"Who kens how long that will take?" Darren asked anxiously. "I care about Ann as well, deeply, but what ye're proposin' is goin' tae be difficult enough for a woman on her own, never mind one with an invalid who cannae walk. Who kens if it'll even work?"
Ferda shook her head. "It doesnae matter. I'll stay by her side if it takes me whole life. Ye ken that, Darren. Even if it doesnae work, even if we return home with nothin', I'll carry her if I need tae. I'll go where she goes. I'll be what she needs me tae be. Just as she'd do for me if things were the other way around, and ye ken it."
Neala and Nessa exchanged glances, but neither of them spoke. Neala was not as surprised as Nessa seemed to be; she'd heard of such relationships amongst some of the other female Sparrows, though she'd never desired such a thing herself. Still, she had not realized that such a bond existed between Ann and Ferda. It seemed so strange to see it here in this world outside of the woman-focused Sparrows, and Neala's stomach churned in a secondhand nervousness as she thought about what it might mean for Ferda and Ann's futures.
Darren touched his cousin's arm. "I'll go with ye, then. When this is over, I'll go with ye. Dirk will come as well, I'm sure. If ye insist on doin' this, if it's this important tae ye and if there's a chance we can help her—then we'll be will ye all the way."
For once, Ferda looked lost for words. Nessa was staring at Darren with an incomprehensible expression on her face.
Darren kept talking. "But Ferda, I just want ye tae be sure. If ye do this—if this is the path ye truly choose—then it means ye'll lose things. Ye'll never marry. Ye'll never have bairns of yerown. Ye'll never be recognized by the world as a woman who has fulfilled her role."
Ferda's lip quivered as though she might cry, but then she sighed and gave a small smile. "I understand all that, cousin, and I love ye for carin' for me in it." She looked at Ann once more. "I understand that choosin' tae remain with her isnae the way things are supposed tae go. I understand that I'll have tae make sacrifices tae do it. But, Darren, sometimes things are worth the risk—even if that means goin' against everythin' ye've ever learned. Sometimes, just one person is worth the whole world. I ken that one day ye'll understand that, too."
Nessa let go of Darren's arm and stepped back. As she did, Neala noticed how Darren's eyes flicked to Nessa upon Ferda's last words. Before she could consider what that might mean, the cousins were embracing, and Nessa was back at Neala's side. She took her hand and led her out into the hall, closing the door behind them.
"Let's wait out here," Nessa said. "Darren doesnae like showin' off that he has emotions in front of people."
Neala smiled politely at the little joke, but her mind and heart were racing over what she had just seen. The feeling of devotion in that room was still clinging to her, worming its way through her armor and into her heart.
I need ye tae understand that he's the enemy.
Some things are worth the risk—even if that means goin' against everythin' ye've ever learned.
Neala's soul shivered. She turned, grabbing Nessa by the arms in her sudden nervous excitement. "Did ye mean it?" she asked urgently. "When ye said ye wished tae be friends—is that somethin' ye truly want?"
Nessa stepped back in alarm, shaking off Neala's hands, but nodded. "I did. I do," she said. "What are ye doin'? Are ye all right?"
"Nay," Neala said. "Aye. I dinnae ken. Nessa, I need yer help. There's somethin' I have tae do."
"What kind of somethin'?" Nessa asked warily. "What are ye plannin'?"
Neala grinned, the manic excitement flooding her. "Somethin' foolish."
17
Ansel trudged across the war camp, exhaustion weighing so heavily on him that he doubted he would even be able to make it back to his tent. Every day, more and more of the king's men fell. Every day, more and more of their lands were lost. The Ashkirk throne was shedding allies left and right, and the attacks upon their war camps were growing more frequent and more brutal. Many of their men had been captured or killed, and many others had changed sides. It was clear to anyone who cared to look that after more than twenty solid years of iron-fisted rule, Edric Ashkirk was slowly but surely losing this war.
There were only two people on their entire side of the war who did not whisper fearfully about the coming destruction. Only two people did not go to sleep with the bleak knowledge that their days were numbered, not because they would live, but because of the way they saw the world.
The first was the king himself. Edric had grown even more belligerent as the days passed, executing everyone he suspected of turning against him, from the lowest servant to the highest clan chief. He had redoubled his violence on innocent villages, sending the most bloodthirsty of his men amongst the innocent to stamp his mark upon the land,hisland, by force. Every defeatdrove him into more of a frenzy, and the people under his rule were suffering for it. He did not, would not, or perhaps even could not accept that the end was coming, and so, in some ways, he was more of a threat than ever—to enemy and friend alike.
The second person who did not feel the encroaching horror of defeat was Ansel himself. It wasn't that he didn't know it was coming. It wasn't that he thought he would live.
It was just that he no longer cared.
In the three months since Baldric had been killed right in front of his eyes, Ansel's heart had grown as cold as the snow that fell around them, and his skin was stone. His father had addressed him directly as soon as the deed was done, challenging Ansel to object, but all Ansel had been able to do was stand there and stare at the body of the only family member who had ever shown him love. The only friend he'd ever been able to trust with all of his heart.
"See!" Edric had announced. "See how my loyal son doesnae defend the executed criminal! See how he kens I have done only justice! Come up on the platform, lad, and stand by me side!"
As if in a nightmare, Ansel had obeyed, barely aware of his own body. He was frozen in that moment, trapped in the shield he'd built around himself to defend his screaming mind from the horror before his eyes, and he could not escape it. The stone wall he had erected was now unmovable, stopping him from even considering what it might be to feel again.
Now, months later, Ansel was glad for it. It was better not to feel. The moment that he felt again, he believed his body would collapse under the emotion. Better that he allowed himself none at all. Better that he simply served his role until the inevitable bitter end. It would be easier for everyone, from the rebels to his father, if everyone just played his part.
And so, mechanically, he'd done as his father bid. He'd headed up the war camp, directing the men, defending the land.He hadn't led any attacks, ordering his men simply to defend, and he knew that there were divisions in his ranks between those most loyal to the king and those most loyal to him. He knew that there was infighting. He simply didn't care.
Baldric was dead, and Ansel had watched. Neala was long gone, and her brother was on the way here to end Ansel's life. Perhaps it would be a mercy. Perhaps, at long last, those he had hurt over the years would get their justice.
It didn't matter, though. He was too tired to think of such things in more than passing, too cold to ponder the pain he had caused and felt, and too lost in the stone cage to consider changing his ways. It was all he could do to keep going. His life was worth little now, and so he'd use it how he always had, serving his father until the end came. There was no choice and no question. Ansel had never known anything else. He wasn't brave as Baldric had been, nor determined as Neala was. He wasn't anything but a candle lit at both ends, the wax almost all melted away. He would do the role that he was born for until the moment the light went out at last.
