121
" There were cushioned benches on either side of the fire, and directly before it a great carved chair. Shevraeth rose from one of the benches, making a gesture of welcome. Indicating the chair, in which sat a straight-backed old man dressed in black velvet, he said, “Father, I have the honor of introducing Lady Meliara Astiar.” And to me, in the suavest voice, as if I hadn’t flung a candleholder at his head just a little while before, “Lady Meliara, my father, Prince Alaerec.”
The old man nodded slowly and with great dignity. He had keen dark eyes, and white hair which he wore loose on his shoulders in the old-fashioned way. “My dear, please forgive me if I do not rise. I am afraid I do not get about with ease or grace anymore.”
I felt an impulse to bow, and squashed it. I remembered that Court women sweep curtsys--something my mother had tried once to teach me, when I was six. I also remembered that I was there against my will--a prisoner, despite all the fine surroundings and polite talk--so I just crossed my arms and said, “Don’t think you have to walk about on my behalf.”
Bran gave me a slightly bemused look and bobbed an awkward bow to the old man.
A servant came forward, silent and skillful, and passed out goblets of wine. The Prince saluted me in silence, followed by Bran and Shevraeth. I looked down at my goblet, then took a big gulp that made my nose sting. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
122
" Then let’s address the business before us. I hope and trust we’ll have the remainder of our lives to talk all this over and compare misguided reactions, but for now…” He rose and pulled me to my feet. Still holding on to my hands, he continued, “…shall we agree to a fresh beginning?”
I squeezed his hands back. “Agreed.”
“Then let me hear my name from you, just once, before we proceed further. My name, not any of the titles.”
“Vidanric,” I said, and he kissed me again, then laughed.
Soon we were racing side by side cross-country again, on the last leg of the journey to Remalna-city. "
― Sherwood Smith , Court Duel (Crown & Court, #2)
123
" So they sit like overfed fowl and watch Galdran Merindar break the Covenant by making secret pacts to sell our woods overseas?” I retorted.
He paused in the act of reaching for the camp jug. “Break the Covenant? How do you know about that? I don’t recall you’ve ever been to Court.”
Tell him about Azmus, and the intercepted letter, and have him send minions to make certain both disappeared? No chance. “I just know. That’s all you need to know. But even if it weren’t true, Debegri would still go up to take the County of Tlanth by force. Can’t any of you Court people see that if it happens to us, it can happen to you? Or are you too stupid?”
“Possibly,” he said, still with that dispassionate amusement. “It’s also possible your…somewhat misguided actions are inspired by misguided sources, shall we say?”
“Say what you want,” I retorted. “It’s not like I can duff off in a huff if you’re impolite.”
He laughed softly, then shook his head. “I ought not to bait you. I apologize.”
The implication seemed pretty clear: Soon enough I’d have a hard time of it. The prospect silenced me.
He didn’t seem to notice as he brought out the jug and then poured two mugs of steaming water. A moment later he opened a little bag and brought out dried leaves, which he cast into one mug. Another bag provided leaves for the other mug. The wonderful scent of tea wafted through the air. I did not recognize the blend--or blends. Instinct made me sigh; then I realized I’d done it and wished I hadn’t.
The man came around, set a cup down by my hand. “Are you very uncomfortable?”
“Does it matter?” I said, and wrapped my chilled hands around the cup--which was not of the battered metal I’d expected, but very fine ceramic. Exquisite gilding ran round the lip, a stylized braid of argan leaves.
“Whether it does or not, you shall have a better conveyance on the morrow,” he said. “Drink your tea and sleep. We shall continue our discourse when you have had some rest.”
I couldn’t resist one more crack. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
He just smiled. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
124
" Until that morning most of the journey had been made in silence, our stops to eat and change horses--again, Renselaeus beneficence: all we had to do was mention their name, and the horses were instantly available--too brief for much converse. When we did stop, we were both too tired to talk. But that day the roads were too muddy for fast travel, and Branaric suddenly turned to me and asked for my story, so I gave him a detailed description of my adventures.
I had just reached the episode at the fountain with Debegri, and was grinning at the fluency and point of Bran’s curses, when we became aware of horses behind us.
Traffic had been nonexistent all day, which we had expected. No traders had been permitted to go up into Tlanth, well away from Vesingrui, the fortress that the Renselaeus forces supposedly held, so we didn’t expect any military traffic, either.
“Sounds like at least one riding,” I said, remembering that pattern well. Danger prickled along my nerves, and I wished I had a weapon.
“Something must have happened.” Bran sounded unconcerned. “They must need to tell us--“
“Who? What?”
