Rider of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “I think it is a good thing. She loves him very much.”

  “And he loves her. You should ask her to tell the story of how we met Owen. It’s funnier from her perspective.”

  “I—” She felt awkward pointing out that she was probably never going farther into Tremontane than she was now. “It is good she was not here for the battle.”

  “That, and our mother was frantic over her by the time the Army went north. Telecoder messages that her youngest is safe are not the same as seeing her in the flesh.”

  “What is your mother like?” It seemed Imogen could think of things to ask, after all. And she really was curious about Elspeth’s family.

  “Smart. Beautiful. A good rider—not to Kirkellan standards, of course, but she likes riding. She’s the Royal Librarian and the best one there’s ever been. Elspeth looks like her. I look more like my—my father, what Mother calls the North good looks.” He shook his head self-deprecatingly. “Me, Father, his sister Queen Zara…it breeds true in every generation, I hear.” He certainly was attractive, with that dark hair and those blue eyes, but not when he was making the face he was then. Imogen wanted to ask about his father, but even her limited understanding of the language had caught that hesitation of the King’s when he spoke of him, and she guessed it was not a subject he wanted to discuss.

  “The matrian will be here tomorrow,” he said, “for negotiations, but I was hoping you might have supper with me tonight. I’d like to understand more about your people before I meet with your mother.”

  “I like to,” Imogen said, “but tonight is the time to mourn our dead. I am sorry.”

  “I understand completely,” the King said. “Please give my regards to your Warleader, and my thanks.” He seemed disappointed, which made Imogen feel bad at having to refuse his invitation. She liked him, and she thought he was a little lonely now Elspeth and Owen were gone. After she bade him goodbye and left the tent, she chuckled at the exalted circles she now moved in. Wife, and now ex-wife, of one King; friend and confidante of another. Well, now she could go back to being just Imogen of the Kirkellan, daughter of the matrian, sister and daughter and rider of Victory and Warleader in training. It would be such a relief to be herself again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I’m bored,” Revalan said.

  “Go for a ride,” Dorenna told him.

  “I’m bored of that too. Rohrnan’s bored of it.”

  “I’m bored of your being bored.”

  “Stop squabbling,” Imogen said. But she was bored, too. They were waiting for the matrian to conclude diplomatic negotiations so the Kirkellan warriors could return home. Some of the company captains had suggested leaving a few at a time, dispersing gradually, but Kernan had flatly refused to consider it. So the companies, disbanded into their tiermathas, sat, and argued, and ate, and waited.

  “There’s not even anywhere to go for some privacy,” Kionnal complained.

  “You only want privacy for one thing,” Revalan said.

  “Yes, well, it’s something worth doing and I don’t get bored of it,” Kionnal retorted.

  “Did no one hear me tell you to stop squabbling?”

  “Imogen, squabbling is the only thing that’s keeping us sane.”

  “Someone’s coming out of the tent,” Saevonna said. Imogen turned to look. Sure enough, it was her mother and the King of Tremontane emerging from the tent they’d set up an equal distance between the camps for the negotiations. They clasped hands, and the matrian’s honor guard escorted her back to the great tent. Imogen got to her feet and followed.

  Inside, her mother shooed the honor guard back outside and kicked her shoes off. “Well?” Imogen asked.

  “Do you always enter without being invited?”

  “If I wait for an invitation, I never get to do anything.”

  “In some ways, you’re worse than Caele.” Mother took a water flask from a nearby camp chair and took a long drink. “Negotiating makes my throat dry. Yes, Imogen, we have a treaty. It is full of details I’m sure you’d find boring. We’ll have a number of tiermathas joining with Tremontane to assist them in establishing their new territory, for example. But….” She set the flask aside. “You might want to have a seat.”

  “What did you do? If it’s another banrach, Mother—”

  “Tremontanans are far too serious about their marriage vows to agree to the banrach. No, it’s nothing so dire. I didn’t realize how much of an impression you’d made on King Jeffrey.”

