Tales of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  The man at the desk looked up. “Don’t shout at me, boy,” he growled. “Who the hell are you?”

  Kerish crossed the room until he stood facing the man. Even sitting on his tall stool, he was shorter than Kerish. “My name is Serjian Kerish,” he said, “and I demand the release of that woman to our private justice. And if she’s harmed at all, I’m going to take it out of your hide.”

  “How dare you threaten me?”

  Kerish leaned closer. “Did I just hear you challenge me?”

  “I—” The man blinked at Kerish. “She’s a prisoner. Sir.”

  “Who killed Serjian Amberesh in self-defense. Which in no way makes her a criminal.”

  “You don’t know that.” But the guard’s expression of certainty wavered.

  “I do know that. Amberesh was my fuoreno and a total bastard. If Willow killed him, it was in self-defense. And I think you know that.”

  “She confessed to the killing. She’s lucky she wasn’t just executed—”

  “No, you’re lucky she wasn’t just executed, because if she had been, I’d have seen every one of your lives forfeit. Now, bring her here. And pray she’s uninjured.”

  The man slid off his stool and motioned at one of the guards standing near an interior door, who disappeared through it. “She was injured in the fight,” he said. “That’s not our fault.”

  Kerish had another moment of red-tinged rage. “Injured, and you still blamed her for his murder?”

  The man had the good sense to say nothing.

  Kerish paced a tight circle in front of the desk. If they hadn’t taken so damn long to send word—injured, the man had said, but how badly injured? Wounded, and confined in those cells; he’d never seen them, but they couldn’t be pleasant. He caught himself opening and closing his fist and made himself stop again. It would be all right. She was safe now, and everything else could be dealt with as it came.

  The door opened, and Kerish looked up quickly. The guard pushed the door open, and gave his companion a little shove. Kerish caught his breath. Willow.

  Sweet heaven, she looked terrible. Her blonde hair was dark and matted with sweat, her shirt was bloody and filthy and missing a sleeve, and she was limping heavily. Her hands were manacled in front of her—iron, it had to be killing her to be so close to so much iron. “Those aren’t necessary,” he said, and was surprised at how furious his voice sounded. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and carry her away to where they couldn’t hurt her anymore.

  The guard who’d brought her out of the cells unlocked the manacles, and Willow rubbed her wrists gingerly, as if they burned. She looked around, her eyes lighting on him, and his heart broke to see the dullness there, as if she’d spent the night wakeful and exhausted. He wasn’t totally sure she recognized him. “Willow,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “My things,” she said, her voice raspy. “They took my bag, my…everything I had.”

  “Bring her her possessions,” Kerish told the chief guard.

  The man shrugged. “Prisoners have no possessions.”

  Kerish grabbed the man and slung him hard against the wall, making him cry out in pain. “Who do you think you’re dealing with?” he shouted. “This woman is under Serjian protection! You’ve locked her in a cell with untreated injuries sustained while fighting for her life and you’re going to try for petty theft? Get her things. Now. Or I’ll cut you open and see how far Serjian privilege will take me.”

  The man was purple, gasping for breath. “Her things—” he managed, and one of the guards left the room at a near-run. Kerish released the man with an oath and turned away, catching Willow’s eye as he did so. She looked so confused, so at a loss, it made his heart hurt more.

  Finally the guard returned with a couple of familiar pouches and Willow’s knives. “Is that everything?” Kerish said. Willow nodded. She held the little pile as if she wasn’t sure what to do with it. Kerish held the door for her, then steered her up the steps to the street where the carriage waited. Willow’s limping gait slowed them both, and when they reached the carriage, Kerish had to take her things so she could step into the carriage, using both hands to steady herself. He dropped everything on the floor and gave the driver directions.

  “Are we going to the Residence?” she said, her voice as dull as her eyes.

  “We’re going to the scholia for healing,” he said.

  Willow nodded and fell silent. Kerish couldn’t bear to look at her. He wanted so badly to comfort her, to hold her close and reassure himself that she was still alive, but she looked to be in pain still from whatever wound had soaked her shirt with blood. And she didn’t want his comfort, anyway. She’d made that clear five years before.

  He had to help her down from the carriage when they reached the scholia, then hovered at her elbow as she made her halting way inside the building where the healers worked. A man and a woman looked up when they entered. “This woman has been wounded and needs healing,” Kerish said. “We can pay whatever’s required.”

  The woman said, “Is she Tremontanan? We don’t speak her language.”

  “You don’t have to speak her language to heal her, do you?”

  “It’s just easier if we can communicate with the patient. But it doesn’t matter.” The man came forward and took Willow’s elbow, guiding her through a door.

  Kerish took a seat on one of the many low, brightly-colored sofas and waited, elbows on knees, head bowed. He felt as if he’d passed a milestone. Willow freed, and now healed, and then…at some point they’d have to face the fact that she’d killed Amberesh. In a sense, it didn’t matter that she’d killed him in self-defense; she was still a guest of the Serjian Principality and had killed one of its own, even if he’d been banished at the time. How under heaven had they even encountered one another? And why would Amberesh have attacked Willow at all? Things for Mother to ask her, when they returned home.

