“That’s not true, Felix.” Willow gestured to one of the passing soldiers, who scooped the wiggling dog into his arms. “Look, the tent’s ready, let’s go inside.”
The tent was empty of furnishings. “Kerish,” Willow said.
“I’ll be back,” Kerish said.
Willow stood in the doorway and watched the line of riders approach. Off to her left, Eskandelic soldiers gathered, wheeling their mounts restlessly until an unspoken signal sent them riding off toward Lord Quinn’s people. Bess and Rosie emerged from among the tents, carrying their banners. “You look official,” she told them.
Bess, or possibly Rosie—Willow was embarrassed to admit she didn’t know who was which—smiled and dipped a curtsey to Willow. “Let’s hope they think so, my lady.”
“We want to do the young King proud,” said Rosie (or Bess).
Willow nodded. “You don’t have to say anything this time. Just lead them here, then hold the banners steady beside the door.”
Kerish reappeared, lugging an armful of folding camp chairs. “Help me set these up,” he said, and he and Willow arranged the chairs facing each other as Soltighan entered the tent.
“There are soldiers positioned nearby, if there is need,” he said. “I will wait outside to divest them of their arms.”
“So will I,” Kerish said. He kissed Willow swiftly and said, “Good luck.” He followed Soltighan outside.
Willow sat next to Felix. “You’re not afraid, are you?”
“No.” His hands were clasped tightly in his lap. “You won’t let him hurt me.”
“That’s right. We’re going to talk to him, and everything will be fine.”
“I wish Ernest was here.”
“I know.”
A distant thumping grew louder, became the distinct thud of horses’ hooves striking the mucky ground. Again Willow felt as if she were underwater, everything muffled by the canvas. She heard Kerish speaking from far enough away she couldn’t make out his words. More thuds, these of people dismounting, then the creak of leather armor and the swish of fabric approaching. Willow squeezed Felix’s hand once, then crossed hers loosely in her lap. No fear. Not ever.
Chapter Five
The tent door flap opened, swinging to one side and letting in cool, watery sunlight. Kerish’s backlit form filled the gap. “Your Majesty,” he said, “his Lordship Alric Quinn, Count of Waxwold.” He took a few steps to the side, making way for a short, stout, gray-haired man whose expression in the dim light was neutral, considering. Willow stood and inclined her head to the man. He didn’t respond. All his attention was on Felix.
Felix, to his credit, didn’t squirm, but met Lord Quinn’s gaze fearlessly. “Lord Quinn,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
“I couldn’t exactly ignore the army on my threshold,” Lord Quinn said. He turned his gaze on Willow. “Lady…North. I don’t remember meeting you before.”
“His Majesty gave me my noble title before we left Umberan,” Willow said, coolly returning his gaze. “In recognition of services rendered.”
“Hmm,” Lord Quinn said. His eyes, nearly as dark as Kerish’s, searched her face, possibly looking for signs of nobility etched there. “And you are Felix Valant’s chief political adviser.”
“I am.” Willow took her seat. “Won’t you sit down?”
Lord Quinn sat in the folding chair opposite Felix. As he moved, Willow took the opportunity to look past him, through the open door at the rest of the procession. She could see a handful of horses and dismounted riders, but no one else was approaching the tent. He brought all those people just to make himself look important? Or was this, too, a part of being noble that Willow didn’t understand? She curled her hands around the armrests and glanced at Kerish, wishing they had the inherent magic of shared thoughts. Kerish at least had some knowledge of Tremontanan politics. She barely knew which questions to ask.
Lord Quinn leaned back in his chair. He looked like a man settling in before a large fire with a good book and a glass of brandy. “So, you intend to reclaim the Crown from your uncle.”
“Yes. Uncle Terence is ruling illegally. I’m the true King.”
“And you expect me to recognize your claim.”
“You know Felix is who he says he is,” Willow said.
“I do. I’ve seen the Prince a handful of times.”
“Then you’ll swear fealty to him.”