Bran shrugged. “Escort. Shevraeth sent it along to keep us safe. Knew you would refuse, so they’ve been behind us the whole way.”
I was peering through the trees, anger and apprehension warring inside me. Annoyed as I was to be thus circumvented--and to have my reactions so accurately predicted--I realized I’d be well satisfied to find out that the approaching riders were indeed Renselaeus equerries.
The Renselaeus colors would have stood out, but the green-and-brown of Galdran’s people blended into the forest; they were almost on us before we saw them, and Bran yelled, “It’s a trap!”
“Halt!” The shout rang through the trees.
Of course we bolted.
“Halt, or we shoot,” came a second yell.
“Bend down, bend--ah!”
Bran’s body jerked, then he fell forward, an arrow in his back. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
125
" When we were finished, the Prince said, “Have you any further questions concerning the matter we discussed last night?”
“One.” While I felt no qualms about being rude to his son, I was reluctant to treat the elderly man the same. “You really have been planning this for a long time?”
“For most of my life.”
“Then why didn’t you respond? Offer to help us--at least offer a place in your alliance--when Bran and I sent our letter to the King at the start of winter?”
The Prince paused to take a sip of his coffee. I noted idly that he had long, slim hands like his son’s. Had the Prince ever wielded a sword? Oh yes--wasn’t he wounded in the Pirate Wars?
“There was much to admire in your letter,” he said with a faint smile. “Your forthright attitude, the scrupulous care with which you documented each grievance, bespoke an earnestness, shall we say, of intent. What your letter lacked, however, was an equally lucid plan for what to do after Galdran’s government was torn down.”
“But we did include one,” I protested.
He inclined his head. “In a sense. Your description of what the government ought to be was truly enlightened. Yet…as the military would say, you set out a fine strategy, but failed to supplement it with any kind of tactical carry-through.” His eyes narrowed slightly, and he added, “It is always easiest to judge where one is ignorant--a mistake we made about you, and that we have striven to correct--but it seemed that you and your adherents were idealistic and courageous, yet essentially foolhardy, folk. We were very much afraid you would not last long against the sheer weight of Galdran’s army, its poor leadership notwithstanding.”
I thought this over, looking for hidden barbs--and for hidden meanings.
He said, “If you should change your mind, or if you simply need to communicate with us, please be assured you shall be welcome.”
It seemed that, after all, I was about to go free. “I confess I’ll feel a lot more grateful for your kindness after I get home.”
He set his cup down and steepled his fingers. “I understand,” he murmured. “Had I lived through your recent experiences, I expect I might have a similar reaction. Suffice it to say that we wish you well, my child, whatever transpires.”
“Thank you for that,” I said awkwardly, getting to my feet.
He also rose. “I wish you a safe, swift journey.” He bowed over my hand with graceful deliberation.
I left then, but for the first time in days I didn’t feel quite so bad about recent events. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
126
" She won’t rat out on us. Let me talk to her, and she’ll see reason.”
“I’d give her some time before you attempt it,” came the wry answer.
“She usually doesn’t stay mad long,” Bran said carelessly.
Again habit urged me to move. I knew to stay made me a spy-ears, which no one over the age of four is excused in being, yet I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. So I stood there and listened--and thus proved the old proverb about eavesdroppers getting what they deserve.
Shevraeth said, “I’m very much afraid it’s my fault. We met under the worst of circumstances, and we seem to have misunderstood one another to a lethal degree.”
Bran said, “No, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s ours--my parents’ and mine. You have to realize our mother saw Tlanth as a haven from her Court life. All she had to do was potter around her garden and play her harp. I don’t think Mel even knows Mother spent a few years at Erev-li-Erval, learning Kheras in the Court of the Empress. Mel scarcely talked before she started hearing stories on the immoral, rotten, lying Court decorations. Mama liked seeing her running wild with Oria and the village brats. Then Mama was killed, and Papa mostly lived shut in his tower, brooding over the past. He didn’t seem to know what to do with Mel. She couldn’t read or write, wouldn’t even sit still indoors--all summer she would disappear for a week at a time, roaming in the hills. I think she knows more about the ways of the Hill Folk than she does about what actually happens at Court. Anyhow, I taught her her letters just a year or so ago, mostly as an excuse to get away from my books. She liked it well enough, except there isn’t much to read up there anymore, beyond what Papa thought I ought to know for preparing a war.”
“I see. Yet you’ve told me she shared in the command of your rebels.”
Bran laughed again. “That’s because after she learned to read, Mel learned figuring, on her own, and took it over.”
