Exile of the Crown

By Melissa McShane

Zara North, former Queen of Tremontane, left her throne and her family behind to keep her secret: she cannot be killed, she cannot age, and her magic could topple the North family from the throne. As an exile in her own country, Zara finds love, sorrow, and new purpose as the years pass and the world changes around her. This novella contains four short stories, episodes in Zara's life, and covers the time between the end of SERVANT OF THE CROWN and the beginning of the third Tremontane novel, AGENT OF THE CROWN.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Night Harbor Publishing
• Release date: Apr 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9780986402654

Melissa McShane

Melissa McShane is the author of the novels of Tremontane, beginning with SERVANT OF THE CROWN, the Extraordinaries series beginning with BURNING BRIGHT, the Last Oracle series beginning with THE BOOK OF SECRETS, and COMPANY OF STRANGERS, first in the series of the same title. She lives in Utah with her husband, four children, one niece, and three very needy cats. She wrote reviews and critical essays for many years before turning to fiction, which is much more fun than anyone ought to be allowed to have.

Book preview

Exile of the Crown

By Melissa McShane

Published by Night Harbor Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Melissa Proffitt

Table of Contents

Part One: Winter, Year 908 of the Binding (Y.B.)

Part Two: Spring, 924 Y.B.

Part Three: Autumn, 945 Y.B.

Part Four: Summer, 952 Y.B.

About the Author

Part One: Winter, Year 908 of the Binding (Y.B.)

She hadn’t expected the noise. The thumping of the treadles, the clacking of the shuttle, the creaking groan of the batten, echoing off the walls and her skull until it was nearly tangible. She jerked on the picking stick, shifted her feet, repeated the motions. Maybe if she weren’t so damned slow at the thing, it wouldn’t bother her so much. Then again, Mistress Watkins wasn’t deaf, and she’d been a weaver for more than thirty years, so probably Zara was being oversensitive. She gritted her teeth. She refused to let some contraption of metal and wood defeat her. She’d chosen this path, and she wasn’t giving up.

She felt a tap on her shoulder. That’s enough for now, Mistress Watkins said, speaking in that carrying voice that wasn’t shouting and yet was easily heard over the noise of the loom. Zara let go the picking stick and sat back, flexing her calves. Good work.

I’m not fast enough, Zara said.

Patience, Agatha. You’ve already made more progress than I imagined. Guess it wasn’t so stupid taking on an older apprentice. At least I don’t have to worry about you running off to the big city, wasting my time and effort.

I’ve had my fill of the big city. Sterris is about right for me.

Mistress Watkins’ eyes twinkled. Especially when you’ve got so much to keep you here?

So it was back to that again. Zara slid off the seat and crossed the room to pick up her cloak. I’ve nowhere else to be, that’s certain. And I’ve got years of my apprenticeship to go. That’s more than enough.

You’re breaking poor Mister Hobson’s heart, you are. Might as well put him out of his misery.

I’m not inclined to marry. Mister Hobson knows that. It’s not my fault he’s too stubborn to see sense.

Mistress Watkins moved around the room, tidying up even though it was Zara’s job as apprentice to do that. And yet I notice you never give him the kind of send-off I know you’re capable of.

Zara put up the hood of her cloak to conceal her blush. Is prying into my affairs part of the apprenticeship?

That had been more acerbic than she’d intended, but Mistress Watkins didn’t take offense. That’s part of belonging to a small town, she said. We live in each other’s pockets. This time of year more than most, as we start thinking about Wintersmeet and how we’re all connected. I don’t like seeing you lonely.

I’m not lonely.

You should be. We’re all made to be joined, Agatha, and Hank Hobson…I’m just saying, don’t go pushing away your happiness just because you’re afraid it might turn on you.

That’s not— Zara closed her lips on the rest of that sentence. I just don’t feel that way about him, she said instead.

Don’t you, Mistress Watkins said in a bland voice. See you in the morning, Agatha.

Zara wrapped her cloak securely about herself and stepped into the wintry evening. Snow had been falling all day. Earlier it had roared around Mistress Watkins’ home, nearly drowning out the sound of the loom. Now it fell in tiny flakes that caught on the dark gray wool of her cloak and quivered there briefly before melting from its warmth. She’d left it on the hearth all afternoon and it was beautifully, if irregularly, hot. She let out a breath that steamed in the frigid air. Mercy Johnson’s pub, for a hand pie to take home with her, then—

Well, Miss Weaver, what a coincidence!

Zara let out another breath, this one exasperated. Mister Hobson, she said. It’s hardly a coincidence when you’re always here just as I leave for home.

Hank Hobson tipped his hat to her, making a small avalanche of snow fall off its brim between them. I just happen to pass this way most nights, he said.

And you just happen to stand outside this door long enough for the snow to accumulate on your hat.

It’s a comfortable corner. Would you deny me my comforts? Hobson grinned and winked, and despite her irritation Zara had to control a matching smile. He was annoying, and stubborn, and persistent, and every time she left Mistress Watkins’ house and he wasn’t there she felt hollow inside. It was stupid, she was stupid, and she needed to give him a real push so he’d stop trying to court her, but…

As we’re both here, perhaps you’ll let me escort you home? Hobson offered her his arm.

I don’t need help walking, Mister Hobson.

Oh, but I think I do. It’s been a long day in the mines and I’m feeling a bit wobbly. Hobson’s face, rugged and not quite handsome, creased in a comical expression of sorrow. You’re too kind a woman to let a man fall on his face if she could help it.

This time, she did smile, then cursed herself for being drawn by him, but by heaven, he was attractive. When he wasn’t being ridiculous he looked at her in a way that left her shaken with its intensity. I’m going to Mercy’s, she said, then felt stupid at how inane that sounded.

That’s where I’m going! he exclaimed, clapping a hand to his chest in pretended astonishment. Now you’ve no excuse. You’ll help me there, and I’ll buy you a pint in thanks.