by Jeff Wheeler
“You married one too, Father,” she reminded him. “I don’t think you regret it.”
He shook his head. “No, your mother is a strong and capable woman. I sent for her to come down to Kingfountain. She wants to be with you when the babe arrives.”
Isybelle rubbed her abdomen again. “I’d like her to be here as well. And I’m so grateful that you brought Ankarette to us all those years ago.”
Ankarette reached out and squeezed her hand, smiling in return.
The duke nodded. “Yes, it was a good idea. I’m grateful for it as well. Your husband is right, as much as it galls me to admit it.” He shook his head. “I never imagined the king would surrender. It was against his character to do so. Well, it cannot go on forever. I know he’s chafing in confinement.”
Isybelle looked at her father worriedly. “What do you mean to do about him?”
“Never you mind, dear.” Warrewik stared down at the floor, still stroking her hand. “I will provide the solution to the problem. I’ll take care of you. As I’ve always done.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
Ankarette could see the ambition still burning in the man’s eyes. He was determined to see his daughter married to a king, whatever it cost him.
The door burst open again and Dunsdworth was back, this time with a knight bearing the badge of the North.
“What is it . . . Drackson, right?” The duke pushed himself to his feet, favoring his other leg.
“Aye, my lord. I come from Stiev Horwath directly.”
Dunsdworth looked agitated. “Go on!” he pressed.
“My lord.” The man swallowed, clearly nervous. “The king has escaped.”
Warrewik’s eyes went flat with rage. “What?”
The knight bobbed his head. “I rode directly from Dundrennan with the news.”
“Tell me what happened,” Warrewik repeated, trying to remain calm. His fists were both clenched. His face was turning a shade of purple.
Ankarette felt as though she would burst with giddiness. Her plan, which she had hatched beneath the duke’s nose, had worked! She kept kneading Isybelle’s back, forcing her own expression to look vague and disinterested.
“The king went falcon hunting, as he normally does,” the messenger said. “I was there, my lord. We were north of the castle, by the waterfall.”
“Out with it!” Dunsdworth ordered. He was growing paler.
“We were there, all was well, and then suddenly knights wearing tunics with your badges came flooding out of the woods. I don’t know where they came from, but they weren’t your men.”
Warrewik’s eyes widened. “Who were they?”
“Duke Kiskaddon was leading them.”
“By the Fountain,” Dunsdworth groaned. He clenched his fist and bit his finger, starting to tremble with suppressed emotion.
Warrewik was more composed. “How many of my knights died?”
“My lord?” asked the knight in confusion.
“How many of my men died trying to keep the king from being captured? I don’t see any blood on your tunic, man.”
The knight swallowed, his knees trembling. “No one died, my lord. We were vastly outnumbered. Fifty against ten.”
“Fifty!” Warrewik spluttered. “No one in the Espion bothered to mention that the duke and an entire retinue had gone missing?” He was thunderstruck.
The knight shifted from foot to foot. “That’s not all, my lord.”
“Not all?”
“Sir Thomas . . . he . . . he surrendered the prisoner. He went with the king and the Duke of Westmarch. I don’t know how he arranged it, but he did. It’s his fault the king escaped.”
Ankarette felt a thrill of pride in her heart.
Warrewik’s face smoldered. “I’ll kill him,” he vowed.
It wasn’t clear which of the supposedly traitorous men he referred to, but by the tone and black look, Ankarette knew he meant the man she loved.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Return
The palace of Kingfountain went into an uproar when news arrived that King Eredur had been rescued by the Duke of Westmarch. The call to war sounded throughout the land. The Duke of Warrewik summoned his armies and sent for the garrison of Callait to cross the sea to defend the city. More soldiers wearing his badge would march from the North, combining their might with that garrison in preparation to do battle with the king and his ally in the West.
Before Warrewik departed, he called for Ankarette to meet him in the Star Chamber. The summons came as a surprise, and her heart quivered with dread as she left Isybelle to her discomfort and followed the two Espion sent to bring her to the duke. They were both armed with swords and daggers. Should she try to flee?
