Crown of Three (25 page)

He held on to the anger, using it to beat down his fear. How had it come to this? How had he been so stupid as to follow that lying soldier?

It wasn't important. What was done was done. Only one thing mattered now.

Escape.

W
hat's wrong, Princess?” said Palenie.

“Nothing,” Elodie replied.

“But you look uncomfortable. Is there something wrong with the saddle?”

“I'm fine!”

Elodie gave her horse—a sleek gray stallion called Discus—a gentle kick, urging him forward. Palenie was right, she was uncomfortable, but it wasn't her saddle or even the itchy green tunic that was bothering her. She glanced around at the Trident column.

I ought to feel pleased about all this.

Elodie knew she should be happy to be on horseback again. Back at Castle Vicerin, she'd loved riding the high-shouldered Ritherlee horses around the castle grounds.

She knew she should be honored to have a place at the front of the column, riding just behind Fessan as he led the rebels west through the Weeping Woods.

She supposed she should be excited about the coming battle, despite her lack of training. Every step took them closer to the Idilliam Bridge and her brother.

Elodie knew all these things but could do nothing about them. All she could think of was Samial and what she'd learned in the woods.

I can talk to the dead
, she thought with a shiver.

Set against this knowledge, nothing else seemed to matter.

Palenie quickened her horse's pace too, until she drew level with Elodie again. They rode together in silence for a while, before Palenie finally spoke.

“We'll be passing close to my home soon,” she said.

“Oh.”

Palenie pointed. “It's over there, in western Isur. Just a little village, but it's so pretty. There's a huge chestnut tree in the middle where we have dances and music. . . .” She threw Elodie an anxious glance. “One day, when all this is over, I could show you.”

Elodie stirred herself. Palenie was clearly trying to cheer her up and the effort touched her.

“I'd love that,” she said. Lowering her voice, she added, “Thank you, Palenie.”

“What for?”

“For being here. For not telling anyone about . . . you know.”

Palenie's cheeks flushed. “I'll always keep your secrets. But if you do decide to tell people, they won't think it's terrible. They'll think it's powerful and wonderful. I know I do.”

“Really?” Elodie smiled at her.
I still have one friend with me
, she thought.

At the head of the column, Fessan raised his hand. The long line of horses, wagons, and foot-weary swordsmen slowed. Elodie stood up in her saddle and looked around.

They'd reached the outskirts of what had once been a village nestled in the woods. Now it was a random scattering of burned and broken huts. The trees overlooking the wreckage were charred black and devoid of leaves. The ground was littered with bodies.

“The war,” said Palenie.

“I never thought I'd see something like this.” Elodie surveyed the carnage with barely contained horror. “I mean, I've read about what happens in war. . . .” Her voice trailed away as her eyes fell on a cluster of corpses lying beneath a dead beech tree. Two were tiny—just infants. The third was a woman, her blackened arms draped over her babies. A mother, trying to protect her family even as they burned.

There was sudden movement behind one of the ruined buildings. Palenie's hand dropped instantly to her sword. Her whole body tense, Elodie tried to draw hers, but the hilt caught in the scabbard and the blade jammed fast.

She relaxed when she saw a small group of children coming toward them. They ran past Fessan and his pathfinders to crowd around Elodie's horse. Their upturned faces were filthy and filled with joy.

“The queen!” they shouted. “The queen is here! She's here!”

Elodie couldn't help but smile. “How do you do?” she replied. Then she whispered to Palenie: “How do they know who I am?”

Palenie was smiling too. “News travels.”

A crowd awaited them in the small village square. When the Trident column arrived, they raised a ragged cheer. The people had gathered before the only building left intact: a forge, from the eaves of which hung iron horseshoes and farming tools.

The building where they make fire
, Elodie thought,
and the only one that didn't burn.

A woman rushed up to Elodie carrying a garland of flowers. Elodie leaned forward in the saddle and dipped her head so the woman could place the garland around her neck. She inhaled, allowing its scent to mask the lingering aroma of charred wood and burned flesh. The flowers reminded her of Ritherlee.

“You bring us hope of better times,” said the woman, squeezing Elodie's hand. Her eyes shone. “It's all we have now. But it's enough. You're all we need, my queen.”

“Who did this?” said Elodie. She was aware that she was being watched: by the villagers, by the men and women of Trident. By Fessan.

“King Nynus,” the woman replied. “His soldiers, I mean. He won't leave Idilliam himself, they say.”

“He must be brought down!” shouted a man from the crowd in front of the temple. “The signs have been hanging in plain sight these past thirteen years. Surely now the time has come.”

“Aye,” added the woman. “The three stars.”

Whispered words rippled through the throng: “The prophecy . . . the prophecy . . .”

“You are one of them,” the woman went on. “One of the three. Are you going to Idilliam to take the throne? Do the others await you there? Will you bring us peace? We've lost so much, so much. . . .”

She was crying openly now. Her grip on Elodie's hand had tightened uncomfortably. Elodie endured the pain. Far more distressing was the immense weight she felt pressing down on her shoulders.

“I will take the throne,” she said, not knowing if it was what she wanted to say or simply what the woman wanted to hear. “I will take it soon. You will all be safe again. I promise.”

“Thank you,” the woman cried. “Thank you, my queen!”

They passed through the village to the mingled sounds of cheering. Children ran beside the horses, waving rags and burned leaves as if they were flags. Many people fell to their knees as Elodie passed, hands clasped to their breasts, their faces hopeful and happy.

“You see?” said Palenie with a smile as they turned onto the wide dirt track that led away from the village through the steadily thinning woods. “They already love you.”

