by Anne Wheeler
Why are you crying, Crownkeeper?
My stomach fluttered. I didn’t hear the words, not exactly, but I felt them, somewhere deep, somewhere no one in Vassian could touch. My gaze wavered between the executioner and his assistants, between the rope hanging over the gallows and the whip hanging from his hand, between Laurent’s calm visage and the villagers screaming for his blood.
All this, and I hadn’t sensed a single threat to the Meirdrean throne.
It made little sense. If Father Gerritt was correct, I should have felt something, especially this close to the end of his line and my kingdom. Even if he was mistaken, I should have felt the map calling me, begging me to return to Lochfeld and avail myself of its magic.
But I didn’t.
I felt nothing but rage.
Rage tinged with hope.
The executioner raised the whip. A crack echoed through the square, followed by cheers, applause, and shouts of harder. Laurent grunted, and I flinched, confusion overcoming my fury and grief. His feet were stable on the platform now, but that would soon change. Even Laurent, strong as he was, couldn’t hold out like this for long. There was no rescue coming, no one to save him.
No one except—
A shimmer fell across the scaffolding, almost blinding me. The yearning I’d felt in Iraela took shape once more, tugging my feet forward with unimaginable power. I ground my toes against the stones, earning a quiet and unnatural laugh upon the breeze before the pull resumed. Only this time, instead of calling me toward Lochfeld, it summoned me toward the steps.
No one except me.
Chapter Twelve
A roar filled my ears as I reached the top step, like the thunder that swept over Elternow during the summer storms. But the night was clear, and the stars that watched from high above precluded any rain. Overcome by the sensation of not controlling my body, I didn’t turn in the direction of the sound, though the executioner’s head swiveled toward the bay. I was close enough to see his throat move as he swallowed, then he backed away from Laurent and waved at Damir. But his attention didn’t fall on me. No, it was somewhere much farther away. Farther even than Damir and the soldiers surrounding him.
The gleeful shouts of the crowd died away, fading to an anxious buzz as I stopped and faced Laurent. Several of the villagers at the back of the group spun around and took off running up the street in the tower's direction, shouting for the rest to follow. I couldn’t understand their words through the sound coming from the ocean and the dizziness inside my own brain. Seemingly oblivious to my presence, the executioner dropped the whip and met Damir’s eyes. The king nodded, though his glance continually shifted up the cliffs, and the executioner jumped to the cobblestones below, only to dash off into the dark streets.
Laurent blinked at me as he wavered on his feet, silently pleading with me, but some unfamiliar power kept me frozen, just paces away from him. The roar of not-thunder grew louder, joined by hoofbeats, as a flood of horses galloped through the streets, heading for the cliffs. Some drew carts, some carriages, and some only carried frightened villagers, clinging for their lives. I had the vague, indistinct impression that I should follow—or at least grab Laurent and follow—but my feet held as fast to the wood beneath them as though they’d been nailed.
Damir circled the gallows on his horse, his eyes wide with horror—though somehow, there was no shock in his expression. Like he’d known I’d lied, just as he’d accused me of. It was then that I realized I’d done something, that whatever the sound was, whatever had caused so much fear throughout the streets of Windersay—
I’d done it.
Damir galloped away as the shimmering light fell away from the scaffolding, the rest of the soldiers behind and around him. The smoke of a hundred torches disappearing along with them filled the square, but I couldn’t even turn to watch him flee up the hill. A silence overtook the square as they vanished into the streets, heavy and powerful, broken only by faraway shouts and the distant whinnies of frightened, overloaded horses.
“Riette.”
I swayed on top of the scaffolding as Laurent’s whisper freed me from my immobilization. The noose still hung heavy around his neck, and I darted toward him, lifting him up the best I could. My fingers pried at the rope securing his hands, but outside of stabbing myself with a thousand splinters, I made little progress in freeing him. A knife, it was a knife I needed, but whatever had frightened everyone off, it hadn’t seen fit to leave me with a weapon.
“I can’t free you,” I sobbed at him. “Not without a knife.”
He leaned heavily on me, though not enough to put any pressure on the noose. I knew I had to leave him, to run into one of the nearest inns or houses and find something I could use, but I couldn’t leave him.
“You don’t need to.” He pointed toward the wharf—at least, as well as one could point with their shoulder. “Look.”
Water.
It flowed through the empty streets, rushed past the scaffolding, under our feet. I had heard of such things—huge, violent waves that had devastated our coastal cities in Meirdre long ago, but this wave hadn’t destroyed anything. It simply surged forward, clear and placid, leaving standing buildings in its wake. A terrified horse that hadn’t been seized for the villagers’ retreat stood frozen just outside of the plaza, not floundering to its death, but watching the water flow harmlessly about it.
I squinted over the tops of the village, toward the bay. The ships in the harbor must have been destroyed, smashed against the wharf, but masts and sails were visible in the moonlight, floating back and forth as on a windless summer day.
“What is this?” I whispered.
