The Hollow Crown: A Novel of Crosspointe (19 page)

Ellyn was panting, her ribs pumping like bellows. She was so covered in blood that it was nearly impossible to find a clean patch of skin. She sagged against Keros’s chair, half lying across his chest. As she did, Keros’s majick rose and wrapped her in a silvery sheath. The green vines of her majick tickled the air and then dropped lifeless before fading to nothingness.

“Sweet mother Chayos,” Nicholas murmured.

Margaret shook off his hand and went to stand beside the two of them. Keros was unconscious and his eyelids twitched as if he had bad dreams. His breathing was shallow and quick. She put out a hand to touch him, then curled her hand into a fist and dropped it back to her side. “What do we do with them?”

“There’s nothing we can do except wait.”

“I hate it,” she said, starting to pace.

Nicholas watched her, rubbing his hand against his ribs where she’d elbowed him. “I am shocked.”

A smile flickered across her mouth. “You must be tearing yourself apart wanting to rescue your son.”

He looked down, his stomach hardening around the lead ball that had formed when he’d learned of Carston’s kidnapping. “I have whatever patience is required,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “I’ve studied you for years now. You are quiet and steady and never let your temper get the best of you. You lay plans like a farmer plants seeds. You are ruthless and rarely show mercy to your enemies. You tend your plots and wait with infinite patience until they come to fruition. You’ll do a quick prune or weeding if need be, but you don’t let emotion rule your actions”—she paused—“unless it comes to family. Then there’s no limit to what you will do—even master patience when you want to be smashing down doors.”

He stared at her. It was strange hearing her assessment. He would not disagree with any of it, though there was more to him than that. More that he wanted to show her, though he was unlikely to ever have the opportunity. Because she was right. In a way, he was responsible for her father’s death. He had waged a war against her family and he had encouraged others to do so—others like Geoffrey who were more willing than he was to kill and do worse. Nicholas had trained the dogs, then let them loose. He hadn’t killed William Rampling, but he’d forged the weapons.

“Would it surprise you to learn that I admire you?” she asked.

He gaped. “Very much.”

“You are driven. I understand that. And you believe in what you’re doing; it is not mere greed and ambition like the regent. I sometimes wish I could be as ruthless as you, as patient. It would make things easier. I certainly would not be here now. I would have let Ryland and Vaughn handle things as they saw fit. I would not have revealed the safe house to you and I would not have betrayed my brothers. But most of all, I would not be standing here watching my friend die. It was all right to risk myself, not Keros.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicholas said.

She blinked and then snorted. “For what?” Because he had so much to apologize for and both of them knew he’d do most of it again.

“I wish this had not cost you so much.”

“It was my choice. And in the end, maybe it will be worth it. Maybe you will ally with the Ramplings and we’ll take Crosspointe back.” She didn’t sound as if she thought any of it was worth losing Keros.

Nicholas eyed the unconscious majicar, feeling an unfamiliar wriggle of jealousy in his gut.

It was almost a full glass later when the majick cocooning Ellyn began to shrink and fade away. It rippled like silk in the wind, then turned ghostly pale and disappeared altogether. Nicholas came to his feet.

Both majicars lay as if asleep. Margaret reached out and shook Ellyn. The other woman did not respond.

“Help me carry them to the bed,” she said.

Nicholas grabbed Ellyn’s arm and lifted her over his shoulder, her head dangling down his back. He flopped her down onto the bed and returned to get Keros. Margaret had pulled Keros’s arm over her shoulder. Nicholas did the same and together they dragged him across the floor.

They pulled the boots and coats off the two unconscious majicars. Margaret sucked in a breath as she examined Ellyn. The majicar’s wounds were scabbed over, and as he watched, Nicholas saw them starting to fade into healthy skin.

“How is that possible?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a miracle.” But he saw her shiver. She fetched a washbasin of warm water and a washrag. She cleaned the blood from Ellyn as best she could and then covered both of them with the counterpane before retreating to the sitting room. She snatched up her clothing from where she’d hung it near the fire after washing it in the bathtub.

“What are you doing?”

