Crown of Three (16 page)

E
lodie wandered between the tents, her head tilted back, staring up at the morning sky. The clouds hung low over the forest clearing, corking it like a bottle. She felt trapped.

She'd lain awake most of the night, fretting about her decision to stay in the Trident camp. Was it the right thing to do? It didn't seem like she had any choice. And it was such a long way from home.

Yet when she thought about Castle Vicerin, and the courtly world she'd grown up in, that didn't feel like home either. Not anymore. Surrounded by the darkness, cold and alone, she felt a sob swelling within her. She clasped her hands to her chest and pressed tight, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

And if I start crying
, she thought,
I might never stop.

Just before dawn, Palenie had risen, telling Elodie as she left the tent that breakfast wouldn't wait. The princess had remained curled up on the hard ground beneath her rough fur blankets, feigning sleep. Now, as she walked empty-bellied through the dew-soaked grass, she wished she'd had the sense to eat.

The green tunic she'd put on was tight and ill-fitting. She had no choice but to wear it: during the night, her dress had been taken.
It had better come back mended
, she thought, fiddling with the laces on her tunic,
or someone's going to be sorry.

As she emerged into one of the open spaces between the tents, Elodie heard a cheer, accompanied by the loud clashing of metal against metal. Directly in front of her, a crowd of people was gathered around two men sparring with short swords. The combatants drove each other first this way, then that, grunting every time the weapon of one struck the shield of the other.

After a moment, they stopped, and a ripple of applause went around the watching crowd. The swordsmen pulled off the helmets that had been covering their faces. Elodie saw that one was an older man with a grizzled beard. The other wasn't a man at all; it was Palenie.

“Ah, there you are,” Palenie said, knuckling sweat from her eyes. “You're just in time. It's your turn next.”

“I don't think so,” said Elodie.

“It's valuable training,” Palenie said. “I think you'll be good at it.”

“I'd rather not.”

The bearded man hawked up a gobbet of saliva and spat it over his shoulder. “So, you want the crown?” he said.

“Yes,” said Elodie, drawing herself up to her full height. “Of course. It's mine.”

“And you really think Fessan can get it for you?”

Elodie realized that this must be the man she'd overheard complaining as she left camp. “Who says I want any of you fighting for me?”

“Hah! If it comes to battle, it's me you'll want in charge. Trust me, Princess.”

A squat man seated at a grindstone nearby snorted. “Ah, shut up, Stown. No one wants to hear it.” He was sharpening swords, and broke off long enough to jerk his hand in an obscene gesture.

Palenie was still looking at her. “Well, Princess?” she said. “Will you let me teach you?”

A hush descended as the watching assembly waited to hear her reply.

Stown hawked and spat again, then grinned at Elodie.

“You're a disgusting pig,” she told him icily. “I wouldn't put you in charge of an outhouse, never mind a battle. And I can think of a thousand things I'd rather do than play fight here.”

Palenie came toward her, her brown eyes wide with concern, but Elodie turned away. She marched into the trees, keeping her head held high. Shouts erupted behind her, along with a jeer she guessed must have been Stown.
Who cares what any of them think!
Nevertheless, her eyes were stinging. These people said they were fighting for her, but only Palenie actually seemed to like her.
And I bet it's just because Fessan told her to be nice
, she thought bitterly. Still, she knew someone who treated her properly.

The instant she passed into the Weeping Woods, she felt a welcome calmness descend. Even when the whispering began, she didn't mind as much as usual. It was better than being in the camp, at least.

The voices murmured around her as she picked her way through the thick bracken, ducked under reaching branches, and jumped over moss-filled gullies, all the while heading deeper and deeper into the woods.

Scrambling over a low ridge, Elodie found her way blocked by a large boulder. Had she come this way last time? She couldn't remember.

“Don't get lost, little one,” hissed a voice in her ear.

“Be quiet,” she snapped back.

