The Queen's Consort (31 page)

             
“A woman's magic.” Beaumont sneered but real fear lay under his bravado.

             
She returned her full, withering glare to the king. “You have tasted a 'woman's magic' this last night. I shall unleash the full power of my wrath at sunset tonight.”

             
Beaumont blinked.

             
“I warn you now: any within these walls after dark will die horribly. Leave now.”

             
“Kill her,” Beaumont growled.

             
Ansel tensed but none of the soldiers seemed interested in attacking her. With wild eyes the elite King’s Corps cast aside their weapons and backed out of the room. They scrambled over the rock and hit the ground running.

             
Ansel reached for Clairwyn. Her frigid glare made his hand fall way. “I didn't want to do this,” he said, his voice raw. “I was only trying to save you. I swear it on my life. I love you, Clairwyn.”

             
“I loved you, too.” Her eyes grew even more distant.

             
Loved?
His heart lurched. Did that mean she loved him no longer?

             
“I gave you every chance,” she said, looking through him. “I begged that you return to me last night. Instead, you chose to stay. And even then I could not let you die. I had the dragons spare your life.”

              “Wait,” he begged. “Clairwyn, this can't be the end.”

             
Her ice queen demeanor didn't crack and, abruptly, he realized that she had somehow cast aside—or suppressed—the warmth, the glow, that made her the woman he loved. Would he, or she, for that matter, ever find that woman again?

             
For the first time he felt the full injustice of the crimes he had committed against her. His grief staggered him. Was it too late?

             
She didn't seem able to see him at all. Her attention was focused somewhere else. He blinked. Had her form wavered?

             
“Wait,” he said, his voice ragged. “What about—what about—” his mind grasped for something, anything, to make her stay. An idea exploded in his brain. “—the babies? My babies, the twins?”

             
“You tried to kill them.”

             
“I tried to save you!”

             
She hesitated.

             
“Surely,” he said more strongly, “surely, Clairwyn, you will not keep them from me. They will need their father.”

             
Clairwyn rested her hand on her stomach and tilted her head as if listening to something he couldn't hear. “They need a father,” she echoed.

             
Would another man raise his children? Over his dead body! “Clairwyn. They are
mine
.” She had never acknowledged his claim on her; would she admit his claim to their children?

             
“As you wish,” she said. “They will be born next spring, on the fifth of April. You may see them on that day.”

             
That wasn't what he wanted, wasn't nearly enough for him. He reached for her again. He'd make her change her mind. He had to.

             
Clairwyn's form shimmered. He hadn't imagined it. She was literally fading before his eyes.

             
He lunged for her but she slipped through his fingers liked mist. His hands closed around empty air. A sob closed his throat.

             
She was gone.

Thirty-Four

             
A huge voice boomed over the castle, warning all of its citizens to leave before dark. A constant stream of people climbed over the walls, scrambled across the dismantled fortifications, and escaped the city.

             
After the refugees had cleared the moat Clairwyn's troops helped them. The soldiers carried babies and placed the injured and the elderly in carts. They even gave the scared and frightened people food from their own provisions.

             
Ansel worked all day, hoping feverishly that exhausting his body would stop the turmoil in his brain.
Clairwyn.
His last glimpse of her face would haunt him to the end of his days.

             
The huge voice boomed over the city again, warning its inhabitants to flee. Ansel bloodied his hands on a shovel, filling in enough of the moat for wagons to pass and people to walk. He forced his warhorse into harness and rigged a makeshift cart to ferry the young, the old, and the injured. He made countless trips between the tent city on the plains and the fortress.

             
Beaumont rallied his troops. Even now the old man wouldn't give up. He couldn't stem the overwhelming tide of refugees and, rightly judging their mood, he didn't try. But he did fortify the old keep in the center of town for his last stand.

             
Devlin, too, abandoned Beaumont. He had safeguarded his brothers through the night, then found Ansel. They worked side by side all that long afternoon.

             
As evening fell everyone who could walk or be carried had left the city. In their frenzy to escape they had been forced to leave the dead behind. As the sun moved inevitably toward the horizon, King Beaumont of Courchevel reigned over a city of ghosts.

