Tales of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

He was so surprised it took him a moment to respond. Then he smiled, and said, “Recall telling you it’s not something you turn on and off like a tap.”

  “I was hoping that was true,” she whispered, and leaned forward to kiss him.

  He put his arms around her and pulled her to him, settling her on his lap and holding her close. “Lainie, Lainie,” he murmured, “I love you, I’m so sorry I left you.”

  “No more apologies,” she said, and kissed him again, running those long fingers through his hair.

  Ben: Meeting the King

  The drawing room was twice the size of his house and full of low-backed sofas upholstered in a soft, pale green fabric with a velvety nap. Ben brushed his fingers across it and shifted his leg into a better position. Four corridors led off the great room, making it impossible for him to sit anywhere without having his back to one of them. He relaxed his shoulders, which had hunched up, and clasped his hands in his lap to stop them fidgeting.

  “You must be Mister Garrett,” a man said, and Ben swiveled around to see a tall man with graying black hair and a short beard enter the room. “I’d like to say I’ve heard much about you, but I’m afraid Telaine wasn’t very forthcoming about her time in Longbourne.”

  Ben swallowed, trying to force open a throat that had begun to close up. “Your Majesty,” he began.

  “I’m sure I won’t get you to call me Jeffrey, but ‘sir’ will do,” the King said with a slight smile. “Why don’t you come with me.”

  He gestured in the direction of one of the passages, and Ben hauled himself up and limped in that direction. The King wanted to talk to him. He knew about Longbourne and he almost certainly knew what had passed between him and Telaine. He was going to kill Ben, and since he was the King he could probably get away with it.

  They went through a dizzying number of passages, none of which were decorated the same, until they came to a short flight of steps that led to a hallway paneled in dark, heavy wood that loomed over Ben as if the walls bent inward. The King kept walking, immune to the spell the hall cast, and Ben had to follow or be lost.

  They passed a marble-topped semicircular desk where a young man stood and bowed to them—well, probably not to Ben—and then the King opened a door and said, “My office. Come in.”

  It was a plain room by comparison to the opulence of the rest of the palace, with a giant desk whose legs were carved to look like lions’ claws and a couple of chairs with tall backs drawn up before an empty fireplace. The King sat in one of them and gestured to Ben to take the other. Then he sat with his fingers steepled in front of his face, tapping his forefingers together and regarding Ben in a way that made him wish he could shrink into the depths of the chair. Finally, the King said, “Thank you for saving my son’s life.”

  “We saved each other, sir—that is, I couldn’t have let him die.” The chair was more narrow than he’d thought, and it ground into his hip uncomfortably.

  “Nevertheless.” The King lowered his hands to his lap. “I owe you a great debt. What can I do for you?”

  Ben’s throat began to close up again. “Ah…there’s nothing I need that you can give me, sir.”

  “I think that’s untrue, but let’s set that aside for now. I want you to tell me what Telaine did in Longbourne.”

  “Sir?” That was a question with too many answers.

  “She never told anyone who she was?”

  He remembered that cold morning, looking at Lainie who’d become a stranger in half a breath. “Never. We never guessed.”

  “So who did you think she was?”

  Wonderful. Beloved. Extraordinary. “Just what she said. A Deviser from the city.”

  “But she was more to you than that.”

  Was he in trouble, or not? My uncle has to approve all marriages, she’d said, and it occurred to him that this man held his happiness in those two hands. Ben sat up straighter, ignoring the twinge in his leg, and said, “She was, sir. She means everything to me.”

  The King’s lips quirked in a smile. “And you think you deserve to marry her?”

  “Don’t know about deserve, sir. I know I want to. I think she wants to marry me.”

  “Think?”

  “When I asked her, she wouldn’t make me any promises. Think she was being as honorable as she could. But she said she’d run away with me if you said no.”

