The Maid's War (Kingfountain 0.5)

“So you are saying that Lewis is only pretending he will negotiate peace terms with Eredur in order to assassinate him?”

“Yes, my dear. That is precisely what I am saying. Eredur thinks he came to fight a battle. I assure you that Lewis has no intention of fighting a battle. He knows his history, Ankarette. He knows about Azinkeep, Vernay, and Pree. He knows the costs of losing. And Eredur has a fearsome reputation on the battlefield. One side is playing Wizr. The other side is playing with wooden staves. There are two different games going on. Best you know this. Best you realize what’s truly happening.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Ankarette said. “I hadn’t known that bit about the betrayal of Brugia.”

“Not many remember the past.” His breath was coming in ragged pants now and she hoped they reached the safety of her king’s army soon. He would be such an asset to Ceredigion, and she really thought Eredur would like him. He would be a great addition to the king’s council. If he survived that long. The Maid’s prophecy about his death rattled her. She glanced backward, hopeful she wouldn’t see anyone yet.

“Do you have any . . . further questions for me?” Alensson huffed. Another whistle came from the right. The enemy was getting closer.

“Let me see if I can lay it out,” Ankarette said, searching the woods. She caught a shiver of movement—a man ducking behind a tree behind them. He was trailing them from a distance. She considered the possibility of doubling back to kill him, but she didn’t dare leave the duke unguarded. “The last time you saw the Maid’s sword was when you threw it at that man’s back, wasn’t it? The soldier who was fleeing from you. There was no sword on the scene, which means Genette took it somewhere. Do you think she hid it in the ice cave?”

“Possibly,” came the answer. “I have never been able to prove it, for I never returned to the North.”

Ankarette nodded. “So you don’t believe that Lewis has it. He allows people to believe he does, but it’s likely a bluff.”

“Indeed. He’s quite good at those.”

“You were carried off the mountain with the corpses in a wagon. No one bothered to check if you were alive. And no one guards a wagon of corpses. You slipped away the first chance you got.”

“You are a crafty lass, Ankarette. So far, you are right.”

“And since Genette disguised you as one of the king’s soldiers, you had no trouble making it back to the borders. You returned to the cottage as quickly as you could. Had your wife delivered the baby yet?”

He let out a deep, ragged breath. “I was not there when she first went into early labor. Alix stayed by her side. I arrived just before it was over. The babe was stillborn, as you know.” His voice softened as he spoke the words. “Jianne was so weak, so heartsick, that she died a month later. Alix pleaded with tears for her to hold on, to come back to us. I was her nurse, her constant companion. She said she had to leave us, to be with the child. She told me she understood why I had left. And then . . . she was gone.” His voice was a mere whisper at the end.

The poignant recollection throbbed in Ankarette’s heart. She was a midwife herself and knew some of the remedies that could have sustained Alensson’s wife. But even the surest remedies wouldn’t work if someone was determined to fade.

“You never remarried,” Ankarette said, struggling to find her voice.

He looked back at her. “I did.”

She gave him a startled look.

“You must understand, Ankarette. It is the privilege of a king to decide whom his nobles will marry. Even though I was penniless. Even though I was scarred by the ordeals of my life, Chatriyon arranged for me to marry the daughter of one of his sycophants. Someone to keep an eye on me. It was not a pleasant memory, and I was not a good husband. To be honest with you, I was quite bitter during those years. But we had no children. And when she died, I was considered too old to sire an heir. I could not stand being in Chatriyon’s court.” He stumbled on a tree root and caught himself on a trunk. Sweat trickled down his cheeks. His strength was flagging, but they were so close. Ankarette thought she could hear the rushing water of the Sienna River.

“Do you need to rest?” she asked him, coming close and putting her hand on his back.

He shook his head and limped onward. “No. I am sturdy. We’re almost there.”

“I’ve heard that Chatriyon’s court became rather . . . debauched,” Ankarette said knowingly.

“Yes, you could say that. Remember how the Maid’s presence inspired a higher degree of morality? After her death, it was as if Chatriyon descended into a bleak frame of thinking. His turn was sudden, though, you have that right. It was not a gradual descent. The peace negotiations with Ceredigion lasted for years. Deford’s wife was poisoned and he remarried a pretty young lass. Your queen’s mother, as we discussed. They didn’t have any children, so the duchy was passed to the Kiskaddon family as a reward. They became loyal to Eredur when he won the throne, so he allowed them to keep it. They call it Westmarch, but in my mind it will always be La Marche. And it will always be mine. Do you think Eredur will . . . ? Well, it’s best not to hope.”

Ankarette heard more snapping of wood and saw flashes of color from uniforms. The noose was beginning to tighten.

“We’re not going to make it, are we?” Alensson asked in a low voice.

Ankarette’s skin prickled with unease. “We may have to fight our way to freedom. But I will see you safely to Eredur.”

“It’s me they’re after,” Alensson said. “Somehow, they always find me. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Ankarette. You are a wise soul. I’ve looked forward to meeting you for many years now. Genette saw you in her visions. That should make you feel special, I hope.”

“It does indeed,” Ankarette said. “But don’t despair. I’m not out of tricks yet.”

“La Marche!”

The voice rang through the trees behind them.

When they turned, they saw a knight advancing wearing black armor. He had a chest under one arm and a sword in his other hand. As soon as Ankarette saw him, she felt a shuddering sensation—as if a stone boulder were grinding against the ground. It made her dizzy, and her vision went blurry.

“I’m sorry,” Alensson whispered to her. “You did your best. But you must survive this fight.”

And then he shoved her into the ravine.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Secrets of the Grave





Ankarette struck the bottom of the ravine, cushioned by mud and the sluggish, murky waters. She hadn’t anticipated Alensson’s action and had been mentally preparing to engage the black knight. As she began scrabbling back up the side of the scrub-choked hill, she heard a quick exchange of voices. Her soaked, muddy gown clung to her in ways that hampered her movements.

“You’ve stolen away for the last time, La Marche,” said an angered, vengeful voice. “The king will not pardon your treachery this time. He bids me to kill thee, and I relish the command.”