“You mean, she took charge of your business affairs?”
“Such as they were, yes. Taxes, all that. It’s why I told her she had half the title. Life! She could’ve had the title, and the leadership, for all of me, except we promised Papa when he died that we’d go it together. And working toward the war--it was easier when we did it together. She turned it into a game, though I think she saw it as real before I did.” He sighed. “Well, I know she did. Curst traps prove it.”
“Your family was reputed to have a good library.”
“Until Papa burned it, after Mama died. Everything gone, and neither of us knowing what we’d lost. Or, I knew and didn’t care, but Mel didn’t even know. Curse it, her maid is sister to the blacksmith. Julen’s never been paid, but sees to Mel because she’s sorry for her.”
“There has been, I take it, little contact with family, then?”
“Papa had no family left in this part of the world. As for Mama’s royal cousins, when they moved north to Cheras al Kherval, my parents lost touch, and I never did see any reason to try…”
I slipped away then, raging against my brother and the Marquis, against Julen for pitying me when I’d thought she was my friend, against nosy listeners such as myself…against Papa, and Galdran, and war, and Galdran again, against the Empress and every courtier ever born.
I sat in the room they’d given me and glared into the roaring fire, angry with the entire universe. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
128
" Then the day came when a new column was spotted riding up behind Debegri’s force. We almost missed them, for we had also begun staying in a tight group. But luckily Khesot, cautious since his days in the terrible Pirate Wars, still sent pairs of scouts on rounds in all four directions twice a day.
It was Seliar, of my group, who spotted them first. She reported to me, and the rest of us crept down the hillside to watch the camp below. We saw at the head of the column a man wearing a long black cloak.
Debegri emerged, bowed. The newcomer bowed in return and handed the Baron a rolled paper. They went inside Debegri’s tent, and when they emerged, the stranger had the white plume of leadership on his helm. Debegri’s glower was plain even at the distance we watched from.
Backing up from our vantage, we retreated to our camp.
Bran and Khesot and the other riding leaders were all gathered under our old, patched rain cover when we reached them. Seliar blurted out what we’d seen.
Branaric grinned all through the story. At the end I said, “This is obviously no surprise. What news had you?”
Bran nodded to where a mud-covered young woman sat in front of one of the tents, attacking a bowl of stew as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. “Messenger just arrived from Azmus, or it would have been a surprise. Galdran has taken his cousin off the command. He’d apparently expected us to last two weeks at most.”
“Well, who is this new commander? Ought we to be afraid?”
Bran’s grin widened until he laughed. “Here’s the jest: He’s none other than the Marquis of Shevraeth, heir to the Renselaeus principality. According to Azmus, all he ever thinks about are clothes, horse racing, and gambling. And did I mention clothes?”
Everyone roared with laughter.
“We’ll give him two weeks,” I crowed. “And then we’ll send him scurrying back to his tailor. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
129
" There’s no use in talking about the plan, because of course nothing went the way it was supposed to. Even the passage of time was horribly distorted. At first the ride to the hill seemed endless, with me sneaking looks at my brother, who was increasingly unsteady in his saddle.
The Marquis insisted on riding in front of us the last little distance, where we saw a row of four horse riders waiting--the outer two bearing banners, dripping from the rain, but the flags’ green and gold still brilliant, and the inner two riders brawny and cruel faced and very much at ease, wearing the plumed helms of command.
“I just wanted to see if you traitors would dare to face me,” Galdran said, his caustic voice making me feel sick inside. Sick--and angry.
The Marquis bowed low over his horse’s withers, every line of his body indicative of irony.
Galdran’s face flushed dark purple.
“I confess,” Shevraeth drawled, “we had a small wager on whether you would have the courage to face us. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
130
" I found Bran in the courtyard below. Two fresh, mettlesome horses awaited us, and Bran had a bag at his belt. Shevraeth himself was there to bid us farewell--a courtesy I could have done without. Impatient to be gone, I stayed silent as he and my brother exchanged some last words.
Then, at last, Shevraeth stepped back. “Do you remember the route?”
Bran nodded. “Well enough. My thanks again--” He looked over at me, then sighed. “Another time, I trust.” I realized then that he actually liked the Marquis--that in some wise (as much as a Court decoration and an honest man ill trained in the niceties of high society could) they had become friends.
Shevraeth turned to me, bowed. There was no irony visible in face or manner as he wished me a safe journey. I felt my face go hot as I gritted out a stilted “Thank you.” Then I turned in my saddle and my horse spun about. Branaric was with me in a moment, and side-by-side we rode out.
