Tales of the Crown Read online

  Tales of the Crown

  A Tremontane Companion

  Melissa McShane

  Copyright © 2020 by Melissa McShane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For Erin,

  whose beautiful work on the North sign and shield graces this cover

  Contents

  Introduction

  Kerish

  Willow: Alternate ending to the Willow North Saga

  Willow: Alternate ending 2—Saying goodbye to Felix

  The Weight of the Crown

  Long Live the Queen

  Exile of the Crown: Introduction

  Exile of the Crown Part One: Winter, 908 Y.B.

  Exile of the Crown Part Two: Spring, 924 Y.B.

  Owen

  Jeffrey/Rider of the Crown: Introduction

  Jeffrey: Chapter One

  Jeffrey: Chapter Two

  Jeffrey: Chapter Three

  Jeffrey: Chapter Four

  Jeffrey: Chapter Five

  Jeffrey: Chapter Six

  Jeffrey: Chapter Seven

  Jeffrey: Chapter Eight

  Jeffrey: Chapter Nine

  Jeffrey: Chapter Ten

  Jeffrey: First Date

  Jeffrey: The Spring Ball

  Jeffrey: The Plot

  Jeffrey: Checkmate

  Jeffrey: Saying goodbye

  Jeffrey: A final decision

  Exile of the Crown Part Three: Autumn, 945 Y.B.

  Exile of the Crown Part Four: Summer, 952 Y.B.

  The Dance

  Ben: Introduction

  Ben: Revelation

  Ben: The Truth

  Ben: Meeting the King

  Night Be My Guardian

  Ransom

  This Night of All Nights

  Appendix: The Tremontane Encyclopedia

  About the Author

  Also by Melissa McShane

  Introduction

  This collection contains an alarming amount of writing connected to the Tremontane novels. For one, it has four short stories and almost every bonus scene I’ve written relating to The Crown of Tremontane series and the Saga of Willow North. It contains what is almost a full novel that runs parallel to Rider of the Crown, told from King Jeffrey’s point of view. Additionally, it contains the full text of the novella/story collection Exile of the Crown and two previously published short stories, “Long Live the Queen” (originally in Servant of the Crown) and “Night Be My Guardian” (originally in Agent of the Crown).

  When I put it all together in one place, I couldn’t believe how much material I had. I’ve been writing about Tremontane for many years, and it was the bedtime story I told myself for decades before that. Many of the bonus scenes were written to help me understand the characters and events from a different point of view, usually that of the hero. Some of them represent different directions I tried to take the story in (and failed). But all of them are a window on the process behind creating one of my most beloved series.

  Though Exile of the Crown is available as an e-book, it’s too short for me to publish it in print. It appears here both so readers can appreciate it in chronological order, and so I can get it in a bound edition.

  This entire book is organized chronologically, with headers indicating which novel a given section appears in as well as year and sometimes season in which the scene occurs.

  Why only “almost” every scene? There is one rather lengthy excerpt from Guardian of the Crown in which I took the novel in the wrong direction for about 8,000 words. While it’s interesting for its content, in practice it’s very dull writing, and it bored me. So I chose not to inflict it on my readers. There are also a couple of alternate scenes I remember writing that I couldn’t find in my files. But most of it is here.

  The appendix is a collection of information about the world of Tremontane. It’s available on my website, but I thought it fit here as well. Additionally, here is the chronology of the series, for reference if anyone wants to alternate reading the books with reading this bonus material:

  699 Year of the Binding (Y.B.): The Willow North Saga

  (Pretender to the Crown, Guardian of the Crown, Champion of the Crown)

  903 Y.B. Servant of the Crown

  928 Y.B. Rider of the Crown

  952 Y.B. Agent of the Crown

  963 Y.B. Voyager of the Crown

  I hope readers will find these scenes and stories interesting and enjoyable.

  * * *

  —Melissa McShane

  Kerish

  (Guardian of the Crown, Summer 699 Y.B.)

  I often write versions of certain scenes in my books from someone else’s point of view, usually the hero’s. This one struck me as an important one to see from Kerish’s point of view, mainly because his perspective and understanding of his own actions are much different from Willow’s. This story from his POV also helped me revise some earlier scenes in Guardian of the Crown, making him a stronger romantic hero to fit Willow’s own strength.

  * * *

  The moonlight streaked the ceiling overhead, filtering through the gauzy drapes surrounding the bed. The room was in shades of charcoal and black, all color leached from the furnishings as if it had drained away. Distantly, Kerish could hear the sounds of two birds cooing to each other, as good as an alarm for keeping him awake: tu-hoo, tu-hoo, and then the second would chime in with tu-whit, tu-whit. He wished he could find the birds and strangle them.

  They weren’t what was keeping him awake.

  For so many months, all the time they’d been together, it had been his greatest fear: that she’d go out one night and just never return. That she’d disappear and he’d never find out what happened to her. And now it had come true.

