chums.”
“A personal guard to whom?”
“Lady Gypsum.”
Vrell met Gren’s gaze, no doubt exchanging the same curiosity, but neither willing to voice it aloud. Why would one of Gypsum’s guards be in the vineyard at such an hour?
Vrell called to Anillo. Lady Averella Amal.
Yes, my lady?
I am in the southwestern vineyards helping the wounded. I found a man who I believe is one of Gypsum’s guardsmen. He is dead. Would you send someone for his body, please? He lies in the tenth row thereabouts.
Right away, my lady. Should I inform your mother of your location?
If you must. Vrell stood and gathered her satchel and water jug. But why might Gypsum’s guard be out here?
It would be best if you returned to the castle.
Fire sparked in Vrell’s chest and spread quickly through her limbs. Tell me now, Anillo.
Very well. Lady Gypsum was abducted from the courtyard. Do not fret! She is back in the castle, well and safe. Her abductors took her through the vineyards. She will be saddened to hear that Arne did not survive.
Vrell glanced down at the soldier named Arne. He gave his life to save my sister.
He tried, my lady. Lady Gypsum says that Arne was struck down long before she escaped. My lady, if you don’t mind looking … The prince helped Lady Gypsum into the southwestern tunnel. Yet he did not follow her and is no longer responding to the duchess’s calls.
The prince? Achan had been here? Was he here still? She couldn’t let him see her. And yet… Her eyes strayed to Arne’s ruined body.
Please, Arman. Let him be well.
Vrell crouched and scanned the ground under the vines. She counted three bodies at various distances away. I will find him, Anillo. Vrell bounced back up and ran to the road. The tunnel’s entrance was not far. “Come, Gren. There are more wounded.”
Vrell’s heart pounded as she jogged down the road, scanning each row for the next body or the scrap of fabric that marked the trapdoor to the secret tunnel. She spotted a downed man and ran to him. It was not Achan, however, but an enemy soldier—dead from an amputated leg.
Vrell backpedaled, bumped into Gren, and darted past.
Gren cried out, “He’s dead too?”
Vrell turned back and gripped Gren’s shoulders. “Gren, please. I am sorry that you are seeing this, but we must keep moving. Besides, he was one of the enemy.”
She sniffled. “How can you tell?”
“He is wearing a New Kingsguard cape. Black. Not red.” Vrell jogged to the road and waved Gren to follow.
Gren stumbled after her, sobbing. “I didn’t even notice his cloak. I’m just so sad for that other soldier. He was so excited to be a guardsman. I don’t even know his name.”
“Arne.” Vrell gripped Gren’s hand, tugged her along.
Gren panted. “How do you know?”
“Anillo told me. I bloodvoiced him to ask him to send someone for the body.”
“Oh.”
Down the next row, a leg stuck out from under a clump of vines. “Wait, Gren. Here is another.” Vrell ducked under a broken trellis and made her way down the row. The vines on her left were a mess. Some had come loose from the trellis and hung like fallen garland. Some were broken and hung like the branches of a weeping willow.
The man lay on his back, arms spread out as if he could fly. His body appeared to have knocked down the trellis, for pieces of wood and bunches of red grapes lay on the ground around him. His head, covered in a gilded helm, was turned away. The helm was twisted slightly and dented with the star-like imprint of a mace.
Vrell stopped, dumbstruck by the etching on the glided breastplate that had once belonged to Moul Rog the Great.
Achan!
6
Vrell knelt at Achan’s side and studied the dent in his helm. Only one spike had pierced the steel. A thin trail of blood trickled through it. There did not appear to be an abundance of blood on the grass.
She carefully pulled off the helm. Some of Achan’s black hair frizzed, wanting to stay with the wool cushioning
“A personal guard to whom?”
“Lady Gypsum.”
Vrell met Gren’s gaze, no doubt exchanging the same curiosity, but neither willing to voice it aloud. Why would one of Gypsum’s guards be in the vineyard at such an hour?
Vrell called to Anillo. Lady Averella Amal.
Yes, my lady?
I am in the southwestern vineyards helping the wounded. I found a man who I believe is one of Gypsum’s guardsmen. He is dead. Would you send someone for his body, please? He lies in the tenth row thereabouts.
Right away, my lady. Should I inform your mother of your location?
If you must. Vrell stood and gathered her satchel and water jug. But why might Gypsum’s guard be out here?
It would be best if you returned to the castle.
Fire sparked in Vrell’s chest and spread quickly through her limbs. Tell me now, Anillo.
Very well. Lady Gypsum was abducted from the courtyard. Do not fret! She is back in the castle, well and safe. Her abductors took her through the vineyards. She will be saddened to hear that Arne did not survive.
Vrell glanced down at the soldier named Arne. He gave his life to save my sister.
He tried, my lady. Lady Gypsum says that Arne was struck down long before she escaped. My lady, if you don’t mind looking … The prince helped Lady Gypsum into the southwestern tunnel. Yet he did not follow her and is no longer responding to the duchess’s calls.
The prince? Achan had been here? Was he here still? She couldn’t let him see her. And yet… Her eyes strayed to Arne’s ruined body.
Please, Arman. Let him be well.
Vrell crouched and scanned the ground under the vines. She counted three bodies at various distances away. I will find him, Anillo. Vrell bounced back up and ran to the road. The tunnel’s entrance was not far. “Come, Gren. There are more wounded.”
Vrell’s heart pounded as she jogged down the road, scanning each row for the next body or the scrap of fabric that marked the trapdoor to the secret tunnel. She spotted a downed man and ran to him. It was not Achan, however, but an enemy soldier—dead from an amputated leg.
Vrell backpedaled, bumped into Gren, and darted past.
Gren cried out, “He’s dead too?”
Vrell turned back and gripped Gren’s shoulders. “Gren, please. I am sorry that you are seeing this, but we must keep moving. Besides, he was one of the enemy.”
She sniffled. “How can you tell?”
“He is wearing a New Kingsguard cape. Black. Not red.” Vrell jogged to the road and waved Gren to follow.
Gren stumbled after her, sobbing. “I didn’t even notice his cloak. I’m just so sad for that other soldier. He was so excited to be a guardsman. I don’t even know his name.”
“Arne.” Vrell gripped Gren’s hand, tugged her along.
Gren panted. “How do you know?”
“Anillo told me. I bloodvoiced him to ask him to send someone for the body.”
“Oh.”
Down the next row, a leg stuck out from under a clump of vines. “Wait, Gren. Here is another.” Vrell ducked under a broken trellis and made her way down the row. The vines on her left were a mess. Some had come loose from the trellis and hung like fallen garland. Some were broken and hung like the branches of a weeping willow.
The man lay on his back, arms spread out as if he could fly. His body appeared to have knocked down the trellis, for pieces of wood and bunches of red grapes lay on the ground around him. His head, covered in a gilded helm, was turned away. The helm was twisted slightly and dented with the star-like imprint of a mace.
Vrell stopped, dumbstruck by the etching on the glided breastplate that had once belonged to Moul Rog the Great.
Achan!
6
Vrell knelt at Achan’s side and studied the dent in his helm. Only one spike had pierced the steel. A thin trail of blood trickled through it. There did not appear to be an abundance of blood on the grass.
She carefully pulled off the helm. Some of Achan’s black hair frizzed, wanting to stay with the wool cushioning
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