And in silence we began our journey. The horses seemed to want speed, which gladdened my heart. I turned my back on the terraced city with its thundering fall; faced west and home. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
131
" We have a long ride ahead of us tonight, and you wouldn’t want to regret your first good meal in days.”
In weeks, I thought as I picked up a spoon, but I didn’t say it out loud--it felt disloyal somehow.
Then the sense of what he’d said sank in, and I almost lost my appetite again. “How long to the capital?”
“We will arrive sometime tomorrow morning,” he said.
I grimaced down at my soup, then braced myself up, thinking that I’d better eat, hungry or not, for I’d need my strength. “What is Galdran like?” I asked, adding sourly, “Besides being a tyrant, a coward, and a Covenant breaker?”
Shevraeth sat with his mug in his hands. He hadn’t eaten much, but he was on his second cup of the coffee. “This is the third time you’ve brought that up,” he said. “How do you know he intends to break the Covenant?”
“We have proof.” I saw his eyes narrow, and I added in my hardest voice, “And don’t waste your breath threatening me about getting it, because you won’t. You really think I’d tell you what and where it is, just to have it destroyed? We may not be doing so well, but it seems my brother and I and our little untrained army are the only hope the Hill Folk have.”
The Marquis was silent for a long pause, during which my anger slowly evaporated, leaving me feeling more uncomfortable by the moment. I realized why just before he spoke: By refusing to tell him, I was implying that he, too, wanted to break the Covenant.
Well, doesn’t he?--if he’s allied with Galdran! I thought.
“To your question,” the Marquis said, setting his cup down, “’What is Galdran like?’ By that I take it you mean, What kind of treatment can you expect from the King? If you take the time to consider the circumstances outside of your mountain life, you might be able to answer that for yourself.” Despite the mild humor, the light, drawling voice managed somehow to sting. “The King has been in the midst of trade negotiations with Denlieff for over a year. You have cost him time and money that were better applied elsewhere. And a civil war never enhances the credit of the government in the eyes of visiting diplomats from the Empress in Cheras-al-Kherval, who does not look for causes so much as signs of slack control.”
I dropped my spoon in the empty soup bowl. “So if he cracks down even harder on the people, it’s all our fault, is that it?”
“You might contemplate, during your measures of leisure,” he said, “what the purpose of a permanent court serves, besides to squander the gold earned by the sweat of the peasants’ brows. And consider this: The only reason you and your brother have not been in Athanarel all along is because the King considered you too harmless to bother keeping an eye on.” And with a polite gesture: “Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
I was ensconced again in the carriage with my pillows and aching leg for company, and we resumed journeying.
The effect of the coffee was to banish sleep. Restless, angry with myself, angrier with my companion and with the unlucky happenstance that had brought me to this pass, I turned my thoughts once again to escape.
Clouds gathered and darkness fell very swiftly. When I could no longer see clearly, I hauled myself up and felt my way to the door. The only plan I could think of was to open the door, tumble out, and hopefully lose myself in the darkness. This would work only if no one was riding beside the carriage, watching.
A quick peek--a longer look--no one in sight.
I eased myself down onto the floor and then opened the door a crack, peering back. I was about to fling the door wider when the carriage lurched around a curve and the door almost jerked out of my hand. I half fell against the doorway, caught myself, and a moment later heard a galloping horse come up from behind the carriage.
I didn’t look to see who was on it, but slammed the door shut and climbed back onto the seat.
And composed myself for sleep.
I knew I’d need it. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
132
" The less said about that morning’s ride, the better. I would have been uncomfortable even if I’d been riding with Branaric, for my leg ached steadily from the jarring of the horse’s pace. To be riding along in the clasp of an enemy just made my spirits feel the worse.
We only had one conversation, right at the start, when he apologized for the discomfort of the ride and reminded me that there would be a carriage--and reasonable comfort--before the day was gone.
I said, in as surly a tone as possible, “You might have thought of that before we left. I mean, since no one asked my opinion on the matter.”
“It was purely an impulse of disinterested benevolence that precipitated our departure,” he responded equably--as if I’d been as polite as one of his simpering Court ladies.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that it seemed very likely that your brother and his adherents were going to mount another rescue attempt, and this time there was no chance of our being taken by surprise.”
He paused, letting me figure that out. He meant the King’s warriors would have killed everyone, or else taken them all prisoner, and he had forestalled such a thing. Why he should want to prevent this opportunity to defeat all our people at once didn’t make sense to me; I kept quiet.
