The messenger waited on the north side of camp. She knew him before he turned around. “Albie!” she exclaimed. “Since when does Rufus trust you to run his errands?”
“Since always,” Albie said. He’d grown a couple of inches since she’d last seen him the previous summer. “Rufus wants to see you. Says it’s important.”
“He wasn’t more forthcoming than that?”
Albie shrugged and dug a toe in the soft earth. “Not to me.”
“All right, I—” She glanced back at the camp. If she didn’t hold their feet to the fire, they wouldn’t decide to support Lord Quinn, but would dither about it for hours. Besides, she owed it to Rufus to be able to tell him which ruler of Tremontane he’d be dealing with in the future. “Look, Albie, tell him I’ll be there in a few hours, all right? I’ve got something to do.”
“All right.” Albie hesitated, then came forward to hug Willow. “Missed you.”
“I missed you too, Albie.” He stepped away, and she grabbed his hand, forcing it open to reveal a couple of silver staves. “Didn’t miss you doing this.”
Albie grinned. “Getting better, though.”
“You are.” She wouldn’t have noticed the lift without her magical senses. She swatted him on the back of the head. “Now—get.”
She tucked the staves away in her belt pouch as she strolled back through the camp. She owed Rufus even more than she did Rafferty, if she added up all the times he’d helped her—of course, he owed her as much, so maybe it was a wash. And she liked Rufus, his games notwithstanding. It couldn’t be anything serious he wanted her for, or even Albie would have known. Maybe the discussion in the command tent had gone somewhere fruitful, and she could go to Rufus immediately.
The conversation going on in the command tent cut off abruptly when she entered. Lord Quinn was gone. Lady Harcourt was leaning against the command table, rocking it. Willow thought about warning her of its instability, then decided not to. “Does this mean you’ve decided to support Alric?”
“Lady North, we respect your opinion,” Lord Frazier began.
“I don’t,” said Lady Harcourt. “No offense, but you’ve only known Alric for a few months. The rest of us have had years to observe him. He’s a greedy, grasping opportunist who puts his own needs above everyone else’s. He may look like a good candidate for King, but when you consider that none of the other ruling lords will support him, all those qualities start to fade.”
“You can speak for all your peers?”
“I know my peers. Putting Alric over them would cause civil war all by itself.”
Willow ground her teeth. This was supposed to be easy. “And I suppose you think you’d be a better Queen? You expect me to think you’re not an opportunist?”
Lady Harcourt shrugged. “I admit I thought about it, but Donald and Philippa made some compelling arguments.”
Willow threw up her hands. She caught Kerish’s eye; he looked as if he were ready to explode. She had no idea what that was about. “Since we’re all being honest and blunt with each other, I have to say that you, Lady Heath, aren’t enough of a leader, and you, Lord Frazier, are focused on your barony’s concerns. So if either of you want to put your name forward, I’ll have to reject it.”
“You think you’re in a position to make the choice?” Lady Heath said. She sounded amused.
“I—well, no, but that’s not what I meant,” Willow stammered. “I think I have as much right to an opinion as the rest of you.”
“So do we,” said Lord Frazier.
“Fine,” Willow said. “Then tell me who your candidate is.”
“Well,” said Lady Heath, “we think it should be you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Willow leaned incautiously on the table and it tilted up, nearly sending her to the ground. “What?”
“You’ve already proved you can lead,” Lord Frazier said. “You’ve been speaking on—forgive me—King Felix’s behalf for months. You’re the only person I’ve ever seen argue Alric into silence. If anyone should be Queen, it’s you.”
“But I’m a—I’m not anyone! I’m only noble because Felix made me a Lady in thanks!” The words echoed in Willow’s ears. She felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the tent, leaving her lungs empty and her skin parched.
“Most of the ancestors of the nobles in Tremontane started out as nobodies,” Lord Frazier said. “And with our support, no one will argue your right.”
