Rider of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “I feel as if this will hang over me for the rest of my life,” she whispered in the same language. “Everyone will look at me and know how I was shamed.”

  “If anyone should be ashamed, it’s that turd Hesketh, and he’s dead,” Imogen said. “This is just a thing that happened, yes? And I can’t tell you how to live with it or how to let it go or if you should let it go. I just know you are still the same person we all love, and you should remember that.”

  Elspeth smiled at her with watery eyes. “I wish I were more like you,” she said.

  “No, you don’t. I’m grouchy in the morning and I sometimes smell like horse.”

  Elspeth laughed. The King looked down at her and the anguish in his eyes lessened. “What was his plan? How could that give Hrovald a hold on Tremontane?”

  “He planned to say Hesketh’s…physical relationship with Elspeth meant they are married, and wait for her to give birth to Hesketh’s child, who will—would then be an heir to the Crown.” Owen looked as if he wished he had his hands around Hesketh’s throat again.

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “If he can to kill you in battle, it would.”

  The King glanced at Elspeth again. “What will we do if she….”

  Elspeth buried her face in her hands. Owen’s arms tightened around her. Imogen said, “She is not carrying a child.”

  They all looked at her as if they’d forgotten she was there. “How do you know?” Owen asked.

  Imogen rolled her eyes. “She had her….” What was the word for monthlies? She switched to Ruskeldin. “You had your bleeding while you were sick,” she told Elspeth. “It was long enough…didn’t you have another while you were recovering?”

  Elspeth gasped in relief. “No. I was afraid….”

  “Well, sometimes when you’re sick and lose weight you don’t bleed.”

  “You could have said.”

  “I thought you knew. It’s not exactly something that comes up in polite conversation.”

  Elspeth beamed. “I’m not pregnant,” she said in Tremontanese, and hugged Owen tightly. The King sagged onto a camp chair and rubbed his face.

  “I don’t know if I can stand any more surprises,” he said, and one of the guards stuck his head through the door and said, “Your Majesty, there’s a fight going on near the horse lines.”

  Imogen swore and ran out of the tent back toward where she’d left the tiermatha. She arrived, breathless, to see a woman dangling from Victory’s reins, screaming over the sound of Victory’s terrified neighs, dragged here and there by the horse’s restless, frantic movement. The horse kept backing away and coming up against a ring of the tiermatha, who were trying to soothe her, but no one wanted to get in the way of nearly a ton of frightened horse.

  Imogen shouted, “Get your hands off Victory!” which was useless because in her panic she’d slipped into Kirkellish, and ran toward the screaming woman. She tore the reins from the woman’s hands and shoved her out of the way of Victory’s enormous hooves. The woman stumbled into Victory’s neck and fell, making Victory scream again. Imogen prayed the stupid woman had at least enough sense to crawl out of the way, then flung her arms around the horse’s broad neck and whispered to her as if she were Elspeth in the middle of a weeping fit. Victory reared, lifting Imogen off the ground and making her side feel as if it were being ripped open again, but Imogen tugged on her mane and said, “None of that.” Victory reared again, but less violently, and Imogen began to breathe more easily, aware of how stupid that stunt had been. Victory would never hurt her intentionally, but in a maddened state, who knew what she might have done?

  “There are a lot of Kirkellan horses here,” the King said. Imogen turned to see him standing in the crowd behind her, his guards close behind. Nobody seemed overawed that he was among them, though they did make room so no one was very close.

  “This is my tiermatha,” Imogen said. “They are also—were also ones who brought Elspeth home.” She turned toward them and said in Kirkellish, “What in the hell is going on here?”

