They sat in a corner and ate in silence. The sounds of people talking and even laughing felt surreal to Willow, as if the battle were something that had happened in a dream. Even the memory of being burned was distant. Maybe that was part of the healing, taking away every vestige of pain, even the non-physical kind. She leaned against Kerish’s shoulder and chewed methodically, feeling a little like their old mule Rosamund masticating an apple in the middle of the road, unwilling to move until he’d had his food.
“What next?” Kerish said.
Willow suppressed a groan. She was still in charge, for the moment anyway, and people still looked to her for guidance. Including, apparently, her own husband. “I should make sure the dead have a proper burial, though it looked like the soldiers had that under control. Draft a letter to go out—make it a handbill, proclaiming Terence’s death and Felix’s return.” That one might need to wait until they had a new King, to avoid confusion. “I suppose Terence will need a funeral. Something quiet, but he was still a Valant, and we want to show respect for Felix’s sake. And…I need to make a decision.”
“Felix isn’t getting better, is he,” Kerish said, loudly enough for any listeners to hear. He squeezed Willow’s hand.
“No, he isn’t,” Willow said, matching his tone and not having to fake a trembling in her voice. “He’s very sick.”
“Claudia will cure him. She knows what she’s doing.”
“I hope so.” Willow finished her meal and wiped her mouth. “Let’s gather the company captains and give them instructions. Then I want to talk to the ruling lords.”
“Sweet heaven, that reminds me. Anastasia Harcourt was freed during the fight in the palace. She’s here in camp now.”
“Kerish!”
“I’m sorry! You were sleepy, and I was preoccupied with getting the wands away from Rafferty, and it slipped my mind.”
“I want to talk to her. Right now.”
It took some searching before Willow ran the Countess of Cullinan to ground in the Huddersfield encampment. The Countess of Huddersfield’s personal tent was smaller than Willow’s, which made it feel warm and intimate, particularly when more than three people were in it. Willow entered to find Lady Heath and her consort talking to a tall, redheaded woman whose clothes were filthy and unkempt. This didn’t seem to bother the woman at all; she stood and moved like someone who’d never feared anything in her life.
“Lady North,” Lady Heath said. “We were about to go in search of you. This is Anastasia Harcourt, Countess of Cullinan.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Willow said, extending a hand for the Countess to shake.
“Likewise,” Lady Harcourt said. She had fierce gray eyes and heavy brows that made her look like a redheaded bird of prey, but her smile was pleasant and seemed genuine. “Thank you for freeing me.”
“I don’t know that I had anything to do with that except in the abstract, but I’m glad you weren’t hurt. We were worried when we learned Terence had imprisoned you for treason.”
“Terence didn’t have the spine to have me executed. He should have done it right off, none of this faffing about with a fake trial in front of a court of Ascendants.” Lady Harcourt said the word as if it were coated with poison. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring my people to your cause. I assure you, his Majesty has my full support.”
“Thank you.” Willow privately wanted to challenge her on this—why had it taken her a month to decide to support Felix?—but there was no point. Things were what they were, and what mattered was she was here now. “I’d like you to swear fealty to him, but he’s ill at the moment.”
“I’d heard that. Will he recover?”
Lady Heath drew in a horrified breath at Lady Harcourt’s blunt question. Willow hesitated, then said, “I’m sure he will,” in a tone of voice that belied her words.
“I’ve summoned my troops to help with the burials,” Lady Harcourt said as if her momentary faux pas hadn’t happened. “And to assist in pacifying any other provinces that might not respond well to Terence’s death.”
“I hope it won’t come to that, but thanks,” Willow said. She was finding Lady Harcourt’s bluntness refreshing, after weeks of fencing with Lord Quinn. In fact, a spark of hope glimmered inside her. “You realize Lord Quinn will be Regent when Felix is crowned,” she added.
“Philippa told me,” Lady Harcourt said, nodding at Lady Heath. “I can’t say he’d be my first choice, but he’s strong-willed and committed to protecting Tremontane.”
