Queen's Crown

by Anne Wheeler

  “Damir spoke of a treaty, some years ago. Give up the kingdom east of the mountains, and all threats of war cease.” Laurent sighed and loosened his grip so I could see the fortress ahead of us.

  It menaced above us on the hill, ever so close now, stone and cannons and a flag I’d never seen before. It took my breath away, and I had to remind myself that this wasn’t even the principal castle of King Damir—just an old garrison turned royal abode a century ago, kept for its view of the sea. From there, his soldiers could see—and repel—any invasion from the east.

  “But I refused to order my people to emigrate,” he continued, “to leave their homes to be burned and eventually taken by the enemy. I assumed if I put up a strong enough fight at the beginning, the threats would cease.”

  I didn’t bother mentioning his deal with Iraela that had plunged Lochfeld into near-poverty and nearly destroyed our fledgling marriage. Or that it was, technically, still in place. Maybe it had seemed a lesser evil to a king threatened with invasion on all sides.

  “Is there still a chance? For a treaty, I mean?”

  He was silent for a while, and I hated it, because it made the shouts of the villagers impossible to ignore.

  “No,” he replied at long last. “The time for talking, for agreements, for peace, is past. I have infuriated him with my refusals, clearly”—this with an intentional rattle of the shackles—“and he will not stop until he sees all of Meirdre burned to the ground, her people destroyed. I’m only the first of many, Riette.”

  “But what about me?” I whispered. It was childish and selfish, but he had to make everything better. He had to. I still trusted him that much, even after everything. Because if he loved me, if he wanted forgiveness, he would make everything right, wouldn’t he? “What’s going to happen to me? Why did you tell him about the map?”

  “You would have been right there beside me, otherwise, a sword at the back of your head.” Laurent shifted on the hard bench as the shouts grew quieter once more. “I had no choice. If I couldn’t save Meirdre, at least I could save you. And then perhaps one day, you can fight to get her back.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” I choked out a bitter laugh. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You dare call your sovereign’s wish ridiculous?” If my statement had been harsh, his reply was castigatory. For the briefest moment I wasn’t in the cart, clinging to him like a child, but in front of him in the throne room at Lochfeld, a peasant girl, a subject, his to order about as he pleased. “You will do what I ask of you, you will do it immediately, and you will not question it.”

  I pulled away and stared at him, heedless of the moldy apple that had fallen to the bench beside me. Protecting me had come at a cost. Blood oozed from a cut on his jawline, and a bruise was forming on his left cheekbone, but that wasn’t what kept me frozen with fear.

  It was his eyes.

  They weren’t dull with inevitability, like I suspected mine were. They were full of . . . well, not hate, not exactly. Laurent had never let such banal things as hate color his view of the world. Fury, yes. Maybe. I couldn’t deny that I felt the same. But there was something more than that, even. Hard—they were simply hard. Not with fear, but with arrogance.

  My heart sank. This wasn’t the man I’d fallen in love with. It was the king I’d feared when I first met him, who’d laughed at me when I’d stood up to him and ordered me whipped when I’d betrayed his trust. And I knew then—this was the only way he could die with his dignity intact. And if he needed to pretend, then I would as well. I owed him that much, and he deserved that much.

  I lifted my head as the horses slowed to pass under the portcullis. The bailey was filled more soldiers than I could count, and when the cart stopped, I slid away from him and gripped the edges of the bench.

  “What else would you order of me, sire?” I asked.

  It felt like I was questioning a stranger. Perhaps I was. Maybe I’d never really known him, and the brief emotion I’d felt toward him had been nothing more than my imagination. Wishful thinking. The pretending of a girl who knew the world was against her and tried anyway.

  Laurent stared off into the distance, over the battlements and into the woods that surrounded them. Fog hung in the trees, shrouding the rear of the structure in mist. I imagined it was a good defense—on cooler days, the castle probably disappeared into the fog, invisible to invading ships until it was too late. The cannons above us certainly saw to that.

  “Whatever they ask of you,” he replied finally.

