“Take the box; open it.”
The man reached for the box; Dorrin did not try to hold onto it, and it jerked from the man’s hand, crashing to the deck as if it were heavy with gold.
“Open it!” Alured said again; Dorrin could hear the strain in his voice. Once more, the men tried and could not open the box.
“You, Captain Dorrin. Open it.”
“No,” said Dorrin. “And you will not open it without me.”
He laughed a little. “So you think. I have the key to that lock.” He reached into his shirt and pulled out the necklace. Dorrin caught her breath. It was larger than she had imagined, the stones glittering in the afternoon sun. And it leaned away from Alured’s hand toward the box like a pennant in the wind. Dorrin heard indrawn breaths from some of those watching.
“Bring it to me,” Alured said, looking at the necklace. “Open, now …”
Dorrin had been sure the crown would command the necklace, that the box would not open for anyone but her. When the box flew open and the regalia lifted out from beneath her spare clothes, her heart sank.
“Yes,” Alured said. “There it is—there is my crown!”
The crown hung a moment in the air, revolving, sending watery patterns of refracted light over them all, the galley, the water around, until Dorrin was dizzy with it. And then the crown settled on her head, a definite weight.
Queen. At last. Together.
The necklace lifted from Alured’s neck and slid over his head as if weightless.
“No!” Alured said, grabbing it before it could escape. “You’re wrong … it’s not hers! It’s mine! I’m the king! She’s just an old woman. I’m strong. I’m the one!” He hobbled toward her. “Give it to me!” Then to the others, “Make her give it to me! Get it—”
Quick as a striking snake, the necklace recoiled and wrapped around Alured’s neck, tightening like a noose. Two of the loose stones from the box flew straight at his face, striking his eyes. He shrieked, clawed at his throat, staggered onto his bandaged leg, and fell.
And at that moment, Dorrin felt a crushing blow on her back that drove her over the side of the galley, face-first into the water.
Chapter Thirty-three
Foss Council, Aarenis
Arcolin watched dust rising from a fast-moving horseman on the path beside the Guild League road’s paved center section.
“One of ours?” Cracolnya said.
“We’ll know soon enough,” Arcolin said. As the rider neared, Arcolin could see the rose of his tabard under a coating of yellow dust.
“My lord duke,” the rider said, barely able to talk. “King’s word.” He dismounted and quickly removed a velvet pouch from the near saddlebag and handed it to Arcolin.
“Come,” Arcolin said. “We’ll see to your horse.” Cracolnya had already called one of his soldiers over, and he led the horse away. The courier slapped at his dusty clothes as he followed Arcolin into the tent.
Cracolnya dipped water into a mug and handed it to the courier while Arcolin pulled out the message tube, untied it, pulled out the rolled message, and untied the ribbons around that. He expected the news to be bad—why else send a royal courier here at top speed rather than using Fox Company’s own courier?
Mikeli had written in haste but with great formality. He wanted his Constable back in the kingdom, with his troops, to defend Tsaia’s western boundary from invasion by Finthans and part of the south boundary from invasion by gnomes. Gnomes? That made no sense … Why would they—
We know this risks breach of your contract with Foss Council, and we would not ask if it were not vital to the realm. You informed us that invasion from Aarenis was not likely, that the Duke of Immer had not advanced west this entire season. What we face here is not mere threat but actual invasion. Finthans have crossed the border, some claiming to flee mage-hunters, and mage-hunters pursuing them. Some have transgressed a gnomish boundary near Duke Elorran’s lands, and the gnomes—Gnarrinfulk, I understand—blame us and threaten retaliation. Come at once with as many troops as you can swiftly collect.
“Trouble?” Cracolnya said, glancing at him.
“Always,” Arcolin said. “Your cohort’s ready to march, isn’t it?”
“We can start tomorrow at dawn,” Cracolnya said.
“How about tonight?”
Cracolnya’s brows rose. “That much trouble?”
“It will be if the gnomes attack,” Arcolin said. His mind raced as he thought of all he must do and in what order. “I’m riding to Foss immediately; I should be back here before dark. Start packing now and read this when you have time.” He handed over the king’s letter.