“We need clothing appropriate for Sophia and Avery Shevring, and we need information. I’m going to get both.”

“Is that wise?”

“Do you have another suggestion? You want Carston back, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he said, stung.

“Well, then—we’re running out of time. When they wake up, we’ll need to be ready.”

When
, not if. “Then I’ll go with you.”

She tossed an angry glance at him, her cheeks flushed. “No. Someone has to stay here and watch them.”

He crossed the room, grabbing her arm and twisting her to face him. She’d channeled her worry and fear into anger and purpose. But it made her reckless. “Someone has to watch your back. I’m not letting you wander around this nest of vipers alone.”

“Nest of vipers?”

“This is the regent’s stronghold, and let us not forget how hungry he is to capture Ramplings. And you are not just a Rampling, but you are Princess Margaret. He is very hungry for you; he’ll treat you with extra-special care.” The idea was beyond repugnant. “You need me.”

“If anyone recognizes you, we’ll be in a lot of trouble. I’m almost invisible. No one ever associates me with the putridly stupid Princess Margaret.”

“They won’t,” he promised. “There’s nothing I can do for Keros or Ellyn. Staying here is pointless.”

“Fine,” she said, giving in suddenly. She’d been drawn too tight and was ready to snap.

She went back through the bedchamber to the garderobe to dress. Nicholas pulled on his clothes. They were still damp and clammy. He grimaced and pulled on his socks, stamped into his boots and slid his knives down into the shafts. The one around his neck he’d never removed. His rapier he left hanging over a chair. No serving man wore a sword like that.

He heard Margaret come out of the garderobe. When she didn’t immediately return to the sitting room, he went to look in. She had stopped beside Keros’s head and was smoothing the counterpane with gentle hands. She stroked his hair away from his face, then bent down and whispered something Nicholas could not hear.

Nicholas felt a surge of something that bore a horrifying resemblance to jealousy and retreated to the sitting room. He choked back a harsh laugh at his stupidity. Margaret Rampling? He was a fool.

“We should go,” Margaret said as she joined him. She donned her cloak with businesslike determination. “If Ellyn did see the regent, then we must move very quickly. The longer we are here, the more likely he is to want to meet the Shevrings and find out their business.” She frowned at him. “You can’t wear your greatcoat. It’s too expensive.” Her gaze ran from his head to his foot. “Everything you’re wearing is too expensive. Wait here. I’ll fetch something less conspicuous.”

She slipped out into the hallway and shut the door before he could take more than two steps to interfere. He found himself facing the door. He reached for the latch and then drew back his hand. She knew what she was doing.

Still, by the time she returned more than a quarter of a glass later, he was seething. She knocked at the door softly and he yanked her inside. “We go together next time, or not at all,” he rasped.

She handed him the clothing—brown wool trousers and vest, a canvas shirt and a moth- eaten cloak. He ignored the garments, still scowling at her. Her expression turned haughty. “I am not yours to command,” she said. “You may bluster and order me about all you want, but I know the business of the shadows far better than you. It is what I was made to do. Now, put those on before I go without you.”

He hesitated, then turned and stripped with no regard for her presence. He was afraid if he went into the dressing room to change, she’d be gone before he returned. His movements were jerky with anger—mostly at himself. His attraction to her was foolish and unwarranted. She was merely the best means he had for rescuing Carston—he would not let himself mistake gratitude for real feelings. He told himself this firmly and made himself believe it.

The inn was bustling and the taproom filled with men in search of breakfast. Margaret and Nicholas slipped out through a storage area and hurried down the main street. The smells of fresh bread and smoked meat filled the air. The sun gleamed from between the tatters of storm clouds, and there was a jauntiness to the villagers. The news of the regent’s arrival ran through Molford like a wildfire. His name was on everyone’s lips.

Nicholas was astonished at the way Margaret faded from sight. He almost didn’t recognize her. She carried herself in the tentative way of servants, her voice alternately sharp and wheedling. She bought a variety of things for her supposed mistress—a dress, underskirts, a shawl, stockings, a lace cap, and more. They were basic, as readymade items tended to be, but Margaret twittered on about how she’d tailor them to suit her mistress who was so very ill after the terrible events of their travel.