“They’ll want to know where you come from and all that,” Lady Heath said, “but I’m sure you can make up a good story, given how reluctant you’ve been to tell us the truth.” She smiled as if she knew Willow was from Lower Town and didn’t give a damn about it.
“But—” Willow turned in desperation to Lady Harcourt. “You don’t know me. You can’t possibly go along with this madness!”
“I know the woman who wrote me all those letters,” Lady Harcourt said. “And I know the woman who said goodbye to a little boy she loved just an hour ago—who put the needs of this country ahead of her own grief. You’re right, I don’t know you, Lady North, but I’m beginning to think I should. If Donald and Philippa support you, so will I.”
“Lord Quinn will never go for it. Is that why he’s not here? Or did you wait for him to leave before coming up with this?”
“He knows,” Lady Heath said. “He didn’t like it. But I think he sees the sense in it.”
“There’s no way.”
“You’ll need to convince him, true,” said Lord Frazier, “but I don’t think that will be a problem for you.”
“Except that I’m not convinced myself.” Willow sighed. “I’m really not your woman. I don’t want to be Queen.”
“But you also don’t want your country torn apart by civil war,” Lady Harcourt said. “This is the only way you can prevent that.”
“You seem awfully certain of that.”
“Let me spell it out for you, Lady North,” Lady Harcourt said, leaning forward so Willow had to focus on her. She held up one finger. “Choice one. Alric becomes King. The rest of the ruling lords go to war to unseat him. Then they keep fighting because they can’t agree on a successor. Tremontane burns.” She held up a second finger. “Choice two. We choose another of the ruling lords to rule—doesn’t matter which one. Alric Quinn raises his banner against whoever it is and plunges the country into war. Tremontane burns.”
A third finger. “Choice three. You accept what I’m increasingly inclined to think is your destiny. Alric may fight you, but as you have the support of the rest of the country, he knows he can’t win. Tremontane survives.” She closed all her fingers into a fist. “You’re not the sort of woman who puts what she wants above what’s right.”
Despairing, Willow caught Kerish’s eye. “That’s enough,” he said. “You’ve made your case. Willow and I are going to discuss it now, and she’ll give you her answer later.”
It took them a moment to realize it was a dismissal. They filed out of the tent, not looking at Willow. When everyone was gone except for Kerish, Willow walked into his arms and stood there holding him tightly, her eyes staring at nothing, and shook. “Is she right?” she whispered. “Kerish, I can’t do this.”
“No, you don’t want to do this,” Kerish murmured. “It’s definitely something you’re capable of.”
“Yes, but what about—” Kerish laid a finger against her lips before she could say Felix. “What about all our plans?” she said instead. “This ruins everything.”
“I know,” Kerish said. “We don’t have to do this.”
Willow thought about it. She wasn’t sure where Felix’s “body” had to go, but after a fake funeral, Claudia could spirit it away to wherever they could reunite with him. She and Kerish could easily slip away from the camp. They could head south, back to Eskandel, dye Felix’s hair again and live out their lives far from Tremontane—
—a Tremontane that would be embroiled in war for years, decades maybe. Her friends in Lower Tow
n would suffer, all those innocents in the provinces who only wanted to live their lives in peace would instead endure the hardships of war.
It didn’t matter. She didn’t care about her country, never had. She cared about her family, her tiny, hard-won family, and her duty was to them. Not to Tremontane.
She needed to stop lying to herself.
She realized she was trying to hold back tears and didn’t know why she bothered. So she buried her face in Kerish’s chest and sobbed, feeling as if she were losing Felix all over again, this time forever. If she’d known this was how it would end, she would never have taken Felix to Eskandel. Was there a point in this journey where she could have stopped this from happening, but still had Felix and Kerish? She couldn’t think of anything. Her life was ending, and she’d done it to herself.
