The Cup and the Crown (2 page)
“Don’t,” he said, getting up from the bench and going to stand by the pond. He stayed there, not speaking, for an age and more. Then he came back and sat down beside her again.
“It will not be an easy match to make,” he said. “When Princess Elizabetta was betrothed to my brother Edmund and came to Dethemere Castle in advance of the marriage, she was in the great hall that night, at my brother’s side—”
“I know all that, Alaric. For heaven’s sake, I was there.”
“Then you will understand that after witnessing the slaughter of my family, including my poor brother whom she was meant to marry—and at such close hand that she was spattered with his very blood—the princess will not look warmly on a match with another king of Westria.”
“I agree. It’s hopeless. So why not just choose someone else?”
“Because it must be her.”
“Oh, come now! She stole your heart in a single day? I know she’s beautiful; I saw her myself. But you can’t have exchanged a dozen words with the lady. How do you know she’s not a shrew, or stupid, or wicked?”
“Neither my heart nor her beauty has anything to do with it, Molly. The kingdom of Cortova controls the Southern Sea. I can’t afford to have them turn away from us and make an alliance elsewhere. And there’s been talk of a match with Prince Rupert, my cousin Reynard’s eldest son.”
“That little runt? He can’t be more than thirteen!”
“He’s fourteen, just two years younger than I; and where royal marriages are concerned, age doesn’t matter. If Rupert is matched with Elizabetta, it’ll be a disaster for us. Austlind is already allied to Erbano through Reynard’s marriage to Beatrice. If they combine with Cortova too, they’ll be so powerful, I fear we could not stand against them.
“So I must have an alliance with Cortova. To achieve that, I must wed the princess. And to wed the princess I must, as you so graciously put it, resort to enchantment
.
Is that clear?”
“As a mountain stream, my lord.”
“Good. Now, you’ll be going to a crafts town called Faers-Wigan, where your grandfather worked his trade. If one of his cups is still to be had, you should find it there. But I’m a little concerned—”
“—that I won’t be able to tell a true cup from a false one?”
He nodded. “There are a lot of dishonest traders who’ll be eager to make a sale, and they’ll claim—”
“I know. But they won’t fool me. I’ve been seeing the cup in my dreams this past month and more. I could describe it to you down to the finest detail.”
The king brightened upon hearing this. He trusted her magical gift, innocent of the dreadful price she’d paid for the knowledge it brought her. He didn’t know—because she’d never told him—how profoundly she dreaded those visions, which came to her unbidden, forcing her to look on unspeakable things. And he certainly couldn’t imagine that brash, bold, tough little Molly was haunted by the murder of her grandfather, which she’d witnessed in one of those visions, and the terrible fate of her gentle mother, locked up as a madwoman in a small, dim, noisome room till she was released by death—all because they shared the same magical gift that Molly now carried.
She gazed thoughtfully at the play of water in the pond, thinking not about the cup but the boy who held it: that face, with its straight nose and fine chin, those clear gray eyes, that dark, curly hair—it was like looking into a mirror. He was
herself
, had she been older and a boy.
It had to mean something—that uncanny resemblance, the nightly insistence of the vision. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if, just this once, it portended something good?
Best not to count on it, though.
THE WEATHER WAS PERFECT
for a journey: the cloudless sky a brilliant blue, the warm air sweet with the smell of clover, the road shaded by ancient plane trees, which rustled in the breeze. And overhead, a pair of ravens danced together—swooping in tandem, dipping and rising, floating on currents of air. It was as if they were joined by invisible strings.
“Look at that!” Molly said, craning her neck to watch. “See how they stay together so perfectly.”
“They’re courting,” Stephen said. “Ravens pair for life, you know.”
“Oh, I wish I could do that, just once!”
“Go a-courting?” asked Winifred with a wicked smile.
“
No
, you goose! Fly! I want to rise up into the clouds and float on the air.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” Stephen said.
They continued in silence, watching in fascination, listening to the birdsong in the meadows and trees and the soft plodding of the horses—all but Tobias, who stared down the road deep in thought.
