“They’ll know it’s a ploy,” she said. “No one drinks tea at this time of night.”
“Herbal tea,” Willow said promptly. “You let me worry about it. Now, go back to your room and don’t leave it until morning.”
“But—”
“Mistress Oliver, you’ve already done more than anyone could expect of you. Please, go back to bed. I don’t want you mixed up in this if I fail.”
Mistress Oliver’s mouth set in that mulish expression again. “You’ll be more help if you can fight from the shadows,” Willow added. “And if this works, you’ll have plenty to do, fighting the Ascendants from within.” Stop being stubborn, for heaven’s sake, I don’t have time for this.
Slowly, Mistress Oliver nodded. Willow picked up a silver tray in her left hand, ignoring the fizzing that would leave her feeling drunk after too long, and nodded to Mistress Oliver to put the teacup and saucer and other tea things on it. It was almost too heavy to carry one-handed, so she let some of the weight rest on her injured hand and told herself fainting from pain was unacceptable. She let Mistress Oliver open the annex door, listened for company, and found nothing. “Upstairs,” she mouthed, and they stepped quietly up the stairs. There were still bloodstains on the floor by the steps—well, she’d done her best, and with any luck no one would use these stairs until she was long gone.
She left Mistress Oliver at the third floor landing, allowing the woman to push the door open for her, and proceeded alone down the hall. Here, the art on the walls was landscapes in oils, nothing Willow recognized and therefore probably valuable. Little tables bearing floral arrangements stood here and there between the doors. And standing outside the second door on the left were two beefy guards, armed and armored and, as far as Willow could tell, falling asleep. That struck her as odd, in guards who would have to answer to Kent if they slept on duty, but they hadn’t heard the earlier fight and she wasn’t about to question good luck.
She kept her head down and walked slowly, as if performing an unwelcome task. The guards came to alert when she was within six feet of them, tardily enough that if Willow had been better armed, she might have caught one of them by surprise. Armed, and a foot taller, and fifty pounds heavier…better not to think about impossible might-have-beens.
“His lordship rang for tea,” she said in a dull, bored voice.
“I’ll take it in,” one of the guards said. He was taller than his companion and hadn’t shaved in about a week. Sleepy and slovenly. She wondered where Kent had gotten these men—or had Terence assigned them? Not important.
“All right,” she said, making as if to hand over the tray, “if you think Mistress Kent will mind you leaving your post.”
The guard hesitated, his hand inches from the tray. His partner, less slovenly but equally ill-shaven, said, “Don’t want to offend Mistress Kent.”
The first guard put his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t be long,” he said, and opened the door. Willow slipped through the narrow crack, which was almost too small to accommodate the tray. Did they think Lord Frazier was waiting behind it for an opportunity to escape?
The room beyond was dark, and Willow hastily shut the door behind her before the guards could realize that if Lord Frazier were awake to call for tea, he’d have a light on. She felt very little metal in the room, but the drapes and window were open, and the light of the half-moon illuminated the bed near the open window. Willow set the tea tray on a barely-seen table and crept to the bed. “Lord Frazier,” she whispered. “Lord Frazier!”
“Who are you, and what are you doing in my bedchamber?” came a voice from the depths of the bed.
“I’m Willow North. King Felix’s adviser. I’ve freed your wife and children and I came to get you out of here.”
The bedding stirred, and Lord Frazier sat up. “You what?”
“I don’t have time to explain. Gillian Kent is dead, and I…” She went to the window and looked down. The room was at the rear of the house, overlooking the park, and she could climb out the window easily. She looked at Lord Frazier. He was heavily built, with a large belly. It was possible he was good at climbing, but she doubted it. “I…sort of ran out of ideas.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“My lord, you’re in danger.”
“This is my home and I won’t be driven from it like an animal. You say Letitia and the children are safe? Then they no longer have a hold on me.”
“Yes, but the Ascendants might kill you when they discover they’re gone.”
