Queen's Crown

by Anne Wheeler

  One of the horses whinnied, and leather slapped against leather. I sat there, my breath ragged. Someone called the group to a halt, and they dismounted and tossed the reins over their saddles. I glanced toward the Caballero’s cottage, but at this distance it was a scarcely noticeable speck in the distance. No help would come from that direction.

  Boots thudded in the dirt, louder by the second, and I risked a glance through the apple tree. The man who appeared from between the trees was slight, almost willowy. His shoulder-length hair, bleached by the sun, was loose and disheveled.

  I recognized him at once.

  Thomas.

  Chapter Four

  I held my breath as Thomas stepped into the open, his palm flat on the pommel of his sword. He glanced upward, and I went as still as a deer cornered by a hunter, frozen in the complete certainty of my impending death. How had I been so thoughtless as to come here alone? It seemed the dozenth time that very reprimand had flitted into my mind since I’d climbed up here, and I bit my cheek. Berating myself would do no good with him this close. I needed to think before he found me, not waste time on pointless admonishments.

  But no. As I silently berated myself, Thomas turned back to the thicket and the trail, and then I realized—

  He was remembering.

  He knew this tree, recognized it just as easily as I had. And he—he had cared enough to stop and look at it once more? I hated seeing that humanity in him.

  Or was he plotting his revenge?

  With a whistle, the horses moved once more, and I sank against my branch, trembling like the very leaves above me. I needed to run back to Mama and Papa’s house, needed to alert Captain Erstad about what I’d seen, but my body wouldn’t let me move, much less climb down. I sat there for a moment, my breath heavy. By the time the sound of hooves was replaced by the lone wind in the orchard, my heart had returned to normal, and I slid down the tree.

  My feet hit the ground, soft underneath me, but before I could walk back toward the cottage, an unyielding hand seized my forearm. My heart thumped widely, whipping away the calm I’d found when I’d climbed down. I opened my mouth to scream, and a hand slammed over my lips.

  “They’re returning. Back up the tree and do not come down.”

  Papa’s voice was soft in my ear. Soft but firm, with no room for argument. I nodded, then put a hand on the trunk. It seemed to waver in front of me, and I closed my eyes.

  “Now!” he whispered, giving me a shove.

  I clambered upward as the whinny of a horse filled my ears. They’d approached silently this time, and fool that I was, I hadn’t been paying any attention. I glanced down. Papa bustled around the base of a tree farther down the row, yanking out weeds and tossing them into a pile. He looked so comfortable at work that I wondered if he’d been working at the Caballero’s for a while now.

  “Master Kaleveld!”

  Thomas’s voice echoed through the orchard, and Papa straightened.

  “Hello, Thomas.” His greeting was oddly normal. “It’s been a long while.”

  I didn’t want to move, certain Thomas would notice me if I did, but I needed a better view. Carefully, I shifted against the branch, sending a shower of petals to the ground. Papa and Thomas were only a few paces apart, and though Thomas’s hand was no longer on his sword, he’d lost my trust a long time ago.

  “Almost a year, I should think. What’re you doing in the Caballero orchard?” He glanced at Papa’s hands, the now-nimble fingers no longer red with inflammation. “I’m surprised you can handle manual labor.”

  Papa grunted and turned away, heaving an empty apple crate to the other side of the tree. “Found some medicine that worked.”

  “Ah.” Thomas sauntered toward him, his back to me now. “Miracle, that. In Elternow, of all places.”

  “Traders come through,” Papa replied. “Even through Elternow.”

  “Then you’re doing better. I’m happy to hear it.”

  The flat edge of his sword struck Papa’s stomach. I hadn’t even seen his hand move. Had I blinked? Was it the sudden tears that had hid his movement? Clinging to the branch, I choked down a scream. Letting go would be so easy. Falling to the ground and punching his face would be delightful—but it didn’t look like he was bluffing with that sword.

  “You don’t have to rob me, Thomas.” Papa lifted his hands to his sides. “If you need help—”

  “Where is she?”

