Rider of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “She wasn’t very friendly, was she?” Dorenna said as they rode back to the head of the procession, which hadn’t moved very far. “She could at least have thanked you for your concern.”

  “I don’t know anything about sick people, and she knew it. I was just getting in the way.”

  “Still, it would have been polite. Imogen?” She overrode Imogen, who’d been about to ask Dorenna when she’d ever cared about being polite, and continued, “I know this has been hard for you, but you’ve made the right choice, coming home.”

  “Have I?”

  “You’re a warrior. You have family and friends who need you. Your whole life is with us. You and I both know it’s too much to give up. Who would you even be, in Aurilien? It’s not as though they need your warrior’s skills.”

  Dorenna’s wheedling tone, like that of a mother coaxing a recalcitrant child, irritated Imogen. “It’s not as though the Kirkellan need the skills I mastered in Aurilien,” she said, feeling contrary.

  “What are they? Talking to people. Getting them to agree with each other. Of course you can use those skills for your own people. All right, maybe the war is over. Maybe you won’t be Warleader after all. But there will still be, I don’t know, disagreements and quarrels that need a person who can settle those things. Maybe that’s what you’ll end up doing. And you’ll want to breed Victory—”

  “Dorenna,” Imogen said, “what is this about?”

  Dorenna reined in Rapier. “I can see you’re unhappy,” she said, “and I know you’re afraid it’s because you’re doing the wrong thing. I want you to realize you’ve made the right choice. I want you to remember all the reasons why it’s the right choice. Imogen, your sadness will pass, and someday you’ll look back and be so glad you didn’t stay in Tremontane. I know it.”

  Imogen looked at her friend’s anxious face. “I think you don’t want me to go because it will break up our tiermatha further,” she said. She felt hollow inside, remote, as if Dorenna’s anxieties were all for some other Imogen living a parallel life. “I think you’re more concerned about that than you are about me. I’m glad Saevonna didn’t listen to you, because she’s going to have a long, contented life with Marcus, far away from us, and you know what, Dorenna? The sadness we feel at losing her? That’s going to pass too. Stop being so afraid of things changing, Dor.”

  Dorenna had gone from anxious to white-lipped anger. “I’m doing this for your own good, Imogen,” she said. “You’d be miserable there, all alone with no one but that King and his family—”

  “Stop talking now, Dorenna, before you say something we won’t be able to come back from.” Imogen rubbed her too-dry eyes. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve already made my decision, and I know it’s the right one, so I don’t know what you think you’re proving by trying to argue me into making it again. You get your wish. I’m coming home. And your fears have nothing to do with it.” She nudged Victory into a trot. “Stay away from me for a while,” she said, “or we won’t be able to stay friends.”

  She rode beside Mother for several miles, neither of them speaking. Imogen fell back into her waiting state, becoming a pair of eyes, watching the horizon, a pair of ears, listening to the footsteps of hundreds of horses on the dirt road. She felt nothing now, not sorrow nor anger nor even longing, just a weariness of spirit that dragged at her until she was sure Victory would complain at the added burden. Towards evening, Mother gave the signal to camp for the night, and Imogen helped her put up the matrian’s traveling tent with the minimum of words needed to accomplish the task. Imogen stayed with her mother while they ate their supper, hardy fare that had come from the palace kitchens, then took her bedroll and spread it inside the matrian’s tent, ignoring the surprised and hurt looks she got from her tiermatha. She would only continue to dampen their spirits, and sharing a tent with Dorenna that night was more than she could bear.

  She crawled fully-dressed inside her bedroll and lay there stiffly, unable to relax into sleep. She’d slept too long on those Tremontanan mattresses, that’s what it was, had gone soft in the more than two months she’d lived there. It was a good thing she hadn’t stayed longer, or she wouldn’t have been able to go home at all, what with growing accustomed to soft beds and endless hot water and the like. How embarrassing for a rider of the Kirkellan to become so dependent on such things.