  Laughter, deep and merry, rang out through the room. “I didn’t know what to expect of you, Mister Garrett,” the King said. “I should be furious with you for treating her so poorly, but the truth is I think your reaction, what I know of it from Julia, at least, was perfectly justified. Though—” He leaned forward, and there was no humor in his eyes. “Speak to her like that again, and I won’t be so understanding.”

  “That’s never going to happen. I haven’t forgiven myself for that, sir.”

  “I imagine not. So, Mister Garrett, have you thought of anything I might do for you?”

  Ben drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sir, I don’t think Lainie ought to be some prize for whatever you think I deserve rewarding for.”

  “No? It hasn’t occurred to you that you’re effectively a fairy tale hero—save the kingdom, win the hand of the Princess? No, I can see you don’t think that way. Good for you.”

  Ben shrugged. “I’m not much for speeches, sir. I just know that I love Lainie—Telaine—and I want more than anything to marry her. So I hope you’ll give us permission.”

  “And it hasn’t occurred to you that possibly a Princess ought to marry someone noble? Not an ordinary blacksmith from the frontier?”

  “I…don’t know.” He hadn’t considered that at all, after that first horrific day where all he could think was how no Princess could possibly be interested in a commoner like him. “Is that a rule?”

  “It’s tradition.” The King smiled again. “But I’ve never thought tradition ought to overrule what’s right. You intend to go back to Longbourne?”

  Ben straightened. “With Lainie, sir, yes. Unless she wants to live here.”

  “What would you do in the capital?”

  “They still need blacksmiths here, don’t they, sir?” He didn’t mention the singing. It was unlikely he’d be able to make a living at it after five years away from serious training.

  “You think Princess Telaine North Hunter ought to have a husband who’s an ordinary blacksmith? That she wouldn’t be embarrassed by you at social functions?”

  “I don’t know about Princess Telaine North Hunter, sir,” Ben said, “but I know Lainie, and she’s not proud or disdainful, and I’ll be whatever she needs me to be. But I think what she needs is who I am right now, or she wouldn’t have fallen in love with me.”

  The King chuckled. “So, just to be clear,” he said, rubbing his chin, “you think I should give permission for you to marry the daughter of my only sister and my best friend, on the grounds that she loves you and it’s what you want.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I can hardly argue with that.” The King extended his hand. “You have my blessing, Mister Garrett. To be honest, I can’t imagine her ever being happy with the kind of men she used to socialize with. Did you know she lived in the woods like a wild creature when she was young? She’s Owen Hunter’s daughter, down to the bone, and he made my sister so happy…well. You’re fortunate Owen’s not still alive; he’d have set you some impossible task and glowered at you the whole time you were failing to accomplish it.” He stood, prompting Ben to struggle out of the imprisoning chair. “Join us for dinner, will you? I’m sure the family will want to meet you.”

  “People keep warning me not to be overwhelmed by the North clan. I feel a little overwhelmed by that.”

  “Never fear. Telaine will keep them in line. None of them knew she was an agent either. It’s been an interesting adjustment for her cousins, who were used to her talking about nothing but fashion at the dinner table. You can sometimes see their minds changing gears like Devices being repair
ed while they’re still moving.”

  Night Be My Guardian

  I wrote this because I couldn’t bear Alison not having her happy ending. I caught a lot of flak for the death of Anthony North, and I wrote this short story just for myself, right around the time I wrote “Long Live the Queen.” I am so glad I decided to include it with Agent of the Crown.

  Takes place in spring 963 Y.B.

  * * *

  The clear spring air carried with it a thousand beautiful smells, pine and flowers and the distant scent of a mountain river. Alison could hear it just at the edge of her perception, a murmur like that of a palace ball. She closed her eyes and pictured it, the Spring Gala with all those men in pale suits and cravats matching the pastel blues and pinks and yellows of the women’s gowns. How fashion had changed in sixty years. Now they wore thin muslins and laces with puffy short sleeves and low necklines over silk or satin slips with narrow skirts. They’d put so many dances out of style, some of them her old favorites—but then it had been her doing that the corset had gone out of fashion, so she could hardly complain.

