Traitor (A Crown of Lilies Book 1)

by Melissa Ragland

  Valor slowed beneath me, skipping to a prancing halt alongside Lehs. I wanted so badly to look back over my shoulder, to see if my shot had struck true, but I didn’t dare. Hit or miss, what mattered most was that I kept my chin held high, my back straight. My father sat astride barely ten feet from me, Samson a dark cloud at his side. Rowan offered me the barest twitch of a grin.

  “Quality stock, my lord,” he announced loudly enough for all to hear. Briggs and his two infantry lingered on foot nearby, one pressing a blood-stained rag to his nostrils. All three were watching me with guarded expressions.

  “Yes,” Father replied stiffly, though a measure of the anger had slipped from his tone. I met his piercing gaze and held it, seeing within all those nights my antics had roused him from his bed; all the stories of war and heroism he’d spun with me perched on his knee. He didn’t falter or give any of it away as he added, “I can see that.”

  I could have begged with my eyes, a silent language every parent shares with their child. I could have pled for time, for trust, for leniency. But I’d stolen those three weeks and shattered his trust. There would be no mercy for me.

  “Captain Rowan.” My father turned his attention to my superior. “You have one of my stablemaster’s sons here, I believe. I’d like to have a word with him. In private.”

  My heart sank to my boots and I quickly found James’ face in the nearby crowd, bloodless and wide-eyed with fear. The rest of us were ordered to start in on our next round of drills while the Lord of Lazerin met with his servant in the fields a good distance out of earshot. Lehs and I set out to retrieve our arrows, making our way around the course.

  “What do you think that’s about?” the lean boy asked, nodding in their direction. I glanced at the distant silhouettes, James’ slight outline dwarfed beside my father’s massive figure.

  “Dunno,” I murmured. “Not for our ears, though.”

  “Bet he’s getting dismissed. I heard he skirted his duties to be here.”

  I yanked an arrow from the straw target and shoved it back into the quiver at my knee, keeping my mouth firmly shut on the matter. Lehs’ curious gaze shifted to me next.

  “How do you know Commander Samson?”

  A light tap of my heels sent Valor trotting toward the next target, putting some space between me and the irritatingly curious innkeeper’s boy. Of all the recruits, he had the most juvenile demeanor of all, being the youngest of eight siblings. His excitable nature made him a nervous talker, and I suddenly longed for Bryce’s sharp-edged – and silent – company.

  “Seemed like he was surprised to see you,” Lehs observed, reaching out to wrest his arrow free.

  “He and my father fought together during the War,” I replied flatly, hoping my tone alone would discourage him. “He didn’t think I’d ever train here.”

  “Why not?”

  I returned another arrow to the quiver strapped to my saddle. “My father didn’t want me to.”

  That gave him pause, but only a moment’s worth. As we headed toward the final target, he sidled up alongside and peered over at me.

  “Why’d you lie?”

  My heart tripped inside my chest, breath catching as I instantly feared discovery, but I forced myself to reply in as bored a tone as I could muster. “About what.”

  “You said you won him at dice,” he said, jutting his chin at Valor. “But the Commander called you ‘horse thief’.”

  A tiny, tightly-controlled sigh of relief eased from my lungs. Thank Adulil for my mother’s training. The lie came to me as if it were already written inside my head.

  “I said it was a lucky throw. Not a fair one.”

  We dismounted to the raucous cries of birds swooping overhead and Lehs started the search for his wayward arrow.

  “If he fought in the War, why wouldn’t he want you to train?” Lehs called back over his shoulder to me, hands sweeping through the tall grass. I shuffled over to the bright red Maidenhead, staring at the single shaft jutting from its center.

  “I suppose he didn’t think I’d be any good at it. That I’d embarrass him.”

  He snorted as he rejoined me, picking the dirt off his recovered arrow and eyeing the pierced target. “If only he could see you now.”

  “Aye,” I muttered, yanking my own free. “If only.”