  It was dark enough now that she couldn’t see the roof of the tent or the walls to either side of her, and for a moment she was back in her cell with the roof and the walls curving in on her, and she sucked in a breath and sat up, hugging her knees and trying to get her heart to slow down. It was in her imagination, it wasn’t real, and she remembered sitting with Jeffrey on that awful, tiny bed, remembered him kissing her and saying That is real, and grief hit her so hard she curled up on her bedroll, put her arms over her face, and sobbed. It’s the right decision, it is, she told herself, but she no longer believed it. How could it be the right decision if her whole self was crying out for something else?

  She howled out her stored-up misery soundlessly into her sleeves, nearly convulsing with the force of her sobs, unable to stop herself, and felt hands gently lifting her head into a soft lap, circling her about her shoulders as they’d done since she was a toddler sobbing in terror at her first thunderstorm. “Cry it out,” Mother whispered. She clutched at her mother’s arms and wept until she was wrung out and exhausted. When her sobs subsided to deep, shaking breaths, Mother helped her sit and hugged her tightly. “I thought you were not as well-adjusted as you seemed,” she said with a wry smile.

  “I thought I was more well-adjusted than that,” Imogen said, wiping her face with her sleeves, which were already soaked with her tears. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Having desires? No need to apologize for that.” Mother sat cross-legged before her. “Imogen, what is it you really want?”

  Imogen sighed. “I want to go home,” she began, but Mother shook her head and placed her fingers over Imogen’s lips. “I mean, what do you really want? If you could make this world bend to your needs, what would it look like?”

  Imogen closed her eyes. “I want to live in Aurilien,” she said. “I want to marry Jeffrey and be his Consort and have children with him. I want to breed Victory and see what I can make of those spindly Tremontanan horses. I want to talk to people and figure out how we can both get what we want.” She opened her eyes. “But it’s ridiculous. I was born to be a warrior, Mother, trained to be one, and I’ve just proved I do it better than I do anything else. I ought to do what I’m best at.”

  “No,” Mother said, “you ought to do what you love best. Your father is still a better rider than either of us, war wound or no, and a better trainer of riders, but what he wanted was to raise you children, and neither of us has ever regretted that choice.”

  “This is much bigger than the difference between riding and childrearing.”

  “The size of it isn’t important. You think we’re only allowed to make choices when the consequences don’t matter? Maybe the choice means more because you’re choosing between two lives. Though I think, aside from the issue of the people involved, those lives are not so mutually exclusive as you’d imagine.”

  The people involved. “But Jeffrey told me he knew I was a warrior. He wanted me to be Warleader—he didn’t say a single word about wanting me to stay!”

  Mother made an impatient noise. “Jeffrey North is a brilliant man and an excellent King, but he has a tendency toward self-sacrifice. Understandable, given his history, but I don’t think you should let him ruin his life just because he wants to suffer nobly. And I don’t think it’s his choice to make.”

  “But now I can’t go back. You said it yourself.”

  “I just said that because I wanted you to take me seriously. You need to go back, Imogen. Talk to him. Maybe there’s no hope for you. But I would bet my horse that’s not true.”

  Imogen stood and began packing her things. Mother reached up and grabbed her
hand. “In the morning,” she said. “It’s full dark already. You want to wander around and kill yourself before you see him again?”

  Imogen stood still and took a deep breath, then another. “I don’t think I can bear to wait that long,” she said, but sat down on her bedroll again and began taking off her boots.

  “Patience is a good quality in life and in marriage. Probably more important than honesty, though I’ll never admit it to your father.”

  “I think Father already knows it, what with living with you all these years.”

  Mother swatted her on the top of her head. “Disrespectful child. Get some sleep. And, Imogen?”

  “Yes?”

  “When you tiptoe out of here at the first light of dawn, don’t bother waking me to tell me where you’re going.”

  It was the longest night of Imogen’s life, longer even than the ones she’d spent watching Elspeth and Dorenna fight for their lives. She napped, dreamed sunrise had come, and snapped awake, then drowsed again only to dream of Jeffrey angry with her, Jeffrey not angry with her, Jeffrey married to Diana, Jeffrey a distant stranger. The last time she woke, she realized she could see the outlines of her fingers, and rose and began to dress hurriedly.