  Papa’s forehead creased. “Back at the cottage, of course. The spring onions are ready for harvest.”

  “Don’t play stupid.” Thomas took another step forward.

  “If you’re asking about Riette, she left a long time ago. You’ve seen her more often than we have, I hear. We get letters, sometimes—not nearly as many as I’d like. That’s it.”

  Thomas’s head swiveled behind him, toward the horses and who knew how many other rebels still hidden in the thicket. Did Papa actually think he was fooling him? I didn’t know. Perhaps Thomas would believe him, since the soldiers and horses were still back at the house. The only thing I was sure of was that holding my breath was making me dizzy, so I took a few slow, deep ones, praying the breeze hid the sound.

  When I looked down again, two other men had joined Thomas. Both too solidly built for anyone in Elternow, both with swords far beyond what I’d ever seen outside of Lochfeld. They hadn’t drawn them yet, but when Thomas murmured under his breath and they darted back toward the horses, my stomach grew even tighter. Instructions, certainly, but for what? I twisted toward the thicket, trying to count how many had just ridden off again.

  A grunt echoed through my tree. Thomas cleared the fence in one jump and disappeared into the thicket. I couldn’t see his horse, but dirt flew into the air as it galloped down the road after its companions. Once it settled on the ground, I decided they were far enough down the road that I could descend, and I scrambled down the trunk, shaking.

  “Riette?”

  Papa sounded weak, shocked, laying on his side under the apple tree where he’d been pretending to work. For a moment I thought Thomas had shoved him, or that he’d fallen, but as I knelt to help him sit up, a red stain appeared on his shirt.

  My stomach lurched.

  “Lay back,” I said, ripping open his shirt. The wound didn’t look deep, but I couldn’t go digging around in it, not after climbing a tree. “I’ll get help.”

  I had no idea how. Mama and the safety of the cottage were all the way on the other side of the farm. Skylark wasn’t here. And there was so much blood . . .

  “I—I can walk.”

  He tried to sit, and I gently pushed him back down, then stood.

  “No. I’ll get a horse.”

  Without looking back, I darted through the orchard, stumbling over the odd rock and fallen branch. A band of smoke drifted through, lifting the falling petals into the air, and I wrinkled my nose. If the Caballeros were burning something, though I couldn’t imagine what they’d be burning on a spring morning, they’d be closer than Mama.

  “Master Caballero?” I yelled. “Is that you?”

  Fresh earth joined the scent of smoke and apple blossoms. I ducked behind a tree as a horse—no, two horses—appeared at the end of the orchard. If Thomas and his men had circled around to trap us—there would be no way out for Papa or me.

  I swallowed, hard. I’d made noise. I’d told them exactly where to find me.

  The hooves grew louder in the uneven dirt. I couldn’t stay here, pressed against this tree, but I couldn’t move forward, either. The smoke grew thicker, not a band now, but a haze that filled the orchard.

  And then, too close, the whinny of a horse.

  Skylark.

  I dashed toward her and grabbed her reins, too surprised to care who might be on the second. But it was Captain Erstad who stared down at me, his own sword drawn.

  “Your parents’ house is on fire,” he said, half out of breath. “And no one could find you.”

  “Mama?”

&n
bsp; “Safe, for now.” His horse did an odd side-step. “But the house isn’t.”

  “Thomas Wennink did it. Or his men.” I looked down the row of trees and coughed. “And Papa—you have to help him!”

  Erstad disappeared toward fresher air without asking questions, and I led Skylark toward him and Papa, unable to move enough to ride her. Papa had somehow managed to lean himself against a tree, though his hands were covered in blood, and I held back as the captain gave him a brief examination.

  “How is he?” I asked, gripping Skylark’s reins. “Will he—”

  “Could be worse.” Erstad hefted him up and onto the back of his own horse. “We’ll get him to . . .” He trailed off, likely realizing if there was a doctor in Elternow, he certainly wouldn’t be visiting Mama and Papa’s house any longer.

