thick knot of hemp bound her wrists in front. A swell of nausea gripped her at the memory of Atul the traitor. She lifted her head and looked around. She was in a single-pole, circular pavilion. A small fire blazed in a bronze brazier in the center of the room, lighting the extravagant tapestries on the walls. The smoke trailed out a hole in the roof into a dark sky.
It must be night.
She lay on a burgundy silk blanket that covered a pallet of goose down. A table, two chairs, and three massive trunks sat to the right of the bed. A changing screen hid the left side of the tent from view. An elaborate red and blue gown hung over the side of the screen. Could this be a woman's tent?
She needed to bloodvoice Achan, to tell him Atul was a traitor and had taken her. But what if it were a trap to lure him here? Perhaps she should at least discover where she was before contacting him.
Men's voices grew outside the tent, drawing near.
"It will take me three days to prepare more. Why didn't you tell me you were out?" The familiar, raspy voice brought a shiver over Vrell. Khai Mageia.
"I never had none to be out of." This bad grammar belonged to Atul. "Polk was s'posed to give me some, but Sir Gavin took all Polk's gear. What could I of done?"
"You could've asked me to make you more days ago."
"Enough. This matters not. If she calls to the stray, he'll come for her."
Esek Nathak's snide, condescending voice brought tears to Vrell's eyes. Caught, after all this time, by the very man she had been hiding from. Arman, why?
"Send scouts to watch for him, Sir Kenton-but not you. You ride with me."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Footsteps faded out of earshot.
A gust of cold air swept into the tent. "Still she sleeps? I have no time for this. You said it wouldn't last long, Mageia."
Strong hands grabbed Vrell's waist and rolled her over. Khai Mageia's dark eyes stared through his flop of greasy brown hair. His wild mustache twitched, baring yellowed teeth in a malicious smile. "She's awake, Your Majesty."
Esek Nathak peeked over Khai's shoulder, sending a chill up Vrell's spine that coated her palms in sweat. She tensed at how much Esek resembled Achan. Blue eyes, tanned skin, and dark hair… They could be brothers.
Esek's nose wrinkled in a disdainful grimace. "She smells like rot. Are you certain this is Lady Averella?"
"Positive," Khai said.
Esek grunted. "I'll have to have that coverlet aired. Stand her up so I can get a good look."
Khai pulled Vrell off the bed. She wanted to struggle, but her head pounded so much she found it difficult to focus. The next thing she knew, she stood before the bed facing Esek, Khai, and Atul.
Esek wore a long, red, wool cape bucked at his throat with a ruby and gold cabochon the size of her fist, black trousers, and black boots. A thin gold crown sank into his oily black hair that had been slicked back into a braided tail. His beard had thickened since she last saw him and made his jaw and chin look like it was trimmed in black rabbit fur.