  Gear in hand—she might have been forsaking her old life for a new one, but some habits were hard to leave behind—she set out for the picket line only to stop as she passed the place where her tiermatha camped. She had one other thing to do.

  She crouched to enter Dorenna’s tent, careful to kick the knife away from where it lay by Dorenna’s hand; Imogen had seen her nearly gut a rider who’d incautiously tried to wake her. She shook Dorenna’s shoulder and whispered her name. The woman came instantly awake, closed her fist on a knife hilt that wasn’t there, then looked up at Imogen. Even in the not-quite-dawn light, Imogen could see confusion in her eyes. “Imo? What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry we fought, Dor. You wanted what was best for me and you weren’t wrong. I am a warrior of the Kirkellan. It’s just not who I’m going to become.”

  Dorenna rubbed sleep from her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  Imogen hugged her. “Oh, Dorenna, I’m not sure I do either, but I couldn’t leave without asking you to forgive me for going.”

  Dorenna froze. “You’re not leaving.”

  “I am. And maybe I’m wrong, maybe he doesn’t want me and I’ll be back in a few hours. But you have to trust me that this is the right decision, going back, and I’m truly sorry it hurts you so much, but you know I can’t live my life to suit you anymore than Saevonna could. I’m leaving the tiermatha to you. Take good care of them?”

  She turned to leave, and Dorenna said, “Wait. Please.” Imogen turned back. Dorenna’s face was mostly shadow in the dimness, all except the white parts of her eyes and her teeth when she spoke. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it’s the right decision. I could see it coming from the moment we set foot in that embassy. I just didn’t—I thought if I could convince you, you’d change your mind. I shouldn’t have done that. I do just want you to be happy, you know.”

  “Dor—” Imogen flung herself on her friend and heard her sniffle. “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying. You know I never cry.” Dorenna grinned at her and wiped away tears. “Now get out of here. Go find your King and have a long and happy life together.”

  Imogen ducked out of the tent and trotted toward the picket line. Victory was awake and greeted her with a snort and a streak of slobber down her chest. “That’s right, we’re going home,” Imogen whispered as she freed her from the picket line and began saddling her, no easy task in the dimness even as the sky continued to lighten. She mounted just as a line of light illuminated the eastern horizon. “Let’s go,” she said, and Victory trotted around the camp until they reached the road, where she set off at a ground-eating gallop.

  Color flowed into the landscape as the sun rose, grays and browns turning into vibrant greens and blues. The delicate scent of wildflowers filled the air, borne by the fresh morning dew that made everything brighter. The road went through the forest, here and there, and gray squirrels dashed across the road to chitter at their brothers; birds sang at her and swooped past her head, making her grin. She felt better than she had in weeks, her heart light, and she would have sung with the birds if she knew the tune.

  She came out of the forest into a long stretch of open road and saw, ahead of her in the distance, a rider on a Tremontanan horse coming her way. He, or she, appeared to be moving even faster than she was. Jeffrey, she thought, then laughed at herself. Even if he had decided to come after her, he certainly wouldn’t be without his escort, and he didn’t like horses, anyway. She rode on, preparing to pass the other rider, then to her shock realized it was Jeffrey, after all.

  He seemed even more stunned to see her than she was to see him. “Imogen,” he said.

  “Jeffrey,” she said, then so many words rushed into her mouth she couldn’t choose between them.

  “Why are you here?” he said.

  She swallowed. Why hadn’t she worked out what she’d say to him in advance? “I am…coming to see you. To talk. Why are you here?”

  “To correct a mistake,” he said. “Don’t leave. Stay with me. I love you, Imogen, and I don’t want to lose you.”

  She had to grip Victory’s reins more tightly so she didn’t fall off her horse. “You do—did not want me to stay.”

