Champion of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  Lord Quinn hadn’t fought her when she explained what she intended to do, which worried her. He usually took every opportunity to question her orders and make counter-suggestions, some of which were actually good, all of which would strengthen his own position. Running along the road, as tiresome as it was, was a relief from fighting the Count all the time.

  And yet…the Count’s contribution to this endeavor wasn’t minimal. He wanted power, sure, but to what end? As egocentric and antagonistic as he was, he was also committed to ridding Tremontane of a worse opponent than he was. Lord Quinn as Regent didn’t bear thinking about. Lord Quinn as King…it might not be such a crazy idea. He was more forceful than Donald Frazier, more ambitious than Philippa Heath, and Willow could easily imagine him holding his own against the vojentas of Eskandel and whoever it was ruled Veribold these days.

  She stumbled, caught herself, and slowed. She needed to make a decision soon, because if she succeeded that night, her need for someone to wear the Crown of Tremontane would be more than theoretical.

  Ahead, lights gleamed well above ground level. The city of Aurilien, with its hill studded with the mansions of the rich and powerful. Willow’s heart lifted. She was home again.

  She nearly missed the turning and had to jog back a few paces to take the side road that led to the western gate. It was narrower and darker than the main road, the frozen ground uneven and rutted from the last rains, and Willow had to slow further to keep from tripping and falling. Her hands were numb with cold, and she tucked them into her armpits, which made balancing more difficult, but she needed her hands limber for what she planned to do later.

  Aurilien’s western side was darker than the hill, with long stretches of wall un-illuminated by lamp or torch. The breeze picked up, and Willow caught a sniff of an acrid, pungent odor: the abattoir, still going even after full dark. Animals cried out and were silenced forever, something that made Willow squeamish if she thought about it, so she tried not to.

  Willow squinted, and realized her vision was blurry because it had begun to snow. Good, or bad? The flakes were tiny specks of white, but that could change at any moment. It might help her get through the gate, but the tower…the tower could be a problem if the snowfall grew heavier.

  In the distance, she saw a cluster of lights, flickering heavily in the rising wind. Willow ran, pushing herself as if someone was chasing her. The lights resolved into torches flanking the western gate. It was a pair of heavy iron-banded doors that looked as if they’d been old when Aurilien was built, set in an arch of stone that was yellow in the torchlight. Willow saw no one in front of the gate, couldn’t see anyone on the wall-walk beside it. If it was unguarded…she eyed the wall, which was sheer stone blocks more than twice as tall as she was. It had no convenient bumps or grooves she might use as handholds. This plan might come crashing down before it had even started.

  She put on a final burst of speed and threw herself against the door, carefully avoiding touching the iron. “Message for Captain Purdie!” she shouted, banging her fist against the door. It made almost no noise and only hurt her hand. She stopped pounding and shouted again. “Message runner for th’ Captain!”

  “Identify yourself,” someone shouted from the top of the wall.

  “Sally Wainwright,” Willow said, choosing a combination of the names of two old friends from Lower Town. “I bring a message for Captain Purdie.”

  “What message?”

  “It’s for the Captain.” Richard had instructed her not to be too forthcoming with details, as that would sound suspicious. He was the one who’d given her Captain Purdie’s name as one of those in the Tremontanan Army who might be in charge.

  “Captain Purdie’s out on sortie,” the voice said. “Give us your message.”

  “Oh, no!” Willow exclaimed. “It’s ever so urgent, it is. I need to speak to someone on the main gate.”

  “Why didn’t you just go there, then?”

  “It’s…” Willow hesitated for effect. “Main gate’s going to be under attack in an hour. Plains are crawlin’ with enemy soldiers. Couldn’t get through. Please, ma’am, let me in? It’s right cold out here.”

  The voice didn’t respond. Willow jigged in place and put her hands under her arms again. Come on, come on…

  A tremendous squeal like metal twisted beyond the breaking point cut through the quiet, snow-filled air. One half of the enormous doors moved, pushing inward. Two soldiers dressed in brown and green were manhandling it open. Willow slipped inside before they’d gotten very far. A tiny hut that was empty at the moment stood to the right of the door, its roof sagging and two tiles missing. Stairs on either side of the door, steep ones with no rails, led up to the wall-walk.