Finally she wiped her eyes and looked at Kerish, and found tears streaking his face. That was right, both their lives were ending. “This is your decision too,” she said. “You could take Felix and go. It’s not as if this is your country.”
“No, but you are my heart,” he said. “And I think you’ll need me more than our so—our small friend will.”
“It’s not over yet. I still have to convince Lord Quinn.”
“You will. I have faith in you.” He kissed her, his lips firm on hers, the kind of kiss that promised her his whole heart. “And I think you should do it now, before any other crises come up.”
Willow sighed and pushed his hair back gently from his forehead. “You can’t come with me.”
“I know. Don’t hate me for being grateful about that.”
A few inquiries gained Willow the knowledge that Lord Quinn had gone to the Waxwold camp. She set off westward. The afternoon was unusually warm, and Willow took off her coat and draped it over her arm, enjoying the sun’s rays on her skin. Even the ground felt less sodden than usual, as if it had dried out during the day. She tried to picture how these fields would look in springtime, or summer. Probably much the same as they did now: long yellow grasses growing right up to where the forest began, soft ground underfoot. It still wasn’t as beautiful as her city. Sweet heaven. It was literally hers now, wasn’t it?
The Waxwold camp was the largest of the four encampments, sprawling like a blue and red carpet thrown over the grasses. Willow waved at the soldiers on sentry duty and they let her pass without comment. She never knew if that was good military discipline or not. It was just so convenient, not having to identify herself every time.
She made her way to Lord Quinn’s tent without encountering anyone who might want to chat, like Richard. She hadn’t seen him since before leaving for her nighttime mission. Had Lord Quinn told him what the others had demanded? How did he feel about it? Did he like the idea of being heir to the Crown instead of just to County Waxwold?
She clapped outside Lord Quinn’s tent and said, “It’s Willow North,” before he could respond. After a moment, Lord Quinn’s gruff voice said, “Enter.”
Lord Quinn’s tent was as spare as her own, though with fewer beds. She remembered Felix’s still face and had to swallow incautious tears. Lord Quinn was seated at a writing desk with his back to her and didn’t stand when she entered. “Well,” he said.
“Well.”
“I take it they’ve enlisted you in their mad scheme.”
“I don’t know if ‘enlisted’ is the right word. They’ve proposed it to me, certainly.”
“And you agreed.”
“I wanted to discuss it with you first.”
Lord Quinn turned around. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe you want my permission.”
“No.”
“Then what? You want me to simply acquiesce? Because I can tell you right now I’m never going to agree to you as my Queen. It’s ridiculous.”
Willow wished there was another chair in the tent. Looming over Lord Quinn gave entirely the wrong tone to this meeting. “Because you want to be King?”
“Because you’re an upstart peasant commoner who clawed her way to the top on the back of a child,” Lord Quinn snarled. “You don’t deserve to be Queen.”
“You and I are in total agreement on that, Alric. And it’s not at all what I want for myself.”
He looked surprised. “Then why do it?”
“See, that’s the reason I’m qualified and you’re not—if I can be blunt. You look at the Crown as something that can make you more powerful. I look at it as something I’m responsible to. The others make a good case for your wearing the Crown leading to civil war. No one will ever support you. They will support me. And the other thing you and I are in total agreement on is not wanting this country to go to war. There’s only one way to stop that.”
Lord Quinn rose so swiftly he knocked his camp stool over. “And I’m to have nothing for the sacrifices my people have made? Did you lie to me about the regency, too?”
“No. I meant you to be Felix’s Regent. And I had a thought about the other thing, too.” Willow found she was pacing and stilled her steps. “I don’t like how easily the Valant Kings were able to use the kingdom’s resources to enrich themselves. Terence gave preference to his friends—even if they hadn’t been Ascendants, that still would have been wrong. I think the Queen should be aided by a council, drawn from nobles and commoners alike. People who have an interest in making sure the country is ruled wisely. I want you to be on that council.”