This wasn't how Elodie had imagined greeting her people. Her daydreams had always been set in a glittering balcony, from which she in a flowing gown waved to a rapturous crowd. This muddy track and the dirty faces around her couldn't have been more different, yet a glow of pride filled her—and the desire to protect.
When I'm queen I will rebuild all this
, she thought fiercely.
They will want for nothing.

“Princess Elodie!” It was Fessan, calling from the head of the column. She trotted her horse up to meet him, conscious of the stress he'd place on the word “princess.”

“Stay close to me now,” he said. “I did not expect news of our march to spread so quickly.”

“They were pleased to see us,” Elodie pointed out.

“Yes. But not everyone will feel the same.”

  •  •  •  

It was nearly evening when the Trident column reached a wooden bridge crossing a deep stream. A crowd of perhaps fifty people had gathered at the end of it; they seemed to be waiting for them.

To Elodie's surprise, Fessan didn't slow his pace as the procession drew near to the bridge. Instead, he sent outriders galloping ahead and spurred his horse to a trot.

“What's he doing?” said Elodie.

“The crown holds strong here,” said Palenie. She drew her sword.

Now they were close enough for Elodie to see the faces of the people awaiting them. Most of them looked angry. A chant rose up as the outriders raced toward them:

“One true king! One true king!”

The front line of the crowd raised rakes and other farm implements to block the outriders' path. One or two even had swords. For a moment, Elodie thought the outriders would crash straight through them nonetheless. Her heart leaped into her mouth. But at the last moment, they turned aside.

“All right,” muttered Fessan. “If they won't clear the bridge, we do this the hard way.” He turned to the column. “Re-form!” he shouted. “Palenie, take the front!”

Jeering, several people dashed out of the crowd, throwing cabbages and rotten fruit at them as their horses wheeled and reared. Fessan barked commands, restoring order and driving the column toward the bridge. He himself dropped back to Elodie's side.

“Stay close!” he told her.

The outriders took up flanking positions on Elodie's sides, creating a protective box made of horses and armed men. Close by was Rotho, balanced expertly on a huge black charger, sword in hand. Meanwhile, Palenie's horse had carried her to the head of the line. She held her sword high over her head, the blade glinting in the midday sun.

The column met the crowd. The angry people in the front row stood firm until the last moment, red-faced and yelling. Only when they faced a choice of moving or being trampled did they throw themselves aside. Some were not quick enough; Elodie winced as she heard their screams. Palenie led the column straight through the middle of the horde and onto the bridge. The thudding of hooves on the wooden deck sounded like war drums.

Then Elodie was among the crowd herself. Fessan and his men elbowed people away, or knocked them back with their swords. Rotho urged his great horse onto its hind legs, sending the mob reeling from its thrashing hooves. Still Elodie felt trapped and jostled. Angry faces screamed insults at her. Arms flailed, hurling putrid tomatoes and stinking greens. Something struck the side of her head, pouring down in a trail of slime. Shocked, she put a hand to her hair and found a broken egg.

Rotho gave a cry of anger. “Dare you to insult your queen?” He spun his horse at a man clutching another egg, and with a whirl of his blade, knocked it from his hand. The man turned and fled.

As Elodie wiped her hair, someone laughed. Somehow, this was far worse than being hit. She whirled in her saddle, only to see the grinning face of Stown, riding close behind.

“Enjoying your first taste of battle?” he said.

“I thought you'd be skulking at the back,” Elodie retorted.

“What, and miss all the fun?”

Furious, Elodie faced forward again. Wasn't it enough to have enemies outside Trident?

“Go back!” yelled a woman from the mob.

“Any farther, you'll regret it!” cried another.

“Don't let the usurper girl pass!” a man chanted, over and over again.

“Listen to my warning!” This came from a young man with a shock of white hair running alongside the column, forcing his way through the crowd just like the trotting horses. “We know of you and your triplet kin. If any of you try to take the throne, blood will flow. Hear me now! Turn back!”

Fessan raised his sword. Elodie's heart shrank with horror. She knew violence would have to be done to take the throne, but surely it needn't be today? By striking the young man down, Fessan would just be proving his warning true.

“No, Fessan! Spare him!” she cried. Suddenly she was seeing not just a man and a sword but a village filled with burned bodies, a kingdom littered with corpses. An entire world at war.

Fessan swung his arm, leading not with his weapon's metal edge but with his elbow. Knocking the white-haired man aside, he sheathed his weapon and rode on. The column flowed over the bridge, and soon the stream, the bridge, and the crowd were dwindling behind them as the woods thinned and they galloped out into rolling meadow.

Had Fessan heard her plea? Elodie didn't know. All that mattered was that the fighting she knew would come had been postponed—for now.

  •  •  •  

That night they camped in the lee of a steep hill thick with juniper bushes. Elodie lay shivering in the tent she shared with Palenie. She could hear her friend's breath rise and fall with sleep, her long, red hair spread out in an inky shadow in the darkness. But sleep eluded Elodie. Too many thoughts filled her head—about Samial, about her brothers, about what might lie ahead. Giving up, she fumbled for where Palenie had dropped her huge bearskin cloak in a corner, wrapped it around herself, and stole out of the tent.

The cold air made her draw a sharp breath. She pulled up the tooth-fringed hood and wandered the camp until she reached the temporary corral containing the horses. She found Discus and gave him the apple she'd brought. He munched it eagerly, then nuzzled her. She pressed her forehead against his nose; then, resting her hand against the warm pulse of his neck, she gazed up at the night sky.