“I didn’t say that.” Lord Quinn fixed his eyes on Willow again, and she barely managed to keep from flinching at the hard expression there. “I think the Valant family’s right to the Crown has passed.”
“Meaning you’re a better claimant to the Crown.”
“And why not?”
“Because Felix…” She felt like a small animal who sees the hawk’s shadow encompassing her. “You wouldn’t have tried to overthrow Edmund Valant, would you?”
“Not for lack of desire.”
“That’s not the point. You gave your loyalty to Edmund, whatever reservations you might have had about him. Felix is his lawful heir. You don’t have a right to the Crown. You’re just taking advantage of momentary turmoil.”
Lord Quinn looked back at Felix, who to Willow’s chagrin did flinch. “You think Tremontane will be well served by a boy King, with a regent nobody from nowhere?”
“I’m not his regent,” Willow said. “I’ll choose a regent for him when the Crown is restored to him.”
“The more fool you, not to take that power,” Lord Quinn said.
“I don’t want it.”
“Hah!” The Count’s laugh was a derisive bark. “How long do you think you’ll maintain your own power with someone else at the reins? No, let me guess—you only care about the boy.” His voice was derisive, the sound of someone amused at a child’s antics.
“Willow won’t let anything bad happen to me,” Felix said in a small voice that made Willow want to force him to sit up straight and act like a King.
“We’ll see how long that lasts against Terence’s Ascendants,” Lord Quinn said, and stood. Willow rose, pressing down on Felix’s shoulder, though he didn’t seem inclined to leave his chair.
“Then you refuse to acknowledge your King?” she said.
“He’s a little boy who’s in over his head, probably because of people like you.” Standing, he was several inches shorter than Willow, but he acted as if he overtopped her by a foot. “Better he renounce his claim to the Crown and go off to live a peaceful life somewhere far away from this conflict.”
“I can’t do that. I have a responsibility,” Felix said, his voice still sounding small.
“To tear Tremontane apart? Heaven forbid.”
“If you mean to come to war against us—” Willow began.
“There’s no point. I’ll let Terence do that. Though I’ll fight you if you attack me.” Lord Quinn nodded at both of them. “If you change your mind, I’ll be happy to receive your messenger. And I swear not to pursue the boy as a traitor if he renounces his claim to the Crown. Good luck against the Ascendants.”
He pushed through the tent flap without waiting for it to be opened. Willow watched him stump away toward the horses. “What just happened?”
“Is he right? Am I selfish?” Felix asked. His eyes brimmed with tears. Willow checked to be sure no one, particularly Lord Quinn, was watching, then knelt beside him and hugged him.
“He’s the selfish one. He wants to be King even though he’s not entitled. He’s going to fail, too, because his troops can’t defend against Ascendants the way ours can. Don’t worry about it.”
“But what do we do now?”
“We keep trying. Let’s go back to the command tent with Soltighan and look at the map. We can decide where to go from there.”
“Can Ernest come?”
“Sure.”
She let Felix run ahead of her and stood with Kerish at the front of the negotiation tent, looking out at the procession retreating into Kingsport. “He scared me,” she said qui
etly. “It wasn’t that he was so sure of himself, it was more that he thought we—I—was nothing. That we weren’t even worth attacking. What kind of man thinks that way?”
“A ruthless one,” Kerish said. “He’s got power and he’s not afraid to use it. I thought you might have to offer him the regency.”
“He isn’t going to settle for second place when he can wear the Crown himself. But you’re right, I’d offer it to him if I thought it would make a difference.”
Kerish brushed a kiss across her left temple. “And as a man to rule Tremontane?” he murmured in her ear.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t look like I’ll get the chance to learn more about him any time soon. Let’s go talk to Soltighan. We need a new strategy.”
She gazed sightlessly at the map while Soltighan talked, a series of meaningless syllables. Other voices joined in, including the high-pitched whining twitter of Cerise Nolanger, who was no doubt arguing for a course of action that would protect her soldiers. It was all so much yammering in her ears. The desire to simply take Felix and leave the Crown to Lord Quinn was overpowering. It was almost funny that she and Lord Quinn were in agreement about what was best for Felix. But Lord Quinn, powerful as he was, would be no match for Terence’s Ascendants, and leaving now meant leaving Tremontane in the Eminence’s grasp. She had no choice but to see this course of action through.