“That’s honorable of you to say.”
“I believe in being honest and in giving credit where it’s due. I recommend appointing some advisors to guide him, though. Alric will only be honest if he’s held to it.”
Willow liked this woman more by the moment. “I’m not sure how much control I have, but I’ll consider it.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t make yourself Regent, but I imagine you needed something to convince Alric to follow you.” Lady Harcourt shrugged. “A wise decision.”
Willow made another decision. “Lady Harcourt, will you come with me to my command tent? I’d like to discuss some things with the ruling lords, and would appreciate your insights.”
“Certainly.”
With Kerish and Lord and Lady Heath trailing them, they walked the short distance between the Huddersfield encampment and the Eskandelic. “It must have been interesting, integrating these different forces,” Lady Harcourt said, gesturing at the Silverfield camp some distance away. Archers were gathering in small groups, hopefully to go hunting.
“Having a common enemy helped,” Willow said.
“The Ascendants,” Lady Harcourt said. Again she invested the word with anger and disdain. “You killed many.”
“We did. Toward the end, they started surrendering rather than be killed.”
“You accepted their surrender?”
“Ascendants without source are harmless. We don’t kill unarmed people out of hand.” She suppressed a memory of holding her blade to Rafferty’s throat, his mocking smile.
“Yes, but what of the other crimes they’ve committed? Surely they’re to be punished for those?”
“I…well, of course. It will take time—”
“Their crimes are well-documented. You don’t even need to bother with a trial. Just execute them, and publicly. The people need to see their King doesn’t give them preferential treatment.”
Uneasiness touched Willow’s heart. “I don’t think Felix is interested in executions without trial.”
“It’s justice. No one will think less of him for it. Think more of him, possibly.”
“So you think no Ascendant is innocent?”
Lady Harcourt shrugged. “I’ve had Ascendants infesting my county for years and been helpless to do anything about their excesses. There may be innocent ones, but I’ve never met one.”
“What about Claudia Lovell? She lives in your county.”
“She keeps to herself. I’ve nothing bad to say about her. Even so…” Lady Harcourt’s voice trailed off, as if whatever she’d been about to say was so obvious it didn’t need saying. Willow found her left hand was clenched into a fist and forced it open. Her earlier hopefulness was gone. You idiot, what do you care about Ascendants? she thought, but the memory of that bloody chamber persisted in presenting itself for evaluation. Yes, most Ascendants were arrogant and selfish and treated other people like things, but did that mean they all deserved death, especially when they’d surrendered and allowed themselves to be drained of source?
She responded to Lady Harcourt’s next comment absently, only half paying attention. The Countess of Cullinan was almost ideal to be Tremontane’s next Queen. Almost, that is, except for that one niggling doubt Willow had that Lady Harcourt would be fair and impartial in executing the law. Willow wished she hadn’t thought the word “execute” in this context.
No, Lady Harcourt would not be a solution to Willow’s problem. That left only Lord Quinn. Willow wishe
d she felt more sanguine about him. She reminded herself that Lord Quinn as King was considerably different from Lord Quinn as Regent, and stopped thinking about it.
The command tent was empty when they reached it, but before they could enter, a soldier in Waxwold colors came running up, out of breath as if he’d been running for a while. “Lady North,” he panted, “Lady Claudia says you have to come now.”
She’d been unconsciously expecting the summons all day, knew what it really meant, but it still struck terror into her heart. “Come with me,” she told the others, and followed the Waxwold soldier through the camp to Willow’s own tent. Lord Quinn stood outside with Donald Frazier. Nearby, Gianesh held Ernest, who was struggling and whining to get down. Lord Quinn opened his mouth to say something, but Willow pushed past him and into her tent.
