Free From Darkness Won by Jill Williamson Page B

Mother do it.” Sisters who were true heirs to Carm. Vrell was tired of hiding in her own home. She had changed. She was no longer content to marry and wear pretty dresses all her life. She wanted—no, n eeded—to participate, to be of use in the coming war. And if doing so took her away from Achan…
    Syrah offered her a glass of water. “’Tis only a few days until the prince and his men leave. Then you won’t have to see any of them for a long time.”
    That was what Vrell wanted, right? But the thought of never seeing Achan again brought tears to her eyes.
     
     
     
    Vrell slipped along the cool, stone passage. She knew her way so well it was hard not to run the straight stretches. She forced herself to walk slowly, watching the flame on her candle flicker with each step. It took ages to move about the castle using only the secret passageways, but she could not risk being seen until Achan was gone.
    Vrell was still furious Mother had permitted Anillo to show Achan the passages. Of course he should know of the secret meeting rooms, but not that he could walk to his chambers.
    No doubt Mother hoped Achan and Vrell might stumble upon one another in the dark corridors. Mother did not understand Vrell’s reservations. The sooner Vrell could find a way to leave Carmine, the better.
    At the northwest tower stairs, she started up. Her room was on the sixth floor, but she paused on the fourth. Achan had gone out to practice with the soldiers. She had seen him and Shung from Ryson Tower.
    No. Enough time had been wasted spying on Achan. She continued to climb. Her dress scraped along the stone steps and walls. She did not bother to lift her skirts and protect the fabric. She would have no need for such gowns on the battlefield.
    By the time she reached the sixth floor, her lungs were tight. She passed the first arrow loop and held the candle high until she spied a strip of white fabric. She had tied the swatch on the entrance to her sister’s room to make the door easier to find. She knocked once and pushed the door in.
    Gypsum sat before an embroidery stand, plump lips turned down. Baskets of colorful thread sat around her feet. Eyes on her work, she said, “By all means, Averella, enter.”
    Vrell ignored her sister’s tone and sank down on the foot of the bed. In many ways, twelve-year-old Gypsum acted older than Vrell. The girl had been an exceptional seamstress since she had first touched needle and thread, an admirable skill for a young noblewoman. She never disagreed with Mother, never climbed trees, and never argued with squires or knights. Vrell doubted she had ever touched a weapon in her short life.
    Gypsum’s room was always spotless, of her own accord. Maids had little to clean here. Gypsum had chosen lavender and deep purple floral bedding and matching solid upholstery on her chaise lounge and chairs. Frescoes of children and angels covered the ceiling, but the walls were white. Framed tapestries hung every two feet, most of which Gypsum had crafted herself. Vrell spotted a new one near the door and heaved herself off the bed to examine it more closely.
    Two sheets of silk, one black, one white, had been sewn together with raw, jagged stitches. The outline of a map was embroidered in gold. On the white silk, happy people danced among the ripe vines of Carmine and full orchards of Allowntown. On the black side, Vrell’s gaze stopped on a small boat in the water west of Mahanaim. Five figures sat in the small craft. Three men in red Kingsguard capes, a young man, whom Gypsum had stitched with a golden glow over his head, a nd a girl, staring out from a hooded cape with wide eyes, her black hair blowing out from the side of the hood.
    Vrell shivered. “This is amazing, Gypsum. When did you do this?”
    Still absorbed in her latest masterpiece, Gypsum pulled the thread with an easy rhythm. “When you were gone. Mother told us much of what you relayed. Your journey spoke to me, so I made that.”
    I made