She’d wrestled with that question ever since hearing the news of Eredur’s escape. Although she desperately wanted to join the king, she knew she could help more if Warrewik believed she was loyal to him. No, she would not flee. She would rely on her Fountain magic to help her survive another encounter with the stubborn duke. With it, she could read his moods and judge his level of impatience and mistrust. It also gave her insights, in little flashes, of what she could say to him to overcome his natural skepticism.
The Espion opened the door and joined her inside, locking the door behind them. The duke was wearing his armor and hastily scrawling something on a sheet of paper. His hair was askew and beads of sweat dampened his brow. She summoned her magic, just a teasing of it, to begin flowing. She needed to read the duke perfectly, to anticipate what she needed say to keep herself alive.
He glanced up at her but did not speak until he’d finished with his quill. He set it down and, planting his fists on the desk, faced her.
“Did you know about Eredur’s escape?” he asked her pointedly.
An easy question. She’d been expecting it. “No, my lord,” she answered, carefully controlling her expression. She’d been taught how to tell a lie convincingly. “If I had known, I would have told you.”
Did he believe her? He looked so wary and distrustful, which wasn’t so surprising given how drastically his fortunes had changed overnight. The howl of a wolf in the distance was less threatening than the low growl of a wolf right in front of you. Warrewik would face the Sun and Rose banner soon. And he clearly dreaded it.
“What I should have told you,” she went on, sighing to imply her inner conflict, “is that I have harbored some doubts about Sir Thomas’s loyalty. He was my mentor and trained me in the ways of the Espion. I have respected him and his judgment. But he is ambitious. I wonder . . . I wonder, my lord, if this might not have happened had you given him the captaincy of Callait.”
Warrewik frowned in confusion. “You think this is my fault?”
“I’m not saying that,” she answered soothingly. She needed to guide his thoughts away from her. “He is very ambitious. I think he has chafed in his current role. He’s mentioned to me that he felt he would stay in a subservient state forever. He wants more than that. I didn’t think it was my place to encourage you to reward him. I feared you would take that suggestion amiss or question my motives. Maybe the king . . . persuaded him to change sides. It was reckless on Sir Thomas’s part, but I do think he would have been vulnerable to temptation. And the king had everything to gain by it.”
She kept a close eye on his face, watching to see how he reacted to the news. A lie was always best served with a generous buttering of truth. She knew Warrewik prided himself on his strategic thinking. That he had been caught off guard was humiliating to him personally. Ankarette’s excuse could help assuage that feeling.
Warrewik gave her a piercing look. “He’s made his choice and must suffer the consequences for treachery.”
Ankarette thought it hardly fair to accuse Sir Thomas of treachery or his kinsmen treason considering what the duke had done himself. She wisely kept silent.
“What do you wish me to do?” she asked him.
Warrewik’s countenance showed the depth of his anger. “He kno
ws too much, has too much access. I want you to infiltrate Tatton Hall, the duke’s manor in Westmarch, and then I want you to find Sir Thomas and kill him.” He frowned at her. “This will be your test of loyalty, Ankarette. Mind you don’t forget that there are consequences for defying me.”
The threat was clear. Her mother’s life would be the cost if she did not fulfill her duty.
She breathed in through her nose and exhaled. “I thought you might ask this of me. It pains me, my lord. I would be lying if I said otherwise. And yet . . . even if you were to offer him what he wants now, I don’t think the two of you could ever trust each other again.” She bowed her head submissively. “I will do as you command.”
“Good,” he said, a bit smugly. “In times like these, Ankarette, the future hangs on a gate hinge. My nephew and I have been avoiding bloodshed for too long. One of us must prevail.” Despite his brash words, she could see the anguish battling on his brow. Treachery had not become easier for him. “I wish it were not so close to Isybelle’s confinement. This is a wretched moment to fight a war. She needs you, and I need you. Serve me well, Ankarette, and you will rise to great heights someday.”