  Even as I climbed the low, stone stairs in the keep, soldiers in front of and behind me, I wondered why they’d brought us here, instead of to Damir’s main castle, far to the south in the capital of Vassian. Was this simply a stop, a place convenient to the sea where they could regroup, pack supplies, and continue the journey later? Or was it to end here? The shadows cast by the oil lamps seemed to imply a dark future, one I still couldn’t accept.

  Laurent was no longer with me. The soldiers had dragged him away as soon as I’d scrambled from the cart, and he hadn’t fought them. I had tried to fight my escorts, but no sooner had I jerked my elbow away from the nearest soldier than Laurent’s words echoed in my mind.

  Whatever they ask of you.

  I still wasn’t entirely sure I agreed with this command, but asking me to scale a few flights of stairs seemed harmless compared to everything else that had and would happen, so I let myself be ushered into the tower, and now, toward the top. The overwhelming constraint of the structure and lack of windows made my physical situation even clearer than before. Seawater soaked the bottom of my gown, and the rest hadn’t fared much better. I couldn’t decide whether it was the slime I’d acquired in the ship's hold or the rotten fruit which stuck to the fabric, but I smelled worse than I ever had as a farmer’s daughter. Even cow manure had a certain sweetness to it that I now lacked.

  I was to face Damir like this, certainly. Maybe that was a blessing in disguise, for what man would believe a woman who looked anything like I did would be capable of any kind of magic? But then, if I lied . . . I forfeited my life.

  My breath grew short as my guards knocked on the door on a small landing. They swung it open without invitation, and sunlight streamed across my face. In the dark of the stairwell, I’d already forgotten such a thing as the sun existed, and for a moment I could only blink in the brightness, a headache sparking through my brain. It was a window across the tower room that was responsible for the sudden illumination, and I focused on the sea in the distance.

  Freedom.

  “You didn’t have a pleasant voyage.”

  The voice, low and accented, shrouded in the shadows beyond a stone column, caught me by surprise. He added a few words, a little louder, in his native language, and the soldiers disappeared.

  “I imagine sailing could be undertaken in a more pleasant manner, yes,” I replied. I moved to smooth my skirts as the door thudded shut, then stopped. What did it matter? He could already see how dreadful I looked.

  “Indeed.”

  Damir moved into the light then, and I caught my first real glimpse of him. He was certainly older than Laurent, with cropped gray hair above a leathery face. I hated him immediately, more for his age than anything else. How dare he deny Laurent the time that he had enjoyed for so long?

  “But such things are unfortunately necessary sometimes,” he went on. “Especially when the future of Vassian is at stake.”

  “I have no real worry for the future of Vassian,” I retorted.

  “No, you wouldn’t.” He chuckled. “Nonetheless, I do, and you appear to be the answer to some of my prayers.”

  Whatever they ask of you.

  “And I’m here for you to test me.” I wandered toward the stone bench under the window and sat, inhaling the sea breeze. It was a risk to do something so casual in front of a king, but he wasn’t my king, and I needed to catch my breath. How much longer would I be allowed something as mundane as fresh air?
“To see if the rumors are true.”

  “I don’t need to test you. You are a crownkeeper.” He held up a hand as I opened my lips, questioning. “Oh, yes, even in Vassian, we’ve heard of the legends. But some of us believe more than most. Have seen things, even, things that make testing you irrelevant. I know you have a gift.”

  “How?” My mouth was dry. I’d hoped he would have dismissed me as a charlatan.

  “Legends and myths all have some basis in reality—even such things as dragons. And your husband was insistent enough that you could be of use to me. It’s not something you could feign for very long, if at all, so I have to believe his claim is true.”

  “I told Thomas. The magic only works at Lochfeld.”

  “So he said. But I don’t believe that’s the truth.”

  The breeze caught my hair, and even though the spring morning was cool, I was suddenly hot. The sudden waves that had appeared when I’d tried to jump over the side of the ship—had that been the magic? I should have been relieved at the idea of the map protecting me, even from myself, but instead, I felt trapped. More trapped than I’d ever felt at Lochfeld, wondering if I’d ever be able to leave again.