  “I helped his sister and his best friend escape from Hrovald, and I fought against his enemies.”

  “That, and he enjoys talking to you. At least, that’s what he said.”

  “Mother, where are you going with this?”

  Mother heaved a deep sigh. “Part of the treaty is an exchange of diplomatic ambassadors—”

  Imogen sat straight up in her camp chair. “Mother!”

  “You speak the language, the King likes you, and—”

  “I’m no diplomat! I’m a warrior!”

  “Listen to me,” Mother said, low and harsh. “We are entering an era of peace. Hrovald won’t come against our combined forces for at least a generation. There’s no one left to fight. You could stay here and train to be Caele’s Warleader, and I know that’s something you’ve always wanted, but with no wars to prosecute, it would be a waste of your life. I know you’re a skilled fighter. I also know you have so many other skills you’ve never even tried to use. I don’t want you to look back ten years from now and regret giving those years up to a dream that can’t be fulfilled.”

  “I am never going to regret being a warrior, Mother. It’s who I am.”

  “It’s not the whole of who you are.”

  “It’s the part of me I care about.”

  “Because it’s the only part of you that you know.” Mother’s face hardened. “You’re going to be our ambassador to Tremontane. It’s a temporary assignment, just one year, and you will do your best to learn those skills and you will represent the Kirkellan to the best of your abilities. Then you’ll return home, and you can do whatever you want to with your life, and I won’t say a word.”

  Tears of anger filled Imogen’s eyes. “You can’t force me to do this.”

  “Your mother can’t. The matrian can. Do you wish to go against her authority? What kind of warrior would that make you?”

  Imogen screwed her eyes shut. “I just wanted to come home,” she said in a small voice.

  “I know,” said her mother, and she heard a rustle of fabric and felt a cool touch on her brow just below the bandage. “Oh, Imogen, I know. I sent you to Ruskald because you were the only choice. Now I send you to Tremontane because you are the best choice, and it is the best choice for you, and a far better opportunity than living in Hrovald’s house was. The Tremontanans don’t live like we do, you know, and being there will be a challenge, and you have never backed down before a challenge in your life. One year, to learn about those parts of you you’ve never discovered. You were willing to face five years in Ruskald, among enemies. What’s one year among allies, if not friends?”

  Imogen lowered her head. “I’m taking Victory,” she said.

  “And you’re taking your tiermatha,” her mother said. “And a full company of riders.”

  At first light, the camps began to pack up. Imogen had been packed since before dawn. Unable to sleep, she groomed Victory until the horse complained, then stood staring at the eastern sky watching pink light creep across the horizon. As soon as the pink turned to gold, she went around prodding lumps of groaning people until she had her tiermatha awake, fed, clothed and packed. She surveyed them, noticing in particular Dorenna’s gory jerkin, Kallum’s torn sleeve, their general grubbiness, and her own scruffy and slightly odorous appearance. “The Tremontanans will think we’re refugees,” she complained.

  “It’s not like we have water to spare for bathing, Imo. And we look like Kirkellan,” said Dorenna.

  “Then everyone
will think the Kirkellan look like refugees.”

  “I don’t see why you care what people think of how you look. It’s never bothered you before,” said Areli.

  “I wasn’t a diplomatic ambassador before. They’re going to judge the Kirkellan based on what I do. It’s an enormous burden.”

  “You’re whining again,” Dorenna said, and winced as she moved her shoulder the wrong way. “It’s unattractive. So now you look like an unattractive refugee.”

  “And you’re missing out on the adventure of this,” Saevonna said.

  Imogen went from glaring at Dorenna to glaring at Saevonna. “How exactly is this an adventure, and is there any way I can get you to stop being cheerful about it?”

