Champion of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  Two steps later she burst out of the fire into freezing air that felt even colder by contrast. She threw herself to the ground, rolling to put out the fires consuming her clothes and the ends of her hair. She got to her feet, blinking. Her vision was blurred, but she could still see the nobleman nearby, running with an awkward, shambling gait, wreathed in bright lines of gold that faded as she watched.

  Terence.

  She forced herself to run after him, though her lungs burned, and her skin felt cracked and blistered, and she could barely see. Instead she focused her other senses on him: a silver ring on his right hand, some kind of gold medallion that burned in her magical sight hanging around his neck. He was yards ahead of her, but she was pacing him. How much source had that little stunt cost him? How much had she drained with the wand? Had he found a dowser, and a source, to replenish his before fleeing the palace?

  He was running toward the back of the palace, where there was a well-guarded gate in the wall, one Willow hadn’t bothered to try entering. Willow blinked again; her vision, to her profound relief, was clearing. Breathing hurt more than anything she’d ever experienced, with the cold air filling her singed lungs like knives in her chest. Her legs shook with exertion. She was gaining on him, though what she intended to do when she caught him, she didn’t know. Would he be running if he still had source?

  Terence pelted toward the gate, and Willow followed him. More insanity. He’d reach the gate first, and tell the soldiers there to shoot her. She ran harder. If she could reach him first…

  There were no lanterns at the gate. Willow barely had time to realize what that meant when Terence slung the bar out of its brackets and shoved the door open. Willow gained another few yards. No guards at the gate, no lanterns…they’d been pulled away to fight in the palace. Terence stopped to slam the doors shut. Willow reached them a few seconds later, then stopped. Terence’s metal hadn’t kept moving; he was standing a few yards beyond the door. Waiting for her to fling herself incautiously through it.

  Willow paused to catch her breath. Her legs felt wobbly, and her arms weren’t much better. If she waited too long, exhaustion would catch up with her, and she’d lie down and let Terence escape. That was unthinkable.

  She looked around and saw, leaning up against the wall, a couple of polearms the guards had left behind. That was smart. Weapons that long would be useless in some of those narrow palace hallways. She hefted one and saw the remnants of her midnighter’s gloves shredded and scorched around her fingers. It infuriated her. She’d made those gloves herself and he’d destroyed them. Even if he hadn’t ruined Felix’s life, she’d want to make him pay just for that.

  Standing well to one side, she hooked the point of the halberd through the ring that opened the door. From that angle, she wouldn’t be able to open it very far, but then she didn’t need to. She breathed in shallowly, winced at the pain, then jerked on the halberd. The door swung open—and fire erupted in the narrow gap, right where a person would emerge. Willow dropped the polearm and waited with her knife drawn, crouched as close as she dared to the fire. It made her cracked and blistered skin burn, and she ground down with her back teeth against the pain that made tears come to her eyes. Just a few more seconds, because he couldn’t maintain it forever. She hoped.

  The fire went out. Willow leaped for the door, thrust it open, and barreled down upon Terence. He managed to get a few steps away before she tackled him. “Out of fire?” she gasped.

  “How did you know to expect that?” Terence got his hands on her shoulders and shoved her away, rolling out from under her. “You should have burned.”

  “I don’t get caught by the same trap twice,” Willow said. Stupid of her to taunt him. She needed her breath for this fight. But his astonished tone of voice, that arrogant belief that she could never outthink him, made her want to defy him. Her breath came in short, sharp pants, making her lightheaded, and her burned skin hurt so badly she almost couldn’t feel it anymore as her nerves rebelled against the pain. She got to her feet, or at least into a crouch, which was as far as she could convince her legs to support her.

  Terence stood bent over, hands on knees, wheezing for breath. “You’re remarkable,” he managed. “I don’t suppose…you’d consider…changing sides?”

