A Crown for Assassins

“We are gathered today to witness the wedding of Queen Sophia of the House of Danse to Prince Sebastian of the House of Flamberg. They stand unmasked in the sight of the goddess, and before one another.”

It conveniently left out the part where neither of them had followed the traditional ceremony in the first place. Sebastian let it go. The fact that he was marrying the woman he loved was the only thing that mattered.

“Now,” the high priestess said. “Queen Sophia tells me that she wishes to say her own words at this point. Your Majesty?”

Sophia reached out to touch Sebastian’s face, and in that moment the crowd was quiet enough that the words carried over it on the breeze.

“When I first met you,” she said, “I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know where I fit into the world, or even if I could. I knew that I loved you, though. That part was a constant. That part hasn’t changed. I love you, Sebastian, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

It was Sebastian’s turn then, but he hadn’t prepared what he would say. He had thought that he would know when the time came, and, it turned out, he did.

“We’ve been through so much,” Sebastian said. “I have had moments when I thought that I had lost you, and moments when I knew that I did not deserve you. I tried to follow you beyond the kingdom, and in the end, you are the one who found me here. I love you, Sophia.” He paused for a moment and smiled. “I never thought that I would be the one marrying into royalty.”

The high priestess took their hands, placing them in one another. Sebastian’s heart pulsed with anticipation. Ordinarily, this would have been the moment when she pronounced them married, but that wasn’t the way Sophia wanted things.

Instead, the horns sounded again.

***

Kate looked out toward the entrance to the Church of the Masked Goddess, unable to contain her excitement much longer. Her sister getting both crowned and married would already have made this one of the best days of her life at any other time, but now, it felt as though she’d waited long enough. She watched with eager anticipation as Will stepped out.

Neither of them looked as regal as Sophia and Sebastian did, but that was fine by Kate. They were soldiers, not rulers. It was enough that Will was the same gorgeous boy she’d first seen when he’d come to visit his parents’ forge.

He marched down toward the platform, and halfway along his route, Lord Cranston and his men drew their swords, forming an arch of steel for Will to walk beneath. It made Kate glad to see it, and glad that they were all still alive after all the battles they’d fought.

Will came up onto the platform and Kate grabbed his hand for herself, not waiting for some withered old priestess to decide that it was time.

“When I first met you,” Will said, “I thought you were headstrong, stubborn, and probably likely to get both of us killed. I wondered what kind of wild girl had come into my parents’ forge. Now I know that you are all of those things, Kate, and it is just a part of what makes you so amazing. I want to be your husband until the stars grow so dull I can’t see you, or until I grow so dull I start to slow you down.”

“You don’t slow me down,” Kate replied. “My heart’s beating faster just looking at you, for one thing. I wish I could promise to settle down with you and to make things peaceful, but we both know that’s not the way that the world works. War can come even in the happiest times, and it’s not in my nature to stand by for it. Still, until blade or bow or just old age claims us, I want you to be mine.”

It wasn’t the traditional kind of promise, but it was what was in Kate’s heart, and she suspected that was the part that counted. The high priestess didn’t look particularly impressed, but from where Kate was standing, that was just an added bonus.

“Now that we have heard your own promises to one another, I ask you, Sophia of House Danse, do you take Sebastian of House Flamberg to be your husband?”

“I do,” Sophia said beside Kate.

“And do you, Kate of House Danse, take Will… son of Thomas the smith, to be your husband?”

“Didn’t I just say that?” Kate pointed out, trying not to laugh at the old woman’s inability to comprehend that someone born to a smith might not have a house name. “All right, all right, I do.”

“Do you, Sebastian of House Flamberg take Sophia of House Danse to be your wife?”

“I do,” Sebastian said.

“And do you Will take Kate of House Danse to be your wife?”

“I do,” he said, sounding happier than Kate suspected anyone had a right to be at the prospect of being joined to her for life.

“Then it is my pleasure to declare that you are one flesh, joined in the eyes of the goddess,” the priestess intoned.

But Kate didn’t hear her. By that point, she was far too busy kissing Will.

CHAPTER TWO

The Master of Crows watched his fleet with satisfaction as it sailed in to land on the northern coast of what had once been the Dowager’s kingdom. The invasion fleet was like a bloodstain on the water, the crows flying above in great flocks that seemed more like storm clouds.

Ahead lay a small fishing port, hardly a fitting start for his campaign, but after the time they’d spent at sea, it would be a welcome taste of things to come. The ships hung back, waiting for his signal, and the Master of Crows paused for a moment to appreciate the beauty of it all, the peace of the sunlit shore.

He waved a hand idly, and whispered, knowing that a hundred corvids would croak the words to his captains. “Let it begin.”

The ships started to move forward like the individual components of some beautiful machine of death, each one slotting into its allotted place as it moved toward the shore. The Master of Crows guessed that the captains would be vying to see who could perform their duties the most precisely, trying to please him with the obedience of their crews. They never seemed to learn that he cared about little except the death to follow.

“There will be death,” he murmured as one of his pets landed on his shoulder. “There will be enough death to drown the world.”

The crow cawed its agreement, as well it should. His creatures had been well fed in the last weeks, the deaths from the battle for Ashton still filling his coffers of power, even as fresh deaths flowed in from around the New Army’s empire every day.

“There will be more today,” he said with a grim smile as both soldiers and would-be soldiers lined up to defend their home on the shore.

Cannon sounded, the first shots echoing across the water, the crashes of their impact reverberating. Soon the air would be thick with smoke, so that he would be the only one able to see what was happening, thanks to his birds. Soon, his men would have to trust his orders absolutely.

“Tell the third company to swing wider,” he said to one of his aides. “It will prevent anyone from escaping up the coast.”

“Yes, my lord,” the young man replied.

“Have a landing boat prepared for me as well.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And remind the men of my orders: those who resist are to be killed without mercy.”

“Yes, my lord,” the aide said again.

As if the Master of Crows’ captains needed to be reminded. They knew his rules by now, his wishes. He sat on the deck of his flagship, watching cannonballs strike flesh, and men falling beneath the barrage of musket fire. Finally, he decided that the moment was ripe, and he made his way to the landing boat that was being lowered, checking his weapons as he went.

“Row,” he commanded the men there, and they strained against the oars, striving to get him to the shore along with his troops.

He held up a hand as his crows warned him, and the men stopped rowing in time for a ball shot from an aging cannon to strike the water in front of them.

“Continue.”

The landing boat slid through the waves, and, in spite of the overwhelming force of the New Army’s numbers, some of the waiting men leapt to attack it. The Master of Crows hopped onto the quay to meet them, his blades rising.

He thrust through the chest of one, then stepped aside as another swung at him. He parried a blow and cut another man down with the casual efficiency of long practice. It was so foolish of men like this to think that they could hope to defeat him, even hurt him. Only two people had managed that in a long while, and both Kate Danse and her detestable brother would die for that in time.

For now, this was not so much a fight as a slaughter, and the Master of Crows reveled in it. He hacked and he thrust, bringing down foes with every movement. When he saw a young woman trying to run, he paused to draw a pistol and shoot her in the back, then continued about his more pressing work.

“Please,” a man begged, throwing down his sword in surrender. The Master of Crows gutted him, then moved onto the next.