“They won’t kill me. That Kent woman held them all together through the force of her will. They’ve already been fighting like cats in heat, arguing over who’ll get preference when the false King decides to remove me from office.”
Willow gave up. It occurred to her that the false King might remove him in a rather permanent way, but her sense of the guards’ presence outside the door was making her antsy. “All right. In the morning, we’ll demand their surrender.”
Lord Frazier laughed. “You think they’ll just give up?”
“I have a hundred weapons that say they will.”
“You’re bold.”
“I have to be. Will you support King Felix?”
“You can ask that at a time like this?”
“I may not get the opportunity for a while. Will you?”
The Baron nodded. “Just—rid me of these Ascendants. If you actually can, which I don’t believe, but then you’re here, and that seems damn near miraculous. What did you do, fly over the walls?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when this is over.”
Lord Frazier clasped her hand, making her want to scream with pain. “Take care of my family.”
“I will.”
She gulped down the tea, which was now lukewarm, grimaced at the taste—she liked tea with lemon—and let herself out, carrying the fizzing tray. “Took you long enough,” the first guard said.
“His lordship insisted I wait so I could clear away the tray ‘stead of leaving it overnight,” Willow said.
“Wish someone ‘ud bring me a cup of tea,” the second guard said in a tone that suggested he knew someone close at hand who could do that.
“Not supposed to eat or drink on duty, you know that,” the first guard said. Willow cautiously walked away, hoping they’d carry on their conversation without her. She made it to the stairs without being summoned back and hurried down to the main floor, praying not to be discovered. She ran to the kitchen annex, shedding the tray inside the door and pulling the white smock over her head.
She couldn’t get the glove over her right hand and had to settle for cramming it into her waistband. With her knit cap covering her blond hair, she made her way back to the tower room and waited, leaning against the heavy door, to sense whether anyone was passing outside. Nothing—nothing within her range, that is. Time to take a chance.
The streets were empty. Had the Fraziers evaded the patrols and reached the army? Likely. If they’d been captured, there would have been a ruckus. Willow ran down the streets, keeping all her senses alert for wandering guards. She couldn’t climb with her hand broken, but at well after midnight, no one was abroad, and the swords the soldiers carried were as good as a klaxon for announcing their presence well before she saw them.
The pain in her hand and side were becoming harder to ignore, and she had to stop once or twice to catch her breath. Thank heaven for small miracles, like unobservant soldiers who didn’t know how to patrol a tight pattern that would have caught her. It felt like time was passing too slowly, like she was taking far too long about leaving Magrette, though she knew it was an illusion caused by pain and anxiety. She pushed off the stoop where she’d rested briefly and determined not to rest again until she was home. There it was again. How could an army camp be home? Because you love the people there.
Since Magrette didn’t have a city wall, she’d left its boundaries before she realized she was free of the city. Once she was in the open air, she ran, not caring
that she was pushing herself past her endurance, only wanting to reach the camp as soon as possible.
Five minutes later, she saw the familiar peaks of the tents, glowing palely in the moonlight. The guards standing at the picket line challenged her—good for them—then waved her through when they recognized her. She weaved through the tents until she reached her own. Light glowed within. Kerish would be waiting. She pushed open the tent door. “Let me tell you what I did,” she said.
Chapter Ten
The splint on Willow’s right hand itched and was bulky, but she resisted the urge to rub beneath it, which hurt. She was careful not to move it much at all, not to draw attention to it, because that made Kerish look at it, and the expression on his face when he did so made her cringe inside. He’d stayed with her while the camp physicker set the bones, but had spoken to her very little since that time. She judged he was dealing with a desire to hurt the one who’d done this to her—an unfulfillable desire—and didn’t push. So long as he wasn’t angry with her, she could give him time to work through his anger.
