“How will I know?”
“You’ll know by the way he treats you,” Willow said. “And now we’re all going to be quiet and go to sleep.”
“All right. Good night.”
Willow lay on her back and once more regarded the roof. Moments later, Felix’s breathing slowed into a natural slumbering rhythm. It always astonished her how quickly he could fall asleep.
Beside her, Kerish edged his bed closer to hers and put his hand on her stomach. “We could put these mattresses on the ground,” he murmured in her ear, “and snuggle up together the way heaven intended.”
“I don’t think heaven is interested in our sex life.”
“Don’t you?” He twitched her sleep shirt up to slide his hand beneath it, skin against skin. “After all the trouble it went to to bring us together?”
Willow sighed with pleasure. “It was sort of a miracle, wasn’t it?”
Kerish’s hand slid to rest above her hip. “I know I’m thankful for it, every day.”
Willow smiled into the darkness. “Let’s see how quietly we can fold these beds up.”
***
She woke to the sound of rain pattering on the canvas high above her head. Kerish and Felix were gone. Ernest slept on Felix’s bed as bonelessly as young animals seemed to do, his muzzle resting on his paws. Willow sat up and stretched. The first rains of autumn were upon them. She hoped it wasn’t an ill omen. She wrapped the blanket around herself and shivered.
“Khaveh, and breakfast,” Kerish said, ducking through the tent door with a khaveh pot in one hand and a covered basket in the other. His hair was damp with tiny droplets. “Nothing hot, I’m afraid. The rain caught the Eskandelics by surprise.”
“I imagine they’re used to dry weather.”
“Oh, they’ve spent plenty of time in the forests, but the rainfall there is different. Big downpours for a few minutes, then the sun turns it into a heat bath. Rafferty’s people are handling it better.”
“Rafferty’s people are no better equipped for the rain than our Eskandelic friends,” Rafferty said, following Kerish into the tent. “Mind if I join you? I’ve some things to discuss.”
“Of course, Giles. Kerish, didn’t you bring cups?”
Kerish unearthed two cups from his trouser pockets just as Rafferty displayed one, its tingling brass shape tiny in his massive hands. “Khaveh is something I’m glad we brought with us,” Rafferty said. “Though I haven’t been able to get my wife to drink it. She prefers tea in the morning.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” Willow agreed. “She’s not with you today?”
“Like I said, I’ve things to discuss. She chose to lie in this morning, as we won’t be moving out any time soon. Something about waterproofing the wagons, as Captain Takjashi said.”
Willow accepted a steaming cup from Kerish and sipped gratefully. Selina Rafferty had joined them at Rannis, and Willow had been surprised to find her much shorter than her husband, though equally well-built. She hadn’t said much, though Willow judged her to be reserved rather than shy. Willow had felt the woman’s blue-eyed gaze on her as if measuring her fitness to be a thief, let alone the guardian of a King. “We’ll pitch the negotiation tent here—near here, anyway—and send word to Alric Quinn to attend on Felix this afternoon.”
“You won’t go to his manor house?” Rafferty said.
“It’s not safe for Felix until Lord Quinn swears fealty to him.”
“Lord Quinn may see it as an insult,” Kerish said.
“That’s up to him. He’ll know why we reject his hospitality, and if he’s honorable, he won’t make a fuss. If he does, well, that tells us what we need to know.”
“Which leads to what I wanted to discuss with you,” Rafferty said. “We should change our order of march. My people ought to be near the front.”
“Giles, most of them aren’t fighters. That’s dangerous.”
“More dangerous if we meet any more Ascendants.” Rafferty took a sip of his drink and grimaced. “This camp khaveh isn’t the best.”
“I made it myself,” Kerish said.
Rafferty grinned and saluted him. “Then you could stand a few more lessons. But back to what I was saying. We lost people because we weren’t prepared to fight—had to run hard to the front of the army to meet the Ascendants’ attack. That shouldn’t happen.”
“And what if what we meet is a Count’s militia?”