He went on after a moment, “Since the King requires a report on our progress, and as it seemed expedient to remove you, I decided to combine the two. It appears to have worked, at least for a time.”
Which meant he’d stalled Branaric--with what? Threats against my life if our people tried anything? The thought made me wild with anger, with a determination to escape so strong that for a time it took all my self-control not to fling myself from that horse and run, bad leg or no.
For at last I faced the real truth: that by my own carelessness, I might very well have graveled our entire cause. I knew my brother. Branaric would not risk my life--and this man seemed to have figured that much out.
The Marquis made a couple other attempts at conversation, but I ignored him. I have to confess that, for a short time, hot tears of rage and self-loathing stung my eyes and dripped down my face. I didn’t trust my voice; the only consolation I had for my eroding self-respect was that my face couldn’t be seen.
When the tears had dried at last, and I had taken a surreptitious swipe at my nose and eyes with my sleeve, I gritted my teeth and turned my thoughts back to escape. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
133
" Looking down at the stiff, cream-colored rice paper--the good kind that came in the books that we had never been able to afford--I was both excited and apprehensive. Remembering my rather precipitous departure from that wood gatherer’s house, I decided that much as I valued my friends, I wanted to read Bran’s letter alone.
No one followed me as I walked out. Behind, I heard Oria saying, in a voice very different from what I was used to hearing from her, “Come, Master Jerrol, there’s some good ale here, and I’ll make you some bread and cheese…”
As I walked up to my room, I reflected on the fact that I did want to read it alone, and not have whatever it said read from my face. Then there was the fact that they all let me go off alone without a word said, though I knew they wanted to know what was in it.
It’s that invisible barrier again, I thought, feeling peculiar. We can work all day at the same tasks, bathe together at the village bathhouse, and sit down together at meals, but then something comes up and suddenly I’m the Astiar and they are the vassals…just as at the village dances all the best posies and the finest plates are brought to me, but the young men all talk and laugh with the other girls.
Was this, then, to be my life? To always feel suspended midway between the aristocrat and the vassal traditions, and to belong truly to neither? "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
134
" The forestland thickened at one point, and without warning it opened onto a road. Fading back behind a screen of ferns, I watched the traffic. It appeared I’d reached a major crossroads. A stone marker at the intersection indicated the Akaeriki road downhill, and to the north lay the town of Thoresk.
A town. Surely one anonymous female could lose herself in a town? And while she was at it, find some shelter?
Big raindrops started plopping in the leaves around me. The coming storm wouldn’t be warded by tree branches and leaves, that was for certain. Clutching my half-empty basket to my side, I started up the road, careful not to limp if anyone came into view from the opposite direction.
I saw a line of slow wagons up ahead, with a group of small children gamboling around them. I hurried my pace slightly so I would look like I belonged with them; I had nearly caught up when a deep thundering noise seemed to vibrate up from the ground.
“Cavalcade! Cavalcade!” a high childish voice shrieked.
The farmers clucked at their oxen and the wagons hulked and swung, metal frames creaking, over to one side. The children ran up the grassy bank beside the road, hopping and shrieking with excitement.
Feeling my knees go suddenly watery, I scrambled up the bank as well, then sat in the grass with my basket on my lap. I checked my kerchief surreptitiously and snatched my hand down as two banner-carrying outriders galloped into view around the bend I’d walked so shortly before.
Behind them a single rider cantered on a nervous white horse. The rider was short but strongly built. A gray beard, finicky mustache, and long hair marked him as a noble; his mouth and eyes were narrowed, whether in habit or in anger I didn’t know--but my instinctive reaction to him was fear.
He wore the plumed helm of a commander, and his battle tunic was brown velvet. He had passed by before I realized that I had very nearly come face-to-face with Baron Nenthar Debegri, Galdran Merindar’s former--and now present--commander.
Then behind him came row on row of soldiers, all formidably armed, riding three abreast. Dust and mud flew from the horses’ hooves, and the noise was enough to set the oxen bellowing in distress and pulling at their traces. Seven, eight, nine ridings--a full wing.
A full wing of warriors, all to search for me? I didn’t know whether to laugh or to faint in terror. So I just sat there numbly and watched them all ride by--a very strange kind of review.
As the end of the cavalcade at last drew nigh, the children were already skidding down the bank. My eyes, caught by a change in color, lifted. Instead of rows of brown-and-green battle gear, the last portion were in blue with black and white, their device three stars above a coronet. As my astonished mind registered that this was the Renselaeus device, my gaze was drawn to the single rider leading their formation.
