The soldiers at the gate didn’t seem to care who went in or out, and the doors stood wide open. Willow joined the thin traffic and let it jostle her, staying well aware of her surroundings. The city smelled so familiar, the hot pungency of roasted meat and the sweeter smell of cooked apples mingling with the sour stink of refuse. Wood smoke rose from almost every chimney, making dark trails across the azure sky. A hand brushed her purse, and she smacked it hard, glaring at the would-be pickpocket, who snarled at her before disappearing into the crowd. Time was, he would have recognized her and been embarrassed at trying that on. She’d been gone far too long.
Rufus’s street was adjacent to one of the larger streets that hosted a market even through the winter months, and the busyness trickled over to its neighbors. Willow dodged a cluster of housewives chatting on the corner and knocked on Rufus’s door. It opened almost immediately, and a hand beckoned Willow inside. She handed over her knife without waiting to be relieved of it, to the apparent consternation of the unseen servants, and bounded up the stairs, deliberately making the third step fart. This time, she wanted Rufus to know she was coming.
Rufus stood at the window when she entered, though the drapes were drawn and he couldn’t possibly see anything outside. “So you won,” he said. “The street’s been full of nothing else. The pretender dead, the young King taking the Crown…you’ve had a busy night.”
Willow didn’t know where to start with all that. “You said it was something important?”
“You don’t want to chat for a bit?”
“I figure I owe you enough to let you decide that.”
Rufus chuckled. “Fair enough. Shona Garrity was arrested last night. Somebody recognized her in the assault on the palace and decided taking her in was more important than defeating Terence Valant. I want you to use your influence to have her freed.”
“What’s she guilty of? Because if it’s murder—”
“Not murder. Theft, certainly. Organizing the crime in the Westfall district. She’s needed now, during this time of turmoil.”
Willow had never worked for Garrity, but she knew Rufus respected her, and she suspected he had stronger feelings for her than that. She tactfully didn’t say anything about the latter. “I can arrange it. Warn her to be more careful in future.”
“She put her life on the line to help in the battle last night. I think that should be worth something.”
“I agree.” She sat on Rufus’s threadbare sofa and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “And now I have news I’m not sure you’ll be happy about.”
Rufus raised his eyebrows. “You’d better not be about to renege on our deal.”
“No. Not that. Felix Valant is dead.”
Rufus sat on the edge of his desk. “Dead?”
Willow nodded. “Illness.”
“Willow, I’m sorry for your sake.”
“Thank you.”
“Who will be King in his place? Someone who’ll honor Felix’s promises?”
Willow nodded again. “She will.”
“Not the Countess of Cullinan?”
“No.” Willow drew in a deep breath. “It’s me.”
Rufus stared at her. Then he laughed, a huge chortling sound that, despite herself, made Willow’s lips curve in a smile. “Oh, that’s hilarious,” he roared. “Willow North of Lower Town, Queen of Tremontane. Will you make me minister of crime, then?”
“I’m not joking, Rufus. The ruling lords want me to be Queen.”
His laughter cut off abruptly. “Damn me, you are serious. Willow—”
“Rufus, I need your help. Alric Quinn is demanding something of me in exchange for not going to war. It’s something I can’t give him. I don’t know how to bring him in line. Please. Help me.”
Rufus’s face had gone impassive. He moved to stand in front of the window again, his back to her, his massive shoulders hunched. “Why did they choose you?”
“I’m the only choice they can all agree on. And apparently I’ve demonstrated my aptitude for the role. Rufus, this isn’t something I ever wanted. But I think…I think I’ll be good at it. I hope that’s not too arrogant.”
“You’ve never been arrogant, even when you were entitled to be. I’ve never known a better midnighter than you.”
“I gave it up for my husband’s sake.”
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“Yes, and that’s the point of all this. Lord Quinn wants me to divorce my husband and marry his son so his grandchild will wear the Crown someday.”
Rufus laughed. This time it was a short, mirthless bark. “Trust a noble to think of marriage as something disposable. I take it he’s threatened not to support you unless you do.”
“That’s right.”
“Willow, this isn’t you—these nobles who think nothing of other people’s needs. How can you even consider it?”
“Because I don’t want to see my country go down in flames. I know it’s not how you think, but can you understand why that would matter to me?”
“Not really. What has Tremontane ever done for you?”
It stopped Willow mid-word. “I…guess it’s not about what the country owes me,” she said. “I got into this for Felix’s sake, and somewhere along the road I found I was doing it because I thought all those people, all the ones like you and me, deserved better than having Terence Valant oppress them. This is just another way of giving them that. And I think not being a noble will make me better at this job than someone who doesn’t know how the other half lives. Hell, thinking of it as a job instead of an entitlement already makes me better at it, don’t you think?”
Rufus lowered his head. “Queen Willow North,” he said. “Don’t mind me if I forget to bow.”
“I wouldn’t expect it of you. We’ve known each other too long.”
He left the window to sit at her side. “So. You’ve got someone you need to support you. He’s made a proposition you don’t intend to take, but not taking it means he’ll act against you. Can you kill him?”