“Willow?”
“What?” Soltighan and his captains were all looking at her expectantly. “Sorry, I was…thinking about something else. What was the question?”
“I said, should we proceed north to Magrette, and attempt to raise the militia of Silverfield?” Soltighan looked concerned, and she wondered what her face looked like.
“Um…” She thought back three weeks, to her last discussion with Janida, trying to recall what she’d learned about the counties and baronies of Tremontane. “We need every bit of support we can get. Lord Frazier, Baron of Silverfield, has kept himself aloof from taking sides, so he might be inclined to support Felix. What do you say, Lord Heath?”
Dexter Heath detached himself from the tent wall and came forward to the table where the map was spread. “Donald Frazier dislikes conflict, which is why he hasn’t come forward to support any of the claimants to the Crown. But he was loyal to Edmund Valant, and I think that loyalty will extend to his son. I say it’s worth trying.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Willow said. “We’ll strike camp in the morning. Thank you all.”
She was getting better at dismissing people politely. As men and women left the command tent, Soltighan put his hand on her arm. “A word?”
She waited for everyone but Kerish to leave. “Something wrong with our plan?”
Soltighan shook his head. “An addition, as it were. I would like to send spies into the enemy camp.”
“Meaning Lord Quinn’s? He’s not really the enemy, is he?”
“He is not our ally, and with only a small change in circumstances, he might be persuaded to make us his enemy.”
“But he’s never going to ally with Terence. That won’t get him what he wants.”
“Nevertheless.”
Willow sighed. “Can you do it without being noticed?”
“Of course. There would be no purpose else.”
“Then do it. I admit I want as much information about Lord Quinn’s forces as I can get, in case we do end up fighting him.” That possibility was frighteningly real. Lord Quinn clearly meant them to fling themselves at Terence’s troops, softening them up for Lord Quinn to defeat, and if—when—Willow’s forces defeated the Ascendants, they’d be facing Lord Quinn afterward. Better to know their enemy…all right, he was the enemy. Willow didn’t like the idea of having those hard, implacable eyes fixed on her in anger.
She and Kerish strolled back to their tent. “Maybe I should offer to investigate the Quinn forces,” she mused.
“Don’t you dare,” Kerish said. “I know, you’ve never been caught and you don’t intend to be caught, but if your luck runs out and leaves you stranded in enemy territory, imagine what that will do to Felix’s chances.”
“I wasn’t serious. Much. I get antsy sometimes, wanting to be active. I wasn’t designed to be a talker.”
“You’re good at it, though.” Kerish took her hand. “It’s like there was this whole side of you waiting to appear.”
“It’s uncomfortable. Sometimes I don’t recognize myself.”
“You’re still you.” Kerish tugged on her hand to make her stop. “Every bit the same woman who tumbled through my window all those years ago.”
“Not entirely the same. We couldn’t be together if I were.”
“True. Then—the same, only better.”
“I can live with that,” Willow said, kissing him.
***
It rained again that night, but the morning dawned clear and cool, with the promise of autumn in the air. Willow hefted Felix’s trunk into their wagon and breathed in the smell of wet grass and campfires and a hint of khaveh from somewhere nearby. Lord Quinn’s unspoken threats seemed very distant on a morning like this one.
“I promise this tastes better than yesterday,” Kerish said, handing her a small, steaming cup. Willow sipped and nodded.
“I didn’t think it tasted bad yesterday. I packed your things, if you want to bring the trunk.”
“Thanks.” Kerish handed her his empty cup and entered their tent. Willow leaned against the wagon and sipped. The burnt-bitter smell of khaveh soothed her further. Probably she shouldn’t be so casual about their enterprise, but it wouldn’t do Felix any good for her to be tense all the time.
Kerish emerged from the tent with their trunk and heaved it into the wagon. “How many days’ travel is it to Magrette?”