  We heaved ourselves back into the saddle and turned back toward the cluster of mounted recruits riding maneuvers in the fields. It was then that I noticed James ambling back across the valley alone. In the distance beyond, two mounted figures retreated on the horizon.

  “That didn’t last long,” Lehs remarked.

  I blinked at the dark silhouettes heading south with haste, certain I must be hallucinating. It made no sense. Why would he just leave? I stumbled into the reason shortly after the question surfaced in my mind.

  He’s having James bring me back quietly.

  Proof of my friend’s loyalty to his lord. A gesture that would save his position at the estate. I wondered grimly if Shera had been given a similar opportunity.

  I didn’t have a chance to ask until that evening, leaning across the table to speak in hushed murmurs at our secluded spot near the hearth.

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  “I mean exactly that,” he replied flatly, glaring at me over his supper.

  “That makes no sense, James.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What exactly did he say to you?” I pressed.

  He washed a mouthful of mutton down with a swig of mead and shot me another irritated look.

  “A whole lot that’s none of your business.”

  “Then tell me the part that is. Why would he just leave without so much as a word to me?”

  Solemn brown eyes darted to one side and then the other before he leaned closer and replied. “Because you’re his heir, idiot. You think he wants all of Laezon talking about how his daughter ran off to wallow in the mud with a bunch of commoners for three months? A garrison full of men?” He shook his head with a snort and took another long draught. “You don’t need the Court to ruin your reputation. You’re doing a fine job of that all on your own.”

  I shut my mouth with a snap, embarrassed that I’d not managed to draw that rather obvious conclusion myself.

  “Besides,” he added, pressing his mug between his hands. “He saw you on the field today.”

  I scowled at my freshly torn knuckles, my tone turning sour. “Saw me get trounced by Bryce.”

  “Saw you hold your own. Saw you outshoot every other man here.”

  He’s trying to distract me.

  “Tell me what he said, James.”

  He chewed his cheek a moment, a soft sigh slipping out his nostrils. Then he reached down to his left boot and drew forth a sheathed dagger, setting it gently onto the table between us. The worn leather scabbard was of fine quality, curved slightly to follow the arc of the blade within. A bit of decorative tracery had been stamped into it long ago, the design faded with time and use. Above, a simple hilt of polished steel glinted in the torchlight.

  “He told me to give you this,” he said, face darkening. “And a message.”

  I turned the dagger over in my hands, thumb tracing the sigil carved into the pommel: a rearing stallion, the symbol of my House. When I gripped the polished wooden handle and drew the blade from its sheath, folded whorls of Euzoni steel stared back at me.

  “What message?”

  James fidgeted with the mug in his hands. “Return with honor,” he murmured, “or not at all.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Mead sloshed as nearby tankards were refilled, and yet another roll of deafening laughter thundered off the stone walls. I winced at the racket, glancing toward the cluster of men already well into their cups just a few seats down from where we sat.

  “They’re in rare form tonight,” I remarked dryly. Even after almost three months, the cacophony of the mess hall never ceased to ma
ke my head hurt.

  James eyed them briefly before returning to his own barely-touched mug. “Only a week left. They’re celebrating.”

  “A week?” I balked. “That can’t be right.”

  “It’s true. We’re nearly done. Good thing, too. There’s only so many buggering jokes I can stomach.”

  Those jests had been largely aimed at us, conspicuously sequestered together near the hearth each night and notably early to retire – also together. At first, the suggestion had made me turn every shade of red, but I’d since heard every imaginable curse, insult, and vulgar description known to man, and I was quite certain nothing could unsettle me anymore. Shera could spend a year scrubbing out my ears and never get rid of all the filth. Refining my newly-expanded vocabulary back to a more Court-appropriate scope was going to be a challenge as well. I’d taken quite naturally to the coarser points of soldiery.

  Slouching in my chair, I propped one foot on the table and settled my third mug onto my stomach with a bleary-eyed smirk.