Claudia stood next to Felix, holding his hand. She was wreathed in purple light that stretched tendrils around Felix’s small arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. Willow dropped to her knees beside Felix’s bed. He was wheezing heavily, the skin around his lips faintly blue, and dark circles made his brown eyes appear sunken. Though his eyes were open, he didn’t appear to know she was there. Willow almost changed her mind right there. Claudia could restore him, and he wouldn’t have to suffer—but then, all of this would have been for nothing.
She wiped a tear from her eye and said, “How long?”
“I’m keeping him alive by the strength of my magic,” Claudia said. “I thought you should have a chance to say goodbye.”
Willow stood. “They need to witness this,” she said. Claudia nodded. Willow stepped out of the tent and said to no one in particular, “If you’d all come in one at a time, I think you should…should make your goodbyes to your King.”
She went back into the tent, not caring who followed her. It turned out to be Lady Heath, first to swear fealty to Felix. Lady Heath went to one knee before Felix and brushed the shining hair from his forehead. Then she rose and offered her hand to Willow. “I’m sorry,” she said, then she was gone. Willow’s eyes burned with unshed tears. She could endure a few more minutes just as Felix could. Did he feel pain, or was he safely unconscious?
Lord Frazier came next. He didn’t kneel, just stood looking down at the boy in silence. “I know how I would feel if it were my son,” he said quietly, and left the tent.
To Willow’s surprise, Lady Harcourt followed almost before Lord Frazier had walked out. “I’m sorry I couldn’t know the boy,” she said, not looking in Felix’s direction. “What will you—”
“Felix is dying,” Willow snarled. “Everything else can wait.”
The woman took half a step back from the anger in Willow’s voice. “I apologize,” she said. She pushed open the tent flap, letting in weak gray sunlight—and Lord Quinn.
The Count of Waxwold stood next to Felix’s bed for a long moment. He let out a long, thin stream of breath that was almost a whistle, and shook his head slowly. “He was lucky to have you,” he said, his voice lacking its characteristic stridency. “His mother was a lush and his father cared for nothing but his own pleasures. They should never have had children. It’s blunt speaking, but Terence did the boy a favor the night he killed Edmund. I am sorry for your loss, Lady North.”
It was the first time she’d heard him say her title without irony, and the tears she’d been suppressing began to fall. “Thank you,” she said. “Will you ask Kerish to come in here, please?”
She knelt beside Felix’s bed and took his free hand in hers. Dimly she was aware of Kerish’s presence beside her, his arms around her waist and his cheek resting on the side of her head. “Claudia,” she said, and found herself at a loss for words.
“He’s not in pain,” Claudia said, “but I can’t rouse him. I’m sorry.”
Willow wiped away tears. “Let him go,” she whispered.
The purple lights faded. Felix drew another labored breath, then another, and his chest lay still. He looked so small lying there that Willow sobbed, choking on her tears. He looked dead. Claudia had lied to her, she was an Ascendant, after all, and she’d killed Felix—and Willow had let it happen. Had asked for it, damn it. She turned around and let Kerish hold her close while she wept as if the tears were being wrung out of her.
She felt someone else kneel beside her. “All will yet be well,” Claudia whispered. “He’s not dead. And you will see him again.”
Hope touched her heart. She had no reason not to trust Claudia. She’d seen this deathlike state before, when the Ascendant Marietta had done it to that young man, and Claudia had brought him out of that. Felix was alive, and this was the beginning of the end. A few more days, and their lives could begin.
She felt Kerish stroke her hair, and she drew in a deep breath and controlled her tears. Crying was all very well, but Felix was counting on her to extricate them all from the demands of the Crown, and the sooner she started on that, the better. “I’m all right,” she whispered, and Kerish helped her stand. “You told Gianesh?”
“Before the battle, last night,” Kerish said. “He’s ready to help in whatever way Claudia needs.”
“Good.” She drew in a deep breath. “Let’s talk to them.”
The ruling lords were standing outside her tent, silent in a way that said they’d been listening to her cry. Gianesh caught her eye and nodded. Willow wiped away a final tear and said, “This changes things. Let’s go to the command tent and talk about it.”