  Damir fell to the bench across from me, and though I could feel his stare, I could only focus on my feet and the smell of salt that filled the tower room. Maybe that was the answer to Silke’s freedom, so long ago. Perhaps it so was obvious, like I’d once wondered, that she hadn’t bothered writing about it. Because if the magic worked at sea, surely it could reach me away from the ballroom. The Creator wasn’t limited to Lochfeld, after all.

  They can feel when Meirdre is in danger, can warn of wildfires, border raids, epidemics. And the map speaks to them, shows them where misfortune is happening.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  Father Gerritt. He’d given me the answer back then, when he’d first told me about crownkeepers, and he hadn’t even realized it.

  Oh, heavens.

  No, that wasn’t right. This was Father Gerritt I was talking about. His wording was no mistake—it never was with him. Of course he’d realized it. He had definitely known exactly what he had said to me.

  They can feel when Meirdre is in danger . . .

  Could it be—could it be that it wasn’t the map calling to me at all? Could the intense pull I’d experienced have been the magic itself, not calling me back to Lochfeld, necessarily, but simply warning me? The map helped, yes, there was no doubt about that, but I was starting to wonder if it was only one tool in a crownkeeper’s armory. Perhaps a more experienced crownkeeper would have a better grip on things, could determine what the feelings, as Father Gerritt had called them, meant.

  “It is the truth,” I gasped, too conscious of Damir’s attention on what must be my terrified expression. “The map—it’s the only way my gift works.”

  The sensation of disappointment that flowed over me was immediate. Not from the king, for he merely raised a suspicious eyebrow, but from somewhere else, out past the Galvan Ocean that stretched further than I could imagine, west of Iraela and its palace were Elsanne was doubtless now cavorting with her scheming husband, north of Lochfeld and its map that had introduced me to such power.

  I clutched at my chest, not caring what Damir thought. If he thought I was terrified, so be it—for I was that too, in all honestly. But there was also hope, for if I didn’t need the map, I could protect Meirdre even as cut off from Lochfeld as I was. But that also meant Damir had a greater chance of using my gift for the glory of Vassian, and I would not allow that. No matter what Laurent had ordered of me.

  “If that’s so—” He stood and called for the soldiers in that odd language of Vassian. “Then we shall proceed without delay. I do wish things had gone differently, Your Majesty.”

  I sank against the stone as he disappeared, too devastated to correct him. And in my heart, I knew I could never agree to what Laurent had ordered me to do.

  Chapter Eleven

  Regardless of what Damir had said, I knew he hadn’t believed my claim. Why would he, when Thomas and Laurent had both suggested the opposite? I struggled with his calm acceptance for hours as the sun circled the tower, leaving my stone bench shrouded in shadows that hadn’t been there when the soldiers had locked the door behind the departing king.

  The earlier warmth had departed too, and I shivered in my still-damp gown as the breeze through the window cooled. By the time Thomas entered, a hunk of bread in one hand and a flask of water in another, I would have done anything for a blanket and dry shoes. Instead, he took a white dress from a soldier outside and handed that to me as well.

  “You expect me to wear this?” I asked.

  He closed the door, leaned against it, and nodded toward the dress with his chin. “King Damir wishes you to be suitably attired for the execution.”

  I dropped the gown to the floor and stared at the shadows swimming in the folds of the silk. White, naturally, and the reason for Damir’s choice of the celebratory color was apparent. I was forbidden from mourning. Become a maiden again, as if Laurent had never existed in the first place. And Thomas himself, always one to appreciate the dramatic, was reminding me of what Laurent himself had forced me to wear in the dungeon at Lochfeld.

  “I would rather wear what I have on, thank you.”

  “That is not your choice.” In the shadows, his eyes flashed. “You are allowed no preferences anymore—or were your circumstances not clear enough?”

  “Thomas.” Stepping over the fabric, I held out my hands. “I don’t want any food. Or the dress. Or any of this. Please. You can still fix this. If you ever cared one bit for me—please help me. Help us.”

  He scoffed, and the sound was a dagger through my heart.

  “Put it on.”

  Without releasing his gaze, I picked it up and crept behind a column to change in almost-dark privacy. That was something, and so was the cleanliness of my new garment, even if my stays were filthy. How long had it been since I’d picked them out in my room at Lochfeld? Time had so little meaning anymore.