Looking closer, she saw the obstacle wasn't a boulder at all but an ancient carriage. It was half-buried, almost completely covered in trailing ivy and pale patches of fungus. She could just make out a shattered wheel and some kind of armored cabin, a little like the turret of a castle. Sharpened spikes protruded from the turret's base. She'd never seen a vehicle like it before.

“Don't get too close,” said a voice above her.

“I told you to go away,” she replied.

“Who are you talking to?” said another voice.

Elodie groaned. “I said get lost!” She whirled around.

Samial was standing right behind her. He lifted his hands as if to take her wrists. But just as before, he stopped at the last moment and backed away.

“Who do you hear?” he said.

“Oh, it's you.” Elodie smoothed down the front of her tunic, trying to sound nonchalant. In truth, she was overjoyed to have found him.

“Who do you hear?” Samial repeated.

“I don't hear anybody.”

“Yes, you do. I heard you talking to them.”

Elodie waved a hand. “Never mind that. I've had such a horrible morning, I can't even—”

“Who do you hear?”

Elodie stared at the boy. She'd walked out of the camp to get away from people demanding things of her.

“Who says I hear anything?” she said, frowning.

“Nobody says it. But you do. I know it.”

“No, I . . .” The words melted away. Elodie had been hiding the voices for as long as she could remember, but now, looking at Samial's sweet, earnest face, for the first time in her life she couldn't think of a good reason to lie.

“I don't know who they are.” Her voice sounded very small in the vastness of the woods. “But yes, I hear them.”

A weight seemed to slide from her shoulders, like dropping a heavy shawl. Elodie passed her hand over her brow.

“I understand,” Samial replied.

“Really?” A thought came to her. “Do . . . do you hear them too?”

“All the time.”

Amazement flooded through her. Little wonder she'd been so drawn to this boy.

“I've never met anyone like me before,” Elodie said softly.

She reached her hand toward his, but he jerked away again, pulling back as if her fingers were hot irons.

“Samial,” she said, puzzled. “What is it?”

His face clouded with sadness. “I'm not like you,” he said. “Not really.”

Elodie let her hand drop to her side. “What do you mean?”

Samial swallowed. He closed his eyes, as if he was struggling with something. But when he opened them again, he seemed to have shaken his sadness away. “Running away again so soon?” he asked.

The unexpected question made Elodie laugh.
So you don't want to talk about it. That's fine; I understand. Maybe another time.

She sat down on a fallen willow trunk. “Running away?” she said. “Maybe. I don't know.”

Samial sat at the opposite end of the trunk. Elodie looked at him seriously. She had trusted him with one secret; why not another?

“There's something else you should know about me,” she began. “It's why Trident took me from my home.”

Elodie told him everything then, pouring out all she'd experienced over the past two days, everything she'd learned about herself and about her destiny. Samial listened quietly as she told her tale.

“I'm just so sick of it,” she concluded. “First the Vicerins wanted to put me on the throne, and now Trident wants to do the same. What about what I want? Am I just some puppet, like Fessan said? I certainly feel like people are just yanking my strings, whether I like it or not.”

Samial was sitting quietly, clearly taking it in.

“Well?” Elodie asked. “What do you think I should do?”

“‘In Toronia, realm of three,'” said Samial, “‘a tempest has long raged.'”

“What?”

“The prophecy. I learned it long ago, when I was . . . when I was little. Have you never heard it?”

Elodie shook her head. Samial jumped up onto the trunk. His voice lifted among the trees as he recited:

“‘In Toronia, realm of three,

A tempest has long raged.

By power's potent siren call,

Weak men are enslaved.

Too much virtuous blood has spilt

In this accursed age.

When the stars increase by three

The kingdom shall be saved.

Beneath these fresh celestial lights,

Three new heirs will enter in.

They shall summon unknown power,

They shall kill the cursed king.

With three crowns they shall ascend,

And true peace, they will bring.'”