“A council whose power would be given it by the Queen.” But he sounded uncertain.
“If you want to think of it that way, sure. But I think it would have to be set up to prevent either Queen or Council from gaining too much power. And I think you have some ideas about that.”
“I see.” Lord Quinn turned his back on Willow and seemed to be studying the tent roof. “It’s an interesting offer,” he finally said. “But it’s not enough.”
“This isn’t a negotiation, Alric.”
“Isn’t it?” He spun around. “You need me, Willow North. If I choose to challenge you, I might be able to convince some of the provincial lords to back me. I need more than just promises of future power to convince me not to do so.”
“It’s not a negotiation. It’s extortion.”
“Call it what you like.”
“All right. What do you want, Lord Quinn?”
Lord Quinn grinned like the wolf on his sign and shield. “I want you to marry my son and take the Quinn name. I want my grandchild to wear the Crown of Tremontane.”
Willow sucked in a startled breath. “I’m already married!”
“Not to a Tremontanan man. Not in a Tremontanan ceremony.”
She felt dizzy. “Unacceptable.”
“Then take your chances with the rest of the ruling lords. That’s my demand.”
“Richard isn’t interested in women. You’d be ruining his chance at a real marriage.”
“Richard knows his duty and he’ll do it. He’s certainly capable of giving you an heir, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That’s not—” The tent was closing in on her, once again sucking the air out of the room. She couldn’t go through with it. And she couldn’t turn him down without ruining the fragile consensus the others had built. How much of me do I have to sacrifice for my country?
“I’ll think about it,” she heard herself say. “You’ll have my answer in the morning.”
“Make sure it’s the right one,” Lord Quinn said.
She managed to walk out of the tent without running into a pole or canvas, which was something of a miracle because she could barely see. Once free of Lord Quinn’s tent, she kept walking, keeping the sun at her back like a steadying hand. Marry Richard. Give up Kerish. Ensure peace.
She stopped, and someone bumped into her and swore. She barely noticed. No. She had her limits, and this was one of them. Divorcing her husband to marry a man who would never love her, for the sake of appeasing a selfish, arrogant man—that would not happen. And to hell with Alric Quinn.
She turned
around and took a few steps. She didn’t need to wait until morning to give him an answer. But common sense halted her feet before she could go very far. Lord Quinn would make good on his threat, probably immediately, when he knew she wasn’t going to give in to him. She had until morning to figure out how to pull his teeth.
If she were in a position to address the ruling lords herself, before Lord Quinn got to them and possibly convinced them to follow him, she might be able to enlist them on her side. But they were all too far away, and letter writing was only so effective. Assassination? Richard Quinn would be far easier a Count to deal with than his father. Willow considered the idea before regretfully dismissing it. Assassinating a ruling lord was a bad way to start her reign. Also, it was immoral.
Her reign. It struck her again like a blow to the chest, driving the air from her lungs. She turned and walked out of the Waxwold camp, focusing on taking one slow breath after another. She had to be crazy to even consider this. What did she know about ruling a country? What did you know about being eskarna to a King? About commanding an army? This is just the next step. Her hands were clenched as if she meant to beat the idea into submission. It wouldn’t matter unless she could find a way to keep Lord Quinn from plunging the country into civil war. And she had no idea how to do that.
But she knew someone who might.
She increased her pace until she was running in a loose, easy stride, something she might be able to keep up for a while. She was no runner, had always depended on a sprint to keep her out of trouble, but this felt good, making her muscles burn and her lungs expand in an unfamiliar way. Her feet slapped the hard earth of the road, sending jolts up through her shins and knees. A pair of birds swooped low over her head before flying off toward the forest. Felix could tell her what they were. Pain gripped her heart. She’d so looked forward to seeing him again, to telling him she could be his mama for real, and now she’d have to tell him they’d never see each other again. It firmed her resolve. She was losing Felix and she’d be damned if she’d lose Kerish too.
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