  Nearby, Felix snuffled in his sleep and rolled over. Thank heaven he’d finally fallen asleep. It had broken Kerish’s heart to watch the boy struggle so hard not to cry when Kerish had come to put him to bed instead of Willow. He’d told Felix a comforting story, but it hadn’t been very convincing; why under heaven would Willow spend the night in the Tremontanan enclave without sending word? Felix knew Kerish’s fear as well as he did himself, and when Kerish suggested offhandedly that he spend the night in Felix’s room, “just like old times,” he’d accepted the offer so eagerly it had made Kerish furious with Willow for doing that to the boy.

  He wasn’t going to get any sleep that night. Kerish sighed and got up, went to the window and looked out over the grounds. Surely she would return soon. She wouldn’t abandon Felix. Unless she didn’t have a choice.

  Kerish found his dressing gown and shrugged it on over his bare shoulders, then quietly left Felix sleeping and went down the stairs, past the bodyguards and through the corridors to the front door. More guards stood there; they ignored him as he went out into the grounds. It was cool now, a wonderful contrast to the heat of the day, and the air smelled of night flowers. Kerish walked to the front gate, ignoring the guards who became more alert at his approach. They’d better be alert, after two attempts on Felix’s life, though granted they’d only been at fault in one of those. Even so, it was pointless keeping guards who didn’t do their duty.

  The pavement in front of the Residence was still warm, and it felt good, if rough, against his bare feet.
He took several steps along the road before coming to his senses. Umberan was enormous; there was no way he could find her, even if he’d been as good a thief—

  He closed his eyes. She was a good thief, she’d never been caught, but that was only true so long as her luck didn’t run out. She’d nearly been caught the night they’d met, would have been caught if Kerish hadn’t thought quickly. He’d never forgotten that moment, their bodies pressed together, her warm lips on his, and he’d fallen in love with her even before he knew her name.

  He turned around and went back to the Residence. Damn her for caring more about midnighting than she had about him. They’d be married now if not for her stubborn insistence on being independent. There was nothing wrong with him serving an Ascendant, it was what his magic was for. If it weren’t for Felix’s sake, he wouldn’t give a damn about where she was right now, since she was doing what she cared so much about.

  He went into the grounds again, barely noticing the cool tickle of grass against his feet. Whatever Willow did was nothing to him. That was all in the past. She could be a thief if she wanted, and he didn’t care what happened—

  He came to a flowering azalea, its buds half-closed in the darkness, its rich scent filling the air, and stopped. They’d been at the scholia one day, he and Willow and Felix, looking at Gianesh’s animals, and Felix had broken off a flower from one of the azalea bushes and given it to Willow. She’d worn it in her hair all the rest of the day, carrying the scent with her, her bright eyes and merry smile making his heart ache with joy.

  Kerish sat down beside the bush and hugged his knees, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. It was all a lie. His heart still belonged to her, even after everything they’d said to each other. He loved Willow, and not knowing where she was terrified him with his imaginings. He loved her.

  He sat, staring at the dark leaves and lighter blooms, until his back and bottom hurt. Then he got slowly to his feet and found his way back to Felix’s room in the darkness, lay down on the spare bed, and tried desperately to think of something other than Willow being beaten, losing her hand, trapped in a cell with the worst criminals Umberan had… It took him hours to fall asleep.

  He woke an hour after sunrise with a headache and a stiffness in all his joints, like an old man after a day’s hard labor. Felix was gone, but the smell of breakfast hung in the air, rousing his appetite if not his spirits. He went down to the kitchen hoping someone would feed him. Willow had always—he swallowed again. If she’d returned, someone would have told him.

  The kitchen still smelled of hot flatbread and sweet jams and pungent soft cheeses, mixed with the tang of undiluted pomegranate juice that made him salivate. Derona, the chief cook, smiled at him when he appeared. “Come scrounging again, you young imp?”

  “Nobody brought me breakfast,” Kerish said, trying to sound wheedling instead of whining.

  “You know where the cheese is. Don’t come trying to get around me, I’ve work to do.” Derona pretended to scowl at him, but he only grinned at her sourness; she’d been cook and then chief cook for the Serjians longer than he’d been alive. He helped himself to a wax-coated round and a couple of hot flatbreads, then dragged a tall stool over to one of the counters and began assembling his breakfast. This and a cup of khaveh would do nicely.

  Someone knocked on the outer door, and a glance from Derona sent one of the under-servants scuttling to answer it. Kerish watched, idly kicking one leg of the stool, then sat up in surprise, because the man who followed the servant into the kitchen wore the green tunic of one of Umberan’s city guards. His dark hair was greased and parted in the center, and he looked about himself curiously, as if he’d never seen a kitchen before.

  His eyes passed over Kerish, who was dressed as plainly as any of the servants, and lighted on Derona, who was the oldest and therefore presumably the senior of the staff present. “I’ve news for the Serjian vojenta,” he said.

  Derona looked at Kerish, who slid off his stool. “What news?” Not Willow, please don’t let it be about Willow.