  “I’d never betray Felix,” Willow said, and charged. Terence, caught off-balance, went down again. Willow raised her knife to strike, and suddenly she was at the heart of a whirlwind, air spinning so fast and hard around her she couldn’t breathe. She choked, gasped for air, and fell backward, but it followed her. She covered her mouth and nose with her forearm and breathed in the still air it trapped. Gradually, the dizziness faded. Standing up, she faced Terence again.

  The gold lines on his throat and cheeks and the backs of his hands were dull, lacking radiance, and his face was tense with concentration. Willow took a step forward, leaning into the wind, then another. Terence said something the wind carried away, then shouted, “Stop fighting! I’ll make your death painless!”

  Willow ignored him and took another step. Was it her imagination, or was the wind slackening? Three more steps would bring him within range of her knife. Terence’s eyes were wide and panicked. Two more steps.

  The wind vanished, and Willow fell over, deprived of its dubious support. She caught herself just as Terence grabbed her wrist and bore down on it, forcing her to drop the knife. It landed point-first in the soft earth, and Willow dove for it as Terence did the same. Willow got there a fraction of a second before her enemy, who gripped her hand and tried to pry her fingers from the hilt. Willow punched him in the belly, which seemed to do nothing, then cried out as Terence kicked her right knee, forcing her to drop to the ground. Gold lights flared again, weakly, and the steel blade began, impossibly, bending toward Willow.

  Willow gasped and shoved the blade in Terence’s direction as he shoved back toward her, both fighting for control of the knife. She grabbed hold of it with her right hand, desperately trying to force the curving blade away from her chest, but Terence was stronger, and the wicked edge moved ever closer to Willow’s throat.

  Desperate, Willow let go of the knife and swiftly flattened herself to the ground. Sharp pain creased her earlobe as the knife flew past, tumbling awkwardly in its bent, useless shape. Willow rose like najabedhi launching herself at her prey and flung herself at Terence, bowling him over to hit the ground with a sickening crack. Terence’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he sagged, unconscious. Willow watched him for a moment, breathing hard, unable to think what to do next. Captive. He was her prisoner.

  She rose unsteadily and staggered to where her knife had fallen. The edge was as sharp as ever, but the blade curled back on itself until the tip nearly touched the flat. He’d ruined her knife as well as her clothes, damn him. Did they need a trial? How were they supposed to execute him? Those were questions she could defer to someone else, like Lord Quinn. He struck her as the kind of man who would know to the last detail how a royal traitor should die.

  She turned around, and Terence Valant punched her in the face, rocking her back on her heels.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  She brought up the knife to defend herself and he swatted it aside. His eyes were glassy, and he was unsteady on his feet, but the second punch hurt as much as the first. “I offered you a deal,” he said, his voice a mere whisper. “You should have taken it.”

  Willow caught the third blow on her right arm. “You’ll never understand why I didn’t.” She changed her grip on the blade, stepped inside his guard, and slashed the nearly doubled edge across his throat.

  Blood fountained, steaming in the cold night air. Willow dodged most of the spray, but felt its sticky wet heat on her face and knew she hadn’t been wholly successful. Terence’s furious expression turned to astonishment just before the light left his eyes and he collapsed. Willow stared down at him, her mind numb. You’ve killed a King, or at any rate a pretend one, her mind said, and then it shut up, because what else was t
here to say?

  She wiped her forehead, then wished she hadn’t, because her face burst anew into pain, and she felt she might have rubbed away thick layers of burned skin, exposing raw flesh. It couldn’t be that bad, or she wouldn’t be upright, but she hesitated to touch her skin again. Claudia could heal this, she hoped, assuming she could ever find her again. What was she supposed to do with Terence’s body? They’d need to display it so his allies would know he was dead and their cause was hopeless. She couldn’t just leave it there in the gravel outside the gate.

  Crouching, she got her hands under his arms and dragged him toward a nearby tree, stirring up gravel as she crunched across the path. It left a big bloody patch and a long smear, but that couldn’t be helped. She settled the body under the tree, arranging it so it wasn’t visible from the path. Then she staggered off toward the west gate. She’d done far more than was expected of her. Now she needed to get back to Felix.

