The Maid's War (Kingfountain 0.5)

She looked doubtful. “I pray he does. Did it take much convincing before he’d see her?”

“This court is full of vipers,” he said, growling. “Look how they’ve changed in such a short time. They were ready to claw her for presuming to be here. Now they’ll fawn over her.” He seized her hands. “This is the moment Occitania has needed. You felt it in her as well. After you and Alix came down, you heard her stories about how the Fountain speaks to her. We both listened to her tale before bringing her here. Can you imagine what it must be like? She hears its voice every day, like music audible only to her. The music of the Deep Fathoms.”

Jianne wiped her nose. She stood up straighter, putting on a brave face for him, and said, “So strange that it spoke to one so young.”

“How I wish it were me,” Alensson breathed, trying to wrestle down the wriggle of jealousy in his heart. The thought flared for a moment, but he struck it down violently with his mind.

“I will return to the cottage,” Jianne said, looking up into his eyes.

“Nay, stay at Shynom!” he insisted. “If the prince summons an army, it will take time to gather them. It will take time to drill and train.”

“Do you think the prince will do it?”

He nodded. “He will not miss this opportunity. Look at the hunger in their eyes. They have an appetite for hope. We all do. You must stay with me, Jianne.”

She winced. “An army isn’t a suitable place . . . for a woman. There’s so much swearing, so much lewdness. I . . .” She blushed furiously. “I wouldn’t want to be taken for a camp follower, Husband.” She looked away.

Her browned skin, her callused hands, were a symbol of all she’d suffered in their marriage. She was right. While the nobles knew that her father was the Duke of Lionn, the rough soldiers would likely treat her with impertinence. Neither of them could bear that.

“I will return to Izzt with Alix,” she said firmly, seeing the look in his eyes. “Before you go to battle, come and see us. I will wait for you, my husband. I will always wait for you.” She reached up and smoothed a lock of hair from his brow.

He wrestled with his feelings, with the conflict of wanting her to be near yet knowing he’d worry about her if she stayed. His focus would need to be on training soldiers anyway. In his mind, he recalled that quaint, idyllic cottage overlooking a lazy river, fields of vines, and a stubborn old castle that was all squares and bent angles. It was a peaceful, quiet place. He would like to imagine her being safe there while he fought the prince’s war.

Cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her mouth. All the chatter suddenly fell away. At first Alensson was puzzled—were the others watching them?—but then he realized the prince had returned.

Chatriyon’s countenance had completely transformed. All the calculation, defensiveness, and pride had been scoured away. He looked like a man stricken mute with wonder. The Maid was on his arm.

“This girl has spoken true,” the prince finally said, his voice quavering slightly. There was no other noise in the hall—all eyes were on him, all ears pricked to listen. Chatriyon swallowed, trying to bolster his courage. “I have seen a sign of the Fountain’s will. She is truly called to bless us. Be it known throughout my realm that the Fountain has chosen a maid as its instrument.”

The prince paused, glancing around the hall, surveying the courtiers who stood transfixed before him. Alensson did the same. Many of them looked doubtful, and some were shaking their heads. “I know that some of you doubt her,” the prince continued. “I know that many of you suspect her. My word will not be enough to satisfy you, so you will test her, Deconeus. In this hall, in front of these witnesses. Test her knowledge of the Fountain. Test her worthiness. Ask her whatever question you wish answered. Then she will be tested by a woman to prove she is a maid.” His eyes searched the hall before settling on Alensson and his wife. “The Duchess of La Marche will do it. Then the Maid will give us another sign that what she has said is true. You are all witnesses this day. You will all bear witness to the Fountain’s will. Occitania belongs to us, and we are intended to win her back with the sword. This maid has been chosen to lead us into battle against our enemies. Deconeus!”

Alensson squeezed his wife’s hand hard enough that she pulled it away and rubbed the soreness from it. He glanced at her apologetically and then watched as the deconeus shuffled forward.

“My lord prince,” the aging man said worriedly, pressing his wrinkled mouth and making his finger rings glitter. “I’ve had no time to prepare! Give me a moment to gather my thoughts.” Beads of sweat popped onto his brow amidst curls of graying hair.

The prince shook his head. “It must be done now, Deconeus. Test her knowledge! Use the rite of purging. Make her swear an oath by the Fountain.”

The deconeus wrung his hands. He had clearly not expected such a spectacle, especially after being so vocal in his warning about her. But he gathered himself together and approached the prince and the Maid.

Even though Genette was dressed plainly, and in men’s clothes, her presence was as forceful, as stiff and formal, as if she were a knight come to report to her ruler. She bowed respectfully to the old man.

“Tell me, child,” the deconeus said with a shaking voice, “what are the first words of scripture about the Deep Fathoms?”

It was highly unlikely that the peasant girl could read or had the means to procure a book to learn. But she met the deconeus’s gaze without flinching. “In the beginning was the word of power,” she recited. “And the earth was formless. It was void. Darkness lay over the Deep Fathoms. The water spirits moved upon the face of the waters. And the first word was spoken.”

The deconeus blanched. “Where did you learn that catechism, child?”

“The Fountain whispered it to me,” Genette replied. “It has taught me words of power.”

His brow crinkled with concern and fear. “Are you a Wizr?”

She shook her head. “I am not. The last true Wizr was imprisoned in a mound of boulders. I am not a Wizr. I am a Knight of the Fountain.”

“You are a knight?” he asked, perplexed. “Is it not forbidden for a woman to be a knight? Is it not written in the scriptures that only men are called to war?”

“Was not Diborra called to lead her people in ancient times?” the Maid answered sharply. “Was she not also a woman? I am called to deliver our people from their bondage to Ceredigion. Use the rite on me, Deconeus. I do not fear it. I am no water sprite. You will see.”