She gave him a pleased smile, the lies still bitter in her mouth.
Ankarette encountered the king’s army camped on the westbound road before the day was through. Part of her had wished to ride North and rescue her mother. But time, she knew, could fly like sparrows and dash away. Eredur was a capable and bold soldier. He would try to strike Warrewik at Kingfountain before his reinforcements arrived. It was the same trick Warrewik had used on him.
She allowed herself to be captured by Eredur’s soldiers and was taken to his tent for questioning. Kiskaddon’s standard flapped in the breeze alongside the king’s. The tent was small, not one of the royal pavilions, but it was spacious enough to hold five or six men standing. The Duke of Westmarch was there, along with Sir Thomas, the king, and the duke’s battle commander, whom she did not recognize. He was dismissed, but Kiskaddon was allowed to stay.
“It’s good to see you again, lass,” the duke said with a smile. She had met him only once before—when she’d journeyed to Tatton Hall to enlist his aid in rescuing the king.
“Likewise, my lord,” she offered with a bow. She lowered the cowl of her cloak. She hadn’t wanted the soldiers to be able to recognize her, so she had worn a nondescript one. Her gown was much plainer than the court finery she usually wore.
“Well met, Ankarette,” Eredur said with a broad smile. The almost broken man she’d last seen at the inn was gone. Hope gleamed in his eyes.
“I was surprised to find you camped,” she said. “Why not press for the castle during the night?”
Sir Thomas winked at her astute question and nodded approvingly. That look tugged at her, urging her to go to him. Would he help her save her mother? With or without him, she hoped to ride to Marshaw directly from the encampment.
“Oh, we won’t be staying long,” Eredur said with a laugh. “I’m only waiting for my brother Severn to join us with the men of Glosstyr.”
“You’ll be facing superior forces,” Ankarette pointed out. “The garrison from Callait has been summoned, and the duke has ordered the armies of the North to come down. You must hurry, my lord.” She tried to keep the urgency from her voice and failed.
Eredur glanced at Sir Thomas and the men shared a knowing smile. There was another element here, something she was missing.
“The person who is out of time,” Eredur said patiently, “is my uncle. Stiev Horwath will not be riding south. The messenger failed to arrive.” He smiled broadly.
Now Ankarette understood. “He’s on your side?”
The king stepped over and put his arm around Lord Kiskaddon’s shoulder. “I must give credit where it is due. I had help convincing him. The castellan of Dundrennan has been loyal to my family for years. He’s a quiet man. But he is as deep as the ice caves in the North. And so is his loyalty. I could tell during my confinement that he was sympathetic. He did not agree with the duke or what he had done.”
“And it’s also safe to say,” Kiskaddon added with a wise nod, “that none of us are in favor of Dunsdworth ruling Ceredigion. He’s a petulant, overachieving stripling with no real experience. He’d be Warrewik’s puppet. Horwath has seen him firsthand and distrusts his temperament, his ability to lead. Warrewik won’t find out for days that his Northern army isn’t coming. And the force from Callait will be useless unless they can get off the boat. I think we have enough people to stop them. No, Warrewik is trapped at Kingfountain. His reckoning is past due, and he shall have it at last.”
Ankarette sighed with relief.
“And none of this would have happened,” Eredur said, nodding to her, “if not for your counsel. I trusted you. I’m glad I did.”
She had been trained that praise was a sweetness no one ever lost the craving for. It was best not to be too fond of it. The best way to do that was to share the credit with others.
“Thank you, my lord, for your kindness. But do not forget that Sir Thomas taught me.”
He looked at her in surprise, but he seemed pleased by her comment. Then he wrinkled his brow. “I hear someone coming.”
The tent door rustled and Ankarette quickly raised her hood.
“My lord, the standard of the White Boar is coming down the road behind us. Your brother has arrived.”
“Faster than I supposed,” Eredur said with satisfaction. “He’s a soldier at heart, Tom. I’ll say it now. Defeating Warrewik will be bittersweet for him. He’s always admired our uncle.”