  Saevonna gave her an impish grin. “We get to introduce real horses and horsemanship to these backward Tremontanans. We get to be exotic strangers at a foreign court. And, best of all, as exotic strangers we get our pick of the best-looking men and women at court, and I don’t know if you were paying attention, but some of those Tremontanan soldiers were extremely good-looking.”

  “Yes, but they also have those rules about no sex before marriage.”

  “Sex isn’t everything. Besides,” Saevonna said, blushing unexpectedly, “maybe marrying a Tremontanan wouldn’t be so bad.”

  Areli and Revalan gasped together. Kallum said, “Do you mean to tell us you’ve got your eye on someone already?”

  Saevonna shrugged. “Maybe. It’s hard to tell when you don’t speak the same language. I’m just saying I’m willing to keep an open mind.”

  “Maybe we need to make an effort to learn the language,” Kallum said. “Not that I’ve ever had any trouble making my intentions clear.”

  “Might be a good idea to at least learn their words for ‘no’ and ‘get away from me, you pervert,’” Kionnal said.

  Kallum shrugged. “Like I said, maybe we should learn the language. It can’t be too hard if Imogen learned it.”

  “Imogen,” Mother called, and Imogen jumped. Her mother had approached silently, on foot, and on seeing her Imogen felt heavy of heart, as if her body were getting a head start on homesickness. She went to meet her mother a little way from the tiermatha, who in turn backed away a few paces to give them some privacy.

  Her mother’s face was serene, but her eyes were red and puffy. “I’m not going to apologize for sending you,” she said, “because I don’t think I’m wrong. But I’m sorry to send you off with such harsh words between us.”

  Imogen put her arms around her mother and hugged her, hard. “I don’t want to go,” she said, “and I’m not sure I agree with you. But you’re right, I’ve never backed down from a challenge, and I think this challenge will make me a stronger warrior in the long run.” She released her, and stepped away. “Besides, at least I’ll be able to train in Aurilien,” she added.

  “Show them what a Kirkellan woman is like, warrior and peacemaker,” Mother said, and saluted her. Tears streaked her face. Imogen swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, then turned and mounted Victory before she could burst into tears completely.

  “Let’s go,” she said hoarsely, and signaled Fionna and Rhion to move their troops out. The tiermatha mounted and followed Imogen down the rise toward the Tremontanan camp.

  It was eerily like, and completely unlike, the ride they’d taken through Hrovald’s camp some ten months before. Like, because the camp was in the process of being broken, and collapsed tents and bundles lay everywhere. Unlike, because the men and women taking down tents and packing belongings waved and smiled at them as they passed. The Kirkellan smiled and waved in return, and Imogen’s heavy heart eased somewhat. One year in Tremontane was a very different prospect than five in Ruskald.

  The King’s tent had already been packed away when they reached the spot it had stood. The King and a few of his advisers stood conversing nearby, a conversation that cut off when the King saw them. His face brightened. “Are you the ambassador, then?” he exclaimed. “The matrian only said she had someone in mind, but…this really is excellent news. I know Elspeth will be thrilled to see you again. Come, there are some people you should meet.”

  He offered his hand as if he meant to help her dismount, and Imogen, concluding it was a friendly gesture and not an insult, took it. “This is Marcus Anselm, commanding general of the Army…Colonel Henry Stubbs…Diana Ashmore, Baroness of Daxtry…oh, and Colonel Fred Williams. Gentlemen, Baroness, this is Imogen of the Kirkellan, ambassador to Tremontane.”

  Looking at these perfectly groomed and clean people, Imogen had never felt less like an ambassador in the whole short time she’d been one. But she held her head high, straightened her spine, and said, “I am pleased to meet you.” There, her accent hadn’t been quite as thick, had it? Not that she cared, but the way the Baroness looked at her made her feel at least seven feet tall with hairy toes. Imogen remembered her as the woman she’d seen in the King’s tent that first night. She stood close to him as if waiting for his instructions.