  A woman who also wore the uniform of the Tremontanan Army trotted down the left-hand stairs toward Willow. “Under attack?” she said. Willow recognized the voice that had spoken to her. She wished she knew anything about military insignia to address this woman properly. She’d have to fake it.

  Willow saluted sharply—Richard had taught her that as well—and said, “Ma’am, that’s part of my message. The enemy is moving north and will be attacking the south gate within hours. Who should I report to?”

  The soldier eyed her without speaking. Willow was as aware of the stitched-up rent in her uniform as if she’d been stabbed there. She kept her attention on the woman’s face and hoped she looked alert and helpful, if bedraggled and worn-out from running.

  “Valant,” the woman said. “Trying to take control of these forces again.”

  It confused Willow, who said, “I’m just a message runner, ma’am.”

  “You Valants should leave the fighting to the professionals.”

  “We’re professionals too, ma’am.” Willow prayed that struck the right note of respect married to pride.

  “I’m sure that’s what you tell yourselves. Tell me your message, and I’ll pass it on.”

  “Captain said report to Captain Purdie directly, ma’am.”

  “I’m the one on the spot, and I can decide how to use your information.”

  Willow wanted to scream. She didn’t care what happened to the imaginary message, but there was a good chance the woman would send Willow back into the storm, which was growing worse. “Ma’am, if you was in my shoes, what would you do?” she said.

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Impertinent.”

  “No, ma’am, just asking for advice.”

  The woman pursed her lips and regarded Willow closely. “Captain Dennison,” she finally said. Willow refrained from letting out a relieved breath. “You know her?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Willow lied.

  “She’s on the south gate. Take your message to her. Are the enemy coming here?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am.”

  The woman looked annoyed. “Trust the Valants to keep all the glory for themselves. Well, run, and I don’t want to see you again tonight.”

  “You won’t, ma’am,” Willow said, and took off as if she had the wind at her heels.

  She took Sheepskin Road until it reached Needle Cove and she could be certain the soldiers at the gate couldn’t see her any longer, then she doubled back and ran for Rufus’s house. Lower Town hadn’t changed a bit, was still the comforting warren of narrow alleys with inadequate sanitation, and she’d have cried for joy if she hadn’t needed to be able to see where she was going. She put on her cap and her midnighter’s gloves and stripped off her uniform coat as she ran, not caring that it was freezing and the snow was growing thicker. If she showed up on Rufus’s doorstep in a Valant uniform, she’d have to pray to ungoverned heaven that he only didn’t let her in. Rufus didn’t love the Valants any more than she did.

  Finally, she reached a row of houses, their walls pale tan between dark beams that might be any color in the dim moonlight. Light shone in only one of the upper windows. Well, it might be dark, but it wasn’t all that late and she’d been counting on Rufus still being up. Now she had to hope he didn�
�t have any other visitors.

  She rapped in a staccato non-rhythm on the door, stepped back where she could be seen from the upper window, and bundled the coat under one arm. Nothing happened. She waited, not bothering to knock again. They knew she was there. She shivered and rubbed her arms. The light looked so warm and welcoming, so why wouldn’t he let her in, damn him?

  The door opened. A figure clad all in black, which was stupid if it wanted to conceal itself, with a hood pulled low over its face, pushed past her, forcing Willow to step aside quickly or be knocked over. Willow didn’t wait to see where the figure went. She stepped inside, into the relative warmth of Rufus’s house. Light came from the floor above, trickling down the stairwell, but no lamps burned on the ground floor. Unseen hands plucked the knives from her wrist and from the sheath at her waist and patted her down; she held still and silent.

  Finally, the hands gave her a little push toward the stairs, which were all but invisible in the dimness. She walked up the stairs, avoiding the third step, which made a noise like a fart when you stepped on it. It was all so familiar her heart felt full of joy to be home again.