  Sheepskin Road had been deserted earlier, when she’d gone to see Rufus. Now the street was full of men and women muttering to each other. Willow lurched past one such group—her knee was in agony where Terence had kicked her—and heard a man say, “It’s naught to do with us. Who knows why nobles fight amongst themselves? They ignore us, I say we ignore them.”

  “The Eminence ain’t got no right to rule,” said a woman with a clear if strident voice. “I say, if someone’s going to fight him, we ought give them our aid.”

  “With what?” said a second woman. “We ain’t armed.”

  Someone grabbed Willow’s arm. “You’re hurt,” the strident lady said, her voice kinder now. “What happened to you?”

  “Burned—” If she told them about Terence, they either wouldn’t believe her or would have too many questions. “Fire, up at the palace.”

  “We can’t let it burn,” the strident lady said. “We have to help.”

  “But it ain’t—”

  “If you say it ain’t our business, I’ll give you a good ding round the ear, Frank Norris. I’m not going to stand by and do nothing.”

  Murmurs of agreement grew louder. Willow listened in dismay. “You’re not fighters,” she began.

  “We know how to take care of our own,” another man said. “Who’s with us?”

  The murmuring turned into shouts, and suddenly the crowd was moving, taking Willow with it. She’d felt the tide off Umberan more than once. This felt the same, but hot and dry and smelling of dozens of bodies all in one place. She kicked and shoved her way to the side of the street, where she pressed herself into a doorway and tried to breathe normally. They were unarmed, mostly—she saw a couple of kitchen knives and some long poles—and untrained, and they were rising up against Terence. Maybe she should have told them he was dead, after all. Likely it wouldn’t have made a difference.

  When the crowd thinned, she made her stumbling way to the west gate, where she took advantage of the guards being distracted by the incipient mob to slip past and run in the direction of the camp. She could only run a few dozen yards before the pain in her knee forced her to slow, and from there she walked, impatient with her weakness and furious with Terence. If he hadn’t been such a greedy, self-absorbed ass…Willow would never have met Felix, would never have reconciled with Kerish, and while she couldn’t wish for all the evils that had come of Terence’s actions, she had to admit some good things had come of them too.

  She had no idea what time it was when she limped into the camp, which was empty except for a handful of wounded soldiers who all failed to salute her. Probably she didn’t look much like herself, what with the burns and the ruined clothing. She ached everywhere, she was exhausted, and all she could think of was seeing Felix, even before healing. But she needed to report to someone first.

  She made her way to the command tent, where a lantern still burned. “Alric,” she said upon entering. “What news?”

  Lord Quinn showed no surprise at her condition. “We broke through the south gate half an hour ago. As far as my messengers know, they’re still fighting in that area and haven’t reached the palace yet.”

  “That neighborhood is a warren of twisty little passages. It may take a while. The attackers at the west gate made it to the palace. We need to send runners to tell them all to stand down. Terence is dead.”

  That did startle him. “Terence? How?”

  “I killed him.” Willow dabbed at the dried blood on her face and enjoyed Lord Quinn’s look of utter astonishment. “I left his body near the palace, inside that little gate on the northeast that leads to that strip of parkland. Someone should fetch it.”

  “Of course,” Lord Quinn said faintly. “Of course they should.”

  “Let’s see if we can’t end this without any more loss of life, all right?” Willow let out a deep breath, grateful for the smells of the camp, horses and wet canvas and the interminable aroma of increasingly ripe venison. “I’m going to see if Claudia can heal me.”

  She strolled away through the camp, feeling more lighthearted than she had in days. Terence was dead. She could…all right, she still didn’t know who she’d make ruler of Tremontane, but that was a minor detail. Time for all her plans to come together.

  The fire in front of her tent had died to nearly nothing. A dark figure sat on a camp stool, hunched over to absorb what little heat it emitted. As Willow approached, the figure looked up and around. “Willow,” Claudia said. “Sweet holy heaven, what happened to you?”

  “I fought Terence, and he had a few tricks at his disposal. You can heal this, right?” Now that she was there, she found her earlier confidence had evaporated. The burns felt severe, and maybe healing had its limitations.

