The Queen's Gambit: Book One of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 1) Read online

  “Tell me of your family,” Crispin said, breaking the silence. “They’re noble, from what you’ve said. Is there much camaraderie, much love there?”

  Wil cleared his throat and continued to look up towards the ceiling above him as he answered. “It depends on the day. We’re like any other family: love, expectation, disappointment, misunderstanding, mistrust, brotherhood, commitment, independence, grief.”

  Crispin grinned. “It’s little wonder the queen calls you jaded.”

  Releasing a short laugh, Will shifted so that he could see Crispin’s face. “What about you?”

  The young captain covered his thoughts with a smile and shrugged. “Not much to know,” he said. “For almost as long as I can remember, I was an orphan down in Calafort, the port city of the south. It wasn’t long before I struck out for adventure and ended up stealing from half the fens of Aemogen.”

  “Really?” Wil’s interest piqued, and he propped himself higher against the pillow so he could see Crispin’s face. “You’re the first Aemogen criminal I’ve met—well, the first that wasn’t a child—and you’re a reformed one at that. How disappointing,” he added. “But go on, let’s hear the tale.”

  “They brought me before the king, Eleanor’s father,” Crispin said. “And, when it came time for an officer, no one would step forward on my behalf, for I had neither kin nor sympathizer. In Aemogen, we don’t view those who break the law lightly.”

  “So I’ve seen,” Wil granted.

  “No one would stand for me,” Crispin continued, his voice earnest. “After what felt like an age to my young mind, the king stood, looked at me for a long moment, then left his throne and came to stand at my side, his arm around my shoulders. Turning to the council, he pled on my behalf. The parole he offered? I would serve and work in the palace, and he would train me up to a profession. How could the council refuse?”

  “How old were you at the time?” Wil asked.

  “Twelve years,” Crispin said. “The King was as good as his word, and I was accepted into his house. Eleanor and Edythe became as sisters, and the king, well, he educated me, cared for me, trained me in a profession, and treated me as dear as any son by a father.”

  “He sounds like he was a good king,” Wil said.

  “He was a good man.” Crispin shrugged, trying to conceal his emotions. “When you’re a good man, being a good king follows naturally.”

  Wil had to bite his tongue, tracing the lines of the ceiling instead. He didn’t wish to disrespect Crispin by disagreeing, yet he knew that not every good king was a good man, neither was every good man a fair king. It was not such a simple balance.

  Yet, later, far into the night, when Wil could not sleep, he replayed this conversation in his head.

  ***

  The wind was relentless, cutting its teeth against the sandstone city, blowing it into dust. Wil covered his eyes, trying to see through the penetrating curtain of sand. His brother Emaad stood, serene and content, looking into the storm with an unaffected air. He turned toward Wil.

  “You are fighting hard against the wind,” Emaad said. His words were solid and stayed in place, as if he were speaking them on a calm spring morning.

  “I can’t look to you,” Wil cried, but the wind ripped the words from his lips and sand filled his mouth.

  “You must stop,” Emaad said.

  “I don’t understand!” Wil yelled, leaning harder against the wind, the sound of it tearing at his ears. He covered his face with both arms, trying to escape the biting grains of sand.

  “Stop!” Emaad commanded, and Wil lowered his arms. The wind was gone now. The blue folds of his brother’s tunic moved in a pleasant breeze. His brother’s eyes were gentle.

  “How did you stop it?” Wil asked, but Emaad did not answer. “How did you stop it?” Wil tried again.

  Emaad began to open his mouth, but his eyes went blank, and his head toppled to the sand. Wil stared in terror at his brother’s headless corpse, and, when Emaad’s head rolled against his boot, he began to scream.

  ***

  “Wil!” someone called out, and he opened his eyes.

  Crispin was shaking him. Wil jumped, throwing Crispin toward the door. The captain groaned as his head smashed against the wood.

  “Ow! Come off it, Wil!” Crispin rubbed his head as he bit his lower lip. “I’ve come to wake you, not slit your throat.”

  Wil was standing, breathless, his hands shaking. He collapsed onto the bed and put his face in his hands. “You startled me.”

