The Hollow Crown: A Novel of Crosspointe

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “When?”

  He hardly heard the question. Pieces of a puzzle were falling into place. He looked at her, horror nearly stealing his voice. “That’s who took Margaret. The Jutras have her.”

  She looked sick, but she didn’t really know. She had no idea. If she had, she wouldn’t look merely sick—she’d be digging a hole in the floor to hide in. He stared broodingly back at the spell. “I assume you know the Jutras use blood magic. It’s not just blood, but pain too. They make sacrifices to their gods to fuel their spells. I’ve seen them. I’ve seen them carve the flesh from a living person and then crush every drop of blood from their bodies. They’ll do it to Margaret, or something like it. They’ll sacrifice her to make their magic and she won’t be the only one.

  “You asked me before me why I serve Crosspointe. This is why. I’ve seen for myself how brutal they are, how evil. This is my home now. What family I claim lives here. So when King William asked me to help protect Crosspointe against the Jutras, I said yes. You and I may have different masters, but we have the same goals. Do you understand?”

  She nodded jerkily.

  “Good. Here’s what you have to do. I’m going to start tracking Margaret and the Jutras. Right now. I want you to get Carston and warn Weverton of what’s going on. Tell him to warn Prince Ryland and tell him he damned well better figure out that he’s got to work with the Ramplings if Crosspointe is going to survive. Have you got that?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Once he’s on his way to Sylmont, you follow me. I’m going to need your help. Come as fast as you can. The regent has horses. Take one.” He dropped her hands and ran his fingers through his hair. “Before you go, burn this place. Start the fire down here. Burn it hot. Hopefully it will destroy any spells they might have left behind. This will guide you.”

  He spun a thread of majick from his illidre. He twisted it around the thread that connected him to Margaret and then slipped the end around Ellyn’s wrist. “Can you follow that?”

  She narrowed her eyes, concentrating, her opposite hand closing over where he’d attached the spell. Finally she nodded. “I can.” Her voice had firmed and she looked resolute.

  “Good. I’ll see you when I see you,” he said and hesitated. He felt like he should say some other farewell. If he overtook Margaret and the Jutras and had to fight, he might not survive. But what lay between them was both as vast as the sky and as thin as his own breath. “Fair winds and following seas,” he said finally. It was the traditional farewell of sailors and all that he could scrape together.

  With that, he fled back through the tatters of the Jutras spell and back through the cellars. He stopped into the kitchen to steal a sack full of food—cheese, hard sausage, two loaves of bread, and a half-dozen apples. He returned to the foyer, dodging footmen and maids, and found his coat hanging in a closet. He shrugged it on, then was forced to wait an eternity while the butler and housekeeper argued over keys and the cleaning of the silver. It was nearly half a glass before both stormed off, leaving Keros free to escape his hiding place. He suffered the delay with ill grace, silently cursing the two and barely resisting the urge to storm out. It wasn’t until after they’d gone that he recalled Ellyn’s stun spell. He was too distracted by the memories of Jutras wizards carving the flesh from their sacrificial victims. He kept imagining Margaret’s face beneath their knives.

  It took him a few minutes to find the stables. The barn was warm and teeming with people. Weverton’s three horses had been groomed and blanketed and now were eating hot mash while nearly a dozen men, women, boys, and girls goggled over them. Across the corridor were the regent’s four carriage horses, all equally pampered. With such a spectacle, the crowd would not soon disperse. He’d have to encourage them. The stun spell would not give him enough time.

  He stepped inside a supply stall that was full of grain and straw. He leaned back against the wall, holding his illidre in his hand. It took him a moment to focus himself. His mind spun with fear of the Jutras and what they might be doing to Margaret. But worrying about it wasn’t going to help her. Forcibly he narrowed his attention to the task at hand.

  The half-formed spells that a majicar stored in his illidre allowed him to quickly improvise a variety of spells. Keros considered what he could do to clear the people out of the stables. Better still, he could put them to sleep. That would give him time enough to saddle up and depart without being seen. Hopefully it would leave time for his companions as well.