  “There’s an inn.” I tried to mount Skylark and succeeded that time. Obliging as she was, she didn’t react to my less-than-graceful motion. “Small, but they won’t be looking for us there—at least for a while. And it’s not far if we take the forest path.”

  Erstad shook his head and pointed back through the orchard where the thick smoke was settling to the ground.

  “They might be waiting for us in the woods. We’ll take the long way.”

  I wanted to argue that Papa wouldn’t last that long, but Erstad was right. So I clicked my tongue at Skylark, and we set off as the smoke grew thicker around us.

  Chapter Five

  The inn at Elternow was nothing like the luxurious inns Juliana and I had stayed at on our way to Iraela not so long ago. Only one fireplace illuminated the roughspun linens on the narrow bed in our room, so after I heated some water, I settled in a corner and watched the midwife work. A doctor, as Erstad had likely guessed, was as common in Elternow as gold coins. But it seemed her services might be enough, for Papa had been conscious enough to order Mama downstairs, saying her pacing was making everything worse.

  I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes. I smelled like a smoldering grass fire—we all smelled the same—but bathing was the last thing on my mind. Even though the wound had turned out to be superficial, a warning slash instead of a fatal stab, infection was always a worry. The scent of balsam from the midwife’s poultice overtook the smoke, and I shifted.

  “He’ll be fine, though in pain for a while.” The midwife stood, wiping bloody hands on her white over-apron. “No farm work. And no rebuilding.”

  Papa opened his mouth, and I hurried to his side before he could argue.

  “We’ll figure out what to do about the house,” I said, my hand hovering over the bandage on his stomach. Shirtless, his injury looked far worse than the midwife claimed. “If nothing else, you can come to Lochfeld.”

  I hadn’t visited the cottage since the fire, but Erstad had seen it with his own eyes. A smoky pile of wood and thatch, he’d said. Even the barn was gone, though the soldiers had released the horses before dashing after the arsonist—who’d escaped once they’d returned in an attempt to douse the fire. No one had been injured, not even Papa’s prized sow, but the message Thomas’s men had left was clear.

  We will destroy anything King Laurent has paid for.

  “I won’t.” Papa’s eyes steeled. “I won’t go there.”

  “You’ll be safer.”

  “Safe,” he scoffed, wincing. “Thomas has done what he wanted in Elternow. He’ll head for Lochfeld next.”

  I knew he was right, but that didn’t make leaving any easier. I sank to the bed next to him and grabbed his hand.

  “You know I have to return. And I—” A tear landed on his hand, and I brushed it away. “I’ve missed you. I need to know you’re safe.”

  “We will be.” Papa winced as he shifted. “I swear to you. If that means leaving Elternow, we will find somewhere. Your mother has relatives outside of Harnow who might be willing.”

  Erstad cleared his throat before I could object to a wagon ride all the way to Harnow. “If that’s the case,” he said, “we must ride for Lochfeld immediately, Your Grace. Master Kaleveld is correct—once you’re gone, Wennink will have no reason to return to Elternow.”

  “And once we return?” I asked, gripping Papa’s hand like I’d never let it go. “Won’t he be there?”

  “He broke through the castle’s defenses once. That will not happen again.” Only a hint of disdain dripped from his voice. “We are better prepared this time, with much greater reinforcements. But Wennink and his men were headed south as we pursued them, likely back to Vassian. Even if they turn around, they won’t make it to Lochfeld before we do—which is why we must leave at once.”

  “Can I see Mama first?” There was no way I could leave without saying goodbye, not after she’d lost her home and almost Papa.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but we must ride. Your mare is outside and waiting.”

  I sighed as I nodded and stood. Duty was . . . it was heartbreaking, sometimes. Since I’d married Laurent, duty had seemed dull, sometimes frightening, but I’d never expected it to involve this kind of emotion. Even watching the map had involved dancing, and therefore a tiny of joy.

  But this—somehow it was worse than when I’d walked out of their house that winter’s night. I’d hope then that I would see them again. Hadn’t been certain, though I’d hoped. But now?