When he and Molly had first met, he’d been the kitchen’s donkey boy, an unkempt, scruffy, troubled child of nine who’d just lost his family to the plague. She’d been the lowest of the scullions, an unkempt, scruffy, impetuous, mannerless child of seven who’d lost her mother to madness and her father to drink and disinterest. She’d told Tobias to wipe his nose and shut his mouth so people wouldn’t take him for a halfwit; he’d said she didn’t deserve to work at Dethemere Castle and probably wouldn’t last there a week.
They’d been inseparable ever since.
When, exactly, things had started to change, Tobias couldn’t quite remember. It came to him at odd moments, this sense that she was something more than a friend. There were times when he was gripped with a terrible foreboding that he might lose her someday, as he’d lost his family; and he knew he could not survive it. From this he understood that she’d become essential to his life.
There was a word for that, but he’d never spoken it. He was afraid to, and rightly so. That wasn’t how they related to each other. The most affectionate thing she’d ever said was “Don’t you die on me, Tobias! I couldn’t bear it.”
He’d wondered many a time whether she felt the same things he did but kept it close to her chest as was her nature. She hadn’t grown up with affection. It must seem strange to her. But was the thought of courting really such an outrage that she’d call Winifred a goose for even suggesting it?
“And what are
you
so glum about, prune-face?” Molly said. “On this beautiful day, when ravens are courting and we’re off on an adventure?”
“Nothing at all,” he said.
Just then a breeze kicked up and caught the brim of Molly’s hat—a disreputable-looking thing she’d bought from one of the gardeners—and sent it flying. Tobias, ever quick, caught it in midair and returned it to Molly with a bow from the waist. She smiled at him like an angel, then crammed it gracelessly back on her head.
And suddenly his dejection vanished.
Of course
she loved him, in her own strange way, and that was more than enough. Indeed, he wondered, in a surge of emotion, if one day, looking back on his life as an old man, he’d choose this moment to have been the happiest of all, the time when he felt the most hopeful and at peace with the world.
As the days passed, the landscape began to change. The air grew cooler and pines began to replace the plane trees, the chestnuts, and the oaks. In the distance were great, rugged mountains, half shrouded in mist. And then, shortly before sunrise on their sixth day, they crossed the border into Austlind.
Only then did Mayhew announce the change of plans.
They would not be taking the common route that skirted the mountains, winding through the southern foothills before turning north again. Instead, they’d cut directly across the range through a narrow mountain pass. The road was rarely used, being steep and in poor repair; but if they rode hard before the climbing began, they might reach Faers-Wigan by nightfall.
This was contrary to Alaric’s explicit instructions. And considering all the precautions they’d taken against being robbed—dressing as common folk, hiding the king’s gold in many secret compartments—it seemed odd to choose the very sort of lonely road where thieves were most likely to be lurking. But no one dared argue with Mayhew, not even Molly.
The short route it would be, then.
Around midmorning they left the broad highway, crossed the river, and continued north and east on a narrow horse path. Trees, tall grass, and scrub grew thickly on both sides, encroaching on the roadway. Here and there potholes, fit to break a horse’s leg, were hidden by the undergrowth. Mayhew reined in his horse and they proceeded at a walk.
Above them a raven circled, riding the warm updraft of air. “He’s following us,” Tobias said.
“
Leading
us, more like,” said Winifred. “He flies straight along the path till he gets too far ahead, then he circles back over us, like now.”
Stephen laughed. “The countryside is full of ravens, and they all look exactly the same.”
“No,” Molly said. “Winifred’s right. I’ve been watching him too, and it’s the same bird, no question.”
Stephen shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
“Our raven guide,” Molly muttered to herself, pleased with the image.
Before long the path began to rise. In places it was too narrow even for two to ride abreast, so they formed a single file and continued at a walk so as not to overtax the horses on the steep incline.