  “Fred’s coming with us back to Aurilien with the Home Guard, and these other three will be establishing our new territory. The Baroness’s lands abut these, and she’s been a powerful force for keeping the Ruskalder at bay for years.”

  Imogen wasn’t sure how many years that might be; the Baroness didn’t look to be more than in her mid-twenties. She had an elegant face with a long, straight nose she now looked down at, or rather up at, Imogen. “It will be interesting having the Kirkellan for neighbors now,” she said quietly, and smiled, and Imogen realized the Baroness’s supercilious air was the unfortunate result of her eyes being too close to her very straight nose. She seemed quite nice when she smiled.

  Marcus Anselm, on the other hand, just grunted and nodded when she was introduced. She wanted to ask him about the battle, but he intimidated her a little. The two colonels gave her friendly nods and gave skeptical glances toward the troops of riders. “I didn’t realize the ambassador’s retinue was so…large,” Stubbs said.

  “I do not understand retinue,” Imogen said.

  “The riders that accompany you as part of your household,” he explained.

  “These are for you,” Imogen said, then shook her head. “It is to say, they are to increase the Army as a token of…of esteem.”

  Williams looked at the King. “Is that a good idea?”

  “It’s strategically sound,” said the King. “I suggested we might develop tactics that will allow our armies to integrate more fully, if the Ruskalder decide they want to come back for another go. The matrian hopes this will also foster good will between our nations. Our diplomatic envoy will not be militaristic, but will serve the same purpose. I did insist the troops be under Fred’s command—can you explain that to them, um….” He laughed self-consciously. “I don’t know what to call you. Madam ambassador seems so pretentious.”

  Imogen didn’t know what ‘pretentious’ meant, but she could guess his problem. “I am just Imogen,” she said. “We have no titles the way you do. It is not—you are not disrespectful, just to use the name.”

  “Very well…Imogen…could you explain the situation? I didn’t think about the language barrier, and I don’t want to make this a jurisdictional nightmare. I just want your people to feel welcome in Tremontane, and I want Fred to be able to manage all the troops under his command.”

  Imogen turned to Fionna and Rhion, and said, “Apparently the matrian promised your troops would be under that man’s command, as if he were the company captain. I have no idea what she was thinking, but he seems awfully nervous, so do you think you could manage to take orders from him?”

  “I don’t even speak his language, Imogen, how do you propose I do that?” Rhion exclaimed.

  “Do not worry, she is just unhappy about the barrier of language,” Imogen said to Williams, who didn’t look any happier than Rhion did. “Rhion, please don’t start an international incident before we’ve even left the camp. You’ll be able to learn Tremontanan tactics from him, a
nd he’s supposed to learn Kirkellan strategy from you. It will…it’ll be an adventure.”

  Rhion and Fionna looked at each other and laughed. “An adventure? All right, Imogen, if you’re that desperate, we will put ourselves under his command. And I guess we’d better start learning the language.”

  Imogen controlled a sigh. “They understand. They say, they will start learning to speak your language and it will be an adventure.”

  Williams was still wary, but he nodded. “Guess we could stand to learn a word or three of Kirkellish,” he said.

  “Then we’re going to head out. Marcus, I’ll have two more telecoders to you by the end of the month. Diana, we’ll see you in Aurilien in a week or so, yes? Keep me apprised of any developments. I want to know if the Ruskalder even waggle their furry buttocks in our direction.”

  “Let me know if you need me there sooner,” Diana said, laying her hand on the King’s arm. “I imagine the Council is going to be very busy in the coming weeks.”

  “I will.” He saluted the three, then accepted the reins of a very good black gelding and mounted without assistance, though he wasn’t terribly graceful about it. Imogen threw herself back atop Victory and waited for him to signal the advance. He’d been glad to see her, that was something, and she already knew Elspeth and Owen, and she had one hundred and eighteen Kirkellan warriors at her back. Maybe she could see this as an adventure after all.

  Chapter Sixteen