Tales of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  Ahead, faint smoky pillars against the blue early spring sky indicated a town. According to the map he’d consulted before leaving this morning, it should be Carlsford, abutting the Snow River they rode beside. Carlsford was much bigger than the village where they’d had dinner, big enough for a good inn with good rooms. Elspeth had endured the rough journey, fleeing Ranstjad and Hrovald’s soldiers, without complaint, but Owen was sure she was on the brink of collapse. A night in a real bed was what she needed.

  Inwardly, he cursed himself again. He should have ignored Jeffrey’s stupid, cautious assessment of the situation and gone north to rescue Elspeth the instant they knew where she was. If he’d retrieved her immediately, she wouldn’t have been exposed to lung fever with such disastrous results. And that bastard Hesketh wouldn’t have—

  He still couldn’t believe it. Sweet, compassionate Elspeth, befriending Hrovald’s sniveling son and having that “friendship” turned on her in such a terrible, violent manner. She was too small to fight back, too small to stop him, and Hesketh had raped her. Owen remembered getting his hands around Hesketh’s throat and the feeling of bone snapping. It had eased his heart at the time, but now the memory was cold and empty. Killing Hesketh hadn’t changed things for Elspeth. It hadn’t undone the past. Owen had never faced anything he couldn’t fight until now.

  Elspeth stirred in his arms. “Is that Carlsford?”

  “It is,” he said in Ruskeldin, too tired to use his still-halting Tremontanese. “How do you feel? Are you in pain? It looks to be only another mile or so away.”

  “I’m just tired. And hungry. But I’m always hungry.” Elspeth shifted her weight to sit up straighter. “Are you all right? You’ve been so quiet.”

  “Just…thinking. About the journey. Making plans.” He didn’t want to tell her his main preoccupation was wondering if she would ever again be the carefree, laughing young woman he’d fallen in love with. He feared she would take that as a criticism, or worse, believe he’d only loved her until she was attacked. He’d known men like that, obsessed with women’s virginity and convinced a woman who’d been raped was somehow impure. As if a woman’s character and strength were kept between her legs. How ridiculous.

  No, what worried him was the possibility that what had happened to her would go on hurting her for the rest of her life. That wasn’t something he could do anything about. He didn’t even know what was expected in a situation like this. Should she talk about it? Pretend it hadn’t happened? They were married now; was she ready for sex with him? He certainly wasn’t going to demand it of her, had told her that when he asked her to let Jeffrey marry them, but he didn’t know if he should do anything to encourage her, or never bring it up, or…

  His confused, angry thoughts carried them all the way into Carlsford, which was too big to be called a town and too small to be a city. Owen was used to Aurilien, which was old and showed the signs of different architectural styles over the centuries in its varied buildings. Carlsford looked much newer, with none of the wattle-and-daub construction common to the poorer parts of Aurilien. Its buildings were mostly of small red or gray bricks decorating flat façades rather than leaning out over the streets to take advantage of the space, with plenty of large, multi-paned glass windows that reflected the last sunlight with a ruddy glow. The result was warm and welcoming, and Owen’s heart lifted. They would figure this all out together.

  He bypassed the first two inns they came to, judging them not large enough to provide the right amount of comfort. The third was large enough, but bustling to the point he suspected there weren’t many rooms left. Taking a side street, he finally came to an inn three stories tall, with a large stable yard and Device lights flanking the doorposts. Gratefully, he steered the horse through the gate and helped Elspeth down. She staggered when her feet touched earth, and he put a hand on her elbow to steady her. “Sorry,” he said.

  “I’m fine. I’m just shaky.” Elspeth stepped away from his supportive hand, making him feel cold and lost again.

  Owen turned the horse over to one of the stable hands. Too late, he saw the stalls were almost entirely occupied. The inn was busier than he’d thought. But Elspeth shivered, and he decided it was a bad idea to move on looking for something better.