With each conversation, she picked up more and more of the information they needed.

“ ’Tis a fine old manor,” she said when stopping to purchase lavender oil. “How many rooms? And where does the family sleep, then? And how many servants does the regent keep—and such a fine figure of a man he is, too, don’t you think? And such a vigorous town—how many people live here? You must all be so proud. And does the regent have guests? It must take a lot of food and wine to entertain such fine folk. How many visitors did he have, then? How big are the grounds? How to get in and out? An old manor like that—it must have its secrets, no? Hidden passages and all that. I had a cousin once who got lost inside the walls of one of the great houses in Sylmont and nearly starved to death before they could find her!”

She kept up a running patter, gossipy and homey, going to nearly every business in town. Nicholas marveled at her as he trailed silently behind with the parcels.

“Now, that’s what I call a good man,” a stout woman with a hairy upper lip said to Margaret in a loud whisper as she cast a lascivious look at Nicholas. “Nary a word spoken and strong as an ox, carrying all your trifles. That’s a man worth keeping.”

“Don’t I know it. You know he wants to marry me,” Margaret said breezily. “But I told him no. John, I said, not until you have a bit put by for a home of our own will I marry you.” She looked from side to side as if searching for anyone trying to overhear. Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “Did the regent’s wife come with him? I hear she’s quite a handsome woman. I’d like to catch a glimpse of her myself.”

“As handsome as they come,” the baker’s wife said. “Though she’s sharpish. I wouldn’t want to be working in her house.” She bent forward. “I heard she’s beaten her maids so they can hardly walk afterward, just for nonsense like spilling tea on her glove or making an uneven hem in her skirt.” She added an extra sugar bun to the dozen she’d already counted out. “They say she’s the real power behind the man. A lady-Koreion—she’ll eat you whole. But good for the purse.” She patted her apron pockets as if they contained money. “Just this morning she sent an order. I’ll be up all night.” She smiled, her jowls shaking. “I’ll borrow some of those collared servants to help me. I tell you, that regent is good for Molford and Crosspointe too.”

At the cobbler, Margaret gleaned another piece of information, this one disturbing.

“Ain’t got no time right now,” the harried man said, hobnails sticking out of the corners of his mouth. “Regent wants his men ready to march within a sennight. I’m burning the candles at both ends and still won’t finish with all this in time.” He waved at the piles of boots in need of mending that littered his shop. “Come back in a sennight.” He bustled away without waiting for an answer.

Margaret stepped back out onto the wooden sidewalk, her brow furrowed. She glanced at Nicholas. “Where do you suppose they are marching to?” she asked. “And why?”

“Do you have a stronghold? Somewhere you are assembling your own army?” he asked as they began to walk.

She slid a suspicious look at him and said nothing. Annoyance stirred in him. More, he realized, because it was becoming clear that Geoffrey was more dangerous than Nicholas had anticipated. How had he been so blind to the other man’s plotting?

They returned to the inn and went inside the way they’d departed. Margaret unlocked the door and pushed it wide. Nicholas dropped his many packages on a chair and slipped off his borrowed cloak. Margaret went to the bedchamber and then returned.

“They are still asleep,” she said shortly. “We should dress and ring for lunch.”

She rifled through the parcels, finding the clothing she’d bought for Sophia Dedlok of Shevring. It was more serviceable than fashionable, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and in a village the size of Molford, one couldn’t expect much of a selection of readymade clothing.

She retreated to the dressing room.

In the meantime, Nicholas changed into the clothing she’d purchased for him. There were gray wool trousers, a silk shirt, a vest stitched with simple embroidery, and cravat. He had just pulled the bell to summon the servants when Margaret returned.

She was wearing a soft green wool dress over a layer of underskirts. “Would you button me?” she asked as she approached him and turned, the full fabric of her dress sweeping across his feet.

He obliged, glad for the thin chemise that kept his fingers from touching her skin as he fastened the long row of buttons. It was an intimate act, the kind shared by lovers and married couples. He let out a silent sigh.