  “If you didn’t want the lads talking about your backside, you should have worn looser trousers.”

  “Ah, well,” he sighed. “I do love the attention.”

  I snorted into my mead, the flush of alcohol warming my face. We’d not dared deny those rumors beyond the occasional insult or empty threat. I’d grown comfortable in my ruse as a boy, but the threat of discovery – and my father’s ultimatum – lingered always at the back of my mind. My feat with the Maidenhead had endeared me to our comrades, but they were still men. I doubted many would accept the truth of my gender with the same apathy as Captain Rowan.

  “Will you be glad to head back?” I asked after a long moment, shoving those familiar worries aside.

  James shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose.”

  A chorus of toasts rang out nearby as I watched him and wondered for the hundredth time what had passed between him and my father. He claimed he’d not been dismissed, but refused to say more on the subject.

  “Can’t say I’ll be sad to put those damned barracks behind me,” he added, scratching at his head. “Pretty sure I’ve got lice.”

  I chuckled at that, which earned me a wry glare from my companion. His face darkened a shade when his eyes fell to the dagger at my belt.

  “What about you?”

  The mead in my mouth suddenly soured. I set my nearly-empty mug aside with a frown. “Not much choice in the matter. Have to face them eventually.”

  “Aye,” he murmured.

  I shifted in my chair, folding my arms across my chest and turning the conversation firmly elsewhere. “So that’s it? One more week and we all just go home?”

  “You and I will.” He jutted his chin at the rest of our comrades. “Most of them will return in the fall for their first patrol.”

  “…Will you?”

  My friend fixed me with those kind brown eyes, one corner of his mouth tugging upward. “What’s it to you?”

  I picked at a loose splinter in the tabletop. “Just curious.”

  A quiet laugh escaped his lips. “Don’t tell me you’d miss me.”

  My head already swimming in two mugs of mead, I lacked the capacity to dissemble. Or to ignore the way his copper hair caught the torchlight, a few ragged curls sweeping forward to kiss his throat.

  “…I guess I would.”

  He stilled, reading my face for a long moment before his own split in a toothy grin. “Buggerer.”

  I was still laughing when a familiar figure slumped gracelessly into the seat next to mine. “Before you steal ‘way to plunder each other’s peach groves,” drawled an exceptionally drunk Bryce, “I need you teh wager a settle fer me.” Bloodshot eyes and a wavering finger drifted from me to James and back again, a look of grave intensity on his face. “Do you put it in him, or does he put it in you?”

  What little composure he’d managed to maintain crumbled less than a second after the words left his mouth, and both he and the attentive crowd behind him erupted into howling laughter.

  I sucked my teeth as I eyed him, the fog in my head clearing just enough to harness a decent retort. I waited for the noise to dim before hooking one elbow over the back of my chair with casual swagger.

  “Still in heat, darling?” I watched his face fall and flashed him a sultry smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve enough cock for the both of you.”

  His comrades burst into even more of an uproar at that, and Bryce retreated to his distant mug with a wounded scowl. I turned back to James to find him eyeing me across the table.

  “What?” I challenged.

  “Your mother would faint in her corset if she heard such filth from your mouth.”

  Before I could reply, Trente wandered over to us, markedly coherent and still chuckling.

  “He was supposed to ask you to join us,” he said, flashing James a companionable smile. “Though we did take bets on whether or not he’d say something stupid enough to make you throttle him.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time.

  We did join them, though, forgoing my chance at a discreet wash in favor of a raucous evening with our comrades. With the end of our training only a week away, we all boasted of our hard-won skill and many challenges were laid in the dining hall that night. I turned down one such for a bare-fisted match but took on Bryce in thrown knives. He beat me, as usual, but by a closer margin than normal – largely due to his inebriated state.