  Thomas gave me—or perhaps the gown—an approving nod when I ventured from behind the stone once more, having disposed of the wet shoes as well. Without a word, he opened the door and motioned me out onto the landing, where six soldiers waited. I stumbled on the threshold, and when I looked up, all seven of them were staring at me with no expression whatsoever.

  Any warmth I might have felt upon discarding my wet clothes vanished as I crept down the stairs, surrounded by this group who hated me more than I could comprehend. It wasn’t the chill of the evening though, just a desperate, ill feeling. Part of me knew what was waiting for me at the bottom, but part of me refused to imagine the horrors. That refusal, protective as it was, didn’t last long enough. Shoved out of the tower and into the bailey, I stumbled in the dirt.

  When I looked up, I was thankful I’d declined the bread—and even the water—for Laurent stood in the same wagon that had brought us here, shirtless and calm, his hair blowing in the breeze and hands tied behind his back.

  And a rope around his neck.

  Like he had ordered of Thomas.

  The courtyard spun around me, a blur of oil lamps and darkness and stars. My scream must have surprised Thomas as much as it surprised me, for he didn’t flinch until my nails had drawn a long line of blood down his cheek. He grabbed my wrist as I tried once more, but the pain was merely a flash compared to the agony in my soul.

  “You bastard.” I doubted he could understand my slurred words. “You couldn’t just let him die. You had to make a point!”

  “I told you at Lochfeld,” he said, yanking me against him. “So this should come as no surprise. He will die as a criminal. If it so happens that I can arrange his death as he would have had mine, so much the better. The manner of his death was one of the few favors I asked of King Damir for my service.”

  “The money wasn’t enough?” Dizzy, I sucked in a breath. Behind me, a horse whinnied, and I thought of Skylark, of runn
ing through the meadow north of Lochfeld with Laurent by my side. We had been so happy, and I hadn’t even realized it. I hadn’t appreciated everything he’d given me—not the money, not the luxury, but the gift of his love.

  “The money is never enough, Riette. It wasn’t for me, and it wasn’t for Vahl—though unlike him, I won’t be taking my payment and heading for the islands quite yet.” Thomas spun me around to face Laurent once more as the gravity of Vahl’s betrayal sank in. What a fool I had been to trust someone I’d never really trusted. “You’ll walk behind the cart,” he whispered in my ear. “Next to King Damir. You will not cry, you will not speak, you will not stall.”

  Whatever they ask of you.

  In a heartbeat, Laurent’s order went from foolish to comforting. I tried to wrap my grieving heart around the change, but the horses drawing the carriage began to move, and Thomas shoved me forward. Damir, naturally, did not walk next to me, but rode a stallion, so tall I could scarcely glimpse his ears as I lowered my head and focused on the stones under my bare feet. It was that or watch Laurent, and I couldn’t bring myself to watch him be drawn down the hill.

  There were no villagers present tonight, no angry Vassian subjects throwing apple cores and stones. I puzzled over their absence as the walk wore on. Surely Damir wouldn’t have ordered them away now. But as we proceeded into Windersay proper and through the still-empty streets, I realized where they had gone.

  They were waiting in the square, anxious to witness an execution.

  I had prayed in the tower that this wasn’t the end, and even as I followed Laurent down the road toward the sea, I still hoped. This was the last piece of Damir’s puzzle, though—Laurent wouldn’t be executed in the capital. No, that kind of infamy alone would bestow too much honor upon him. He would die in this no-name seaport, and few would remember the story once the generation that had witnessed it had passed away. One last humiliation of the king who’d refused to surrender his kingdom.

  Thomas jerked me to a stop as I tried to blink back tears, tried to ignore the roar of the crowd. I failed, but my sobbing didn’t seem to matter to Damir as his soldiers forced Laurent up the scaffolding ladder. I would have stumbled my way up, but my husband ascended as gracefully as though he was standing from the throne at Lochfeld, then straightened under the gallows. I stared at his composure, and in return his gaze focused on mine for the first time tonight. For a moment I thought his lip curled upward, but before I could question my own crazed imagination, his expression turned blank once more.