  “You were always so beautiful, no matter what you wore,” Anthony said. She could imagine his breath tickling her ear, hear his marvelous baritone smooth and warm like melted toffee.

  “I still prefer trousers to gowns,” she whispered back to him. No sense startling the driver, who probably needed all her attention to keep the carriage on the narrow mountain path.

  “Even more beautiful with your dress off,” he teased, and she smiled at the old joke and wished she could lay her head on his shoulder—but of course, he wasn’t there, he was a memory, and a beloved one. She could hear his voice more clearly every day.

  “I don’t mean this as impatience, but do you know how much longer until we’re there?” she asked the driver.

  “I think it’s another half-hour until the valley, milady Consort,” the woman said, “and the man at the stables said it was another half-hour from there to Longbourne. Are you comfortable?”

  “As comfortable as these old bones can be,” Alison said. Her own voice was so creaky these days, like the rest of her. She’d turned eighty-three just six weeks before and considered herself fairly hale for such an old woman, even if her joints creaked as much as her voice did and her formerly smooth skin was dry and wrinkled as old paper. Jeffrey had been horrified when she proposed this trip, but he of all people knew why she had to make it. “I’m just surprised you didn’t do this earlier,” he’d said, “fifteen years ago.”

  “Fifteen years ago my granddaughter didn’t give me an excellent excuse for the trip,” she’d replied, “and I’ve kept this secret too long to risk revealing it, even now. The Norths are strong, but no sense stirring up scandal.”

  He’d shook his head, but hadn’t argued further. Imogen had been more aghast even than her husband, and Alison wondered if she suspected there was more to this trip than the desire to see Telaine and her family in their own home. But she was still Alison North, with a will of iron and the determination to see things through, and now here she was bouncing up the pass toward Steepridge. It was actually a fairly comfortable ride, less jolting than the Device Jeffrey had imported from Eskandel that drove you around the city without horses. It was a novelty, a child’s toy, but Alison had observed how easily it handled, how it didn’t leave piles of dung wherever it passed, and predicted Tremontane was seeing the birth of a Devisery that would change it forever.

  “We’ve seen so many changes,” Anthony said. “I wonder what changes our children will see.”

  “What changes they’ll make,” she said quietly. “Telaine has already made a name for herself, even in her little village. When she gets her hands on that Devisery...imagine this trip made twice as fast. She already keeps the passes clear in winter.”

  “I’ve seen them all through your eyes. They’re quite the legacy.”

  “Yours and mine.”

  She napped in the spring sunshine and woke when the carriage’s pace changed, became less bumpy and a little faster, and sat up to look around her. Now she understood what Telaine had fallen in love with. If she’d come here fifteen years ago, she might have stayed here herself. Green grass stretched out in both directions, coming up against the darker green of evergreens in one direction and the silvery coins of aspens in the other. The sound of rushing water had faded somewhat, but in the far distance she could see a thread of white water spooling down the face of a mountain that still had snow on its peaks. Mount Ehuren was visible beyond that, its darker gray stark against the pale blue sky. The road wound on through the gentle rise of the valley, branching off toward unseen villages elsewhere in the barony. “Stop,” she told the driver. “I want to stretch my legs a little, then ride on the seat with you.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be comfortable enough, milady Consort?”

  “If I’m not, it will pass, and I want to see Longbourne on my own terms.”

  She needed the driver’s help to emerge from the carriage, tottered around until she felt she had full control of her body, then climbed up onto the seat and held on to its edge as the carriage continued along the road.