She clutched the horse’s reins more tightly and wished she knew what she was doing. The horse was a docile gelding, piebald and prone to tossing its head as if it was a young girl dancing at Midsummer, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d never ridden a horse before and was starting to rethink the logic behind the decision.
“We cannot take the wagon, it will be a liability if it comes to a fight,” Soltighan had said, “and if you come walking in the midst of us, it will diminish your presence. You must ride.”
“Can’t I ride with you?” Willow had said, but she didn’t need Soltighan’s laugh to know that was a bad idea. So she sat as straight as she could on Arrow’s back and reminded herself that the horse wasn’t going to buck her off and drag her, foot wedged in the stirrups, through the streets of Magrette.
The citizens of Magrette moved out of the way of their procession with alacrity, then stood watching from the stoops. They were silent, with the look of people whose homes were being invaded, though the soldiers and insurgents ignored them. Willow wished she had a way to reassure them. Felix had stayed behind in the camp with the other half of their little army; this wasn’t a triumphal march. There was a very good chance this would end in bloodshed.
Beside her, Kerish said, “Relax.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m serious. You’ll spook the horse.”
“I think I’d have to jab it with a cobbler’s needle to get a reaction out of it.” But she loosened her grip on the reins and let her back relax slightly. “I’m worried for Lord Frazier. They might kill him in retaliation for Kent’s death.”
“Unlikely. Murdering a provincial lord still carries strong penalties, and Terence can’t afford to condone it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
The streets broadened, but the number of people on them had diminished. Willow had seen figures scurrying ahead of the procession and concluded word had gone on before them. Smart of them, really. The closer they came to the park and the manor, the greater the likelihood of violence. Willow didn’t want a single citizen of Magrette hurt.
Ahead, the trees of the park blocked her view of the lower floors of the manor. Their leaves had mostly changed color, yellow or brown or brilliant crimson. Willow had never seen autumn come to so many trees in one place before. Aurilien had trees growing near the wealthier neighborhoods, but not en masse the way these were. In a few weeks they would look sparse and dead. In a few weeks, we’ll be gone, she thought.
The horses clip-clopped their way under the trees. Birds sang and darted from branch to branch, undeterred by the intruders. The air smelled of autumn, crisp and lovely, making Willow wish she was home in Aurilien. How many more weeks would it be before that happened? Before the first snows fell? It wouldn’t matter, because if they were in Aurilien, it meant Terence was defeated and Felix spirited away by her and Kerish. The thought gave her an unexpected pang. She might never see Aurilien again after that.
“’Ware soldiers,” Soltighan said over his shoulder. He and his captains rode in front of her and Kerish—Captain Robinson was in command of the forces protecting Felix—and immediately behind them marched a mixed group of soldiers and wand-wielding insurgents. “I cannot see anyone who might be an Ascendant.”
“Be ready,” Willow said loudly, and the men and women following her quickened their pace.
They came out from beneath the trees to see a troop of soldiers in Valant red and black mustered in front of the great entrance to the manor. They shifted their position nervously as Willow’s soldiers advanced, but held their ground. Soltighan called a halt when they were a hundred feet away. “In the name of Felix, King of Tremontane, we order you to stand down,” he said.
“Silverfield does not recognize the impostor,” a man wearing captain’s insignia said. He didn’t sound very certain.
“Then let Lord Frazier say so,” Soltighan replied.
“Lord Frazier no longer rules in Silverfield.”
“Then who does?” Willow called out. The captain craned to see past Soltighan.
“Who are you?” he said, sounding puzzled.
Willow maneuvered her horse between Soltighan’s captains until she was at the head of the line. Her palms itched. Where were the Ascendants? “Willow North,” she said. “King Felix’s chief adviser. Are you saying Lord Frazier has been deposed?” Please don’t say dead, please don’t say dead…
“Silverfield’s title has been given to Gillian Kent.”
“Interesting,” Willow said. She still couldn’t see the Ascendants, two of whom could burn or drown her if they chose. “A dead woman as Baroness. That’s different.”