  He heard someone enter the room. The male healer said, with some amusement, “She had no trouble communicating the fact that I wasn’t acceptable. Tremontanans and their weird modesty taboos.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” the woman said, and the room was silent again. Kerish found he was smiling. That was Willow, all right. The day she’d gone to the Review—the sight of her in traditional garb—it wasn’t as revealing as all that, but she’d made it look exotic, as if she really were just a breath away from revealing her nakedness. He remembered touching her, how her skin felt like satin, and made himself focus instead on how she’d looked when she left the cells. He wanted nothing more than to protect her from all of that, and it was irrational, but he felt guilty for not having done so.

  “You’re the responsible party?” the man said.

  “Yes, I—” He felt inside his belt pouch and realized he hadn’t brought any money. Well, it wasn’t as if he’d needed it at the cells. “Wait a minute.”

  He went to the carriage and found Willow’s belt pouch. He’d have to pay her back later. The man accepted the many, many coins and went back to his seat behind the desk. Kerish sat down again and prepared to wait.

  He fell into a reverie alternating between rage at Amberesh for putting her in that position and pain at seeing her suffer, and didn’t know how long he waited there, but eventually he heard movement, and looked up to see Willow there. She was wearing a yellow healer’s smock and black cotton trousers, and looked so much better it was all he could do to keep from sweeping her into his arms. Her hair was still matted with sweat, and there was a trace of blood he didn’t think was hers across her jawline, but she moved more easily, and that was all that mattered.

  In the carriage, sitting across from her again, Kerish said, “I had to use your money to pay. I didn’t bring enough.”

  “It’s my healing. I think that’s fair,” Willow said.

  Her voice still sounded distant, as if they weren’t within arm’s reach of each other. Kerish’s jaw tightened. There was so much he wanted to say to her that ti
me and anger had made impossible. He wanted to ask her what had happened that she’d killed Amberesh, but that was his mother’s responsibility, not his. He looked off into the distance at the receding prison, squat and ugly as no Eskandelic buildings ever were. She was free, she was healed, but with Amberesh dead, the ordeal wasn’t over yet.

  He heard Willow shift on the satin-covered seat. “I’m sorry,” she said, still in that empty, colorless voice.

  He focused on her, startled. “Sorry for what?”

  “For everything. For killing Amberesh.” Willow drew in a ragged breath. “I swear I didn’t mean to, Kerish, but he would have killed—I know you’re angry with me—”

  “What? Willow, I’m not angry with you.”

  “You certainly look like you are.”

  Kerish took in her anguished expression, the tears welling up in her eyes, the tremor in her voice, and felt as if he’d been punched. Without another thought, he sat beside her and took her in his arms. She buried her face in his chest, shaking. She thought he was angry with her. Once more, longing and sorrow surged within him. He stroked her hair, willing her to feel his love for her in his touch.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You looked so angry,” she murmured into his shirt.

  He remembered how close he’d come to attacking the guards. It hadn’t occurred to him to think how that must have looked to her. “Of course I was angry. I was furious. It took them the whole damn day to bother sending word to us that you’d been arrested. Amberesh dead, you gone missing, and when we found out you’d actually told them to tell someone—”

  He thought, again, of her spending a terrible night in the awful cells, and his arms tightened around her. “The guard didn’t come until just after breakfast. He’s lucky Mother was there, because I’m sure he was just a poor grunt who didn’t deserve what I intended to do to him. His boss wasn’t so lucky.”

  Willow shifted, but didn’t move away from his embrace. “Thank you for coming for me.”

  For a moment, it was as if those years disappeared, and they were two people in love again. All his caution and fear vanished. “As if anything could have stopped me,” he blurted out. “Oh, Willow. Khaladesi. Forgive my slowness. I came the instant I knew where you were.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Willow murmured. “I killed Amberesh. You should hate me.”

  “Never.” Her eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, still glimmered with a trace of tears, and he couldn’t help himself—he kissed her forehead, lightly, and a shudder of desire ran through him. “Whatever you did was in self-defense, I’m sure of it,” he told her. “I know he was my fuoreno, and that ought to mean something, but he was a total bastard. If I had to choose between you, I would pick you every time. Willow, if he’d killed you…” The thought of Amberesh standing over Willow’s body made him shudder again, this time with suppressed fear and fury.

  “He almost did,” Willow said. “I was lucky.”

  Kerish’s arms tightened around her. She was looking in his direction, but her eyes were unfocused, as if she were seeing something he couldn’t. Then, to his surprise, she put her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. She’d been wounded, she’d been through an experience he could only imagine, and maybe all this was was a natural desire for comfort. Maybe it meant nothing. But his heart wouldn’t believe it.

  He stroked her hair again, so gently, and decided to risk everything. “After last night—after this morning—I realized you still hold my heart in your hands. I love you. I have never stopped loving you. Just…let me hold you, please, if only for a little while.”

  She shifted her position. “I love you,” she whispered. “Kerish, I love you.”

