Vrell huffed a cynical laugh. Achan's plea, fresh in her mind, brought a stab of sorrow. "Why would you think such a thing?"
"Because you're a jewel. Kind, smart, hardworking. I'm sure that even in trousers you would win any man's heart."
"Bran. Be serious."
"Your mother could make the offer. It's easily done. Let the prince decide. All you have to do-"
"No." Vrell glared. "I will not be queen. I did not marry Esek because I did not want to be queen. That has not changed."
"As if not being queen was your reason for refusing Esek. Achan is not Esek. Esek is a snake, my lady. Even his followers attest to that. I like the prince. He's a good man. I can tell."
"I know he is a good man."
"Sir Rigil said he attacked Sir Gavin when he discovered his squire had gone. At first I thought him mad, but now I imagine he was simply madly in love."
Vrell's eyes went wide. "Achan attacked Sir Gavin?"
Bran smirked as if he had caught Vrell in a lie. "Make the offer, my lady."
"Enough!" Vrell scooted to the edge of the sofa and straightened her skirts. "For many months, I have been desperate to get home, to Mother and to you, Bran. To put this wretched experience behind me. I am betrothed to you. I would not pledge my heart to another."
"With all due respect, my lady. I can see you no longer love me."
"Do not be ridiculous. Of course I love you. Mother said she would speak to me after the banquet about our engagement. I am sure she will give her consent."
Bran scooted to Vrell's side, set a hand on her shoulder, and kissed her. She stiffened. His lips were soft and familiar, but she felt awkward, disappointed, and wished he would stop. Was it because they had been parted for so long? Tears welled at her lack of emotion.
He broke away and his brown eyes studied hers. He released a shaky breath and swallowed. "Averella. I would never break my vow to marry you if that's your heart's desire. But I beg you be honest with yourself and me. I don't wish to see either of us married to someone we don't truly love. I'd hate to know you'd forced yourself to keep your vow to me, and I'd hate to have a wife who'd settled for me. Please. Think on it."
She inhaled a shaky breath. "I will consult Mother on the matter."
Bran stifled a laugh and shook his head.
"What?"
"Be honest. If you truly don't know, say so. If you no longer love me, say so. But don't use your mother like a crutch."
"It is wise to seek the council of one's elders."
"Aye, but that's not what you do, Averella. You only seek your mother's council when you don't want to face your own problems. When you don't like her answer, you do as you please. And if you can't have your own way or are too craven to deal with your own problems, you run back to your mother and beg she fix it. That's not seeking her wise council. That's seeking a method to get your own way time and again. You're a spoiled child."
Vrell gasped. "How dare you."
"Yes, yes. How dare I speak truth? The vicious barbarian, Bran Rennan. The man who recklessly tells women what they refuse to hear. Well, hang me if you must, my dear, but at least take a moment to consider what I've said. I fear you will see I'm quite right.
"You secretly love our king to be. I can see it plain as the Evenwall approaching. And the only reason you've stayed a stray-nobody in his eyes was so he could meet you on your own terms." Bran raised his thick eyebrows. "But what now, my dear? Your ploy has failed. Now he catches you in your lie or you never meet him again. My, what a tangled web a spider weaves."
Vrell stood. "You dare call me a spider? What of you and the widow Hoff? Now who is weaving a spider's web? She clearly loves you, but you will not sink to consider a mere peasant when you could marry a noblewoman. Wait and see if things work out with the duchesses' heir first. If not, there is always the widow Hoff."
Bran paled so much he didn't look at all sunburned. "I don't know what the servants have been saying, Averella, but I ignore Gren's affection because of my promise to you. It has nothing to do with my social status or hers. Don't twist this around. You're angry because I'm right. You and I are not meant to be. And it pains me I'm not more grieved. But that's wide of the point. I forgive you, Averella, for loving another. But don't punish me over your lies to the prince. And don't punish him, either."
Vrell pressed her hand to her heart, trying to control her breathing and the threatening tears.
Bran paused at the doorway. "Be warned, he still seeks you, my lady. He has men in the area."
Her eyes widened and she looked out the window, scanning the inner bailey. "Achan is here? Already?"
Bran chuckled. "No, my lady. King Esek. It was rumored you'd come home. His men have been seen nearby."
"Oh." Vrell fell back on the sofa. Surely this rumor had been before Achan had crippled him? If Esek were still alive, would he be a broken man or as much of a tyrant as ever? Would he give up his claim to the throne, or, after all her hiding, would he find her in her own home and take her away?
"Marry Achan, Averella. Be our queen. For you would be a marvelous one."
Vrell glared at Bran. What had she even seen in such a rude individual? "Please go."
"Very well." Bran bowed. "Farewell, my lady."
40
Achan sat atop Dove, his right arm in a sling to keep the pressure off his shoulder. Shung rode on his left, Cole on his right, riding Scout. The procession to Carmine passed several families migrating from the encroaching Evenwall. People carried packs and baskets, led animals, drove wagons, or pulled carts, packed with all their possessions.
Achan now understood his purpose, more than to be king, was to bring Arman's love to the people. Being king was simply the role he needed to complete such a task. But he knew so little of Arman. He had so much to learn before he could proclaim Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad with confidence.
Lord Yarden had been distressed by Esek's attack, apologetic, even, as if he were to blame for Atul being a traitor. Achan had allowed the man to blame himself a bit longer than necessary before explaining about the broken windows in the temple. For a moment he'd feared Lord Yarden might faint, but Shung had spoken, repeated the words he'd said to Achan when Caan had vanished.
"Rare the man whose prayers move the earth."
That had been enough to bring Lord Yarden back, nodding and beaming as if having his property destroyed were the greatest honor to be had in all Er'Rets. Perhaps now he would intentionally never repair it.
The city of Carmine could be seen from miles away in the center of a luscious green valley. Farms and vineyards stretched to the horizon in all directions. The cupola roof on a brownstone tower, as tall as the one on Ice Island, peeked out of a matching curtain wall.
They approached the grounds from the northwest. A simple, six-foot brownstone wall enclosed the vineyards of Granton Castle. There were no guards at the first gate. The procession raised a cloud of dust as it trampled the dirt road. Vines stretched on and on, heavy with bunches of plump red grapes. Achan mouth watered. He hoped he'd get to try some.
At the end of the vineyard, Sir Gavin stopped before a single tower gate at another brownstone wall. A wide moat separated another dirt road-which appeared to circle the inner edges of the vineyard-and the three-level curtain wall. The narrow drawbridge was down, but the guard had to raise the portcullis to let them enter.
A group of soldiers clustered on the sentry wall near the tower, looking down on their group. They pointed and chattered. Some cheered. A few guardsmen further down the wall ran toward the tower as if hoping to get a glimpse of the visitors.