A single rider on a dapple-gray. Tall in the saddle, long blond hair flying in the wind, hat so low it shadowed the upper portion of his face, the Marquis of Shevraeth rode by.
And as he drew abreast, his head lifted slightly, turned, and he stared straight into my eyes. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
135
" In a slow, pleasant voice, Prince Alaerec asked mild questions--weather, travel, Bran’s day and how he’d filled it. I stayed silent as the three of them worked away at this limping conversation. The Renselaeus father and son were skilled enough at nothing-talk, but poor Bran stumbled over half his words, sending frequent glances at me. In the past I’d often spoken for both of us, for truth was he felt awkward with his tongue and was somewhat shy with new people, but I did not feel like speaking until I’d sorted my emotions out--and there was no time for that.
To bridge his own feelings, my brother gulped at the very fine wine they offered. Soon a servant came in and announced that dinner was ready, and the old Prince rose slowly, leaning heavily on a cane. His back was straight, though, as he led the way to a dining room. Bran and I fell in behind, I treading cautiously, with my skirts bunched in either hand.
Bran snickered. I looked up, saw him watching me, his face flushed. “Life, Mel, are you supposed to walk like that?” He snickered again, swallowed the rest of his third glass of wine, then added, “Looks like you got eggs in those shoes.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to walk,” I mumbled, acutely aware of that bland-faced, elegantly dressed Marquis right behind us, and elbowed Bran in the side. “Stop laughing! If I drop these skirts, I’ll trip over them.”
“Why didn’t you just ask for riding gear?”
“And a coach-and-six while I was at it? This is what they gave me.”
“Well, it looks right enough,” he admitted, squinting down at me. “It’s just--seeing you in one of those fancy gowns reminds me of--”
I didn’t want to hear what it reminded him of. “You’re drunk as four skunks, you idiot,” I muttered, and not especially softly, either. “You’d best lay it aside until you get some food into you.”
He sighed. “Right enough. I confess, I didn’t think you’d really get here--thought that there’d be another bad hit.”
“Well, I don’t see we’re all that safe yet,” I said under my breath. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
136
" Our horses plunged up the trail.
“Go on…Go!” Bran jerked one hand toward the mountains, then swayed in his saddle.
Another arrow sang overhead.
“I won’t leave you,” I snapped.
“Go. Our people…Carry on the fight.”
“Bran--”
In answer he yanked the reins on his terrified horse, which lunged toward mine. Gritting his teeth, he leaned out and whipped the ends of his reins across the mare’s shoulder. “Go!”
My mount panicked, leaped forward. My neck snapped back. I clutched to the horse’s mane with all my strength. The last glimpse I had of Bran was of his white face and his anxious eyes watching me as he and his mount fell back.
And then I was on my own.
For a time the mare raced straight up the trail while the only thought I could hold in my mind was, A trap? A trap? And then the image, seen endlessly, of Bran being shot.
Then a scrap of memory floated up before my inner eye. Again I saw the elegant Renselaeus dining room, heard the Marquis’s refined drawling voice: My people are taking and holding the Vesingrui fortress on your border. For now they are wearing the green uniform…
A trap. Cold fury washed through me. They have betrayed us.
It was then that I recovered enough presence of mind to realize that I was in my home territory at last, and I could leave the trail anytime. The horse had recovered from the panic and was trotting. So I recaptured the reins, leading the horse across the side of the mountain toward the thickest, oldest part of the local forest. It didn’t take me long to lose the pursuit, and then I turned my tired mare north, permitting her to slow as I thought everything through.
It made perfect sense, after all. Bran and I were certainly an inconvenience, especially since we’d refused to ally. For a moment guilt tweaked at my thoughts--if it hadn’t been for me, we’d both be alive and well in their capital. And in their hands, I told myself. If they could cold-bloodedly plan this kind of treachery, wasn’t this sort of end waiting for us anyway?
And now Bran is dead. Branaric, my fun-loving, trusting brother, the one who pleaded with me to give them a fair chance. Who wanted to be their friend.
All my emotions narrowed to one arrow of intent: revenge. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
137
" The huge, drafty building echoed with the clanks and thuds and shouts of mock battle. Khesot walked slowly up and back, his mild brown eyes narrowed, considering, as he watched us work.
“Get that shield arm up,” he said to a tough old stonemason. “Remember you will likely be fighting mounted warriors, and I very much fear that most of us will be afoot. The mounted fighter has the advantage; therefore you must unhorse your opponent before you can hope to win…”
We had spent days affixing shiny metal bits to our shields to reflect sunlight at the horses and cause them to rear. We had also practiced slicing saddle belts, hooking spears or swords around legs and heaving warriors out of the saddle. And we learned other methods of unhorsing warriors, such as tying fine-woven twine between two trees at just the right height so that the riders would be knocked off their horses.