“It's beautiful,” said Elodie with a shiver. “And frightening too.”

“It's about you,” said Samial. “I knew there was something special about you.”

She turned away. The voices that had plagued her were silent. All the Weeping Woods were silent, as if waiting for her to speak.

Somehow, in strange and subtle ways she couldn't begin to comprehend, the world seemed bigger than it had been before.

“I thought it was what I wanted,” she said. “To be queen, I mean. But now . . .”

“It is who you are, Princess. You cannot change it.”

“Why not? Why can't I just stay here with you, Samial?”

The boy sat down again. His sadness had returned. “The woods are cold. Colder than you know.”

“I don't care. I already have to sleep on the ground. It can't be much worse.”

“You would still be a princess.”

“Then let me behave like one! My whole life, I've never decided anything for myself, other than what jewels match my dress or how I want the maid to do my hair. Shouldn't a princess get to decide what she wants?”

“What of the throne?”

“I don't know. This isn't how everything was supposed to happen.” She shook her head. “If this is what taking the throne means, maybe I don't want it anymore.”

Samial sighed, the sigh becoming a shudder that shook his wiry body from head to toe. Elodie couldn't tell if he was happy, or sad, or something else altogether.

“Very well,” he said at last. “You may stay with me. But you must tell Trident.”

  •  •  •  

As Elodie stepped out of the trees and back into the camp, she saw that the group of swordsmen had swelled to become an entire company. And they were arguing.

One voice in particular sounded loud over the clamor. Elodie recognized it at once: It was Stown.

“Why you?” the man was shouting. “Why not any of us? A commoner should earn his leadership by proving he is worthy, not because some old man said so!”

“And who would you say is worthy, Stown? Yourself?” That was Fessan, his voice less raucous than the other man's, but no less powerful.

“Perhaps! Why not? I'll fight any man who challenges me!”

“This morning a woman bested you!” Palenie's voice rang out above the others.

“It was a tie and you know it!” Stown replied.

Elodie threaded her way to the front of the crowd. Fessan and Palenie were standing together in an open space near the grindstone. Facing them were Stown and a small band of hulking, angry-looking men.

“I promised Melchior that I would lead Trident,” Fessan said, “and I mean to keep my word. He rubbed the scar on the side of his face, his expression weary. “Besides, this isn't about you and me. It is about the prophecy.”

Stown snorted. “The prophecy! Trident has been together for three years now, and what has the prophecy brought us? Nothing.”

“I say it will bring us everything,” said Fessan. “And I will fight to see it come true.”

“It's not about fighting,” said Palenie. Her sword was drawn, and she turned it over thoughtfully, the blade gleaming in the morning sun, which had just found its way through the clouds. “The prophecy's beyond that. Above it. Destiny will win, no matter what we do.”

“Oh, right,” scoffed Stown. “So we should just lie down and not do anything.”

“That's not what I mean,” said Palenie quietly. Her red hair shone like her sword.

Elodie dithered, trying to pick her moment to speak. Had anyone even noticed she was there? Well, they would prick up their ears soon enough when she announced that she was turning her back on them. Then all this debate would be meaningless.

“I say the prophecy will never come true,” said Stown. “Didn't you hear what the scout said? The one just back from Idilliam. He said Brutan is dead, killed by his son Nynus. You hear that? No triplets. No destiny. Just a single son bent on vengeance for being locked up these ten years past. There's a new king on the throne in Toronia now.” He threw his gaze around the watching crowd, where people were shifting their weight uneasily, muttering to each other. “Fessan is too cowardly to admit it, but it's obvious—the prophecy is dead!”

“No,” said a voice. “It is not.”

A silver horse trotted through the middle of the crowd. People fell back, staring up at the young blond woman riding on its back. Even before the horse had stopped, the woman had sprung lightly to the ground. Apart from her cry, she arrived in utter silence: Elodie heard neither the thump of hooves nor the jangle of her horse's reins.