“We’re not defenseless, Willow. We can hold our own until the Eskandelics are in a position to attack. You can’t say the same about an Ascendant’s attack.”
“Why didn’t you take this up with Soltighan? He knows more about fighting than I do.”
“Captain Takjashi is a decent fellow, but he doesn’t take my people seriously. He sees them as irregulars with a strange weapon he doesn’t understand. But he listens to you.”
“I’m not sure why. My fighting skills are limited to a handful of dirty tricks and—some small skill.” She’d been about to say and my unique senses. She really needed to be more careful. Kerish was the only person who knew about her inherent magic, how she could sense worked metal, and she had no intention of changing that.
“Because you’re his commanding officer, Willow,” Kerish said, handing her a fresh roll and a pot of jam. “And you’ve never given him reason to doubt you.”
Willow made a face and split her roll in half. “I think I liked it better when it was just the four of us making our way to Belenda.”
“No, you don’t. We didn’t trust Rafferty and you and I were at each other’s throats,” Kerish said, buttering his own roll.
“All right, that part was awful, but there are times I wish I didn’t have any more responsibility than to Felix.”
“Are you talking about me?” Felix exclaimed, pushing through the tent flap. “I ate breakfast already and Gianesh says I have to get dressed now.” He was still in his nightgown, which, to Willow’s dismay, had a smear of jam down the front of it.
“All right, Felix, put on some warm clothes,” Willow said, rising to help the boy remove his nightgown. How funny that only a few months before, Felix could barely dress himself, what with being used to having a dresser and all the other benefits of being a prince, and now he was independent in so many things. She took the stained nightgown and bundled it away where their servants could wash it later, and left Felix to choose his own wardrobe for the day and dress.
Ernest had woken when he heard his master’s voice and now sat alertly on the camp bed, letting out a few excited yips. “I have to take Ernest for a walk, but it’s so wet,” Felix said. His voice was muffled by the shirt over his head. “I want to wait and see if the rain stops.”
“That’s a good idea.” Willow sat and regarded Rafferty. “I’ll discuss it with Soltighan. Maybe a compromise…I’ve already been thinking your people should be divided into smaller fighting groups, like the Eskandelics. They’re broken down into eight- or ten-man units that operate independently, or so Soltighan says.” She didn’t want to admit that her attention frequently wandered when Soltighan went off into a detailed explanation of how the Eskandelic military operated. All she knew was that he understood it well and knew how to direct his troops in battle. What the son of a principality was doing in the military, she didn’t know, but Kerish had warned her not to pry, so she didn’t.
“We’re at your command, my lady,” Rafferty said, and grinned at her scowl.
“It’s not going to be an issue today, at least,” Kerish said, “since Lord Quinn doesn’t have any Ascendants in his household.”
“And you wouldn’t let them come near me if he did,” Felix said.
“I absolutely would not,” Willow said. She handed her empty cup to Kerish and finished off her roll. “I’m going to write that letter now, and then I’ll talk to Soltighan.”
Somewhere in the distance, a trumpet sounded. The high, brassy notes struck all of them motionless. “Lord Quinn?” Kerish said.
“This early
? It can’t be. And he wouldn’t come uninvited.” Willow rooted around in their trunk for something she could cover her head with. Everything was designed for the heat of an Eskandelic summer. “Everyone out so I can dress,” she said. Kerish and Rafferty guided Felix out, followed closely by Ernest, who didn’t sound upset about the rain. She donned shirt and trousers, shoved her feet into boots she hadn’t worn in months, and put on her hat, which was intended only to shield her from the sun but was better than going bareheaded in the rain.
Kerish, Rafferty, and Felix were gone when she emerged. Now what? The trumpet was silent, leaving her no clue as to where its player was. The rain had let up somewhat, turning into a damp drizzle that would get her wetter than a hard rain would. Men and women busied themselves at campfires or ducked in and out of tents, just as if the trumpet hadn’t sounded. Well, for most of them, it probably meant nothing.