Khesot turned around, then frowned at two young men who had assumed the old dueling stance and were slashing away at one another with merry abandon, their swords ringing.
“Charic! Justav! What do you think you are doing?”
The men stopped, Charic looking shamefaced. “Thought we’d refine a little, in case we take on one o’ them aristos--“
“Many of whom are trained in swordplay from the time they begin to walk,” Khesot cut in, his manner still mild; but now both young men had red faces. “By the very best sword masters their wealthy parents can hire. It would take them precisely as long as it amused them to cut you to ribbons. Do not engage their officers in a duel, no matter how stupid you might think them. Two of you, moving as I told you, can knock them off balance…”
He went on to lecture the two, who listened soberly. Several others gathered around to listen as well. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
138
" Dear Mel:
I trust this finds you recovered. Why did you have to run off like that? But I figured you were safe arrived at home, and well, or Khesot would’ve sent to me here--since you wouldn’t write.
And how was I to pay for sending a letter to Remalna-city? I thought indignantly, then sighed. Of course, I had managed to find enough coin to write to Ara’s family, and to obtain through the father the name of a good bookseller. But the first was an obligation, I told myself. And as for the latter, it was merely the start of the education that Branaric had blabbed to the world that I lacked.
I’m here at Athanarel, finding it to my taste. It helps that Galdran’s personal fortune has been turned over to us, as repayment for what happened to our family--you’ll find the Letter of Intent in with this letter, to be kept somewhere safe. Henceforth, you send your creditors for drafts on Arclor House…
I looked up at the ceiling as the words slowly sank in. “Personal fortune”? How much was that? Whatever it was, it had to be a vast improvement over our present circumstances. I grinned, thinking how I had agonized over which book to choose from the bookseller’s list. Now I could order them all. I could even hire my own scribe…
Shaking my head, I banished the dreams of avarice, and returned to the letter--not that much remained.
…so, outfit yourself in whatever you want, appoint someone responsible as steward, and join me here at Athanarel as soon as you can. Everyone here wants to meet you.
“Now, that’s a frightening thought,” I said grimly.
And I think it’s time for you to make your peace with Vidanric.
He ended with a scrawled signature.
I lowered the letter slowly to the desk, not wanting to consider why I found that last suggestion even more frightening than the first.
Behind Bran’s letter, bearing three official-looking seals, was the Letter of Intent. In very beautiful handwriting, it named in precise terms a sum even higher than I’d dared to let myself think of, the remainder after the taxes for the army had been subtracted. Wondering who was getting that sum, which was even greater, I scanned the rest, which outlined in flowery language pretty much what Branaric had said. It seemed we now had a business house handling our money; previously I’d gathered the scanty sums and redispersed them myself, in coin.
I put that letter down, too. Suddenly the possibilities now available started multiplying in my mind. Not visiting Athanarel. I didn’t even consider that; I’d tried to win a crown, and lost. But supposedly all the wrongs I had fought for were being addressed, and so--I vowed--I was done with royal affairs.
No, I told myself, my work now was Tlanth, and with this money, all my plans could be put into action. Rebuilding, new roads, booksellers…I looked around at the castle, no longer seeing the weather damage and neglect, but how it would look repaired and redecorated.
“Oria!” I yelled, running downstairs. “Oria! Julen! Calaub! We’re rich! "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
139
" I was sicker than I’d ever been in a short but healthy life, so sick I couldn’t sleep but lay watching imaginary bugs crawl up the walls. And of course it had to be while I was like this--just about the lowest I’d sunk yet--that the Marquis of Shevraeth chose to reappear in my life.
It was not long after the single bell toll that means midnight and first-white-candle. Very suddenly the door opened, and a tall, glittering figure walked in, handing something to the silent guard at the door, who then went out. I heard footsteps receding as I stared, without at first comprehending, at the torch-bearing aristocrat before me.
I blinked at the resplendent black and crimson velvet embroidered over with gold and set with rubies, and at the rubies glittering on fingers and in pale braided hair. My gaze rose to the rakish hat set low over the familiar gray eyes.
He must have been waiting for me to recognize him.
“The King will summon you at first-green tomorrow,” the Marquis said quickly, all trace of the drawl gone. “It appears that your brother has been making a fool of Debegri, leading him all over your mountains and stealing our horses and supplies. The King has changed his mind: Either you surrender, speaking for your brother and your people, or he’s going to make an example of you in a public execution tomorrow. Not a noble’s death, but a criminal’s.”
