Achan laid the meat on the rock. He scanned the ground near the water's edge and picked up a sturdy branch. Using Vrell's knife, he stripped bark from the branch and growled. "Is there no green wood in Darkness? I'm surprised the whole land hasn't gone up in flames."
Sir Caleb arrived and set his birds beside the rock. "What are you two doing?"
"Achan is teaching me to skin the bird," Vrell said, as if the idea fascinated her. "He says plucking will take too long."
"He's right on that account."
Achan sharpened the stick like a spear and handed it to Vrell. He rinsed his hands in the river and pointed at her satchel. "What have you got in there? To cook with, I mean?"
Vrell's mind raced. What herbs were good for cooking? "Um…cloves?"
Achan wrinkled his nose. "Not for fowl. What else?"
"Fennel?"
"Okay. What else?"
"Yarrow?"
Sir Caleb chuckled.
Achan's shoulders slumped. "Let me see."
Vrell handed him the bag. He set it in his lap and drew each bundle out one at a time and smelled them. "Rosemary. Is there any garlic in here?"
"Yes. At the bottom."
He handed her the satchel, but kept her bunch of rosemary. "Can you find it?"
She dug until she found a bulb of garlic wrapped in leather where it could not overpower the rest of her herbs.
Achan slicked open the bird's breast and shoved the rosemary inside. He took the clove of garlic from Vrell's hand and smacked it against the rock to knock the skin loose. He tucked a clove in with the rosemary and handed the rest back. "Sir Caleb, do you have any twine?"
Sir Caleb burst into a hearty laugh. "I think so. I'll go look." He trudged toward the horses, laughing all the way.
Vrell put away the garlic. The smell of rosemary and garlic masked the stench of blood. "Where did you learn to do this?"
Achan cocked an eyebrow. "Your first clue is on my back. Forgetfulfox."
Vrell flushed, the image of Achan's scarred back fresh in her mind. "Right. Sorry."
"I didn't hate Poril, you know. Deep down, for most my youth, I thought of him as my father. I never understood why he… Well, he'd beat me for the lightest transgression and show no remorse. Did your master ever beat you?"
Vrell glanced down at her hands. "No."
Achan huffed. "Luckyfox."
Sir Caleb returned with twine. Achan tied the breast to the stick to keep the spices in. He carried the stick to the campfire.
Vrell trudged after him.
"Not bad, Your Highness." Sir Caleb nodded at Achan's meat, now propped over the fire. "Care to see how I do it?"
Achan shrugged. "What other way is there?"
"The hunter's way." Sir Caleb walked to the riverbank, Achan and Inko at his heels. Vrell followed, uninterested in seeing another bird gutted, yet what other way could there be?
Sir Caleb set a gowzal on the ground on its back and spread the wings to the side. He stepped on them, pressing his boots against the body, grabbed the legs, and pulled. At first nothing happened. Then something popped inside the bird.
Vrell jumped and started at the dead bird, wincing.
Sir Caleb continued to pull, eliciting more cracks and tearing from the carcass. Suddenly, the feet ripped away from the rest of the body. Vrell shrieked and jumped back. The innards were still attached to the legs.
"Whoa!" Achan's eyes were wide, like he'd never seen anything so amazing.
Vrell did not think she could take much more.
"This gets you right to the meat." Sir Caleb held up the feet, dripping with guts. "All the innards are right here. And, see? The breast is bare. Just pull it out and cook."
Achan leaned forward to look. Vrell stayed put.
"Then strip back the innards over the leg…" Sir Caleb demonstrated. "Snap them off at the knee…and you've got two drumsticks ready to go. Toss the rest."
Achan reached for one of the other gowzals half-covered by snow. "Can I try?"
Vrell walked back toward the fire. "I shall keep watch on the one cooking."
Dinner warmed Achan's insides, but Sir Gavin extinguished the campfire and the darkness and cold returned.
Achan didn't feel like sleeping. He wanted to talk. "Do we follow the river all the way to Berland, Sir Gavin?"
"Nay. We'll leave the river here and head north."
"And follow your nose?" Achan asked.
"For a while."
Achan decided to look in on Gren, just to confirm her safety. Sparrow, I'm checking on Gren. Make sure no one stabs me.
Achan, you should tell one of the knights. Mocking them is not-
Achan closed his mind and concentrated on Gren's face. He saw nothing. Weariness gripped his limbs. She was sleeping.
On a whim, he sought out her father instead.
A dark room came into focus lit by a candle on a bedside table. Master Fenny lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
Don't say that, Master Fenny said. There's always hope.
It's false hope. Tears laced Gren's mother's voice. No man will marry a widow. We shouldn't have given her to Riga. She didn't want to marry him. It was a poor choice.
You blame me?
We should've let her marry Achan. She could be queen now.
Master Fenny snorted. They wouldn't have let him marry a weaver's daughter.
But don't you see? Had we given in, they would've wed already. She'd be queen by default. They wouldn't have taken his wife away.
We cannot live in the past, Frida. She married Riga and he's dead. We must look to the future. I for one will not give up hope. We have a new life here. Carmine has rich soil. And I've never met such kind people. You yourself said this morning how kind they are here.
I did. They are kind. To us. But to Gren…
We must put all our hopes in this young squire. He's been good to us, and I've seen him looking fondly at Grendolyn.
He's betrothed to the duchess' daughter. We cannot compete with nobility. If we're to find Gren another match, we must set our sights lower.
Master Fenny recalled his time in the fields with Master Rennan earlier that day. I think the man fancies her.
What does that matter? Prince Gidon fancied every girl in Sitna. Did that make him a good match for anyone?
Do not speak that name! I say, Achan should be named again. Really, for that boy to take on a name so tainted-
Achan pulled away, thoughts drifting. He wrinkled his nose. It felt stiff in the icy air.
Gren's parents wanted her to remarry. It would be best. Why hadn't Achan demanded Sir Gavin let him marry Gren? Shouldn't he have put up a fight? His heart didn't ache any less for what he and Gren had lost when she had married Riga.
Had Riga kept him silent? The baby? Achan didn't know.
Master Fenny suspected Bran had feelings for Gren. But Bran had spoken passionately to Gren about his betrothed, Lady Averella. Could the squire's feelings have changed in her absence? Master Fenny had likely read more into Bran's polite behavior. Besides, no man could help looking twice at Gren.
His eyes ached. Time to sleep. Sparrow? I'm back and alive, so stop worrying. I'm going to sleep now.
After a long pause, Sparrow said, Good night, Your Highness.
Achan felt he'd hardly slept when Sir Caleb shook him awake. They rode into a thick forest. The horses slowed to a lazy amble in the snow. The trees were so close together there seemed to be no room for the animals. Branches swiped at Achan's arms and face, knocking snow over his head and arms. He kept his wool cloak fastened tight, the hood up, but it wasn't enough to ward off the chill. His fingers were numb.