  Only one door off the landing had a line of light beneath it. Willow went to that door and pushed it open. Beyond, a ratty old couch with stuffing coming out of its seams took up most of the far side of the room. A wooden kitchen chair that tilted to one side was pushed up against the wall next to the door. A plain oak cupboard like one Willow’s Nan had had leaned near the couch. It had no lock; no one dared steal from Rufus Black, and if they did, they’d have far more to worry about than whether Rufus’s gold was secure. Threadbare curtains covered the one window, before which burned an oil lamp with a translucent glass chimney.

  “Willow North,” Rufus said. The big man was seated on the couch leaning slightly forward, his massive hands dangling between his knees. “You cost me fifty guilders. I wagered you were dead.”

  “I had to leave the city for a while.”

  “Glad to see I was wrong, though not glad about the fifty guilders. Have a seat.”

  Willow sat in the wooden chair, which tilted under her weight. “How have things been?” she asked.

  “Well enough. Could’ve used you two months ago. Had a big job stealing from Lady Louise Fremingham.” He put mocking emphasis on Lady. “Right up your alley.”

  “Sounds like.”

  “Well.” Rufus leaned back and brushed his thick black hair, slightly shiny with grease, over his shoulder. It was an almost feminine gesture, not that Willow would ever tell him that. “You didn’t come here to chat. What do you want?”

  Here it came. Willow had gone over any number of conversational gambits in her head and discarded all of them. “How are things in the city with the Eminence declared King?”

  Rufus’s brow furrowed. “Worse. Martial law was declared three weeks ago, and they’re not gentle on those who break curfew. The Eminence’s got his Ascendants searching out honest criminals and making an example of ‘em. Maurice Henty got nabbed three weeks ago and they didn’t stop at cutting off his hand, if you take my meaning.”

  Maurice was—had been, apparently—one of Rufus’s peers, another duke of crime. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “He was getting too bold. Ascendants saved me from having to make an example of him. But nobody ought to die that way. Willow, what are you getting at?”

  “Rufus, let me tell you why I left Aurilien.”

  She told him everything, though she left out the details of what Kerish was to her and how she’d grown to love Felix. About halfway through, Rufus motioned her to silence and pulled a bell cord, and they waited while a young woman who didn’t meet either of their eyes brought tea. Willow welcomed it; Rufus’s house was warm enough, but she was still sitting in her thin linen shirt with the Valant coat bundled up on her lap.

  When she came to the end, Rufus said nothing. “So here’s what it comes down to,” Willow said. “Felix will be a better King than Terence Valant. I know you don’t give a damn for our rulers, but you do care about business. And Terence is bad for business. All I’m asking is that you help us retake the Crown from someone who doesn’t deserve to wear it.”

  Still Rufus was silent. Willow felt drained, empty of words, but it didn’t matter; she’d said her piece and now it was all down to Rufus what he’d do with it. She folded her hands over the bundle in her lap and waited.

  “You want me and mine to risk our lives for a Valant King?” Rufus said.

  “I want you to risk your lives for your country.”

  “That’s not much better.”

  “I didn’t say you had to be a patriot. I’m counting on your pragmatism motivating you.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. We’d be risking our lives.”

  “So are we all. Rufus, doesn’t it matter to you that under Terence, you’re in more danger than ever? Eventually he’s going to figure out how use an Ascendant to track your thieves back here, and then it will all be over for you. I don’t want that to happen.”

  “As if your boy King will be any gentler.”

  “You taught me there are rules to this game we live by. We flout society’s laws, and if we’re caught, we pay society’s price. That’s the rule. Felix won’t torture anyone and he won’t cut off anyone’s hand. It was a promise he made me.” Granted, the promise had only extended to Willow, but she was sure she could—but he wasn’t really going to be King, was he? Everything she was telling Rufus was a lie. He was one of her oldest friends—he was a friend, all joking aside—and she was using him. And she’d do it again if it meant protecting Felix.

  “And I’m supposed to trust the promises of a noble? It doesn’t benefit him to be gentle with us.”