In the absence of anything better to do, she headed for the command tent, which Soltighan always ordered pitched even when there wasn’t anyone to fight. Its sole purpose was to direct a battle, and Willow had yet to see it used. But if the trumpeter was a messenger from Lord Quinn, the command tent was where they’d take him. At the very least, someone there would know what was going on.
The camp’s activity increased as she neared the command tent, soldiers striding along in pairs, saluting her as she passed, but no one stopped to speak to her. The yellow grass crunched underfoot despite the rain, and the ground beneath it moved unpleasantly, as if the earth were working its way to becoming mud. The rain had turned the white Eskandelic tents a shade or two darker. Were they waterproof? She’d find out soon enough.
Two soldiers stood at attention on either side of the command tent door; they, too, saluted her, but made no move to hold the door open. It might be sound military practice. Within the tent, Kerish waited in a casual pose Willow knew could turn into violence in half a breath, if necessary. Soltighan stood behind the table that cleverly folded down to the size of a supper tray when it wasn’t in use. He had his attention on a tall, thin woman dressed in scarlet and blue. Quinn colors, Willow recalled. The woman didn’t turn when Willow entered, which said…what? That she didn’t feel threatened here? If so, was that because she trusted them, or disdained them?
“A messenger from the Count of Waxwold, Lady North,” Soltighan said, at which point the woman turned around. She had a long face, with a nose too big for it, and her fair hair under her hat was damp. Her particolored cape was bulky enough it had to be waterproof, and Willow envied her briefly.
“Willow North,” the messenger said, extending a scroll case (also waterproof) sealed with the Quinn sign and shield, a wolf squatting in a pose that no doubt had a fancy name. “My lord welcomes you to County Waxwold and invites you to join him in Kingsport.”
Willow cracked the seal and tapped a rolled sheet of creamy parchment into her hand. Parchment, not paper. What message was Lord Quinn trying to send? One a real noble would recognize immediately. Willow unrolled the parchment and turned her back on the messenger. Her name was at the top, followed by the full name and titles of Alric Quinn, Count of Waxwold. A formality, or was he trying to intimidate her? She carefully read the message below that. The language was formal, the handwriting spiky and narrow, and it took her a while to puzzle it out. At least she was literate, which was something few of her friends in Lower Town could say.
“I take it you’re waiting for a reply,” she said when she reached the end.
“I am, my lady.”
“Soltighan?”
“I have paper and pen ready for you, Lady North.” And that was how he reminded you he was the son of a principality; he knew the formalities better than she did. She sat at the table and wrote out a reply in her best handwriting, which wasn’t very good. Maybe she should have dictated it to Soltighan, but she didn’t want the messenger hearing it and blabbing it to anyone who’d ask. She had no doubt the woman was loyal, but only to the man who employed her.
She rolled the paper up and inserted it into the scroll case, then re-sealed it and handed it to the messenger. “I’ll expect you to be the one who returns with an answer,” she said. “I like to know who I’m dealing with.”
“Yes, my lady,” the messenger said, bowing. Willow waited until she was gone, accompanied by one of the soldiers, before sinking back into her seat.
“Lord Quinn wants Felix to come to him,” she said.
“And you told him no, did you not?” said Soltighan.
“I had to. Kingsport isn’t safe for Felix so long as Lord Quinn’s troops hold it and Lord Quinn isn’t sworn to Felix. But he phrased it as an invitation, which means he could choose to take offense at our refusal of his hospitality. If he’s already decided not to support the true King, he might further use this as an excuse for that.”
“If he’s already made that decision, it doesn’t matter what you said,” Kerish said.
“True. I just wish I didn’t feel so much at a loss. What did you tell me about Lord Quinn, Kerish? That he could fill a room with his presence?”
“He’s smart, and strong, and ruthless,” Kerish said. “Terence disliked him, but I think that’s because he was a threat to his power—or Terence felt that way, anyway. Lord Quinn and King Edmund hated each other. It was no secret he disdained the King. He never came out in open rebellion, but it was obvious he believed he’d make a better King than Edmund.”