  It didn’t matter. There was only one thing left to do. And so before I could cling to him like a child and refuse to leave, I kissed Papa’s cheek and walked out.

  The acrid smell of smoke hung about me for the first few hours. After that, I could only smell my own sweat. Erstad had wanted to push the horses at first, to put as much distance between us and Elternow as possible, and by the time we stopped at a pond for rest and water, I could scarcely stand, either.

  Knowing I would waste too much time floating aimlessly in the water if I went all the way in, I splashed a bit on my face. On the other side of the pond, the soldiers were filling water bags—probably a more efficient use of our time, but I couldn’t help my vanity. As my legs stiffened, I eased myself to the ground and looked up at the sky, crisscrossed with feathery clouds. It was hardly a ladylike position, but the reeds block me from the soldiers’ view, and I needed the break.

  A piece of hay hit my nose, carried on the breeze from some farm or another, and I twisted backward, trying to find the source. On the other side of a narrow creek, one that could scarcely be called a ditch, lay a fallow field. Odd for spring in an area of the kingdom where empty fields meant empty bellies. Risky, yes, but we did what we had to in Meirdre.

  I pushed myself up and meandered toward the open area, crossing a creek on a few large stones. When I’d brushed off Erstad’s questions about the haystacks earlier, I hadn’t actually let it go—but the fire and Thomas’s attack on Papa had distracted me too much to worry about it until now.

  There were no stacks in this field, however, and feeling foolish, I turned back toward the pond and prepared myself for another few hours of pretending I was comfortable on Skylark’s back. Erstad waved at me from across the pond, and I picked up my damp skirts so I could hurry back.

  It was then I noticed the hay. Not piled up, no, but enough was scattered on the ground that I knelt down and examined it. Black streaks ran along the length, confirming the suspicion of mold. I sniffed at it. It didn’t smell like smoke, but then again, I could hardly tell if anything did, grimy as I was. Erstad waved at me again, so I grabbed a handful and made my way back.

  “Does this look burned to you?” I asked, brandishing the hay in front of him.

  “I—” His nose wrinkled. “No, Your Grace. Should it?”

  I scanned his face, but there was no deception there—only confusion. But it wasn’t as though every soldier in Meirdre would be party to such a thing, would it? Maybe Erstad truly didn’t know. It didn’t exonerate the army. It didn’t make Thomas’s accusation false.

  “Yes.” My hands shook, and I shoved the hay closer to his face. Perhaps catching him off guard would force him t
o confess. “You’ve been burning hay stores all over the kingdom, haven’t you?”

  “Your Grace—” Erstad grabbed the straw from my hands. “This is stem rot.”

  “Stem rot?”

  “A fungus, specific to alfalfa and ryegrass. It’ll absolutely destroy crops if it becomes established, haystacks especially. We’ve fought to keep it out of Meirdre for centuries. Thankfully, it’s too heavy to be carried on air currents on like regular mold.”

  “Keep it out?” The spring afternoon chilled. “Where’s it from originally?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Vassian, of course.”

  Chapter Six

  So, it was Thomas—or, at least someone he knew—who’d seeded the haystacks with stem rot then lied about it, blaming his own crime on the soldiers. Based on his hostile reaction to my question so long ago, I should have known, and yet something had kept me from fully believing my own eyes. Now though . . . I believed. I believed every terrible thing I’d once suspected about him.

  Well trained as she was, Skylark tossed her head in displeasure as I stared off into the distant sunset, Laurent’s face at the front of my mind. How had he ever forgiven me for mistrusting him so deeply? I’d accused him of the most heinous things, if only to myself, had run off with a man who’d wanted to kill him, and yet—he’d shown me mercy, though I’d thought otherwise at the time. And Lochfeld had become my home.

  We had another day of riding in the morning, so I couldn’t see the castle up ahead, but it tugged at me from the northeast, enough that I could tell the road would soon curve to the right. I closed my eyes and let Skylark continue on one of her infrequent trots. She knew where she was going, just like I did. And oh, how I wanted to be there again, too.