  “Yes. Sit down.” Claudia indicated the camp stool, and Willow sat. A cool wind brushed her face, though “wind” was the wrong word, as she could tell the air wasn’t moving. But it didn’t feel like water, either, which was the only other comparison she could make. The throbbing pain faded. She closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure.

  “I’m guessing Terence is dead,” Claudia said after a moment that felt like it went on forever.

  “Yes. I tried to take him prisoner, but it ended up being his life or mine.”

  “Understandable. You probably spared this kingdom a world of trouble.”

  “I’ve been trying not to think of it like that, like somehow I was entitled to take a life. But…you’re right.” She scratched her nose and felt her finger slip, looked at it and saw flakes of dead, blackened skin. “I don’t know how to tell Felix. Terence was his uncle, whatever else might have happened.”

  “He’ll understand.” Claudia hesitated. “He’s…not well.”

  Willow felt colder than the magic could account for. No one was around, at least no one wearing metal, but she said, “The healing’s not working?”

  “I can only treat the symptoms for so long. His lungs are filling up with fluid, and it’s going to suffocate him if he doesn’t turn a corner soon.”

  “Is he asleep?”

  “I’ve been able to manage that much, yes.” Claudia put her hand on Willow’s shoulder and squeezed. “There. You’ll want to wash before anyone sees you. You look awful. And your hair…”

  Willow removed her cap and touched her head. The ends of her short hair felt brittle, and bits of it broke off under her fingers. “Am I going to be bald?”

  “It’s not that bad, but everything that wasn’t covered by the cap should be cut off. I can grow it back if you want. I’m afraid it’s going to be very short after all the damaged hair is gone.”

  Willow wiped away more black flakes. “Later. I have to go to the army, but I can spare time for a wash.”

  Even though Felix was asleep and couldn’t see her, she washed her face and bare arm, then changed into clean clothes and tossed her ruined shirt on the fire. Felix lay too still in his bed, frightening her until she heard the disturbing rattle of his shallow breathing. His skin was hot to the touch, and she laid her cheek against his briefly before settling down
on the ground beside him and taking his hand in hers. She wished she could reassure him. Watching him suffer made her heart ache. All part of the plan, she told herself, but it was a weak, ineffectual voice that wasn’t very convincing.

  She leaned against the bed, pressing her forehead to the frame. She’d never appreciated whole, unburned skin before. Her fundamental problem rose up before her again. She’d only met three of the ruling lords and a handful of their advisors and heirs. She would have to throw her support behind one of them, but who? Donald Frazier was smart, but focused on his family. Philippa Heath was a follower, not a leader. There was Richard Quinn…but if he didn’t even want his own birthright, why would he care about the kingdom? And she’d told Janida she wouldn’t limit her search to those who were already noble, but of those she’d met, only Captain Robinson of the Huddersfield militia had the right character, and he wouldn’t be able to stand up to Lord Quinn.

  She’d avoided considering Lord Quinn until the last. He was strong, ruthless, a capable administrator, and she could easily see him ruling Tremontane. He would certainly renew his bid for the Crown once Felix was gone, but should she support him in it? Her disliking him ought not to be relevant, if he was qualified.

  Her mind went in circles, contemplating each candidate and shying away from making a decision. Midway between thinking of Lady Heath and Captain Robinson, she fell asleep.

  ***

  Someone shook her shoulder. “Willow,” Kerish said. “Wake up.”

  She jerked upright and nearly fell over from stiffness. How long had she slept like that, leaning against Felix’s bed? Kerish’s hand on her shoulder kept her from falling. “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Six in the morning. The battle’s over. Terence is dead—well, you know that. We won.”

  Willow unfolded her legs and with Kerish’s help stood. “That easily?”

  Kerish chuckled. “It wasn’t easy. There were heavy casualties on both sides. The Ascendants at the south gate learned how to protect themselves from our wands, and we needed brute force to break their line. But many of them surrendered when they saw we couldn’t be stopped.”