  He started with the web he’d created to catch the men frequenting the brothels in town. He’d build sleep into it. He used Water and Stone for the body, Blossom for peace, Stillness for undisturbed calm, Vine to bind them so they could not easily wake. He threaded the weaving into the web, targeting the spell for the people rather than the animals. It took longer than he liked, nearly a half a glass—when it was done, he was exhausted. A chill sweat trickled down his neck and into the small of his back. The majick was thick and heavy like cold molasses. It was a struggle to draw on it.

  He carefully edged into the stall doorway. The spell was wrapped around his fingers. He lifted it to his mouth and gently blew. It drifted into the air, spreading wide. It swept over the small crowd, catching each person in its strands. One after the other they fell to the ground. The horses snorted and shied, prancing and pawing the ground uneasily. One kicked the wall of the stall with a shuddering thud.

  “Easy now,” Keros said softly, approaching the first stall and reaching out to stroke the chestnut mare. She nickered and came to him, thrusting her nose against his hand. He rubbed her forehead and behind her ears.

  He checked the sleepers. Some were snoring. He pulled some apart to be sure that they wouldn’t suffocate and went to fetch his tack.

  A quarter of a glass later, he was leading the mare out into the rain. She balked at the door, pushing her nose into his shoulder in protest.

  “We’ve got to hurry,” he told her, tugging on the bridle. “Margaret’s in trouble.”

  With a shake of her head, she complied, and a moment later he vaulted into the saddle, his body remembering the skills of his boyhood. Then he’d spent most of every day on horseback.

  He honed in on the link to Margaret and kneed the mare into a swinging walk. He went out the main drive because the barracks were in the rear of the house, and he’d have a harder time getting away unnoticed. He rode through the open gates unchallenged. His mouth tightened in a grim smile—thieves didn’t brazenly ride out the front gate, and the rain no doubt encouraged the guards to stay under cover.

  Outside the gates he urged the mare into a canter until they rounded a corner out of sight from the house, then he slowed to a trot and turned off the road, heading northeast around Molford. His prey had maybe a day’s start on him and were likely on foot. Margaret would be doing everything she could to slow them down. On horseback, he should overtake them quickly.

  He’d only ridden for a little over a glass when a brilliant orange light flared in the night behind him. He twisted around in the saddle to watch Molford Manor burn. It flamed like a beacon despite the rain. He hoped there had been time to get people out, but was glad to see the spent Jutras spell burned. He nodded and silently urged Ellyn to hurry and catch up. Then he turned and urged his mare faster.

  Chapter 17

  Nicholas found Geoffrey’s study on the first floor. It was warded, but they weren’t meant to stand up to a couple of solid kicks. The jamb splintered and the door crashed inward. He pushed it shut behind him, not caring whether any servants overheard. He pried open the drawers of the desk, dumping the contents onto the desktop. He shuffled through the papers, but there was nothing about the Jutras. He pulled books from the shelves, digging through ledgers and other documents, then ransacked the cabinets. Nothing.

  “Sir? May I assist you?”

  Nicholas spun about. A short gray- haired man stood in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral as he surveyed the mess.

  “If I
may be so bold—if you are looking for something in particular, I may be able to find it for you.”

  “If I had wanted help, I’d have cracking well asked for it,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Now get out before I put you in an iron collar.”

  The man blanched and stumbled back out of the doorway. Nicholas swore, rubbing a hand across his mouth. It was time to get out of the manor. It wouldn’t be long before someone discovered Alanna’s body. Where were Ellyn and Keros? Had they found Carston yet?

  He strode out of the study and up to the third floor, thrusting open doors and trusting that the illusion disguising him would be enough to stave off curiosity and interference. Geoffrey was entirely capable of throwing quite a nasty tantrum and so it was not a surprise that the servants seemed to have vanished, lest they be unfortunate enough to face him in his wrath.