  “I told the woman just to hold Victory’s reins,” Dorenna said, exasperated. “Well, I gestured it, anyway. I don’t know if she just wanted to show politeness, or if I’m just not good at gesturing, but they have a…a thing that buzzes around. I have no idea what it’s meant to do, but she put it on Victory and she went insane. I don’t blame her. I’m really sorry, Imo. I shouldn’t have let her go, but I needed both hands—”

  “It’s all right, Dor, it was an accident,” Imogen said, trying not to think about the conversation they’d be having now if someone had been hurt or even killed. She stroked Victory’s mane again and added, “That’s the King over there. He’s very grateful that we brought Elspeth and Owen back. I couldn’t think of anything to ask him for, but if there’s something you want, he’s in a giving mood.”

  “Your horse is dangerous,” someone said at Imogen’s elbow. It was the woman she’d pulled off Victory, the one who’d tried to use some sort of awful Device on her. “She shouldn’t be with the rest of the animals. Who knows what she might do? I want you to—”

  “What is your name?” Imogen said, cutting her off.

  “You have no right to make demands of me—”

  “What did you put on my horse?”

  “It was a simple grooming Device. What kind of creature overreacts like that?”

  “The Kirkellan do not use the Devices,” Imogen said, raising her voice and forgetting Elspeth’s instructions about dropping articles. “The Kirkellan take care of the horses with the own hands as heaven intends it to be. You put a buzzy thing on my horse and scared her and you are now wanting to make it her fault she is scared? I will find this buzzy thing and I will make you eat it unless you apologize to Victory right now.”

  The woman was red with fury. “Apologize? Me, apologize?”

  “Madam, for a stable mistress you seem remarkably ignorant about Kirkellan horses,” the King said. Imogen glanced his way; he looked amused. “You should know better than to use a Device I happen to know is untested outside the military on a horse that doesn’t belong to you. I suggest you do as the lady tells you and apologize to the horse.”

  The woman looked confused. “The horse?”

  Imogen glared at her and jerked her head in Victory’s direction. Victory nodded as if she understood the conversation.

  The woman looked from Victory to Imogen and back again. “I’m sorry,” she said in a stunned voice. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Thank you,” Imogen said, and led Victory to where her stable mates waited. Victory made a noise that might have been a chuckle and plunged her nose into a bucket of oats. Imogen patted her fondly. “You great beast,” she said.

  “So that’s the King? Can’t believe he’s related to Elspeth,” Kallum said. “He is exactly my type.”

  “Please don’t seduce the King of Tremontane,” Imogen said. “I need him to be friendly until tomorrow morning when we can all go home.”

  “Oh, if I seduce him, he’ll be friendly for as long as you like.” Kallum’s eyes gleamed in the fading light. Imogen hit him on the shoulder.

  Behind them, Owen cleared his throat and said, “It would be a very bad idea for you to try that.”

  “He’s kidding,” Imogen said, hoping it was true. “Owen, can you show us where we can get some food and bunk down for the night? I think everyone’s ready for a real bed.”

  “I can take them to the mess tent, and you to the camp healer, but first Jeffrey wants you to eat with us.”

  Imogen sighed. “I’m not really in a condition to be polite.”

  “Yes, everyone who was down at the enclosure just now knows that. Elspeth wants you to get to know her brother. Jeffrey’s interested in talking to a woman who can drag that beast of yours back to the ground. And I just enjoy your company. Please join us?”

  She sighed again. “All right. I don’t suppose you can find someone who speaks Kirkellish to translate for
the tiermatha? I hate deserting them.”

  Owen was able to find a translator, and he and Imogen walked back to the King’s tent in the gathering darkness. “He’s not like Hrovald, you know,” Owen said. “Not full of his own privilege or arrogant or anything like that. Just a little stiff around strangers.”

  “He seemed relaxed enough to me.”

  “Trust me, he’s on edge. He’s decided as long as Hrovald’s going to attack us, he’s going to try to keep the territory he’s occupying right now. It’s a long arm of Ruskald that extends between Veribold and Tremontane, and apparently it’s a national security nightmare. Trying to keep it changes the nature of the war, but Anselm—he’s the commanding general of the armies—thinks it’s worth the effort.”

  “That’s quite a lot to demand of an army.”

  “They’re more loyal than you can imagine. No, you’re Kirkellan; you probably understand perfectly well.”