  “He’d be in your debt. You can’t say you couldn’t make something out of that.”

  A distant light went on in his eyes, contemplative and cunning. “There is that.”

  “Please, Rufus. Do it for your own sake, if not for Tremontane’s.”

  Rufus focused on Willow. “What’s in it for you?”

  It caught her off-guard. “I—it means a better life—”

  “That’s not it. What do you get out of this? Because the Willow North I know doesn’t give a damn about king and country.”

  “I guess I’ve changed.” She took a deep breath. All or nothing. “Felix matters to me. I love him. And I want to see him restored to his rightful place.”

  “Thought you didn’t care anything for children, either.”

  “So did I. Look, Rufus, I’ve been honest with you. We need your help. Ask whatever you like, and if it’s in Felix’s power, he’ll grant it to you.”

  Rufus whistled. “You really are desperate. And you’ve forgotten how to bargain.”

  “Bargaining is for two people who don’t trust each other. I trust you. And I believe a favor of this magnitude ought to be repaid in kind.”

  “Honesty from a thief. A remarkable thief.” He looked in the direction of the lamp. “All right. One condition. He repeals the law that punishes theft by losing a hand. Effective immediately.”

  “Deal. You could have asked for more.”

  “And what could I ask for that you wouldn’t refuse, in the name of law and order? It’s not as if the King can turn a blind eye to our criminal activities. I know how the game is played. And that’s more than enough reward for me. Though a little cash would not go amiss.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Rufus grinned. “You’re not the woman I used to know. I can’t believe Willow North can make promises on behalf of a King.”

  “Neither can I.” She’d have to ensure the new King made good on those promises. The thought of cheating Rufus, of how she’d lied to him, burned inside her.

  “So—what do we do?” Rufus said.

  “Gather as many of your people as you can and meet near the west gate. When you see the fire at the top of Old Tower, attack the soldiers guarding the gate and open the doors for our army.”


  “That gate’s not big enough for an army.”

  “It’ll only be most of an army. The rest will be keeping the troops guarding the south gate busy.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “Well, if you want, you can storm the palace with our soldiers.”

  Rufus laughed. “Storm the palace? You’ve got balls of solid brass.”

  “I hope not. Where would I keep them?”

  He shook his head, still chuckling. “How do you propose to light that signal fire? Break into the palace?”

  “Oh no,” Willow said. “I’m climbing Old Tower tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The snow was still falling when she left Rufus’s house, but the fat, fluffy flakes were gone, and once again tiny specks filled Willow’s vision. She shrugged into the Valant coat and fastened it securely, then tugged on her gloves to fit them more closely to her hands. The coat wasn’t as warm as she wished, but what she proposed to do next ought to warm her up properly. Rubbing her hands together, she trotted toward Oloron Road, which unrolled like an arrow pointed directly at the palace.

  She judged it was nearly eleven o’clock, which wasn’t late at all by the standards of Lower Town, but the streets were empty. Martial law and a curfew, right. The taverns and brothels were no doubt cursing Terence Valant right now. She sensed a couple of belt knives and straight swords in plenty of time to hide herself in an alley, and watched the city guards, who wore dark gray trousers and coats and heavy black cloaks, stroll past. They looked cold despite their cloaks, and they weren’t terribly alert, for which Willow thanked heaven. Once they’d turned the corner, she hurried on.

  Lighting was sporadic along Oloron Road; the householders were supposed to maintain lanterns outside their homes, but about a third of them couldn’t be bothered. It was enough for Willow to see that although Aurilien didn’t look like it had changed, if you looked closer, you could see signs of the city’s struggle against the Ascendants. Some shops had blackened doors and windows, like they’d been burned out, and other windows were boarded over, as if that would stop looters. Why the Ascendants had bothered with Lower Town, Willow didn’t know, but it angered her that the arrogant bastards had come there, come into her home and wrecked it. She spared a thought for the teams of wand wielders and soldiers, sneaking around the countryside looking for Ascendants to kill, and wished them luck.