“What? Lady Kent isn’t dead!”
He was a terrible liar. “Let me tell you a story, captain,” she said. “Last night, someone sneaked into the manor without alerting any of your no-doubt well-trained soldiers. That woman not only freed Lady Frazier and her children, but killed a soldier and Gillian Kent, again without leaving a trace. So you have to be asking yourself—what might that woman do tonight?”
Anger contorted his face. He wasn’t a good liar, but he was remarkably quick on the uptake. “You,” he said. “Soldiers, attack!”
The mass of black and red surged forward. It was the signal Soltighan’s men were waiting for. The first rank of Valant soldiers ran into a hail of crossbow bolts, dropping a dozen men before they could take more than three steps. Willow wheeled Arrow around awkwardly, out of the way of the soldiers sweeping toward the enemy. Over the heads of the soldiers, she saw the manor door open and a couple of richly-dressed people emerge. “Ascendants!” she shouted, but her voice was lost in the noise of the melee.
Fire blossomed, sped toward her, and she yanked on the reins, making Arrow jerk to one side. The fire took shape as a burning falcon and struck her on the shoulder. She batted it away, slapped the fire to put it out. Suddenly Kerish was there, wrenching the reins out of her hand and dragging her and the horse back. “Stay low!” he shouted.
“The Ascendants—”
“Already taken care of!”
Willow looked over her shoulder. She couldn’t see the Ascendants, between the crush of the fighting and the wild movement of her horse, but no more fire came streaking toward them. Wind rose up, buffeting her and snatching the breath from her lungs. She covered her face with her arm and shouted, “Are you sure about that?”
The wind died to nothing. “Yes,” Kerish said. “But stay low anyway.”
The fighting had moved past them, a tangled mess of bodies and weapons clashing. Willow felt stupid just sitting there and watching, as if it had nothing to do with her. Kerish shoved the reins into her hands and urged his horse forward into the fight. She swallowed a protest and steered Arrow back farther. Her small knife was almost worthless against a sword, certainly under these circumstances.
She watched Kerish instead, her heart in her throat as he drove his horse li
ke a harrow down the center of the clashing forces, exchanging blows with the Valant soldiers. So this was how it felt, watching someone you loved go into danger and being helpless to protect him. No wonder he got that look in his eye whenever she went off midnighting. And yet, with Felix’s safety at stake, she couldn’t say she’d stop doing it any more than Kerish would.
Arrow jigged left, restless at the noise and confusion, and Willow guided the horse that way, looking for a better vantage point that might tell her how the battle was going. Not that she understood warfare, even on this tiny scale, to know how to interpret what she saw. She rode wide around the fight, then drove straight for the manor door, where a handful of insurgents milled. Unlike the soldiers, they had no uniforms, just ordinary clothes that any Tremontanan worker might wear. Having established that the battle wasn’t coming their way, Willow slid off the horse and approached them. The ground was littered with discs made of silver and copper, glowing with a golden radiance.
“We killed the Ascendants,” said a young woman with large, protuberant eyes that combined with her disordered clothing made her look manic. “Both of them.”
“Good,” Willow said. “Wait. What about the third?”
“There was only the two,” another woman, this one older, said. Then her eyes went as wide as the young woman’s. “Sweet merciful heaven. They’re coming right for us.”
The fighting had turned into a rout. Soldiers in black and red came charging toward the manor, many of them dropping their swords in their haste. Enough of them remained armed that Willow’s heart beat faster. “Everybody inside!” she shouted, and smacked Arrow on the rump so he’d flee. Then she turned and ran through the open door, following the insurgents. A tall, potbellied man slammed it shut behind her and threw the bolt home, then had to whip his hands out of the way as two others manhandled a heavy oak bar into its slots across the door. Almost immediately the pounding began. Willow let out a deep breath and rested her left hand against the door, feeling it vibrate.
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