  At last he came to a locked door. He hammered on it. No one answered. Once again he kicked it in. The splintering wood gave him no little satisfaction. He found a mound of clothes on the floor inside. They appeared to be Geoffrey’s livery. Nicholas crossed the bedchamber and swung the door open. Inside a naked man lay beneath the sheets, tied to the bedstead. He stared wide-eyed, struggling with his bonds, flushing red wherever skin was showing.

  “My lord regent, sir! I can explain—”

  “It’s an explanation I’d truly love to hear,” Ellyn murmured by Nicholas’s right shoulder. She peered past him at the bound man.

  He started at the sound of her voice. “My son?”

  “With Cora.”

  Relief flooded him and his knees sagged. He collected himself with a sharp movement and frowned. “Where is Keros?”

  “He went after Margaret. We should go. If you want him to live, you should cut him loose or he’s going to get roasted,” she said, gesturing at the tied man.

  “What? Keros left without us?”

  She didn’t answer. She was already moving across the room to the door. Nicholas cut the man free with a swift swipe of his rapier.

  “Sir, thank you, thank you. I beg you—”

  Nicholas heard no more. He was hurrying after Ellyn. He overtook her in the corridor. “Tell me what has happened.”

  She glanced warily over her shoulder and then up at him. Her face was pale, her lips bracketed with tight lines of worry. “The Jutras took Margaret. Your regent has been working for the Dhucala.”

  Nicholas felt the blood drain out of his face and his throat seized closed. The Jutras had Margaret?

  “Consider yourself lucky,” Ellyn said. “They didn’t take your son.”

  Her words struck him like a fist in his gut. He followed her quickly through the corridors. His search had taken him in the opposite direction of their rooms. The few servants they saw dodged away with expressions of fear. Geoffrey was not a patient or kind master and, at the moment, Nicholas gave him the appearance of being brutal.

  He shouldered Ellyn aside as they arrived and flung open the door. Carston was huddled on a chair with Cora kneeling in front of him. He was thin and there were bruises and scrapes on his face. He blanched as he saw Nicholas and scrabbled to get away over the chair, even as Cora straightened and backed away. Nicholas pulled up sharply and held out his hand.

  “Carston—it’s me. I’m your father.”

  The dark-haired boy braced himself back against the chair, his expression fierce. He had a slender blade in his hand and he held it before him like he knew how to use it. He did. “You’re the bastard regent,” he said defiantly.

  Nicholas shook his head. “It’s a glamour. So we could come find you. I’m your father.” He struggled for some proof. “Your colt’s name is Snipper. I gave him to you last Ember Day. He is black with one white rear sock and a white snip on his nose. For the first two sennights you had him, you sneaked out to the barn to sleep with him. Carston, it’s me. I swear. This—” He patted the front of himself. “This is just an illusion. I promise.”

  His son had relaxed fractionally but didn’t look convinced. Nicholas ran his hands through his hair. “Take it off,” he told Ellyn. He was tired of wearing Geoffrey’s traitorous face and having Carston look at him like he was spawn was killing him.

  “Is that wise? We still have to get out of here alive.”

  “Just do it, damn you.”

  Ellyn settled a hand on his shoulder. At first he felt nothing. He looked at her. Her face was screwed tight. Her hand clamped tighter, her fingers curling into claws. At last he felt a faint give and then the feeling of unraveling, like a thread pulled from a sock. Slowly the glamour unstitched itself and slid away in cold, sticky strands. Nicholas shook himself with a grimace, feeling lighter.

  “Daddy?” Carston’s voice was uncertain and desperate.

  Nicholas strode forward and pulled his son into his arms, clutching him tight. Carston’s arms and legs wrapped him, and the boy’s chest shook as he began to cry.

  “It’s all right. I’m here now,” Nicholas said, stroking a hand over Carston’s back. “You’re going to be safe. No one is going to hurt you.” He pressed his face against the boy’s shoulder, tears sliding down his cheeks. “No one is going to hurt you.”

  “We should go,” Ellyn said.

  He lifted his head and looked at her. Her face was strained and the illusion covering her white eyes was gone. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Breaking Keros’s illusion was harder than I expected,” she said. “He’s far more powerful than I am.”

