The Maid's War (Kingfountain 0.5)

“You’re grimacing,” Jeremy said, twisting strands of his graying beard, shaking his head, and peering over his shoulder. “Ill news, my lord?”

Alensson sighed. It had been two months since the king had separated him from Genette. She’d been sent to take a town that showed no sign of surrendering. It was too fortified to assault without siege weapons, not that Chatriyon had bothered to supply her with any, but she had gone willingly enough. In other words, he’d sent her to kick against a stump while his negotiations with Brugia progressed. Maybe Chatriyon had sent Alensson to La Marche to get him out of the way as well, but at least his duty was more enjoyable—after all, he had been sanctioned to be a thorn in Deford’s side. He had stayed on the move, stopping to strike at a garrison for two days before slinking away and hitting another, making Deford chase him all the while. The king had expressly forbidden him the battlefield victory he craved, but the duke honestly didn’t think he would win without the Maid helping him. He’d written letters begging the king to send her to La Marche to help him. She’d wanted to come. But Chatriyon had remained implacable. Now the situation had finally come to a head, and he would have to make a decision—one that would define him for the rest of his life.

He remembered that Jeremy had asked him a question, and he let out a pent-up breath. “I received a letter from Genette,” he said gruffly. “Before I knew her, she couldn’t write her own name. Now look.” He waved the letter. “She’s not just dictating letters to a scribe. This is her own handwriting.”

“What does she say?” Jeremy asked. “Is she still hammering fruitlessly at Compenne?”

“No,” Alensson said, shaking his head. “She abandoned it.”

“Really? Where is she now?”

“She’s heading to Shanton.”

Jeremy’s brow wrinkled. “The border city? Why there?”

Alensson rolled up the letter and stuffed it into his saddlebag. “I learned from her that Chatriyon is giving that city to the King of Brugia.” He frowned with resentment. “Obviously His Majesty didn’t see fit to consult with me on the matter. Giving Brugia a foothold in Occitania is dangerous. If you let the wolf’s snout inside the henhouse, he’ll soon be eating the hens.”

Jeremy chuffed loudly and in surprise. “I truly didn’t believe the king would be such a fool. But why is the Maid heading there?”

Alensson smiled ruefully. “Because the city of Shanton isn’t keen on being surrendered to the Brugian army. They’re holding out, and they asked the Maid to come help them.”

“They asked her to defy the king?”

He gave his captain a knowing look. “She says she’s obeying the will of the Fountain. She bids me to join her in preventing Brugia from taking over. Apparently they’ve sent a strong force to threaten the mayor of the city. She sent this message six days ago, so she’s probably already there.”

Jeremy’s brow wrinkled with concern. “And what are you going to do, my lord? The king wants you here to keep the pressure on Deford. I don’t care how accomplished the man is, fighting three fronts at once would cause anyone grief. Surely Deford doesn’t want Brugia intervening.”

“Of course not,” Alensson said, rising and beginning to pace. “Remember that Brugia and Ceredigion are currently allies, bound by marriage. King Philip must tread carefully, because if he provokes Deford too much, he’ll get invaded himself.”

“And Ceredigion controls the Brugian city of Callait, does it not?”

“Indeed. They have a foothold. And there’s another reason why it would be foolish to give Philip one with us. What if he’s deceiving Chatriyon? What if the foothold is a pretext to help Ceredigion? It could be disastrous for them to have a fortress inside our realm. I can see why Genette is so upset. She called the king a few . . . unflattering names in her letter.” He grinned as he recalled them.

“How fares your wife?” Jeremy asked after another moment’s pause. “The babe is due before the winter, aye? Or was it spring?”

“The spring,” Alensson said.

That opened up another festering sore inside him. It must have shown on his face, for Jeremy said, “Is she not well?”

“It’s been a difficult pregnancy thus far,” Alensson said, continuing to pace. He clenched his fist, wishing he could punch something. He hated being so far away from his wife, especially since he knew how much she suffered. He knew his decisions affected not only himself but also Jianne and their unborn child. It was a torturous position to be in. “She can hardly keep any food down. She says this is normal, but she’s suffering and lacking the comforts her station deserves.”

“Is she still in Lionn? Surely her uncle’s attending to her needs?”

Alensson shook his head. “No, Lord Hext is at Shynom trying to negotiate his brother’s release from prison in Ceredigion. She went back to her cottage in Izzt.” He ground his teeth with frustration. “Would I were there instead. But what could I do? I’m no nurse, no midwife. I’ll go back for the winter months, and she says she’s content to wait until then.” He let out his breath, feeling torn and conflicted. Genette wanted him at Shanton. The king wanted him to stay in La Marche. His wife needed him. What was he to do?

Jeremy rose from his bench. “I’ll give you time to think about your answer then. Your men will follow you no matter where you lead them. Maybe it’s time we attacked the palace of Kingfountain, eh?” He chuckled softly. “That would surprise them.”

“Indeed,” laughed Alensson. “As you said, my mind is in turmoil. Grant me some time to ponder the dilemma before I give orders for the morrow.”