“I don’t know. Three or four? I’ve never been—Felix, come back here!” Felix had raced past, laughing, with Ernest at his heels. The dog was making an unholy racket that ripped through the morning calm like a sawblade.
“Let him run. He’ll have to ride in the wagon soon enough,” Kerish said.
“I know. I worry too much.” She tipped the dregs of her khaveh onto the ground and gave the cup to Kerish. “They’re bringing our horses. Time to head out.”
She spent a few hours riding with Felix in the back of their wagon while Kerish drove, listening to Felix read aloud from a book the Countess of Huddersfield had given him. “The fastest animal in Tremontane is the pronghorn. People call it an antelope, but that’s wrong. They can run over thirty miles per hour for miles and miles. Don’t you think that’s interesting?”
It’s better than hearing about snakes. “I do. That’s much faster than a human.”
“I wish I could ride a pronghorn! But they’re not made to take riders. Besides, it would slow them down.”
Willow stretched and carefully stood, balancing on the wagon seat. “It would be nice to see one. Where do they live?”
“In the north. We could go there someday!”
She looked down at his eager face. “We could,” she said, resolving to make it true. “Look, we’re coming up on the forest. What kinds of animals live in the forest?”
“Squirrels and chipmunks and voles. Lots of kinds of birds.”
“Voles? You made that up. There’s no such animal.”
Felix laughed. “It is so an animal! They look like mice, only fatter.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
The forest was a dark green smudge in the distance. Willow hauled herself awkwardly onto the wagon seat and squinted. “Those are evergreens, right? I’ve never seen an evergreen forest before.”
“Not like the forest south of Aurilien, that’s sure.” Kerish flicked the reins and the horse stepped out faster. “It looks cool and quiet.”
“And we’re going to disrupt that. Hope we don’t scare all the animals away.”
Willow closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face. Their army was relatively sedate, for something as big as it wa
s. She listened to the jingling of harness, the thud of horses’ hooves, the creak of the wagon wheels, and the distant sound of birdsong. Was it coming from the forest? She let her magical senses build up a picture for her, chilly iron nails and horseshoes, bright silvery steel of the curved Eskandelic swords, burning gold coins mixed with fizzing silver and itching copper, and nearer to hand, as it were, the silvery speck of light that was her wedding ring. She rubbed its smooth surface with her thumb and let a smile touch her lips. Kerish had chosen well.
She opened her eyes and said, “What a beautiful—”
Thunder rumbled, a low, threatening sound. Thunder out of a clear sky. Willow and Kerish looked at each other. Then the rumble was a roar, and the ground trembled, then bucked like a fly-bitten stallion. A wave of earth rolled toward them. “Get down!” Kerish shouted, and pulled Willow backward into the wagon, grabbing Felix and holding him close.
The wave hit, knocking the wagon sideways. The horse screamed in terror and lost its footing. It went down hard, jolting the wagon further. With a crack, the front axle broke, and Willow, Kerish, and Felix were tossed from front to back. “Ernest!” Felix cried, and Willow made a futile grab for the dog, who scampered, whining, from the wagon and into the line of march.
The earthquake had thrown the long column of soldiers and insurgents into total disarray. As men and women tried to regain their footing, another long wave of earth struck. Willow wrenched her wand from the sheath at her thigh and climbed atop the wagon, which now lay canted on its side. “Ascendants!” she shouted. “Ready your attack!”
But no one was listening. It didn’t matter, because Willow couldn’t see their assailant—she prayed there was only one, though that seemed unlikely. She dropped down the other side of the wagon, held onto it for balance, and looked frantically about for the enemy. In the distance, white-gold against the backdrop of the lowering pines, fire bloomed. It shot toward her—no, not her specifically, but her army, passing over her head closely enough she felt scorched. More screams of pain, this time human.
Surely no Ascendant could reach us from such a distance? But it wasn’t that far, a few hundred yards, and Willow jammed a disc over the tip of her wand and gestured. The disc went bright gold. Not outside her range.
Champion of the Crown Page 6