  “No, I did. I desperately wanted you to stay. But you so clearly belonged with the Kirkellan I felt like a fool asking you to give all that up just to be my wife. Then I woke up before dawn today the way I have every morning for the last three weeks, with my stomach in knots and the memory of your kiss on my lips, and I realized I didn’t give a damn what you were best at.” He drew in a deep breath. “I know it’s selfish and I have no right to ask it of you, but I want you to marry me and I don’t want you to leave me ever again.”

  Stunned, Imogen found herself standing on the ground with no memory of dismounting, looking up at Jeffrey. There was so much hope, and so much fear, in his eyes that her heart felt as if it would burst from everything pent up inside her. “I came to tell you I am not leaving,” she said. “I do not give a damn either.”

  Jeffrey slid down off his horse and took a few tentative steps toward her, as if he were waiting for her to bolt. “Are you sure you want to give all of that up? It’s your whole life, and I don’t want you ending up resenting me for it.”

  She thought of everything she and Mother had talked about, and words deserted her. “It is only part of my life,” she tried, “and this is another part, and I want to live in the part that has you in it, because you are my home.”

  He closed his eyes briefly and let out a long breath. “You are my home,” he echoed, and looked at her with those blue eyes that now showed no fear nor hope but only joy. “Imogen—”

  She closed the distance between them, put her arms around him, and was pulled into his embrace. “I love you,” she whispered, then his lips were on hers and they kissed, slowly, as if it were the first time. Imogen sighed with pleasure, and felt him smile against her mouth, then his kisses became sweeter, more intense, and she breathed in the sharp woody scent of him and the last of her doubts fell away. Jeffrey pulled her closer with his arms around her waist, kissed her a final time, and drew back. “I do not believe I begged you to stop,” Imogen said.

  He laughed. “This is just a pause while I look at you in amazement that you came back. I thought my cause was hopeless, but I had to try.”

  “Not hopeless, because I love you,” Imogen said.

  “You’ve never said that to me before.”

  “I will say it again if you want, because it is true.”

  “I hope so, if you’re going to marry me.”

  She tightened her arms around him. “I love you,” she said, then he kissed her again and made more words impossible.

  Eventually, Imogen became aware of Victory standing patiently behind her, and ste
pped away from Jeffrey, who made an unhappy noise. “We must not stand here in the road anymore.”

  “Oh. Yes, we should probably go back before they send out a search party. You have no idea how hard it is for me to slip away from my escort. They’re not going to be happy with me.”

  “Do they know where you went?”

  “I left a note.” He mounted his horse, only a little awkwardly. “It wasn’t a very informative note, but at least I tried. It probably didn’t help that I didn’t want them following me. When a man is going to beg a woman to love him, he doesn’t need an audience.”

  “You do not need to beg me. I loved you before. You just had the face that says you do not want to speak to me.” Imogen swung herself onto Victory’s back and led the way back toward Aurilien.

  “That was actually the face that says I want you to have what’s best for you even if it kills me, which I thought it might.”

  “You do not decide what is best for me, Jeffrey. But I chose to give up what I love, so we both were stupid.”

  He laughed. “At least we figured it out in time. I didn’t think about what might have happened if I had to chase you all the way to the Eidestal. I didn’t even bring food.”

  Imogen’s stomach growled. “I did not eat breakfast.”

  “Then, back to the palace, where I will be shouted at by my security chief, then breakfast, and then you and I and Mother will plan the quickest royal wedding this kingdom has ever seen.”

  “It must be quick?”

  “Oh yes.” His eyes twinkled. “The night I waited for you to wake up—the memory of you lying there, naked except for a few thin blankets, those bare shoulders with your hair hanging loose over them—I can wait for our wedding night, but that memory makes me want it to get here as soon as possible.”

  She threw back her head and laughed, and at just that moment they came around a curve in the road and Aurilien lay before them. The morning sunlight struck the stone walls and made them glow as if they were made of gold, and Imogen caught her breath at the beauty of it. “Something wrong?” Jeffrey asked.