             
Clairwyn's troops moved easily through the refugee camp, preparing food and offering comfort where they could. Ansel found a spot at the edge of the camp and sat down. He stared out over the smoldering wreckage of Kingsford.

             
Devlin found him. With a sigh the boy made himself comfortable on the ground next to Ansel. Twenty-four hours had turned the boy into a man, with eyes too old for his smooth face.

             
Devlin rested his elbows on his drawn-up knees. “Perhaps a Queen will be better for us,” he said thoughtfully.

             
“Couldn't be worse than Beaumont,” Ansel agreed.

             
They stared at the brightly lit walls of the Old Fort.

             
“You'd think the old man would know when he's beaten,” Devlin finally said.

             
The boy didn't know Beaumont as well as Ansel did. The old man would never believe he could be defeated. Especially by a woman.

             
A smile tilted the corner of Ansel's mouth. Then again, Clairwyn was an extraordinary woman.

             
“They're already talking,” Devlin said, “about rebuilding the city. A bunch of the Queen's army volunteered to stay behind. They're talking about crops that can be planted now that we can harvest early in the spring.” He sounded eager to believe but still incredulous.

             
“Clairwyn's done some amazing things in her country,” Ansel said proudly. “And, as generous as she is, I am sure she will bring those improvements here.”

             
Devlin half-turned toward him. “Is it true that all children—even girls—go to school in Vandau?”

             
“It is true. I have seen it myself.”

             
The last rays of the sun winked out. Devlin tensed, then tried to force himself to imitate Ansel's calm demeanor.

             
Ansel hid his smile. He wasn't calm. He dreaded what would happen next. He was just too exhausted to react.

             
Long moments passed. The watchfires on the Old Fort burned in brazen defiance of the Queen and her army.

             
Clairwyn's army watched from their camp. They made no move to form ranks and attack. They just waited.

             
The moon rose.

             
Devlin leaned back on his elbows. “Did you see the tents the Vandau soldiers built in camp?” he asked.

             
“The Vandau are sleeping four to a tent tonight,” Ansel said, “or even under the stars so our women and children can have shelter.”

             
“I guess the Vandau are not that bad,” Devlin said.

             
“They are better men than many I have served with.”

             
Devlin thought about that.

             
With an effort, Ansel roused himself. “The tents themselves are marvels of engineering. They are woven of fabric and the fine bark of a certain tree, and are nigh-impervious to sword or flame.”

             
Devlin shot him a skeptical look.

             
“It is true. You can test it yourself in the morn.”

             
“Maybe I will.” Devlin tilted his face up to the sky. “They say that there are universities in Vandau,” he said, his voice carefully neutral, “where a young man can go to learn about growing plants or building things.”

             
“That is very true. The Queen invested a great amount of money in these universities, and the return amazed me. And the scholars are treated with great respect.”

             
“That is so?” Devlin seemed amazed. “They are not mocked because they wish to learn?”

             
“In Vandau they respect a man—or woman—for skills other than being able to wield a sword.”

             
Devlin sat up but he didn't look at Ansel. “And would you respect someone who wished to go to university? Who didn't want to be a soldier?”

             
Ansel looked at his brother, amazed. A son of Beaumont aspired to be something other than a soldier? “Your intelligence impressed me at our first meeting, Devlin. I am sure that Beaumont saw it, too.”

             
“He did. He said I would make a fine soldier, a good leader.”

             
“It takes intelligence to lead men and to win battles.” Ansel struggled with the strange paths of his thoughts. “But, perhaps, the world is changing. The great cost of waging war could, possibly, be put to better use.”             

             
“You said the Queen invested in education.”

             
“She has. And her people are well-fed and content.” Ansel shook his head. “Someday I will take you to Haverton. And you will see her elephants.”

             
“Elephants?” Devlin laughed out loud. “You jest. There is no such creature.”

             
“There is,” Ansel assured him. “And you can ride on—”

             
A sudden wind sent clouds scurrying across the sky to obscure the bright moon. The wind swirled around them, ruffling their hair and clothes, then raced away toward Kingsford.

             
The winds carried a foul scent and the echo of dark and evil laughter.             

             
A few screams of remembered terror echoed through the refugee camp but the wind was swiftly gone. The clouds parted and the sky cleared. Dust swirled through Kingsford, rising high until it formed tornado clouds that towered over the battered walls of the town.

