"Forgive me, Lady Tar-" He ran a hand over his hair and sighed. "Madame G-Gershom, please forgive me, for I'm still learning decorum. I'm afraid I've blundered terribly. I didn't know of your union, nor the best way to inquire about-"
A fist pounded on the door. "My lady?" At Carmack's dire tone, Achan wished for a second door through which to exit the room.
He could take no more. "Forgive me, madam. I was foolish." He strode past Lady Tara and pulled open the door. Carmack framed the doorway like a gate. Achan patted Carmack's shoulder as he slipped by. "Good man."
He fled down the stairs, praying Carmack wouldn't follow. Pausing on the second floor landing, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Of all the stupid, foolhardy, sentimental…
Vrell followed Achan to the ground floor, wondering what inspired his stiff posture and stormy gait, but suspecting she knew. He jerked a torch from a ring on the wall and slipped out the front doors.
Vrell clomped through the dark foyer and pushed open the doors. The cold seized her, stealing her breath. She scanned the dark bailey and spotted Achan's torso midway down one of the trenches, moving so fast each step nearly put out his torch.
"Achan, wait!" Vrell ran-boots crunching over the snow, icy air burning her lungs-until she reached his heels. "Are you… Where are you going?"
He half-glanced over his shoulder. "You're not my nursemaid, Sparrow. Stop following me around." He waved his arm. "Lo! Where is the firewood kept?"
Vrell leaned around Achan. A man carrying a load of kindling jerked his head toward to the side. "Behind the stables, my lord."
Achan surged down the trench, past the stables, then tottered down a narrow channel sprinkled with bits of bark, his breath a thin, grey cloud above his head in the torchlight.
He slowed in an icy clearing before a shelter filled with chunks of firewood. The air smelled of bitter sawdust. Vrell wrinkled her nose. What kinds of trees had these been? The core looked like regular wood, but the outer bark was black.
Achan jammed his torch into a ring on the side of the structure, wrenched an axe from a wide stump, and grabbed a piece of firewood with his other hand.
"Ahh." The wood slipped from his grip and clunked onto the icy ground. Achan grimaced at the black slime smudging his fingers. He wiped it on his trousers and picked up the wood again. "Cursed Darkness." He set the wood on a fat stump, twirled the axe in his left hand, and circled, glaring at the wood as if it were Jaira Hamartano. He swung the axe above his head and brought it down. Crack! Two chunks flew in different directions. Vrell twitched and she backed up a few steps.
Achan grabbed another piece of wood and chopped it.
Vrell wanted to speak, but no words came. Her heart ached to see him so angry. She watched helplessly as he split log after log. She sent a knock to Sir Caleb. If Achan would not speak to her, maybe Sir Caleb could help. Besides, Tara expected Vrell to come have a bath, which Vrell longed for.
But she didn't want to leave Achan alone.
Eight logs later, a hand gripped her shoulder. Sir Caleb stood beside her now, watching Achan with furrowed brows.
"How long has he been doing this?"
"He has chopped eighteen logs, sir."
Sir Caleb sat on a second chopping stump under the eaves of the woodshed. "You've still not bathed or changed?"
Achan brought the axe down, cleaving a sliver off the wood chunk. He rotated the chunk, heaved the axe over his head, and this time, chopped it in two. "Does it look like it?"
Sir Caleb folded his arms. "I'm sure Lord Gershom will appreciate your efforts to stock his firebox, but we're expected at dinner soon. The household will be waiting for you."
"You know what the worst is?"
"Canker sores?" Sir Caleb asked.
Vrell smiled.
Achan let the axe swing to the ground, the head scraping over the snow and woodchips as he stood, panting. "I would have loved them well." He yanked another piece of wood from the shed. Two more fell to the ground. Achan set it on the stump and twirled the axe in his left hand, circling.
"Loved who, Your Majesty. Or am I to guess?"
"Gren. Tara. They deserve better." He brought down the axe and the wood split. One piece tumbled to Vrell's feet.
"Better than what?"
Vrell knew she should go now, but Achan's words had ensnared her.
He reached back and snagged one of the fallen wood chunks. "Than pigs. Lazy men who love only themselves."
"You would love them both?"
He swiped the back of his forearm over his forehead. "Yes-no. I don't know."
Sir Caleb sighed. "You're too young for this burden. If you'd been trained all your life, things would be different. But for now, Achan, let us take this kingship one day at a time."
"I'm trying. But it's not fair."
"What's not, Your Highness?"
"Everything. Why did my parents have to die? Why did Nathak do this to me? Why did Poril beat me? Why did Gren have to marry Riga? Riga! Of all the men in Sitna, why him? And now he's dead and she's alone with child. An outcast. And Tara's father has married her to an insane man almost four times her senior. Why?"
"Lady Tara has wed Lord Gershom?" Sir Caleb rubbed his short beard and sighed. "You ask questions I cannot answer, and even if I could, would it matter? It's the way of the world. What's done is done. The past cannot be changed."
Achan let the axe fall to the ground and buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever for?"
"I'm headstrong. Foolish. Know nothing of being a prince."
"You will learn."
"I don't listen very well."
"How so?"
"I asked Lady Tara to marry me."
Sir Caleb uttered an, "Ahh," as if discovering the answer to a riddle long pondered.
Achan straightened. "I know you think me foolish, but I thought… Well… I hoped…"
"That she would love you?"
Achan kicked the log at his feet and sent it rolling. "I was certain she might…given time. She seemed so agreeable. I'm agreeable."
"Achan, whomever you marry will grow to love you."
"How do you know? Look what happened to Gren. Look at Tara. Will she grow to love her husband?"
"Perhaps."
"How can you say that?"
"Because I've lived longer than you. I've seen things that would surprise you greatly." Sir Caleb set his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. "Gavin and I, we had a friend like you. Passionate about everything. He fell in love with a woman whose father had other ideas."
"What happened?"
"In the end, she obeyed her father and married another. And I can tell you she did grow to love her husband. They raised several wonderful children."
"And your friend? What became of him?"
"Ah, well. I'll let him tell you himself. He's one of the prisoners we'll free from IceIsland."
"He's in IceIsland? That is your story of comfort?"
"Your Highness, I know this is difficult, but you and I are called to something bigger than ourselves. Er'Rets is depending on us to deliver them from Darkness. We're talking about the life and death of a world. Can you try to understand that?"
"Aye." Achan slammed the axe into the stump and left it there. His next words were so soft, Vrell almost couldn't hear them. "I just don't want to be alone anymore."
Sir Caleb stood and came to Achan's side. He put a hand on the scruff of his neck. "I know we're old men, but we're your friends. And you've got Arman."
"And Sparrow."
"Aye, you've got Sparrow as well."
At the mention of her name, Vrell snapped to her senses. She returned to the keep for a bath and Tara's side of this story.