She walked away without waiting for them. It would have to be Lord Quinn; he wasn’t the best choice, but Willow didn’t have time to scour the countryside looking for the one true King of Tremontane. He would be a fierce protector of the country, which was the most important quality in a would-be King. She was going to get some pushback from the others, but she had reason and logic on her side, and at least two of the other three candidates to hand didn’t want to rule Tremontane, which helped. What the Countess of Cullinan wanted, she didn’t know, but she felt confident in her ability to browbeat the woman into doing things her way.
She entered the command tent and put the table between herself and the others, subtly positioning herself as the one in charge of this meeting. She’d seen Rufus do this more than once, and it had turned the tide of the discussion in his favor. That reminded her she needed to talk to him, thank him for his help and see how many losses he’d taken. Something for another time. “I’d like nothing more than to mourn Felix,” she said, cursing the wobble in her voice. She cleared her throat and continued, more steadily, “But this country is already in turmoil, and now it doesn’t have a King. We need to do something about that, and sooner is better than later.”
No one spoke. Kerish, at the back of the crowd, gave her a reassuring nod. Now, did it make more sense to propose Lord Quinn’s name, or to let him propose himself and then support him?
“I’m the King’s Regent, or was for a handful of hours,” Lord Quinn said immediately. “I say that gives me as good a right as anyone.”
The others burst out in indignation. “Trust you to think of yourself first,” Lady Heath said bitterly. “You’ve always put your own needs above everyone else’s. What makes us believe you’d be any different as King?”
“That’s right,” Lord Frazier said. “Alric, you’re a greedy, selfish man—”
“I was the only one willing to challenge Terence,” Lord Quinn shouted. “The rest of you hunkered down in your manors and waited to see if I’d fail. Not one of you offered to help. You think that makes you better candidates than I?”
“You didn’t care about what Terence was doing, you just saw an opportunity to gain power!” Lord Frazier got close to Lord Quinn so flecks of spittle struck the short man’s face. “You make it sound altruistic, but nobody who knows you believes that!”
“I won’t support you,” Lady Harcourt said, her clear voice carrying across the noise. “I’ve a better right to the Crown than you, having lived so close to the capital all these years and being deeply involved in its politi
cs.”
“You’re not much better, Anastasia,” Lady Heath said. “You were always Terence’s toady—unless you think that’s what gives you the right? As if we need someone carrying on his policies!”
“I’m my own woman and I always have been! You’ve got less right to the Crown than I do.”
“I don’t want it. I’m not a fool. But I’m not going to give my allegiance to someone like you!”
“Enough,” Willow shouted, and to her surprise they all shut up. “There isn’t going to be a perfect solution. But unless you want this country to fall into a real civil war, you need to agree on a King or Queen.”
“Why us?” said Lord Frazier.
“Because we all put our lives on the line to prevent Terence Valant from ruling Tremontane,” Willow said. “I think that gives us the right to make the decision. And I support Alric’s claim to the Crown.”
Stunned silence followed her words. “He’s smart, he’s dedicated, and he’ll defend this country,” Willow added. “And he has a few flaws, but so do we all. So if my opinion counts for anything, there it is.”
Lord Quinn cleared his throat. “I appreciate your—”
Someone clapped outside the tent. “Lady North?”
Willow cursed inwardly. “Yes?”
An Eskandelic soldier poked his head into the tent. “Lady North, there someone is who wishes to speak with you. He will not come into the camp.”
“Who is it?”
“He will say only that he has a message from Rufus Black.”
Now Willow swore aloud. “Look, go ahead and argue this,” she said. “I’ll be back. And you’d better have a decision when I am.”
She waved to Kerish to stay and loped through the camp after the soldier. Rufus sending a message could mean anything. She hoped it meant only that he wanted to speak to her, and not that something had gone horribly wrong in the raid on the west gate.
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