Before he could answer, the water receded, as pure as when it had come. No debris marred the retreating swell, no buildings had collapsed, so unlike the old stories I’d heard—and the earthquake I’d survived in Haszen. The horse shook off its feet and sauntered across the plaza, disappearing on the side, the cobblestones under the scaffolding dried in a heartbeat, the silence returned, though peaceful this time.
And a group of men drifted out of the shadows, dry as the hay on a warm autumn afternoon in Elternow. The peace flashed away, but we hadn’t come this far to be trapped in Windersay now. I stepped in front of Laurent, but he only kissed my cheek and called out toward them.
“Cadaval,” he said, his voice stronger than I’d heard it in a long time. “Would you be kind enough to cut these ropes, please? It seems my wife can summon enchanted water but not a sword.”
Laurent was silent as I placed another rag full of peppermint on his torn back, but I could tell I was causing him even more pain. His jaw worked back and forth as I dumped another handful of leaves into the bucket next to me, so I worked quicker, tossing the occasional order over my shoulder to the soldiers in worn leather breeches and the clean shirts of Vassian peasants who lingered in the room of the inn a few blocks away from the main square.
Willow bark, whiskey, boiling water—nothing I requested was denied, though I recoiled each time the door opened, expecting more of Damir’s soldiers instead of Laurent’s. Eventually, having satisfied themselves their king would live another day, the soldiers departed, minus Cadaval, who watched me minister to Laurent with the eyes of a wary, beaten dog.
“You can trust me,” I finally snapped. “I didn’t save him to murder him.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” He glanced backward at the bucket of water on the fire. “But someone should remain in case you need anything else.”
“I don’t know who you are, but I can tell you’re hardly a servant.” I dumped the last bloody rag in the bucket and stared at Laurent’s back. He hadn’t attended to me like this the night of our wedding, and though I would have never left him here to suffer alone, I wished he hadn’t done so to me. “I don’t believe waiting on us is what you’re here for.”
Laurent sighed. “Captain Cadaval has been at my side since we left Lochfeld. I doubt even an order from me would shake his protection now. Not from
you—but you can’t forget we haven’t made our way back to Meirdre yet.”
“By your side the entire time, was he? It seems like you shook his protection yourself long enough to get yourself captured.” My voice broke, and it wasn’t from homesickness.
“Riette.” His rebuke was quiet, but I knew I’d gone too far. “There are things—”
“I know.” I settled back on my heels and basked in the fire's warmth. I was truly too stiff to sit like this, but I couldn’t force myself farther away from him. “You had to get yourself and a small raiding party past the Vassian border. As a captive you could do so with much less bloodshed than an all-out attack.”
Laurent rolled to his side, grimaced, and fixed me with a wary expression. Behind me, embers crackled as Cadaval stoked the fire.
“When we neared the Illrus River,” he replied, “the scouts returned with unwelcome news—the Vassian Army was assembling at their outpost near Edrista, just like we’d feared. It was only days until they crossed the border, if that, and once that happened, they’d have flattened Meirdre as they proceeded north. So, I decided. If it was my death Damir wanted, he would get it—or at least, I’d let him think he would. We already knew Vassian had their own scouts heading toward Brannitz, so it was a straightforward matter to separate from the rest of the army and find them. Cadaval thought I was an idiot, I might add.”
“I did, sire.” Cadaval coughed, and a flash of pity rushed through me. Reporting directly to Laurent like he did must be as exasperating as being married to him. “And might have said as much to the stars when you retired to bed that night.”
Laurent’s eyes crinkled. “And now, Captain?”
“I suppose you were right, sire.” A small smile broke through.
“But they—Thomas—suspected nothing when they found you?” I asked as Laurent’s laugh faded. “You riding off on your own?”
Laurent forced a smile. “Perhaps a little. But they didn’t question their good fortune. Of course, at that point I realized I needed you as well, so I convinced them they’d have to bring me to Lochfeld first. I said I knew Damir wanted you as well, but that you’d never go with them, however unwillingly, if you thought I was dead. Naturally they argued with me when I told them—they were certain I was lying, so I told them your secret. After that, they couldn’t risk not believing me.”
“But you could have told them anything else but that!”
“Hardly. You’d never have been able to hide your confusion if Thomas Wennink would have accused you of being anything but a crownkeeper. Telling the truth saved both our lives.”
I swiveled my head toward Cadaval, but he must have known my secret, for he didn’t look remotely shocked at the word. Though I suppose if he hadn’t, my feat in the plaza would have erased all doubt. I turned back to Laurent, and tears filled my eyes. The image of him kneeling on the floor of the throne room, a sword at his throat . . . it would never leave my imagination, grand plan or not.
“I am sorry I frightened you.” Laurent reached out a finger and brushed a tear from my cheek. “But I knew he would never hurt you without Damir’s permission, and I knew—”
“You knew Damir couldn’t hurt you as long as I wished otherwise.” There. It was said. The accusation I’d been wanting to make since I’d realized why Laurent wasn’t afraid. “As long as I fulfilled my duties.”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me what else I’m capable of?” I asked. “That water—the way it simply ran through the streets without harming anything—I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s frightening to think I did that.”
He stared at me, then rolled to his stomach once more.