  The inn turned out to be even more modern than the town, with the front door opening not on the taproom, but on a narrow, high-ceilinged room with a tall counter in front of a staircase wide enough to let four people walk side by side. An elderly woman sat behind the counter. She looked more like a shop assistant than an innkeeper, with her white wraparound apron and her tightly pinned hair, but she gave Owen and Elspeth a pleasant smile and said, “Welcome to the Bradbury Inn. How can I help you?”

  “My wife and I wish a room for the night, and supper,” Owen said in Tremontanese. Saying “wife” gave him a strange, disoriented feeling, as if they weren’t actually married. Speaking their vows in front of Jeffrey and some of the officers was so different from the elaborate ceremony Elspeth had planned. If not for the unmistakable feeling of the marriage bond, Owen might have believed it all for show.

  “Of course, sir,” the woman said without hesitation, even though Owen’s accent clearly marked him as foreign. He was glad she wasn’t one of those who hated Ruskalder, like the man who’d grudgingly served them dinner at noon. Owen was tired and emotionally overwhelmed and didn’t need to fight yet another battle.

  The woman led the way up both flights of stairs to the third floor and opened a door nearly at the end of a long corridor. She handed Owen a key—another Tremontanan peculiarity, putting locks on doors in public places—and said, “Supper is served from five o’clock until eight-thirty. The taproom is open until midnight. Please let me know if there is anything you need.”

  Owen nodded. Elspeth had already entered the room, so he only said, “Thank you,” and followed her. His heart sank. The room was small but well-furnished, and it smelled pleasantly of lilacs. It was quiet, and when he looked out the window, he saw it overlooked the stable yard and not the street. It even had a tap instead of a pitcher of water, another luxury Ruskalder inns never had.

  No, the problem was the bed. It was nice enough, with a brightly colored blue and green quilt and pillows not flattened by much use. But it was barely wide enough for two people, and Owen knew immediately it was a mistake. He loved Elspeth, and he didn’t want to impose on her physically…unless it was what she wanted…damn it, he just didn’t know what to do for her.

  Elspeth stood in the middle of the room looking at the bed. “I can ask for a different room,” Owen said. “Maybe…one with two…Elspeth…”

  “I’m not going to fall to pieces just because we’re sharing a bed,” she said irritably. “You have to stop treating me like I’m breakable, Owen.”

  He didn’t want to point out that she looked breakable. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you need.”

  Elspeth let out a sigh. “Food, right now. And then I want to sleep. We don’t have to leave early, do we?”

  “We can stay here for a few days if you’d rather.” Jeffrey had given him a very full purse when they left that morning, full enough to take them all the way through Tremontane and Eskandel if they’d wanted.

  “No, I want to be home.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Owen?”

  “Yes?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s nothing. Let’s eat.”

  They sat in the very full dining room—dining room and separate taproom, so strange—and ate in silence. Owen searched for things to say and came up empty. He’d thought, when they were first reunited, that everything was normal between them. They’d talked and even laughed together. But after they’d made it back to the Tremontanan Army camp, everything had changed. And now this awkwardness between them had grown until Owen felt like screaming.

  He watched Elspeth pick at her food, and said, “Is it not what you like? We can ask for something else.”

  She shook her head. “It’
s fine. I’m hungry, but I don’t have much appetite—I know that doesn’t make sense.”

  It didn’t make sense, but he nodded. “Try to eat.”

  “I am trying, Owen,” she said, and the sharpness in her voice warned him not to say anything else. He found he didn’t have much of an appetite, either.

  When their meal was finished, he steered her out of the inn rather than returning upstairs. “Where are we going?” Elspeth said.

  “To buy you some clothes. A nightdress, at least. You look like you’re wearing someone’s castoffs.”

  “Because I am wearing someone’s castoffs.” This time, she sounded tired rather than snappish, but it still hurt Owen’s heart to hear her sound so unlike herself.

  They found a shop just closing up, but Owen convinced the shopkeeper to sell to them by handing over a few extra guilders. More guilders got them a nightdress, a pair of trousers that almost fit Elspeth, two shirts, and assorted toiletries. After accepting their packages, Owen and Elspeth left the store, and Owen turned to return to the inn.