“Criminal’s?” I repeated stupidly, my voice nearly gone.
“It will last all day,” he said with a grimace of distaste. It was the first real expression I’d ever seen from him, but by then I was in no mood to appreciate it.
Sheer terror overwhelmed me then. All my courage, my firm resolves, had worn away during the time-measures of illness, and I could not prevent my eyes from stinging with tears of fear--and shame. “Why are you telling me this?” I said, hiding my face in my hands.
“Will you consider it? It might…buy you time.”
This made no sense to me. “What time can I buy with dishonor?” All I could imagine was the messengers flying westward, and the looks on Bran’s and Khesot’s faces--and on Julen’s and Calaub’s and Devan’s, people who had risked their lives twice trying to rescue me--when they found out. “I know why you’re here.” I snuffled into my palms. “Want to gloat? See me turn coward? Well, gloat away…” But I couldn’t say anything more, and after about as excruciating a pause as I’d ever endured, I heard his heels on the stone.
The door shut, the footsteps withdrew, and I was left in silence.
It was then that I hit the low point of my life. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
140
" I hopped over a little flower border. The blooms--ghostly white in the soft glow from the lamps around the park’s circumference--ran up the brick walkway and gripped the stone lip of the fountain. I opened my mouth, leaned in, and took a deep gulp.
And heard hooves. Boots.
“You, there, girl! Halt!”
Who in the universe ever halts when the enemy tells them to?
Of course I took off in the opposite direction, as fast as I could: running across grass, leaping neatly tended flowers. But the park was a circle, which made it easy for the riders to gallop around both ways and cut me off. I stopped, looked back. No retreat.
Meanwhile another group came running across the lawns, swords drawn. I backed up a step, two; looked this way and that; tried to break for it in the largest space, which of course was instantly closed.
There must have been a dozen of them ringing me, all with rapiers and heavier weapons gleaming gold tipped in the light from the iron-posted glowglobes and the windows of the houses.
“Report,” someone barked; and then to me, “Who are you? Don’t you know there is a sunset curfew?”
“Ah, I didn’t know.” I smoothed my skirts nervously. “Been sick. No one mentioned it…”
“Who are you?” came the question again.
“I just wanted a drink. I was sick, I think I mentioned, and didn’t get any water…”
“Who are you.” This time it wasn’t even a question.
The game was up, of course, but who said I had to surrender meekly? “Just call me Ranisia.” I named my mother, using my hardest voice. “I’m a ghost, one of Galdran Merindar’s many victims.”
Noises from behind caused the ring to tighten, the weapons all pointing a finger’s breadth from my throat. My empty hands were at my sides, but these folks were taking no chances. Maybe they thought I was a ghost.
No one spoke, or moved, until the sound of heels striking the brick path made the soldiers withdraw silently.
Baron Debegri strode up, his rain cape billowing. Under his foppish mustache his teeth gleamed in a very cruel grin. He stopped within a pace of me, and with no warning whatever, backhanded me right across the face. I went flying backward, landing flat in a flower bed. The Baron stepped onto my left knee and motioned a torch bearer over. He stared down at the half-healed marks on my ankle and laughed, then jerked his thumb in a gesture of command. Two soldiers sprang to either side of me, each grabbing an arm and pulling me to my feet.
“What have you to say now, my little hero?” the Baron gloated.
“That you are a fool, the son of a fool, and the servant of the biggest--“
He swung at me again, and I tried to duck, but he grabbed me by the hair and then hit me. The world seemed to explode in stars--for a long time all I could do was gasp for breath and fight against dizziness.
When I came out of it, someone was binding my hands; then two more someones grabbed my arms again, and I was half carried back to the street. My vision was blurry. I realized hazily that a gem on his embroidered gloves must have cut my forehead, for a warm trickle ran nastily down the side of my face, which throbbed even worse than my ankle.
I got thrown over the back of a horse, my hands and feet bound to stirrups. From somewhere I heard Debegri’s harsh voice: “Lift the curfew, but tell those smug-faced Elders that if anyone harbored this criminal, the death penalty still holds. You. Tell his lordship the Marquis that his aid is no longer necessary, and he can return to Remalna-city, or wherever he wants.”
Quick footsteps ran off, and then the Baron said, “Now, to Chovilun. And don’t dawdle.”
Chovilun…
One of the four Merindar fortresses.
I closed my eyes. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