Mayhew looked back to see how it had fallen out. Molly was close behind him, followed by Tobias, then Winifred, with Stephen taking the rear. He would rather have had Tobias in back—for though the boy had no apparent skill with a sword, he was tall, strong, and probably quick, while Stephen was none of those things. But it would take time to stop and rearrange the order, so he let it go.
That was a mistake. And he compounded it by failing to notice how much stronger his mount was than the others. It might not look like a warhorse, but that’s what it was. And so, as the way twisted and turned through the steep and rocky terrain, the space between them grew, particularly a gap between Tobias and Winifred, who’d stopped to pull out her cloak.
The thief had been hiding in the wilderness since escaping from prison, living off the land and waiting for someone to pass on that godforsaken road. Now the moment had arrived, bringing with it the chance to get both money and a horse. He might lose his life in the attempt, but that would be better than dying of starvation in the woods.
The girl would be easy. The only problem was the man behind her. He was armed, though the sword was probably just for show. There was a softness about him that was telling; he wouldn’t put up much of a fight.
The man in the lead, though, he was a knight for sure. The thief would have to work fast before he could ride back to the rescue. But it was doable: he’d just have to take the little fellow by surprise, knock him off his horse, grab his purse, then leap into the saddle and ride like the devil. By the time the girl had finished screaming and the knight had made his way back—working his way around the girl and the boy in the middle—the thief would have disappeared.
He knew the woods now, and the hiding places.
Winifred was just fastening her cloak—Stephen watching uneasily, aware of the growing space between her and Tobias—when the raven came swooping down and gave a loud, anxious cry. It was a warning, Stephen was sure of it; but when he looked around, he saw nothing.
That was because the thief had come in from behind and was hiding under the horse’s rump. Now, still crouching down, he reached up and grabbed the hem of Stephen’s cloak. Yanking hard, he pulled him out of the saddle. But Stephen’s left foot caught in the stirrup, and the terrified horse danced away to the right, trying to free itself of this unnatural burden. Winifred screamed.
The thief decided to leave the man dangling where he was and take the girl’s horse instead. But she proved more quick-witted than expected. She gave her mount a vicious kick and darted out of his reach, crying “Help, help!” and nearly colliding with the tall boy who’d already turned back.
There was still a chance to get what he wanted if he acted fast. He easily cut the purse from his victim’s belt; now all he had to do was get the boot out of the stirrup. But it wouldn’t come; the weight of the man’s inert body was holding it in place. The thief had just decided to cut his losses and run—at least he had the purse, and with all the trees and underbrush, they couldn’t follow him on horseback—when the tall boy came thundering in and leaped out of the saddle, dagger at the ready.
It wasn’t even a contest. By the time Mayhew arrived and made a more practiced leap from his mount, Tobias had the man pinned to the ground, the knife at his throat.
“Move,” Mayhew said, pulling Tobias roughly away by the collar and dispatching the thief with a single slash of his sword. Then, once he’d satisfied himself that Stephen was all right, he grabbed hold of the dead man’s feet and started dragging the body away.
“What are you doing?” Tobias asked.
“What does it look like?”
As there was no obvious response to that question, Tobias didn’t give one; but it was plain that Mayhew wasn’t simply clearing the road. He was hauling the corpse into the forest.
“But we can’t just leave him there,” Molly said when Mayhew returned alone. “Shouldn’t we give the hue and cry?”
He stared at her, incredulous.
“That’s the law,” Tobias said.
“All right. And who, pray tell, will hear our hue and cry? That blasted raven there? Perhaps we should turn back and ride to the nearest town—we might get there by nightfall—and see if they want to send a coroner up here to determine the cause of death, then carry the body back down the mountain so they can dump it into a pauper’s grave.”
“I see your point,” Molly said.
THE GOLDSMITHS’ GUILD
had the largest and grandest trade hall in Faers-Wigan. It looked more like a palace than a business establishment, with floors of marble, walls hung with tapestries, and torch stands plated with gold. The building served as a gathering place for the members of the guild—goldsmiths and silversmiths alike—and held offices for its many officials.