“I thought about it. It would set a bad precedent if I establish that I can kill any ruling lord who defies me.”
“And would set the others against you. That’s unfortunate, because his death would resolve the issue.” Rufus laid a thoughtful finger across his lips, tapping them gently. “All right. His threat is more serious than you think. If you accept, you’ll have acknowledged that you can be manipulated, and that you’re therefore a weak ruler. He won’t just have his son as your Consort, he’ll be in a position to demand other concessions as well. So giving in would be fatal as well as distasteful.”
“So what do I do?”
“I can’t give you a solution, because I don’t know the man. But I can give you principles.” He held up a thick finger. “First: always be willing to lose. He’s counting on you wanting his support more than your marriage. His threat loses meaning if you aren’t going to give in.”
“But I—”
He held up another finger. “Second: find what he really wants as opposed to what he says he wants. This isn’t about his offspring. It’s about power.” A third finger. “Finally, never flinch. He needs to believe you’re willing to go to war over this.”
“I…see. I think.” Willow put all that away for consideration. “Thanks, Rufus.”
“You’re welcome. And now I think you should go.”
It was so abrupt Willow felt confused. “All right.”
“And don’t come back. I won’t be here.”
“What do you mean?”
Rufus sighed. “Willow. You’re on the other side now. You think I’d be able to maintain my position if anyone knew the Queen of Tremontane knew this place? Asking you to release Shona is one thing, that’s just an exchange of favors. I can’t expect you to go on overlooking my crimes, or my people’s crimes. You’d be under oath to see us punished. I’m sorry, Willow, but this is the last time you and I can meet.”
Willow blinked away tears. “I understand,” she
said. “Sorry to make you move.”
“It’s just a house. Though I’ll miss the farting stair. Good luck…your Majesty.”
Willow stood and left without another word.
She moved through the crowds effortlessly, picking a pocket here and there, putting the money back in different purses. It felt like saying goodbye. She’d promised Kerish no more midnighting months ago, but with the invisible presence of the Crown hovering above her, this time it felt permanent. Give up Felix, give up midnighting, give up every friend she’d ever had in Lower Town…no, she wasn’t giving up Kerish too, if only because there were only so many bits of Willow North that could be chopped off and fed to the fire of queenly responsibility.
She walked back to camp, accompanied by her long shadow cast by the setting sun. More birds flew overhead, calling to each other. A family, perhaps? Or chance-met strangers? Were they flying south, or had they decided to take their chances on an Aurilien winter? The sky was growing overcast, and Willow smelled snow on the air. It was as if heaven had been looking out for them, holding off on the storm until the battle was well and truly over. Was all this part of heaven’s plan, too? Willow found it hard to believe heaven cared all that much about her fate.
She trudged into camp just as supper was being served. The soldiers were subdued, possibly because of Felix. They saluted her, or not, as they always did, so news of her elevation hadn’t spread yet. This was just as well, if Lord Quinn’s reaction was also unknown—no, she’d be Queen regardless of what Lord Quinn decided, and it would be a matter of whether or not he intended to fight her for the Crown.
“Willow,” Kerish said. He held two plates and motioned to her to step away from the crowd. They walked to their own tent in silence, and Willow had pushed the flap open before remembering that Felix lay within. But he was gone, with only Ernest there sleeping beneath the boy’s bed as he always did.
Kerish set the plates on the table and drew up a stool for Willow. “They took him to the palace for…interment. Claudia says she can maintain the…whatever it is…for three days before he wakes up on his own. We’ll need to stage a funeral before that.”
“We have to make it look like he’s in the coffin, then smuggle him away.” Willow took a bite of what turned out to be more venison and chewed with some distaste. She was tired of the gamy meat, though this was fresh. “It shouldn’t be hard.”
“What did Lord Quinn say?”
Willow swallowed. “He made some threats. I’m going to tell him my answer tomorrow.”
“What answer? Did he want something from you?”
“He, um, actually you might think it’s funny—”
“Willow?”
“He wants me to marry Richard.”
Kerish went still as stone. “And you told him no.”
“I told him I’d answer him tomorrow.”
“Willow!”
“I had to stall for time. Of course I’ll tell him no.”
“What did he threaten to do?”
“What you’d expect. He’ll raise his standard against me. But let me assure you, Kerish—” She laid her hand along his cheek “—I will go to war before I give you up.”
Kerish put his hand atop hers. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Then let’s eat, and then we’re going into the city.” Willow smiled. “There’s something important I’ve been meaning to do.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Willow went to the command tent early the following morning, trudging through the few inches of snow that had fallen the night before. She removed all but one of the camp chairs. She set the table facing the door and aligned the remaining chair behind it, so whoever was sitting in it was the first thing anyone entering would see. The table was still wobbly, but she arranged a little stack of Soltighan’s paper and an inkwell on it, to make it look more official.
She donned her noble’s coat, stiff with silver embroidery, over her last clean shirt and her not-so-clean trousers. They would be concealed by the table. She sat experimentally behind it and discovered the stool boosted her a little higher than was comfortable. That was better than sitting too low, and looking like a child. She crossed her hands on the table’s top and was relieved to discover they weren’t shaking. Don’t let him see you flinch.