  “You were screaming,” Crispin answered with concern. “Put on a shirt and come quickly.”

  “Where?”

  “The battlements above the south gate.”

  Wil threw his black shirt over his chest and followed Crispin down the hallway of the travelers’ house, the stones cold under his bare feet.

  The night was not dark, but the shadows seemed fathomless. He saw his brother’s face again and again and again. Wil shook his head, trying to loosen the images of his dreams. He took several deep breaths, and when they broke out into the open air, he gazed upward at the gibbous moon.

  They left the travelers’ house and walked up the tower stairs with quick steps. Wil could see other figures, gathering along the south battlement. The men of Eleanor’s council, the fen lords, their wives, staff, maids, gardeners, even the messenger boys—all gathered quietly, still in their nightclothes. Edythe and Blaike were among them, and Crispin pulled Wil through, to the inner circle beside the princess, and motioned for Wil to look down at Ainsley stair.

  It was filled with ghosts.

  Wil started, his brother’s face still haunting his mind. He looked again—they were women, silent, still, phantomlike in their nightdresses. The crowd on the battlement parted, and Eleanor appeared, wearing a long, white nightgown, her hair loose down her back. Hastian, as always, was only a few steps behind her.

  Eleanor took her place in the center of the observers and looked down over the battlements. Crispin lifted his hands briefly and put them together. A spark lit, only for a moment, and as if responding to his signal, lights began to appear among the people gathered on the stairs. Each woman held a candle. Wil, standing directly to Eleanor’s right, watched, captivated. In the soft illumination, he could see that men were flanking the stairs with somber expressions.

  Wil looked towards Eleanor just as the women began to sing. Their words were unrecognizable, but the sentiment was pure. It was a mournful tune, steeped in old beauty. The chorus of voices rang up all the stairs, for all of Ainsley had turned out to sing for their queen.

  Wil’s heart began to slow, the memory of his dream easing through the clear melody. He gave himself to the music. As if in response, the melody split into perfect harmony, continuing several minutes until, as they sang the final note, the candles went out.

  The women descended the stairs, the moonlight almost tricking Wil into thinking they were a fountain of water, pouring down from the gates of Ainsley Castle and flooding the city below. He wanted to ask what the significance of the ritual was, but the mood was heavy, and people began to leave the battlements.

  “We follow the queen,” Crispin said at his back. As Eleanor passed, Edythe at her side, Wil followed, with the other members of the war council, in silence. Few torches were lit in the castle, casting strange patterns onto the walls.

  When Wil saw that Gaulter Alden wore only his stocking feet, like the rest of them, he threw a grin at Crispin, who didn’t acknowledge that he saw it. Eleanor led them up the stairs and through the large halls to her personal apartments. Edythe left her there, whispering something in her sister’s ear before disappearing.

  The queen invited her council in with a gesture, her eyes pausing on Wil with a flicker of consideration. A fire lit the room, and warm drinks were waiting. Eleanor sat in a beautiful chair of gold and soft blue, facing the hearth. The other men took their seats on the settees, or on other chairs, set about the fire as well. Aedon remained stan
ding, passing warm mugs around the loose circle. Wil set himself on a soft rug before the flames, leaning against the arm of the settee.

  “They sang with the spirit of Ainorra Breagha,” Gaulter Alden said.

  There was a brief murmur as the men nodded. Wil wanted to ask who Ainorra Breagha was, but he didn’t. Aedon, looking rather rumpled and sleep-worn, sat near the queen, who was leaning against her elbow, massaging her temple with her fingers and staring at the fire.

  It was as strange as it was beautiful, this intimate exchange of company with no words, everyone in—of all absurd things—their nightclothes. Wil watched Eleanor from the corner of his eye. Having never seen her in white, let alone in anything so subtle and timeless and, well—he didn’t know. Her copper hair, always bound in braids, was now loose and long. The others paid no heed to her soft beauty, but Wil struggled to keep his eyes away. She did not appear to notice, watching the flames licking the firewood, snapping and rising. Wil told himself he should do the same, but he had little success.

