" What can I possibly do besides serve as a figure of fun for the Court to laugh at again? I don’t know anything--besides how to lose a war; and I don’t think anyone is requiring that particular bit of knowledge.” I tried to sound reasonable, but even I could hear the bitterness in my own voice.
My brother sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll do, either, except I’ll put my hand to anything I’m asked. That’s what our planning session is to be about, soon’s they return. So save your questions for then, and I don’t want any more of this talk of prisoners and grudges and suchlike. Vidanric saved your life--he’s been a true ally, can’t you see it now?”
“He saved it twice,” I corrected without thinking.
“He what?” My brother straightened up.
“In Chovilun dungeon. Didn’t I tell you?” Then I remembered I hadn’t gotten that far before Debegri’s trap had closed about us.
Bran pursed his lips, starting at me with an uncharacteristic expression. “Interesting. I didn’t know that.”
“Well, you got in the way of an arrow before I got a chance to finish the story,” I explained.
“Except, Vidanric didn’t tell me, either.” Branaric opened his mouth, hesitated, then shook his head. “Well, it seems we all have some talking to do. I’m going to lie down first. You drink your tea.” He went out, and I heard the door to his room shut and his cot creak.
I looked away, staring at the merry fire, my thoughts ranging back over the headlong pace of the recent days. Suddenly I knew that Shevraeth had recognized me outside that town, and I knew why he hadn’t done anything about it: because Debegri was with him then. The Marquis and his people had searched day and night in order to find me before Debegri did--searched not to kill me, but in order to save me from certain death at Debegri’s hands.
Why hadn’t he told me? Because I’d called him a liar and untrustworthy, and had made it plain I wasn’t going to change my opinion, no matter what. Then why hadn’t he told my brother, who did trust him?
That I couldn’t answer. And in a sense it didn’t matter. What did matter was that I had been wrong about Shevraeth. I had been so wrong I had nearly gotten a lot of people killed for no reason.
Just thinking it made me grit my teeth, and in a way it felt almost as bad as cleaning the fester from my wounded foot. Which was right, because I had to clean out from my mind the fester caused by anger and hatred. I remembered suddenly that horrible day in Galdran’s dungeon when the Marquis had come to me himself and offered me a choice between death and surrender. “It might buy you time,” he’d said.
At that moment I’d seen surrender as dishonor, and it had taken courage to refuse. He’d seen that and had acknowledged it in many different ways, including his words two days before about my being a heroine. Generous words, meant to brace me up. What I saw now was the grim courage it had taken to act his part in Galdran’s Court, all the time planning to change things with the least amount of damage to innocent people. And when Branaric and I had come crashing into his plans, he’d included us as much as he could in his net of safety. My subsequent brushes with death were, I saw miserably now, my own fault.
I had to respect what he’d done. He’d come to respect us for our ideals, that much was clear. What he might think of me personally… "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)