  Jeffrey North didn’t seem stiff at all when they entered the tent. A second folding table had been set up and four camp chairs were ranged around it. Elspeth had changed into sensible trousers and shirt, both too big for her, and soft boots, which made Imogen uncomfortably aware of her stained trousers, her dirty shirt borrowed from one of Owen’s riders, since the first was torn and bloody from her fight, and how itchy her scalp was. The King didn’t seem to notice. He pulled her chair away from the table and held it, and after a moment Imogen realized he was waiting for her to sit. She’d never had anyone do that before, and it was unsettling. I can’t call this man by his first name, I just can’t, she thought. She’d never respected Hrovald, Elspeth was like a sister, but the King of Tremontane’s air of confident power made it impossible for her to think of him so informally.

  The King sat at her right hand, Owen to her left, and Elspeth across from her. Elspeth gave her a bright smile and said, in Tremontanese, “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, Victory was just scared. Sometimes she is silly when she is scared. I am sorry I yelled at that woman.”

  “Don’t be,” the King said, gesturing to them to serve themselves. “Her behavior was inexcusable. I still can’t believe you went in there with the horse thrashing around. That was incredibly brave.”

  “You do not like horses,” Imogen said, remembering what Elspeth had said once. He flashed his blue-eyed gaze at her.

  “Who told you that? I never said I didn’t like horses,” he said.

  “Elspeth said it,” Imogen said, blushing. That’s right, criticize the King in his own tent over his own dining table. Very politic of you, Imogen.

  “Well, you don’t,” Elspeth said, her mouth half full of food.

  “I never said that. Just because I’m not a rider like Father—like other people. I think horses are beautiful.”

  “I would like you to meet Victory,” Imogen said, “maybe in the morning.”

  “I—thank you,” the King said. “Are you leaving for home then?”

  “My mother should hear the news of the banrach immediately.”

  “Excuse me, I don’t understand that word.”

  “It’s a horrible custom that made Imogen married to Hrovald for five years,” Elspeth said. “As part of the peace between the Kirkellan and Ruskald.”

  The King laid his fork and knife down. “Who did you say your mother was?”

  “Mairen of the Kirkellan.”

  “Good heaven. The matrian of the Kirkellan. You were married to Hrovald?”

  Imogen tried to explain the banrach, but eventually gave it up to Elspeth, correcting her occasionally. The King listened in silence, his eyebrows raised. “It seems we have more to talk about than I thought,” he told Imogen when Elspeth wound down. “Would the matrian be interested in a treaty with Tremontane? It sounds as if you burned your bridges thoroughly when you left. Hrovald’s the kind of man who would pursue war simply to avenge himself on you. Though I’m not sure who he’d be angrier at, the woman who humiliated him or the man who killed his heir. But even if he comes against us first, if we lose, he’ll certainly take the fight to your people afterward.”

  “But we know nothing of Tremontane. Why would you want to fight with us?”

  “I could use someone to put pressure on Hrovald’s western flank so he can’t prosecute full-out war against us. And I think we have more in common with each other than either of us has with Ruskald, if you’ll pardon my presumption.”

  Imogen understood enough of his complicated words to know what he said. She looked at each of her tablemates in turn. “I cannot make a treaty myself,” she said. “I can take your offer to the matrian and ask her. But I think, me, it is a good idea. I do not know if we can make peace before Hrovald brings his army against you, though.”

  “I have an idea for that,” said the King.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A few days later Imogen and the tiermatha, along with the Tremontanan diplomatic envoy, topped a gentle rise and saw the tents of the Kirkellan spread out on the plains below them. Imogen’s heart ached with joy. Finally, home, after so many dark months. Nothing had changed. She gestured for the others to follow her, and went down the slope toward the camp.

  Three outriders peeled off from the horses milling about the outskirts of the camp and approached them. “Identify,” they said. Imogen recognized one of them.

  “Derry,” she cried, “are you still riding sentry? Who did you piss off this time?”