  After an hour, the men began to dismiss themselves, wordlessly, one by one. As each left, he paused before the queen and took her hand. She would smile and send him on without speaking. Wil turned towards the fire, though he knew it was time to go, and leaned his head back, sighing, preparing to get up and return to bed.

  When Crispin roused himself a few moments afterward, pulling the dozing Wil along, Eleanor had already withdrawn to her bedchamber. They returned to the travelers’ house to sleep the remaining hours of night.

  Chapter Nine

  Eleanor and Edythe sat together on the window seat in Eleanor’s bedchamber, tucked in like a pair of wrens, watching day claim the gardens. Each was aware of the other’s worries. There was no need to discuss the coming summer any further.

  “It will be a quiet procession as you and the guard leave Ainsley this morning,” Edythe said, leaning her face against the cold window.

  “I imagine it will,” Eleanor answered, lifting her finger as she spoke, tracing a map of Aemogen on the glass. They would leave Ainsley for the northwest, beginning with Common Field, then move east to the coast, following the cliffs along the sea southward, then go west, up through the western valleys, until they were home again. Fifteen fens, she thought. And how many days? Eighty? Ninety?

  “You should wear your face like that as you ride out,” Edythe said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you look brave.”

  Eleanor pulled her finger away from the window. “Alright, then,” she said.

  It was cold as Eleanor’s company filed through the streets of Ainsley, out the gates, past the fields and wide roads leading back towards the city. A flurry of wind riddled them the day through. Come evening, camp was set up without much conversation. But, the following morning was warm with a bright sun, and the attitude of the company loosened. The breeze coming off the mountains was mellow, the tall meadow grasses full of early blue flax.

  By late morning, Crispin and Wil dropped back to ride beside Eleanor. After informing her they would likely ride into Common Field fen before nightfall, Crispin added with a carefree grin, “I know several young men, including a few rather good friends, if you’d like an introduction.”

  Eleanor wrinkled her nose in distaste, but she laughed all the same. “Thank you for your consideration, Crispin, but, I believe my mind will be on more pressing concerns.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t try,” Crispin said as he laughed in return. Just then, Gaulter Alden signaled him to the front of the column. “Maybe I should find another wife for Gaulter Alden,” he said. “I daresay I’d have more free time on my hands if he were constantly being hounded himself. Excuse me, Eleanor.” Crispin left them, while Eleanor ignored the smirk Wil was sporting on his face.

  “You’re looking for a match, Your Majesty?” Wil sounded amused.

  “Not at the moment,” Eleanor said as she looked ahead. “But, that doesn’t stop Crispin from introducing me to anyone he thinks might be eligible. His idea of a joke, I suppose.”

  “And what are you waiting for? Love?” Wil’s tone carried an acidic undercurrent, emphasized by a quick laugh as his eyes wandered the fertile fields they passed.

  Eleanor turned in surprised. “You certainly don’t seem to think highly of the idea.”

  “I don’t,” Wil acknowledged. “Not for a monarch.”

  “Oh?” Eleanor raised her eyebrows. “My father and my grandfather had successful marriages, equals in intellect and love.”

  Wil smiled. “How quaint,” he said then paused before choosing to continue. “But your country must have suffered as a result.”

  Eleanor laughed. “In what way, Wil?”

  “Look at the riches of Aemogen—your mines, your fields, your climate—yet, you remain provincial, underdeveloped, and powerless,” he said.

  “You are a world-weary soul,” Eleanor said. She took a deep breath and readjusted herself in her saddle.

  “As a monarch, your country should be your lover,” Wil continued, ignoring Eleanor’s dismissive shake of her head. “That is where your passions should be spent.”

  “And what, pray tell, would my husband be?” Eleanor challenged. “A handsome figurehead?”

  “A sire,” Wil extolled. “Let him offer you sons. I see no reason beyond that.”

  “Really!” Eleanor laughed. “I’ll hear no more of your bizarre ideas. Progression, only for the sake of power? A husband, only for the sake of children? No companionship? No support?”

