The Maid's War (Kingfountain 0.5)

“It’s not ready yet, but it will be finished in time for Lionn,” she answered. There was a boy of twelve at the door of the tent, her page assigned to her by the prince’s own household. He was a tawny-haired lad who brought her meals and helped run errands for her. His name was Brendin.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Alensson said, nodding first to the boy and then to Genette. “I think I’m too tired to eat.” He started toward his tent, which had been pitched within sight of hers. He noticed a woman lurking in the shadows next to his tent. A suspicion began to form in his mind when he heard Genette’s voice calling him.

“Gentle duke.”

He stopped and looked back at her. She was staring at his tent, not at him, and a frown had stolen across her face. Motioning for the page to follow her, she walked fiercely toward Alensson’s tent.

“What is it?” he asked, but she brushed past him. Hands on his hips, he stared at her in confusion.

But Genette did not even pause—she walked right up to the woman loitering by the tent and seized her arm. He had never seen her before, but it was clear she was a camp follower.

“Out! Get out of this camp! Be gone!” Genette shouted.

The woman’s gaze blazed with hatred as she glared at Genette, struggling to remain in the shadows as she tried to back away from the tent. The commotion brought attention from all corners as the soldiers fixing their meals stopped mid-action and began to gawk.

Alensson’s eyes bulged as the Maid unsheathed the sword Firebos. The woman began to cower and free herself from Genette’s firm grasp.

There was fire in the Maid’s eyes. Suddenly, she swung the flat of the blade against the girl’s rump, causing her to yelp and squeal. “Out! All of you! Out! I will go tent to tent. If I find one of you here in the morning, I will thrash her in front of the rest of you! This is the Fountain’s army! It bids me purge it! Be gone! Seek your coin doing more honest work. Out!” She whacked the woman again as she scrambled to flee.

It caused an uproar throughout the camp, for the Maid began searching tent after tent, fulfilling her promise. Within the hour, all of the camp followers had packed up and fled, much to the chagrin and consternation of most of the soldiers. But no one dared bring a girl back that night, not even the nobles.

Word spread that the Fountain had spoken to the Maid again, whispering which tents the girls would be in, and no one wanted to be the one caught in the act of defying her, even if they didn’t believe she was sent from the Fountain.

It was dark when Genette finally returned to her tent with Brendin, who carried the garments and articles left behind by the strumpets. Alensson, holding a bowl of camp stew, looked at her in admiration. She paused before going into her tent.

“No one will take your wife’s place at your side,” she told him, glancing at him. “I will watch over you, Alen. Until she returns to you.”





CHAPTER TEN

The Maid's Fury





A change came over the royal army that night. It was noticeable the next day as the soldiers rose from their sleeping mats and tents. There was normally a commotion of grumbling and jibes, but the camp was unusually quiet. It became even more so as the Maid turned her will toward her next mission: tackling the cursing in the camp. Whenever she passed a man who let out an oath or swore because of pain or pretense, she quickly rebuked him—even if the man in question was older than her father—and admonished him to cease profaning. And the men obeyed her—some grudgingly, some shamefully, but they still obeyed her.

The soldiers drilled. They marched. They mended armor, fixed the nicks in their swords, battle axes, and spears. All the while, Genette the Maid, as they began to call her, sewed her banner with fleurs-de-lis, flowers shaped like decorated fountains.

It had taken the prince several weeks after her miraculous demonstration in court to gather the army together in one place. One afternoon, a few days into the army’s transformation, Alensson inspected the supply wagons and consulted with the local captain about the food provisions they’d need, to relieve the siege at Lionn. The captain thought it would take another month, perhaps two, to break the will of the Ceredigion defenders. A two-month siege would require nearly double the rations they had, so Alensson went to the command pavilion of Earl Doone to seek the counsel of the lord. He was surprised to find Genette there, in her armor, dictating a letter.

“Withdraw, or I will compel you to. I am the Maid and thus the Fountain bids me.”

“What is this?” Alensson whispered to her young squire.

The squire was gawking at his mistress, her hair freshly washed, her cheeks slightly flushed from her excited manner of speaking. In the days that had followed the incident at Alensson’s tent, her demeanor had shifted from peasant to nobility, as if she had commanded servants all her life.

“Read it back to me,” she demanded of the scribe, Doone’s man, who looked at her as if she were some madwoman.

“Do it,” Doone said, giving Alensson a nod that spoke of his bewilderment.

The scribe cleared this throat and pushed his spectacles higher up his nose. “Ahem. ‘To the Duke of Deford. To Lord Scales and Lord Tenby. To Lord Ashe. Greetings to you, lords of Ceredigion. In the name of the Fountain and the true king of Occitania, I—Genette the Maid—order you to abandon the cities you unrighteously hold.’ ” He paused, tapping his cheek with the quill. “That is not a proper word . . .” he added sheepishly.

“Keep reading!” Genette snapped.

“Very well, ahem, ‘I implore you, on fear for your life and lands, on the lives and duties which you hold to your wives and your children, that you withdraw immediately from Lionn and all the towns up to the river Argent. If you do not, I will attack you and drive you out, and much blood will be shed. You have usurped the rights of Occitania, which displeases the Fountain. Withdraw, or I will compel you to. I am the Maid and thus the Fountain bids me.’ ”

The scribe lowered his head, looking at her from above his spectacles. “Is that all?”

“Send a herald to Lionn and have this delivered to the garrison captain, Lord Tenby.”

Earl Doone stared at her agape. “You’re going to warn them we’re coming?”

“Of course,” Genette said, full of confidence. “We must give them a chance to leave before we attack.”

“But telling them defeats the advantage of surprise. No doubt their spies have watched our army growing. They know we’re going to attack, but they do not yet know where.” He looked at Alensson for support, gesturing for him to speak up.

Alensson looked into Doone’s eyes. “I see no harm in her strategy.”

“You too?” Doone’s tone was full of accusation. “After what you did at Vernay, I was expecting something more subtle!”

Alensson raised his eyebrows. “Do you think they will believe we are coming to attack them when we say we are? Might they not consider it a ruse?”