  Derry gaped at her. “Imogen? What are you doing back here? I thought we wouldn’t see you for nigh on another four years!”

  Imogen leaned across to grasp his forearm in greeting. “It’s a long story the matrian should hear first. Will you escort us? I don’t want any more challenges.”

  But it turned out being challenged wasn’t something they had to worry about. Almost everyone they passed recognized someone in their little party, and the cheers and welcomes shouted at them grew in volume as they neared the matrian’s tent until the sound was almost tangible. As happy as she was, Imogen’s nervousness as she approached the great tent grew. Suppose Mother didn’t agree with the way she’d handled Hrovald? Suppose she was angry with Imogen for breaking the treaty? Imogen almost wished she’d stayed with Elspeth, though she had no idea what she’d do in Tremontane. Train horses? Breed horses? Do other horse-related things? No, there was nothing for her there and everything for her here.

  She could see Mother standing outside the great tent long before she was close enough to speak to her. Mother didn’t look happy to see her. She didn’t look angry, either, which Imogen hoped was a good sign. Imogen pulled Victory up ten feet from her mother and dismounted. “Matrian,” she said, saluting formally.

  “Inside,” Mother said neutrally, and held the tent flap for her. Imogen thrust Victory’s reins into the hand of a random bystander and followed. She’d seen no one else belonging to her family. Would Mother be gentler with her if Caele were there, or harsher?

  The tent was empty. It looked no different than it had last summer. Mother brushed past Imogen, went to the central pole and leaned against it, looking at the floor. “Come here,” she said. Imogen approached her cautiously, as if she were a cornered buck deer that might turn on her at any moment. Mother sighed deeply and turned around. “I don’t know what it means that you’re here,” she said. “I fear something’s happened that will mean disaster for the Kirkellan. But I am just so happy to see you I don’t care.” She reached out, her eyes filled with tears, and put her arms around her tall daughter, and Imogen, expecting anything in the world but this, hugged her and found she was crying too.

  “I’m sorry if it turns out I’ve ruined things,” she wept. “I did the best I could. I think I made the right choices. But I’m not you.”

  For a while, they held each other, unable to speak. Mother was the first to draw away. “I suppose you should tell me what happened,” she said. She pulled up a fat cushion, sat, and added, “And don’t leave anything out.”

  Imogen sat on a cushion o
f her own, thought for a moment, then told the story beginning with Elspeth North’s arrival in Ranstjad. Mother interrupted a few times, asking for clarification, but otherwise listened intently. Her face went very still when Imogen explained Hrovald’s plan to take power in Tremontane. When she got to the part where they escaped Ranstjad and made it to the Tremontanan camp, Imogen stopped, not wanting to explain the King’s proposal until she knew Mother’s thoughts on everything else. Mother’s eyes narrowed and she propped her chin on her fist.

  “You’re right,” she said eventually. “Hrovald broke the banrach when he violated the terms of our treaty. He had no right to start a war with a country we are currently at peace with. But you probably should have killed him.”

  “I was afraid it would make things worse.”

  “Internal conflict in Ruskald is to our advantage. The chiefs would have to fight for dominance, during which time they couldn’t come against us. And whoever the new chief is might not be inclined to go to war against us. But it’s done, and you made the best decision you could at the time. Unfortunately, it means Hrovald is going to batter at us until one of us is defeated, and there’s no way I can make a peace with him now. So I hope those extra riders I saw with you represent a solution to our problem.”

  “I hope so.” Imogen rolled her shoulders to ease the tension. “King Jeffrey of Tremontane would like to make a treaty with us. He believes we have more in common with each other than we do with Ruskald and that our respective military presences will put pressure on Hrovald so he won’t be able to bring his full forces to bear against either of us.”

  “Did he send you with a proposal for me to examine?”

  “Um. Sort of. But it’s difficult to explain, so I’ll have to show you.” Imogen ducked out of the tent and beckoned to the Tremontanan soldiers at the back of the group. They dismounted and began to remove their bulky gear from their mounts.