“I don’t want Severn to know about Ankarette,” Sir Thomas said. “Best if she’s not here when he arrives.”
“You don’t trust my brother’s tongue?” the king asked.
“No one does who knows him,” Sir Thomas answered with a wry smile.
“My lord, if you’ll permit me to leave the camp and handle a personal matter?” Ankarette asked, though she felt less anxious about her mother now that she’d seen the might the king had behind him.
“Of course. I will see you back in Kingfountain after I’ve retaken the city. Is my wife still safe in sanctuary?”
“Yes, and in good health,” she answered, bowing.
“Well done. Go on.” He nodded for them both to leave.
Sir Thomas escorted her from the tent and pulled her aside as Severn’s horse rode through the camp, spurs jangling. He wore his armor well, one shoulder slightly higher than the other. The banner of the White Boar joined the mix of the other two banners. Severn glanced at them, his gaze narrowing, but she kept her head and face covered and followed Thomas away.
The sun was fading fast and she wished to get back to her horse to start the ride North. But it was so pleasant being in Sir Thomas’s company again after all the months apart, and she wanted to savor it too. Her feelings were so conflicted on so many fronts—it was almost too much to bear.
“Where are you off to?” he asked her curiously.
They were close enough to the tent to hear the raised voices as the brothers met each other warmly. She glanced back at the tent and then looked at him.
“To Marshaw,” she insisted. “Warrewik sent me to kill you. It is my test of loyalty.” Her throat was suddenly very dry. “I must save my mother.”
Sir Thomas’s eyebrows crinkled as he held her gaze. “She’s not in Marshaw, Ankarette,” he said, as if she were being dense. “I recently had her moved to Tatton Hall. She’s in Westmarch with Kiskaddon’s wife and brood. I told you that I’d make sure nothing happened to her.”
Unwilling tears of gratitude sprang into her eyes, and she felt such a surge of caring for the man it threatened to expose her secret.
Ankarette tried to quell the emotions storming inside of her, but she couldn’t speak—it was as if her throat were blocked with a wedge. She put her hand on her breast and tried to master herself, only partially succeeding.
“I’ve never seen you cry,” he said softly. “No
t even after I took you from your home. You’ve been worried about her, I can see. I don’t doubt it.”
But he didn’t understand everything. He didn’t know how she felt about him.
“Thank you,” she managed, mangling the words. Her nose was starting to run, which mortified her. Unable to bear it, she clutched the front of his tunic and pulled herself against him, resting her forehead on his chest to hide her face, her feelings.
He stood there awkwardly a moment, then patted her back soothingly. “It’s all right, lass. It’ll be all right. Go to Westmarch and see your mother. Then come to Kingfountain. You’ll be needed there.”
“I will, Sir Thomas,” she said, dabbing her nose on the edge of her cloak. She had mastered herself at last. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head in sympathy. “You’ve carried a heavy burden these last months. It will be over soon.”
“Will the king execute Warrewik and Dunsdworth?”
“Warrewik will go over the falls,” Sir Thomas said firmly. “Not Dunsdworth.” He sighed. “He could never kill his own brother. It’s unfortunate that Isybelle got with child so quickly. That makes the situation even murkier.” He shrugged. “Well, it’s the Fountain’s will. The king promised Horwath a duchy for his aid. He’ll become the duke of the North after this is done. The people respect him. I think it’s the right choice.” There was a hint of jealousy and thwarted ambition in his voice.
“And what will happen to you?” she asked in a half-teasing way. Her fingers were still gripping his tunic. She gave him a playful little shove.
A wry smile spread on his mouth and he shrugged. “Well, I’ve always fancied Horwath’s daughter. Time will tell. We’re both the children of earls, so our rank was equal before. Now, she will outrank me.”
Ankarette let go of his tunic, impaled by his words like a fish caught in a stream. Of course. She shouldn’t have thought it could be any different. When she’d first gone to Dundrennan with him, she’d been a child—Elysabeth, already a woman.