             
A dozen funnel clouds danced in a circle, then turned with malevolent intent toward the Old Fort. The wind caught and threw back the frightened cries of the soldiers. How could they fight the wind itself?

             
Perhaps they tried. Perhaps they fled in terror. No one lived to tell the tale.

*****

              Dawn found Ansel on his feet and among the first to enter the city. All they found of the Old Fort was a ragged pile of blood-stained rocks.

             
“Perhaps we should leave it like that,” Devlin said. “As a monument to stupidity.”

             
Ansel rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Devlin. You don't have to constantly prove that you got all the brains in our family.”

             
“Musta come from my mother.” Devlin grinned.

             
“Gods know it didn't come from our father.” Ansel studied the rock pile. Clairwyn had said that none in the city would survive. With any luck at all Beaumont—and his monumental arrogance—lay buried in the rubble.

             
“General Perry is organizing teams of men,” Devlin said, “to rebuild the city. Anyone not able to move stone is to stay in the camps.”

             
“Perry is a smart man.” And he probably acted on Clairwyn's orders.

             
Devlin reached over and smacked Ansel's warhorse on the rump. “Your proud stallion didn't much like a harness and a cart. How do you think he's going to feel about hauling stone like a mule?”

*****

              Renshaw didn't like it at all. He also didn't like hauling dirt or debris or carting dead bodies to funeral pyres. In fact, the horse didn't find any of the hard work enjoyable and he didn’t hesitate to let everyone around him know it.

             
Ansel sweated alongside his horse, ruefully recalling the days when he'd looked down on laborers. Clairwyn's army of farmers was used to hard work. They
sang
and
joked
as they cleared streets and rebuilt homes.

             
Soldiers were trained to destroy. Perhaps, Ansel thought, every soldier should learn the value of creating something. If they knew how much work it required to build their home perhaps they would not be so quick to burn someone else's.

             
These enlightening thoughts felt difficult and painful and they were coming more frequently. Changing his own mind was a lot more work than merely hacking out someone else’s brains.

             
But, perhaps, he could learn to be a better man.

*****

              Clairwyn's army broke camp and left Kingsford. They left behind plowed and planted fields, a functioning city, and nearly a third of their soldiers. So many Courchevel men had died in the short war that a dire shortage of workers now threatened the country.

             
Ansel had to admire Clairwyn's style and tactics. She'd conquered Courchevel and now she obviously intended to keep it firmly under her control. And, damn it, she'd make it a better country while she was at it.

             
As one of her first acts as ruler of Courchevel she abolished the serf system. Most of the feudal lords were dead and the rest were smart enough to raise no objection. She established town councils, comprised equally of men and women, to decide how to divide the land and govern themselves. And then she left them alone.

             
She implemented a plan to improve the roads and increase security. Her soldiers built schools and dug canals. There were complaints and arguments, of course. Clairwyn always listened politely, smiled, and then did exactly what she wanted to do.

             
The people loved her for it. Most blamed the death and destruction of the war on Beaumont. Ninety percent of the citizens saw their lives improve rapidly, and they gave all the credit to their new Queen. 

             
That last ten percent, mostly displaced nobility and their cronies, caused as much trouble as they could. They didn't bother the Queen or her soldiers. They concentrated on easier targets: their own countrymen.

             
The nobles attacked by stealth and ambush, stealing supplies and livestock, burning fields and carrying off women. Clairwyn's soldiers chased the outlaws but never seemed to be in the right place at the right time.

             
That was how Ansel found his purpose. He'd trained with these noblemen and had served alongside them. He knew their tactics and their hideouts. He gathered a small group, mostly former soldiers like himself, and hunted down the outlaws.

             
And so, he told himself, he served Clairwyn. He followed her progress from a distance, never allowed close enough to speak to her. He caught occasional glimpses of her as she slowly traversed Courchevel back to the Starlit Mountains.

             
He discovered that she intended to overwinter at Renshaw, high in the mountains. Her family's seat was halfway between Haverton and Kingsford and seemed ideal for ruling the combined kingdoms. When spring came she would continue to Haverton for the birth of her children.