  “Shouldn’t we get things for you?” Elspeth said.

  “It’s too late. Everything’s closed. But my clothes fit me better than yours did, and I sleep naked.”

  Elspeth’s eyes grew wide, and Owen felt like kicking himself. “In my undershorts,” he amended. “Elspeth—”

  “I’m not fragile,” Elspeth said hotly. “We’re married. It doesn’t matter.” She strode ahead of him, her too-large boots clapping against the cobbles of the street. Owen followed her more slowly. It felt as if he were feeling his way through a dark room filled with glass vases that would break if he so much as brushed against them. They needed to talk. He didn’t know what to say.

  Elspeth waited for him outside their door, which he unlocked. The sun had nearly set, so he fumbled around looking for the Device lamp, which glowed brightly when he turned it on. Elspeth took the bundles from him and set them on the clothespress at the foot of the bed. “I know it’s early, but I want to sleep.”

  “You should. You look exhausted.” Owen turned to go.

  “You’re leaving?” Elspeth said. She sounded confused, and sad, and it broke his heart.

  “I just want a drink before bed,” he said. “I’ll be back soon. Go ahead and sleep.”

  Elspeth nodded. Owen let himself out and shut the door. He turned the key over in his hand, examining it. The lock was one of those odd ones he’d only ever seen in Tremontane, with a knob on the inside, so you needed a key to open it on the outside but could lock or unlock it just with the knob on the inside. Hesitantly, he locked the door. He wasn’t sure Elspeth would think to do that, and the idea of someone bursting in on her while he was gone filled him with rage. He put the key in his pocket and went downstairs.

  The taproom was noisier than the dining room, and fuller, with almost all the tables occupied and most of the stools as well. Owen pushed politely past two men who looked like farmers and got the attention of the barman to order a pint.

  “Not from around here, eh?” one of the farmers said.

  Owen’s pulse sped up. The man’s voice had had an edge to it, one Owen was familiar with. It said the speaker didn’t much care for foreigners, specifically Ruskalder foreigners. Owen knew the citizens of Barony Daxtry, where they now were, interacted with Ruskalder frequently. He also knew most of those interactions were hostile.

  “I am not,” he said, hoping to shut off that line of conversation.

  “Not sure how a Ruskalder can afford a place like this,” the other farmer said. “Don’t you all live in shacks with your pigs? Henry, isn’t that what you heard? That Ruskalder sleep with their pigs?”

  Owen suddenly felt very weary. These stupid men were likely drunk and itching for entertainment and willing to get into a fight because they were bored. “All right,” he said. “We will go outside and you will show me how Ruskalder sleep with pigs.”

  The two farmers eyed him warily. “Beg pardon?” the first man said.

  “It is that you want to fight me,” Owen said. “I am a Ruskalder warrior and you are not, but you wish to test yourself against me. I promise it will not end well for you. But I am tired and I am angry and fighting you will give me something else to think about. So we will go. And when I have beaten you both senseless, I will finish my drink.” He stepped back from the bar and gestured.

  Now the farmers looked nervous. “Hey, mister, we don’t want trouble,” said the second farmer. “We were just making conversation.”

  “Rude conversation,” Owen said. “Insulting conversation.”

  The first farmer looked more closely at Owen, sizing him up and not liking the conclusions he drew. “I take it back,” he said. “Forget I said anything, huh? You look like hell.”

  Owen hadn’t been near a mirror in days and had no idea how he looked. Now he glanced at the mirror over the bar and was stunned. He looked as haggard as Elspeth, his hair matted, his eyes bleary, lines dragging down the corners of his mouth. Suddenly all he wanted was to go up to his room and hold his wife close, not kissing or making love, just holding each other so he could remember not everything was awful.

  “I will go,” he said, slapping a few coins on the counter. “Please to have a drink, and do not insult anyone else, because I do not think a fight is a good idea for such as you.” He walked away before they could say anything else.