  “Can you hide your eyes?”

  She blinked and a moment later she was looking at him from ordinary brown eyes. “I’ve set the spell to burn this place. I only have to trigger it. We should leave before we are discovered.” She hesitated. “What about the regent? Do you want to take him or leave him?”

  Nicholas dearly wanted to let him to be burned, but there were questions only Geoffrey could answer about his activities with the Jutras, questions that had to be answered if Crosspointe was going to survive. “Bring him.”

  Ellyn motioned for Cora to help her and the two marched Geoffrey out between them. He still wore the guise of Sophia Dedlok. He tottered and obeyed Cora’s commands, unable to resist. It was all Nicholas could do not to set Carston down and put his hands around Geoffrey’s neck. Instead he went to the door and opened it, peering out. There was no one in the passage.

  He tightened his arm around Carston and then lifted him down to the ground. He knelt. “Hold hands with Cora, son. We’ll be out of here soon.”

  Carson sniffed and swiped his nose on the arm of his shirt. He held himself straight and nodded, his chin trembling.

  Nicholas stroked a hand over Carston’s head, his throat tightening in pride. “Brave boy. Let’s go now.” He waited until Carston had slipped his hand into Cora’s. The girl nodded firmly at Nicholas, her mouth set. She would protect the boy. Nicholas turned away, biting the inside of his cheek. Did she know how much he’d contributed to her suffering? To her slavery? He had a lot to pay for—a lot to set right.

  He slid his dagger from his belt and drew his rapier before stepping into the corridor. Ellyn joined him and took the lead, clearly knowing where she was going better than he. She motioned for the others to fall back and prowled ahead. She dropped down a stairway and made a low whistle for them to follow.

  They reached the first floor without incident, but their luck could not last. Ellyn led them toward the front door. They could not leave without their coats, not in this weather.

  “You! What are you doing there?”

  Nicholas spun around. A liveried footman stood behind them carrying a tray. For a moment, everyone froze in place, then the footman dropped the tray with a thunderous crash. He leaped inside the nearest room and yanked the bellpull furiously.

  “Move it!” Nicholas urged.

  They broke into a run, the unarmed footman following at a safe distance, shouting at the top of his lungs. Nicholas broke away and ran back to quiet him. The man danced out of the way, snatching
up a vase and throwing it. Nicholas dodged it and lunged forward as the footman shoved a table down between them. Nicholas jumped over it. The man shouted again and rammed up against the wall as he tried to flee. He waved his hands to fend off the rapier. Nicholas slapped his hands aside with his blade and closed on him, smashing the side of his head with the hilt of the sword. The footman dropped to the ground and Nicholas whirled away.

  Footsteps pounded ahead and behind and Nicholas ran to join his companions. He entered the foyer and found a half-dozen footmen and the butler, each armed with a sword and shouting questions at one another. Ellyn, Cora, Carston, and Geoffrey had managed to duck inside the coatroom closet. The majicar peered out, unseen for the moment. Nicholas didn’t wait for his opponents to collect themselves. He leaped at them.

  He was a much better swordsmen than they were, but there were seven of them and more on the way. Nicholas ducked beneath the swing of one of the footmen and shoved him into the others while parrying another chopping cut. He retreated, sweeping his rapier before him. His sword had greater reach than the shorter cutlasses, but it lacked a cutting edge. He had to stab to kill.

  One drove too close and he twitched the blade away, lunging and driving the point of his sword into the man’s heart. He yanked back as the footmen thudded to the floor and parried aside another cut just in time to save his head. He drew back. The wall was behind him now and he had little room to maneuver. A semicircle of blades closed on him. He readied himself to drive to the side and flank them. Before he could move, something struck the half circle of adversaries—majick. It butted hard against them, sending them staggering toward Nicholas with yelps of surprise and pain.

  He leaped aside and whipped his blade across wrists and forearms, breaking bones and disarming them. Ellyn and Cora rushed out of hiding, each carrying walking sticks. They clubbed the footmen and butler until no one was moving.