She stood and left the tent, collaring a passing soldier and giving a series of quick instructions. As the man hastened off, she saw Kerish approaching. He looked unbearably handsome in his finest attire, a vest embroidered in North colors and a white linen shirt and suede trousers, all of which were cleaner than hers. It reminded her she hadn’t commissioned a new pair of boots, and she was still wearing the ones Terence had burned. Rather than embarrass her, they felt like armor, a reminder that in a sense, she’d won the Crown by right of combat. Even so, she really ought to get new ones.
Kerish kissed her and slid his arm around her waist. “Aren’t you hungry?” he murmured. “Everyone’s going to be testy what with missing their breakfasts.”
“No, everyone’s going to want to see this settled so they can have their breakfasts.” Willow took his hand and led him into the command tent, where she directed him to stand beside her chair.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I.”
Footsteps rustled through the dead grass outside, and Lady Heath entered. “Are you going to explain this summons, Lady North?”
“When everyone’s here,” Willow said, deciding not to insist on your Majesty yet. “Thank you for coming.”
“You made me curious.”
Lord Frazier held the door flap open for Lady Harcourt. Both of them were fully dressed, but haphazardly, as if Willow had roused them. Well, if she couldn’t sleep for anxiety, nobody was going to sleep. “Wait a moment, lieutenant,” she called out, summoning the soldier who’d accompanied them. “Please fetch Lord Quinn, and hurry.”
“You didn’t summon him already?” Lord Frazier said. “And what exactly have we been summoned for?”
“I don’t know why you think you can summon us at all,” Lady Harcourt said testily.
“Because yesterday you decided to make me your Queen,” Willow said. “I think that gives me the right.”
In the face of her cool confidence, they subsided. “I spoke to Lord Quinn yesterday, and he made me a…proposal,” Willow continued. “I think my answer to him should be made before you all, given that you supported me.”
“You can’t give him more power,” Lady Harcourt said. “It will be devastating for Tremontane.”
“What power is there to give?” Lord Frazier said. “It’s not like she can carve out a piece of the monarchy and hand it over. What did Alric demand? I’m sure it was a demand.”
“You guess correctly,” Willow said. “And we’ll discuss it when he’s here.”
The tent fell into an awkward silence. Willow was sure the sound of her beating heart echoed through the tent. Kerish put a gentle hand on her shoulder, calming her. What would she do without him? She thought back to where she’d been six months ago, midnighting and living alone and never thinking of the man she loved more than anything. Now here she was, united with him and about to become a Queen. Life was stranger than anything she could imagine.
The tent flap opened. Lord Quinn and Richard entered. That threw Willow momentarily; she hadn’t summoned Richard and had no idea if he knew what his father had demanded. She clenched one hand below the table and released it slowly, calming herself again. Richard’s presence changed nothing. It might even make things easier.
“Called us all to bask in your presence, eh?” Lord Quinn said with a wry chuckle. “Very well. Have you made a decision?”
“I have, Alric. But I think these people should know what we discussed yesterday.” Willow smiled at him pleasantly. “My lord and ladies, when I presented Alric with your decision—that I should be Queen—he made a demand in exchange for his loyalty. He wanted me to divorce my husband and
marry his son.”
Lady Heath drew in a sharp breath. Lord Frazier said, “Impossible!”
“You don’t have a real marriage,” Lord Quinn said. “And Richard is a worthy husband for a Queen.”
“Father,” Richard said.
Lord Quinn cut him off. “And your answer?” He was smiling a cruel smile, relishing Willow’s uncertainty. The smile faded as he realized Willow didn’t look at all uncertain.
“I’m sure the vojenta mahaut of Eskandel will be thrilled to hear a marriage she performed isn’t a real marriage,” Willow said. “But it doesn’t matter. Last night Kerish and I were sworn and sealed to each other at the Zedechen Bethel by Lady Claudia Lovell. A real marriage, Lord Quinn. But you still don’t care about that, do you?”
Lord Quinn’s face was stony. “You dare make such a foul demand?” Lord Frazier said. “Break what heaven’s bound for the sake of your glory?”
“You’re not my Queen,” Lord Quinn said. “And I’ll bring others to my banner. You want war? I’ll give you war!”
“You will not,” Willow said, standing and putting her hands on the table, carefully balancing so it wouldn’t tip. “These witnesses will swear to what you tried to do—usurp the power of the Crown by violating what Tremontanans hold sacred. They’ll make sure every other ruling lord knows about it. You will have no support, Lord Quinn, and when you come against me to battle, I will tear your army apart and see the name of Quinn ground into mud. I will take County Waxwold from you and give it to another family. You and your son will be utterly disinherited. If you survive, which I can’t promise.”
She lowered her voice so the others had to strain to hear her. “So you have to make a decision, Lord Quinn. Acknowledge me as your Queen, or raise your standard against me. Put aside your pride, or let it destroy your family. But I will not see you tear this country apart. One chance. Now.”
Lord Quinn’s lips quivered with rage. Richard opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. Finally, Lord Quinn ground out, “Your Majesty.” Without another word, he turned and left the tent.
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