  Upstairs, he unlocked the door and let himself into the dark room, locking it again behind him. He stood for a minute by the door, letting his eyes grow accustomed to what little light came through the window. He assumed Elspeth was asleep, so when he could make out shapes, he moved quietly to the room’s one chair and sat to remove his boots.

  Then he stayed, uncertainty keeping him rooted to the chair. He could join Elspeth in bed, but he didn’t want to startle her if she really was asleep. It was such a narrow bed, too. Maybe he should stay in this chair, which was surprisingly comfortable. It wouldn’t kill him to sleep sitting up one night. He leaned back and stretched out his legs. Really very comfortable.

  From the bed, he heard, “Owen?”

  He sat up. “Yes?”

  “Are you coming to bed?”

  His heart beat faster. “I…thought I would sit for a while.”

  Elspeth said nothing. Then, to his horror, he heard a quiet sob. He was on his knees beside the bed in an instant, reaching for her hand. “What’s wrong?” he said. “Don’t cry.”

  “You can’t even bring yourself to share my bed,” Elspeth said in a choked voice. “I thought it didn’t matter to you that I’m not…that Hesketh…”

  “That is not how I feel,” Owen said. He rose to sit on the edge of the bed, holding tight to her hand. “I don’t know what you need, Elspeth. I would give my life to make you happy, but this—I can’t make this right. I feel so helpless. Elspeth, love, tell me what to do.”

  Elspeth shuddered, bringing her tears under control. “I don’t—no, I’m not going to say that,” she said. “I’m tired of feeling like a victim, Owen. I’m tired of feeling like being raped defines my life. But I’m not ready for sex, and that feels just as bad. Like I’m making you suffer for my weakness.”

  Owen felt for her shoulder and followed it up to where he could cradle her cheek in his hand. “Don’t worry about me. I promise I’m not secretly resenting you for…I don’t know, for denying my marital rights or something stupid like that. We have our whole lives ahead of us, Elspeth, years and years for sharing that intimacy. There’s no rush. But…”

  “What?”

  He let out a deep breath. “I would very much like to sleep beside you. I want to hold you and reassure myself that you are alive and well and not trapped in Hrovald’s house. I think it might be something we both need. But I will be just as happy to sit in that chair all night, if that’s what you need.”

  To his surprise and delight, she laughed. “That chair looks so uncomfortable.”

  “It’s not bad. I’ve slept in worse places.”


  Elspeth sat up. “Join me here, then, and tell me about these worse places.”

  Owen let go of her hand and stood. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he took off his shirt and trousers and slid into bed beside her, taking her in his arms. She smelled sweaty, like he probably did after the journey from Ranstjad, but he didn’t care. He rested his head against hers and felt his tension melt away at the touch of her body, the feel of her hair against his cheek.

  “There was a time,” he said, “when my warband was traveling with Dyrak to visit all the chieftains—a big circuit, understand?—and we were at one of the smaller towns. The chieftain didn’t have room for all of us in his barracks. So we had to sleep in a barn. Several barns, really.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “It wasn’t. The bad part was that the barn I slept in was also home to a pack of the farmer’s dogs. He must have had eight or ten of them. Big, floppy-eared mutts that loved visitors. Every time we settled in to sleep, a dog would come snuffling around, looking for someone to scratch behind its ears. I don’t know why the dogs never slept, but we sure didn’t.”

  Elspeth laughed. “That does sound unpleasant. But it could be worse.”

  “It was worse. We found out when we left the next morning that the dogs had fleas.”

  That set her laughing harder. “Oh, Owen,” she said when she finally wound down, “I’m sorry I didn’t just talk to you. I felt so embarrassed and uncertain—”

  He kissed the top of her head. “And I felt confused and angry—not at you, love—and I should have talked to you, too.”

  She snuggled closer. “When you walked into Hrovald’s house, I couldn’t believe it. I’d wanted you for so long, it didn’t feel real.”