I never wanted to hurt Sparrow. Never. She means too much to me. Losing her was proof of that. But how can I keep her? What would Sir Caleb say? He recalled Sparrow's joke of a stray mistress. Could she have meant that? Been hinting? Lots of noblemen took mistresses. Maybe my wife-from Sir Caleb's arranged marriage-could have her own space, and I could keep Sparrow with me, always.
Fire coursed through Vrell's veins. She pushed away, closing her mind and sucking in a long breath to keep herself from crying. "I knew it! You are no different."
His wide eyes were unfathomable, as if he were innocent. "What'd I do?"
If Achan truly knew Arman, he would know that yoking himself to multiple women would ruin them all. "This matters more than any feelings we may have for one another. You do not love Arman. You only love yourself."
He pulled back, though not far enough to give her room to escape. "I–I love you. I told you so. I meant it."
"No, Achan. You think you can keep me in a room in your castle, to be your, your…" She blew out another furious breath. "Ladylove!" She seized her pillow and struck him with it, gasping at the pain stabbing her side. "Get out!" She struck him again and let her pillow fall to the floor. She panted, whispered, "Leave this chamber, now."
"I'm sorry!" He groaned to his feet, drew back a step. "I didn't mean those thoughts. They were for me alone. Just me. Just… thinking. W-We don't have to be together. No one even has to know you're a woman. Or you could be the prince's chosen sister. Wise female advisor. We could-"
"Achan, such a thing could not be done. It would be scandalous."
"I don't care. We could be the pair who changed their stations in life. W-We'll vow to abolish strays from all Er'Rets. Grant peasant rights to everyone." He stared at the floor. All was still, the crackling fireplace the only sound. "And if you grew to love me…"
She wished he would let go of his scheming. It took all her effort not to look at him, his eyes, his lips. Her throat burned. "Achan, I became a man to avoid marriage."
"To someone horrible. I'm not so bad, right?" He grinned, but it did not reach his eyes. "And I love you. So it won't be like marrying a man thrice your elder or one who only means to use you."
"It would be worse."
Achan pulled back farther as if she had slapped him. "You don't care, even a little?"
"Your own thoughts betrayed you, Achan. You must marry a noblewoman." And he would never know her real name. She decided that then and there. She should never have let down her guard. He could not be trusted.
Pain flashed through his pale eyes.
How could she make him understand? "For you, it can never be about love. A king is not free to love. Too many things distract. His realm must always come first."
"But a king can do what he wants."
"You sound like Esek, demanding your way."
He huffed, eyebrows sinking over his eyes. "I'll not lose you."
"You do not have me to lose."
"Tell me you don't love me."
Vrell had no idea where she got the courage to answer so calmly. "I do not love you. And I do not see how you can honestly love me. You have known I am a woman three days."
Achan set his jaw. Pouting.
She swallowed her threatening tears. "Achan, what you call love is your craving for love. And I do love you like a brother. But I will not be a convenience to any man's fears of loneliness. Let me go. Learn to be king. Take a real queen. Serve Arman and your kingdom. That is your purpose."
"A purpose I'll serve better with you at my side."
"It cannot be. Despite all the obvious reasons why we could not be together, I will not be a crutch for you to hide from Arman. He seeks your full heart, and you must face him."
"You kissed me back."
She glanced down at her hands, squeezed them, and forced cold words past her swollen throat. "It was a mistake."
His jaw jutted out and his gaze seemed to burn into her. "I don't believe you."
"Believe what you must. I apologize if I misled you."
Achan's eyes glazed. He seemed to shrink. He limped toward the door, turned back, ran a hand over his head, and shuddered a sigh. "Forgive me, I-" Still limping, he fled from the room, the door swinging in his wake.
Vrell eased back down to her back and rolled on her side, finally allowing the tears to come.
Iron gauntlets squeezed Achan's chest. He limp-skipped out of the inner gate and across the lawn to the edge of the pool side of the moat, seeking a tree to destroy. A small cluster of pine trees stood between the curtain wall and the curve of the pool. His right arm hung slack at his side. At least the injury wouldn't hinder him as much, being left-handed.
He squeezed Owr's suede-wrapped grip in his left hand. A thin pine tree at the edge of the moat stream volunteered its service. Achan hacked into it. Owr, sharper than Eagan's Elk, peeled back a long swatch of bark, baring the white inner wood.
An image of Gren sitting under the allown tree flooded his mind, the day she'd watched him attack the wilted poplar with his waster. A great fury rose in his chest, and he sliced into the tree again and again, wanting to hurt it, wanting to make it look the way he felt. Broken, useless, vile, unlovable.
His blade cleaved deep into the trunk, and he screamed in frustration as he ripped it free. A sudden calm oozed over his fury. His arm fell to his side. Owr's tip swished through the grass. He stepped back, blinked at the mutilated tree, and recoiled.
"If it is firewood you seek, there are better ways."
Achan spun around to face Sir Eagan. Now he understood his sudden calm. He scowled, knowing Sir Eagan had used his bloodvoicing trick to pacify Achan's emotions. "Withdraw from my mind or I'll force you out."
Sir Eagan tipped his head to one side and smiled. "Only if you promise to let the tree go."
Achan choked up a knot of phlegm and spit it out. "This tree is helping me cope with my latest prison."
"It is not the tree that concerns me, Your Highness, but my sword. You shall dull the blade using it as an axe. I am certain we could find you an axe if you must chop, though I do not recommend such physical labor with your wounds."
"This isn't your sword. It's Owr. I took it from Esek after I cut off his arm. You may have Eagan's Elk back."
"Rhomphaia."
"Whatever." Achan lifted Owr in front of him and studied the gleaming crossguard. It was so beautiful, but had caused so much pain. Would it continue to kill at his direction? He tossed it onto the grass. A sudden ache seized his right shoulder and his body tensed against the pain. Gloom hung heavy on his body, like clothing drenched from rain.
Sir Eagan must have withdrawn his calming thoughts. Achan lowered himself to the wet grass, groaning, and leaned back on the mutilated tree. Spray from the waterfall misted him and he welcomed the coolness.
Sir Eagan slid is boot a step closer over the slick grass. "Care to talk about it?"
Achan's lips parted. "There's nothing to say."
"Maybe not. But confession is often like steam from a kettle. Without a place to release, it will explode."
Achan gestured at the tree. "That's why I chop."
"Are you certain I cannot help?"
Achan shook his head. "You wouldn't understand."
"No?" Sir Eagan sighed. "In your infinite wisdom of-what is it, fifteen years?"
"Sixteen."
"Beg your pardon, sixteen years. By your aged wisdom, you must have a detailed account of my life, is that correct, Your Highness?"
"No."
"Then do not assume you know me. I loved a woman in my youth. We were younger than you when we met. Known each other since our births, really, but it was not until I moved to Tsaftown to squire for Lord Livna that she captured my heart. Lady Nitsa Livna. Some know her today as-"