“Which is why we need him as an ally,” Willow said, “or we’ll end up fighting two battles at once. Are we equipped to fight Lord Quinn, Soltighan?”
“I have not assessed his fighting forces, and will not unless you give the order, Willow.” Soltighan came to stand next to Kerish in front of the table. “I might send spies, but were they to be captured, it would sow dissension between us. It is not a good position for two allied forces to be in.”
“And I wouldn’t know what to look for.” Willow let out a deep breath. “There’s nothing to do but wait for Lord Quinn’s reply. And be prepared for battle. Which reminds me, I meant to talk to you about the arrangement of our fighters. Giles wants to bring some of his insurgents forward, in case of Ascendant attack.”
Soltighan’s brow furrowed. “They cannot easily defend themselves against soldiers.”
“And your men can’t easily defend against Ascendants. I think we need to blend our forces better.”
“It will be difficult.”
“But worth it.”
Soltighan nodded. “I will discuss the matter with our captains. I cannot disagree with your reasoning.” He bowed and left the tent.
“That was easy,” Kerish said.
“Soltighan’s a reasonable man. And he understands military strategy, even if it’s strategy using unfamiliar weapons.” Willow rose and put her arms around Kerish. “I hate waiting for things.”
“We should follow up on that idea you had, organizing the insurgents into small teams. It will keep you from going crazy while you wait.”
Willow made a face. “That sounds like work.”
“Well, in the absence of anything to steal or climb…” Kerish kissed her.
“You’re so reasonable it’s annoying.”
***
She and Kerish were eating dinner alone in their tent when a message runner clapped outside the door. “Lady North, there is a procession approaching from Kingsport,” he said without entering.
Willow and Kerish exchanged looks. “Bearing what standard?” Willow asked.
“I do not know, my lady. Red and blue colors.”
Willow stood and stripped off her shirt, which had traces of lamb stew on it. “We haven’t set up the negotiation tent. Go get a handful of soldiers to take care of that. Put it on the northeast side of camp. Then find Giles Rafferty and have him send Bess and Rosie out in their herald garb to guide the procession to the negotiation tent. And have Takjashi Soltighan send some soldiers with them.”
“Is that wise?” Kerish said as the unseen messenger clap
ped his acknowledgement and left. “Here, wear this.”
“Thanks. I know, it will look like we’re scrambling, but Soltighan will have kittens if we let them through the camp to the command tent.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I think military strategy is rubbing off on you.”
Willow tucked in her shirt. “You make it sound like some kind of skin disease.”
They ran through the camp, which buzzed like a kicked beehive with soldiers and insurgents. The rain had stopped, leaving the grass sodden and mushy, but the sky remained overcast. The coolness of the day and the fresh, rainy scent of the air told Willow she was in Tremontane as nothing else had since they crossed the border. She breathed it in and let tension flow out of her. If this was Lord Quinn, she’d have to convince him to follow Felix. If not…she’d figure that out when she came to it.
They’d made camp on the plains south and east of Kingsport, well out of sight of the sea. Willow and Kerish emerged from among the tents to find the negotiation tent mostly erected. Kingsport lay to the north, its dark sprawling roofs like a fungus clinging to the landscape. A brightly colored procession wound along the road from the north, led by a horse and rider bearing the Quinn sign and shield on a banner whipped by the wind. There were a lot of riders. Willow wished she had Soltighan’s spyglass, but it wouldn’t matter if she did; she didn’t know what Lord Quinn looked like. But a procession like that one…Lord Quinn had to be part of it.
“Willow?” Felix said from behind her, and she turned to see him dressed neatly, if informally, with Ernest weaving around his legs and occasionally bounding on his hind legs to put his front paws on Felix’s thigh, leaving traces of mud. “Is that Lord Quinn?”
“I think so. But Ernest needs to go back to our tent.”
“He’ll be good!”
“I know he will, but what if Lord Quinn is afraid of dogs? We don’t want him to leave without talking to us, just because Ernest is here.”
Felix scowled. “Only bad people are afraid of dogs.”
Champion of the Crown Page 5