  James accepted a challenge from one of the leaner infantry and pinned him rightly after a short scuffle. Shirtless and bloodied, he beamed at me as his opponent was hauled to his feet by two others, far worse for the wear. Someone thrust a tankard into his hand, which he drained to the cheers of his admirers before shuffling over to rejoin me.

  With a damp rag I begged off one of the kitchen hands, I cleaned the blood from his cuts. He’d have a few ripe bruises to his face and ribs come morning, but the worst of the damage had been to his hands.

  “I have to admit, I’m going to miss this,” he said with a grin, the words thick and clumsy on his tongue. I’d tapered off my own consumption once we joined the others, sipping from my fourth mug of mead with care, but he’d downed at least three more since we abandoned our seats by the hearth, no doubt attempting to keep pace with the rest. I wasn’t foolish enough to try. Nevertheless, the garrison’s mead was strong and I still felt the buzzing warmth in my head, a sensation that spread to my fingertips when they grazed James’ skin in the tending.

  Foolish, really, considering that we’d been nearly inseparable since childhood. What did a simple touch matter when we’d swam in the pasture ponds with all the other children of the estate, not a scrap of clothing among us? We’d been too young to care, in those days, more concerned with leeches than modesty, but my body’s reaction still seemed utterly absurd.

  When I began to dab at his torn knuckles, he flinched and pulled away, breaking the mead’s spell. “Watch it, would you?” he hissed through his teeth.

  “Don’t be such a baby,” I growled, snatching his hand back. “No lass is ever going to bed you if you cry all the time.”

  He turned his nose up. “Hasn’t been a problem thus far.”

  “Oh, please. Paying Marcie for a roll in the loft hardly counts.”

  “Paying-I’ve never paid for it in my life!”

  “Don’t get so indignant. Not like you’d be the first.”

  “I don’t-” he started to protest, but stopped short when he noticed my lips squeezed tight. “Oh, ha-ha.”

  My snort of laughter drew a few looks, but our comrades soon turned back to their mugs and Bryce, who resumed regaling them with one of his bawdy tales.

  “As if you’d need to,” I drawled, glancing up at James through my lashes without thinking, one of the subtleties my mother had taught me. Timed well and paired with a smile – sweet or wicked, depending on the mark – it was one of the most effective tools for manipulating men. By the startled look on my friend
’s face and the deepening of the flush on his cheeks, I’d done a fair job employing it.

  Except I hadn’t meant to.

  The mead was making me sloppy. Reckless. That flirtatious gesture had slipped from me without thought. A sharp chill of revulsion slid down my spine.

  Is that what I am now? Using those weapons on those closest to me?

  I’d used them on my parents, a betrayal I knew they would never fully forgive. To use them on James, when he had risked so much to help me…

  I could feel his eyes lingering on me as I ducked my head to continue my administrations. For long minutes, neither of us spoke. I bent to my task and tried to tighten my wavering composure, but my efforts proved in vain when his breath rustled a loose strand of my hair.

  “You did it,” he finally said, his low voice strumming a reluctant chord somewhere deep within me. “You pulled through, the whole three months.”

  I battled to keep my breath steady, painfully aware of how close he’d leaned in order to speak those words in confidence.

  “Couldn’t have, without you,” I admitted.

  “You could.” His hand turned slowly in mine, palms meeting in a graze of calluses. When I dared to look up, those warm eyes sparkled with quiet affection. “But I’m glad I was here, with you.”

  A week later, we assembled at dawn for our dismissal, underslept and heads aching. Our final night in the mess hall had proven far more raucous than any night previous, and even I had overindulged to the point of agony.

  Samson, mounted on his chestnut gelding, observed the proceedings in silence as the Captains called role. One by one, the men strode to the front, collected their pay, and accepted the simple shortsword granted each recruit at the completion of their training. The same size as our battered practice blades, the stack of weapons shone in the morning sun, freshly-oiled leather and newly-forged steel catching the light. I stared at that pile and waited to hear the name I’d given myself, my mind already drifting south to the manor and the confrontation awaiting me there.