  “It’s for her ladyship to hear first.” The man sneered at Kerish, who thought about punching him in his smug face, but controlled the urge. Instead, he gestured for the guard to follow him.

  He wasn’t sure where his mother would be at this hour, though he doubted she was still abed, so he took the guard first to the harem’s meeting chamber. Catrela was there, still in her dressing gown; she was a late riser. Kerish was a little surprised to find her there, already writing notes of invitation to other harems. She looked up at their entrance and asked a question with her thin, expressive eyebrows. “This…man…has news for Mother,” Kerish said, and was satisfied at the jolt of surprise and, then, fear that went through the guard. It overrode his dread for a few seconds.

  Catrela went to the bell-rope and gave it a good tug. “Janida is preparing to pay visits,” she said to the guard. “I hope for your sake the news is good.”

  The guard paled, and Kerish’s stomach sank further. It had to be about Willow. He realized his fist was opening and closing without his control and made himself stop, turned away and sat on one of the sofas. She’d been caught stealing and had been arrested. She’d been caught stealing and killed trying to escape. She’d been caught stealing and the person involved blamed Serjian. So many possibilities, and how the hell was he going to explain it to Felix?

  He looked up at the sound of footsteps in time to see Mother enter the chamber, settling her gold cuffs on her wrists the way she did when she was annoyed. “Yes?” she said, focusing immediately on the guard. Behind her, Alondra appeared, fully dressed as if ready to accompany Janida.

  The guard cleared his throat nervously. “Sovi Janida,” he said, “I come with bad news. News of the death of…of Serjian Amberesh.”

  Catrela gasped. Then she collapsed, folded in on herself to kneel on the floor. Alondra rushed to her side, supporting her, but she made no other noise, just stared at the guard wide-eyed. Janida said, “You have proof? A body?”

  “Yes, sovi, we took care to be certain of his identity before notifying you. We have the murderer in custody.”

  “Amberesh was banished, but we will demand private justice,” Janida said. “The killer will be released to us.”

  “Who did this?” Catrela exclaimed. “Who killed my son?”

  “A stranger to Umberan. A Tremontanan woman. We don’t know why she did it, but she knew who he was. Kept saying something about the Serjian Principality when she was captured.”

  Cold horror crept over Kerish, and a dread certainty. “A blonde woman? Short blonde hair, about so tall?”

  “Yes. How did you—”

  Kerish grabbed the man and slung him up against the wall, his arm across the guard’s throat. “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday, around noon,” the guard choked out. Kerish barely noticed his struggles. Red haze filled his vision.

  “Did she ask you to send word to us?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Did she?”

  “I don’t know!” The man’s face was turning red, and he scrabbled at Kerish’s arm, clearly afraid to strike a son of a principality. “She was guilty. She still had the knife on her. She—she’s in the cells awaiting the verdict.”

  “It took you all day to send to us? She’s been in that cell for nearly twenty-four hours—”

  “Let him go, Kerish,” Mother said, her voice a sharp warning. Kerish cursed and released the guard. All night in a prison cell—he’d already imagined it, but knowing it was true made it so much worse. And killing Amberesh. It had to be self-defense; there was no reason for her to go out of her way to kill anyone, let alone Amberesh.

  “I have to go to her, Mother,” he said. “You know this was a mistake.”

  “A mistake!” Catrela shrieked. “Willow North killed my son and you call it a mistake?”

  “Enough,” Mother roared. “Kerish, go with him to the cells and have her released and returned here. I
will arrange for Amberesh’s body to be brought to the Residence. Catrela—” She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. “You will have to tell Salveri. Alondra, go with her. Tell him what we know. The time for grieving is later. Now we must defend this principality.”

  Alondra helped Catrela stand, then embraced her tightly. Kerish took the guard by the shoulder and spun him around. “Outside,” he said.

  It took all his self-control not to beat the man senseless. The guard moved slowly, hesitantly, as if he was afraid Kerish might attack him again, which seemed a likely possibility. Kerish took him to the courtyard and arranged for a carriage to take them to the cells. The man sat on the very edge of the satin-padded seat, keeping as little of himself in contact with the seat as possible. Kerish gripped the seat and felt the pearls dig into the flesh of his palm. It felt good, real, something he could control. “If you’ve hurt her, I will make every one of you suffer,” he said.

  “She’s just in the cells,” the guard said. “It’s not my fault.”

  “I don’t care whose fault it is. She’d better be unharmed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The ride to the cells took far too long, and Kerish’s nerves were keyed up to the point that, when they finally arrived, he almost ran to the stairs descending to the cells ahead of the guard. The dark, windowless room stank of sweat and burning torches. To either side, manacled prisoners sat on benches and stared at the floor, overseen by guards with long knives. Against the far wall stood a tall bench that was battered with time and use. Another guard sat there, writing something in a ledger. “Where’s the woman who killed Serjian Amberesh?” Kerish shouted.