  “You might take my arm instead of that splintery seat,” Anthony said. She smiled, but didn’t reply. Ahead, she could see the sun glinting off the blue-gray slates of roofs. Longbourne. It grew up around them, outlying farms becoming houses and then the two-story businesses that lined Longbourne’s main street. The horses’ hooves went from thudding on hard-packed earth to ringing out with the same sharp taps they did on the stone-paved streets of Aurilien. Telaine had written with great excitement about the paving of Longbourne’s streets four years ago, how it had replaced the gravel, and Alison had tried to imagine the life her oldest granddaughter lived now, she who’d been raised wild and then tamed into a society belle, or so they’d all thought. No wonder she’d thrived here.

  The carriage came to a stop near the forge, where the sound of metal tapping metal and a hot crisp smell of glowing coal said Ben Garrett was at work. The forge was attached to a two-story house, which in turn was attached to a shorter building with large glass windows that would let in enough light for the most precise, finicky work. A couple of men standing at the forge rail turned to look at the newcomer, idly curious. Of course they’d have no idea who she was. The driver helped Alison down. “Where shall I take your bags, milady Consort?”

  “Would you wait for just a few minutes?” Alison said. She approached the forge rail, where the two men’s expressions had grown confused, as if they couldn’t believe what they’d heard. She nodded politely to them, leaned on the forge rail, and said, “Might I have a moment of your time, master blacksmith?”

  “Just a—” Ben said, then turned around fast, tongs in hand. “Milady Alison!”

  “Hello, Ben,” Alison said. It had taken most of a year to convince him to stop calling her Milady Consort, as if they weren’t related at all. “Surprised?”

  “Of course! Lainie!”

  A small black-haired girl with extraordinary blue eyes that always made Alison catch her breath came running out of the house. “Ma’s in the workshop,” she said in that lilting northeastern accent that sounded like music. Her eyes went round. “Grandmama!” she shrieked, and threw herself at Alison’s legs, making her totter just a bit.

  “Zara, be careful,” Ben said. “Go tell your ma who’s here.”

  The little girl ran off. “She’s grown,” Alison said.

  “Going to overtop me and Lainie both someday,” Ben said, pushing back his light brown hair from his brow. “No question whose grand-niece she is, either.”

  “It breeds true, the North good looks,” Anthony said. “I wonder if Telaine knew that when she named her.”

  “No question at all,” Alison said.

  The workshop door opened again, and Telaine Garrett came out at a run. “Grandmama,” she said, hugging Alison. “You shouldn’t have come all this way. Was it a comfortable trip? You should bring your things inside,
we’ve got room—”

  “Actually, I thought I’d stay with my old friend Agatha Weaver,” Alison said. “She knows I’m coming.”

  Telaine’s eyes went wide. “I can’t believe she kept it a secret from me!” She laughed and shook her head. “All right, actually I can. Of course you would—” She stopped and glanced over her shoulder southward. “Happen you wouldn’t want to come upon her unawares and expect her to just put you up. But I think she’d be happy to see you, awares or not.”

  “I hope so,” Alison said. “But I’ll have supper with you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Ben’s cooking tonight, so it’ll be edible. Do you want—”

  “Yes, I’d like to see Agatha now. Will you show me where she lives?”

  Telaine linked her arm with her grandmother’s and led her down the street, the carriage following slowly behind them. Alison observed her covertly. She’d seen her and, later, her family once a year every year since her marriage, when they came to stay at the palace for a few weeks, but she’d always wondered if Telaine was different when she was at home. She sounded different, for one, dropped the cultured accents she always used, probably by habit, in the palace. She’d put on weight since she’d had her three children, which was as well because she’d always been too thin, just like her mother. Her walk was every bit as confident as it ever was, but there was something about it here in Longbourne that was different. It said this was her place, that she was a part of it as if she’d lived here her whole life. It warmed Alison’s heart to see her so happy. If only Julia—but that was a worry for another time, and Alison was about to step into the past.

  Telaine took her around the back of a long, low building that had an upper story half the size of the lower one, with three windows ranged across it. She pushed open the back door without knocking. It opened on a tidy kitchen with a pot of something that smelled delicious bubbling over the fire. In the distance Alison heard clattering and rattling and the faint whir of something spinning.