“I didn’t know until not that long ago. The map—yes, my father told me about that when I was a child, just after I first received the lecture regarding my duty to marry and produce heirs. But the other magic, the more secret magic, I didn’t know about that until Father Gerritt told me just before I left Lochfeld. And even then, I wasn’t certain how it could manifest—just that it would.”
“I felt it.” I lay my cheek on my hand, acutely conscious of our bystander. “On the ship. I tried to throw myself overboard, but before I could, we hit a wave. Out of nowhere, the sea turned from glass to something I can’t even describe. It was terrifying. To know that something wanted me alive that badly . . .”
“You did promise you’d protect Lochfeld. And Meirdre. And me.” Warmth filled his reminder. “The map—or more precisely, its magic—wasn’t going to let you get away that easily.”
“I suppose not.” I took in a deep breath. “I need to refill the water.”
Cadaval jumped to his feet. “Please, Your Grace, allow me.”
“As I said, you’re not a servant—and I’d be more comfortable if he had you here watching over him. I’ll be fine.” I brushed my fingers over Laurent’s. “It’s not as though I’ve never hauled water before.”
Laurent raised his brows at my argument, and Cadaval nodded, so I grabbed the bucket and headed downstairs, swinging it from my hand. There was a pump out the back in the alleyway—I’d seen it when we’d come in—and the fresh air was calling me like it hadn’t in a long while. It would be safe enough. While some of the villagers had trickled back into town, drawn by the stories of the wave that had destroyed nothing, most of the rest were still hiding in the cliffs, too fearful of a recurrence to chance coming home quite yet.
A few of the Meirdrean soldiers I recognized from upstairs glanced my way and nodded respectfully, but even my presence wasn’t enough to tear them away from their well-deserved meat and ale. I slipped out the door, leaned against the wall, and took a deep breath of night air tinged with smoke from the surrounding chimneys. The stars were bright, and even if I was viewing them from a small village somewhere in Vassian, they looked almost the same as I’d seen every night in Elternow. And when I closed my eyes . . . I could almost believe I was still there. Except the scent of the peppermint and whiskey I’d used on Laurent’s wounds wafted up from my hands, and my lips still stung with the taste of his. No, this was definitely not Elternow—it was something much better.
With a sigh of longing, I opened my eyes and trudged toward the pump. A shadowy figure turned the corner as I moved off the wall, and I stopped, the hair at the back of my neck prickling. Maybe we didn’t need more water. Maybe Captain Cadaval or one of his men could get it. I shouldn’t have felt afraid—it was evening, and the air was cool, so the figure’s cloak wasn’t out of place—but even so, I turned on my heel and headed for the back door of the inn where dozens of Meirdrean were waiting.
Just a few steps to safety . . .
A hand clamped over my mouth; the other shoved something hard and sharp against my side. The breeze turned cold as I tried to reconcile the sensation with the elation I’d felt just a few hours before, but I could feel nothing but heat. I gasped, and the pistol pushed harder.
“Hello, Riette,” Thomas said.
Chapter Thirteen
Thomas pushed me against the wall with his knee, his palm still over my mouth and the pistol pressed against my stays. I gagged at the taste of the sweat on his palm, then swallowed enough of my fear to stop fighting him. It wasn’t as though I could overpower him, and I didn’t want that gun any closer to me than it already was.
“You’re smarter than I thought. And more powerful.” His fingers eased up on their pressure, just enough that I could breathe again. “Now, we’re going to discuss our next steps. Don’t move and don’t scream.”
“They’ll come looking for me,” I tried to mumble through his hand. “Soon.”
“Unlikely.” He flipped me around, my back against the wall, and leaned toward my ear. “If you were stupid enough to scream, you’d have done it already, not that there are many people left to hear you, thanks to that grandiose display of yours back at the plaza. Besides, those Meirdrean soldiers in there are too concerned with their ale to realize you left and didn’t return.”
&nbs
p; “Who—”
“Oh, please.” Thomas cackled. “They stick out. I don’t know what your sovereign has planned, but if he thinks he’s going to escape back across the border with less than twenty men, he’s wrong.”
The heat that insisted on filling my gut turned to ice. I didn’t know what Laurent had planned, but Thomas was right. Any strategy he could have come up with on his way to Vassian would likely be futile.
Or would it? He’d intentionally let himself be captured by Vassian troops, after all. He couldn’t be planning to take an entire kingdom with the men who’d made their way across the river, singly and in pairs, so he must have had a plan. If only he’d suggested it to me before I’d come downstairs.
I shook my head. “I don’t know his plan either.”
A slim figure, shrouded in shadows, caught my eye. I held my breath as it slipped around the corner and seemed to stop to watch me. It was entirely possible a bullet would end up in my side if he was startled by a resident out for a late evening walk.
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Thomas’s lip curled—it was obvious he was unaware of our audience in the shadows. “Did you really think he’d mention it to you? A peasant girl from Elternow, who he refused to make his queen?”
I licked my lips as the slight wormed its way into my soul. The fact was, Laurent had said nothing to me. I hadn’t questioned it before, but why should I? He had soldiers with him. I was only here to keep him alive, and I would have done that regardless of his intentions.