  “No successful monarch can love a person more than they love their country’s best interests,” Wil calmly continued. “You have to sacrifice all emotions to it, or you will prove unfaithful to your people.”

  “I disagree that the love of country and of spouse, or anyone else, must be mutually exclusive,” Eleanor said, beginning to feel testy.

  “You’ve not been on the throne long,” Wil said. “You’ll learn.”

  Eleanor reined up, causing Wil to pull Hegleh to a halt. “Are you such an expert on monarchy and matrimony?” she asked pointedly.

  “I—” he began. Pausing, Wil’s smile faded. “No, I am not.”

  Eleanor’s glare gave way ever so slightly. “I curse you then,” she said, “with a wife you will love above all, three daughters, and no sons. So many of your philosophies would be turned on their heads.” Eleanor urged Thrift forward.

  They rode in silence save the occasional call heard throughout the company. Eleanor began counting fens and villages in her head, as her thoughts strayed back to the stark reason for the battle run. Even the threat of war felt like a desecration of her land.

  “My philosophies are still bothering you, I see,” Wil said.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Eleanor responded curtly. “There’s an army at the threshold of my country, and my people are outnumbered and underprepared. The matrimonial observations of a jaded soldier don’t plague my mind. I am thinking of the war.”

  “Point taken,” Wil said. “What is your plan, then?”

  “For defense?”

  “No.” Wil’s mouth twitched. “For finding a husband.”

  Eleanor sighed. “Perhaps I should start by reconsidering my present company. It might open up opportunity to find what I am looking for.”

  Wil’s laughter could be heard throughout the entire company, and Aedon glanced back to see what had caused it.

  “It’s possible I am just the company you need,” Wil said, trying to provoke her.

  Eleanor gave no response.

  ***

  Just before sunset, the company rode into Common Field fen. They had pressed hard for the last several miles, eager to arrive and greet the people there. Wil watched Eleanor as she dismounted and went straight to Adams, the fen lord, who bowed deeply before taking both her hands in his. They exchanged a few intimate words, with concerned expressions and obvious affection.

  Those of the company were soon greeting friends, while boys led their mounts away to the fe
n stables. Wil was the last to dismount, handing Hegleh’s reins to a young man who eyed her with wonder.

  “See that she’s rubbed down properly,” he began. As Wil continued to give instructions, the young man turned the wonder he’d given the horse into admiration for Wil.

  “Yes, my lord,” the boy said, nodding respectfully as Wil finished his directions.

  “Yes, well—see to it.” Shaking his head, smiling to himself, Wil stepped into the crowd.

  “Wil!” Blaike was at his side, giving him a hug.

  “Whoa!” Wil said as he pulled away. “You are an affectionate group. Tell me,” Wil indicated the socializing between the queen’s company and the people of the fen, “are you all that closely related?”

  “To you, I will ever owe my gratitude,” Blaike said in earnest, not answering what Wil had asked. “You have given me my life.”

  Almost scowling, Wil followed the moving company toward the fen hall. “I’m sure your mother would have something to say about that, Blaike,” Wil said. “Away with you; love sick is not a disease I wish to catch.”

  Blaike laughed.

  As soon as they’d entered the large fen hall, Crispin motioned for Wil to join him at the table. Eleanor was seated at the head, with Adams and the men from Common Field to her left, Gaulter Alden and the war council to her right.

  After the initial greetings had taken place, Eleanor stood and called the meeting to order. She reviewed what they had already been told by the fen riders and answered any questions Adams had regarding the intentions of the Imirillian Empire.

  “And we will fight,” he stated simply.

  “That is my intention, if all the fens will stand with me, and if we think it, in any way, possible,” Eleanor affirmed. “As you know, the tradition of the battle run is to assess the strengths of our force. Gaulter Alden and the war council have organized the training. Wil Traveler,” Eleanor said, motioning towards Wil, “is to oversee the combat training sessions, with Crispin, of course. Aedon will see to the archery. Sean will assess the mounts available for cavalry while Bryant, our weapons master, is working with the local blacksmiths. We plan to stay three days, possibly four.”