  He drew in a quick, startled breath. It was so much what he wanted to hear that he thought at first he’d imagined it. His fingers stroked her hair again, twining themselves in her short locks, and she let out a sigh he remembered so well he knew this was no dream.

  Gently, he kissed the top of her head. “I hoped,” he said. “Sometimes, the way you looked at me…it was as if all those years had never happened. But then we would argue, or say the wrong thing, and I was sure we had no chance.”

  “I felt the same. But I wanted so badly…I never stopped loving you, either. I tried to forget—did forget, for a long time—but there was always a part of me that knew the truth.” She raised her head to look at him. “I don’t know how I was able to lie to myself so well.”

  He’d lied to himself, too. “There hasn’t been a single day since we parted that I haven’t thought of you. I was angry with you for so long, and then I was angry with myself, but I couldn’t have felt that way if I didn’t love you more than my own life.” His hand trailed down to caress her neck. Her skin still felt like satin, warm and smooth.

  Willow’s lips trembled as if she were once again suppressing tears. “I’m sorry I wasn’t willing to change. I was afraid—I didn’t know what I wanted—”

  Kerish laid a finger over her mouth, stilling her speech. “I don’t care about any of that now. I just don’t want to be without you any longer. Even if it’s only until the end of Conclave or until the end of this drive, I’m yours.” Saying the words made his heart beat faster. She might still change her mind. She might still think this was impossible. But the way she looked… Hope once again rose up within him.

  Willow’s lips parted in surprise. “Even if nothing’s changed?”

  He couldn’t help it; he smiled at her astonishment. “Don’t you think it has? We chose our own paths once, and I’ve been miserable without you for five years. I think it’s time for a different choice.” He drew back to look at her more fully. “I know I can’t go back to being a dowser, so maybe it means nothing when I say I’d give it up for you, but the truth is I would give up Devisery to have you. And I wouldn’t regret it for one moment.”

  Her blue eyes went wide. “Kerish,” she said. Then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  He pulled her close and returned her kiss, feeling the years fall away until he was once more in that cold bedroom, his lips on hers for the first time, losing his heart to her all over again. She still smelled faintly of what he guessed was the prison, but he didn’t care because he was kissing the woman he loved and he wanted it to go on forever.

  Reluctantly, she drew back from him. “I must smell terrible,” she said with an awkward laugh.

  He kissed her forehead. “I can’t tell.”

  “You can so. You’re just being polite.”

  That made him smile and run his thumb over her cheek, wiping away tears. “If you think I only kissed you out of politeness,” he said, drawing her close again, “it’s been far too long since you’ve been kissed.”

  “Five years,” she said. “There’s never been anyone else.”

  That made him want to kiss her again. “No one ever came close to holding my heart the way you do, either,” he said. “I suppose I’ve always been more attracted to midnighters than noblewomen.”

  Her smile disappeared. “I’m giving it up,” she said. “No more midnighting, I swear it. I couldn’t stop thinking of you while I was in there, that it was your worst nightmare—”

  “My worst nightmare was last night, when you didn’t come home,” Kerish said grimly. “It was what I always feared, that you’d disappear and I’d never find out what happened to you. Seeing you come out of the jail looking like that was maybe third or fourth on the list.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You were right. I don’t have to be a thief to survive. I should never have put what mattered to you second. And I wish to heaven I’d realized that five years ago.”

  Kerish drew her close once more. “I think, five years ago, you weren’t the sort of person who could realize it, any more than I could see beyond the needs of my magic. You’re sure you’re not going to end up resenting me for it?”

  “No. Never. I love you too much.”

  “I
love hearing you say those words,” Kerish said, and kissed her again.

  Willow: Alternate ending to the Willow North Saga

  (Champion of the Crown, Winter 699 Y.B.)

  This scene is the reason I don’t write out of order. I wrote this ending on a day I was balked on Guardian of the Crown, and I liked the emotional weight of it. But the further I wrote into the series, the less relevant this became. I was able to salvage a few lines from it, but otherwise, it’s now completely irrelevant.

  In this version, I’d planned for Willow and Kerish not to reconcile until the end of the third book. Hah. I have never had two characters more determined to be together than they were. Just another way in which this version was irrelevant.

  * * *

  The heavy gold satin of the gown dragged at the hem. Her maids assured her that was the way it was supposed to fit, though they looked uncomfortable when she asked if it was also supposed to be loose in the bodice. She felt a little guilty about that now, since she’d only said it to needle them, and it wasn’t their fault they’d been presented with a Queen who knew nothing about court fashion but what she’d observed through people’s windows. It was one thing having Caira fuss over her clothing and quite another having four women whose only purpose in life seemed to be carrying gowns back and forth from the dressing room for her approval. Four maids. A dressing room. None of this felt like her.

  She stood at the window, hairbrush in hand—she’d finally banished the maids as politely as she could—and looked out across her city. People were setting off fireworks that burst silver and blue and green over the Hill and Lower Town alike. But then, this was a celebration, wasn’t it? Tremontane had a Queen, and the Counts and Barons had peace, and everyone was happy and content and life was perfect.