Traitor (A Crown of Lilies Book 1)

by Melissa Ragland

  Mother stood in the foyer, confronting a breathless Gabe with a letter in her hand. She looked to me, the panic clear in her eyes. I snatched the missive from her grasp.

  I’ve already lost three of my boys to your schemes. No more. You’re on your own.

  Tommy’s handwriting.

  No couriers were coming.

  Cursing under my breath, I handed her the letter and rushed for the stairs.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To change.”

  Shera was busy packing my trunk when I burst through the door. Once she realized what I was about, she helped locate my breeches and tunic, along with my armaments. Her nimble fingers buckled my sword belt onto my hips as I fastened the Freyjan shield onto my left arm and pulled my sleeve down over it.

  My parents were waiting in the main hall when I made my way back down the steps. There was no point in arguing. It needed to be done. Mother handed me the pouch of eight letters, each one identical.

  “Be careful,” she murmured, eyes meeting mine.

  After helping me into my dark wool cloak, my father gripped my shoulder in reassurance, and I left. James was tending to the horses when I hurried purposefully into the stable, Valor stirring in his stall as I approached.

  “What are you doing out this late?” my friend asked.

  I saddled my dappled stallion as quickly as I could manage. “I have to run a few errands.”

  He set down his bucket, brows knitting. “It’s dark. You shouldn’t go alone. Let me come with you.”

  “No.” I kept my voice steady and forced myself to flash him an easy smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m staying within the noble quarter.”

  He eyed me doubtfully but knew me well enough to leave it alone. When I’d finished with Valor’s tack, I tucked the pouch of letters into a saddlebag and led him out into the moonlit courtyard. James followed, watching silently as I climbed into the saddle and refused the lantern he offered to fetch. Despite the uncertainty painted on his face, my friend held the gate for me and I raced out into the night.

  I didn’t feel the sharp bite of early winter in the air, only the driving terror that drummed in my chest as my mount’s hooves clattered on the cobblestones.

  House Therus was the first I visited, wanting to test my courier’s hand on an already amenable recipient. The gate guard admitted me readily and Leon met me in the foyer, his beautiful face marred with worry at my unexpected arrival.

  “Elivya, my gods, are you alright?”

  I held out the letter. “You and your father must read this in private. Burn it afterward.”

  He eyed it cautiously for a moment before taking it, giving me a curious once-over in the process. I doubt my rushed countenance did much to put him at ease, but I still had a long night ahead of me. I dared not linger. Leon was cracking the seal when I slipped back out the door.

  Not every visit was so easy. As the evening grew late, gate guards began to refuse me entry. It was only after much insistence that I eventually managed to convince them to check with their lords. Once admitted, my delivery was quickly done, but I wasted precious time arguing with servants and soldiers who asserted repeatedly that they would deliver my missive themselves. Others demanded I return at a more appropriate hour.

  I saved House Oristei for last. I’d an inkling that Reyus kept late hours, a suspicion that was soundly confirmed when his chamberlain ushered me into his study well past midnight. Pale green eyes looked up at me from his desk. He set his quill aside as he evaluated my attire, my disheveled appearance, the final letter in my hand.

  “What’s happened?” he demanded.

  “The tide has shifted. We’ve been exiled from Litheria.” I crossed the small room to set the final letter on the desk before him. “Be sure to burn it when you’re finished.”

  “This is not my first rebellion, young Lazerin,” he replied dryly as he cracked the seal and scanned its contents. “Wait,” he called as I turned to leave, raising one hand in a matching, if absentminded, gesture.

  “I really must go, my lord.”

  He finished reading and turned his intimidating gaze on me. “Tell me this, and tell me honestly: are we betrayed?”

  I considered him. There was a hint of great loss behind his sharp stares and edged tone. He had loved his sister Rishel deeply, and her death haunted him as much as it did Amenon. He was afraid for what remained of his family. I knew I should offer confident reassurances that if we stood together, our plan would doubtlessly succeed, that there was no need to fear. It would have been a lie. This man, who bore as many scars as my own father from some of the same battles, deserved truth.

  “High stakes require high risk, my lord. We will root out the informant. Stay the course.”

  I could feel those pale eyes on my back as I turned from him and made my exit. Valor waited in the courtyard, minded by an annoyed house guard who practically tossed the reins at me. With a murmured apology, I swung up into the saddle.

  Relief flooded me in the wake of that panicked frenzy, the whole of my crucial mission completed without incident. We plodded toward home in no great hurry, Valor shuffling along as I sucked in the cool night air. The whole of the city felt still and sleepy, a half-moon peeking out now and again from behind sweeping patches of blue-black clouds. Small sounds pierced the night, distant and easily dismissed.

  Until they weren’t.

  As I drew closer to home, the clamor grew noticeably louder, dousing my calm with ice water. Straining my ears, I caught bits of shouting and the clatter of metal cutting through the dark from a few streets away.

  Swords.

  I dug my heels into Valor’s flanks and we tore through the last few blocks, a storm of hooves and leather barreling down the shadowed streets. We reeled around the final corner and my heart turned to stone in my chest.

  Fire.

  I could feel the heat of it from the end of the street, our gatehouse already engulfed in flames. Women’s screams and the shouts of men echoed into the night beyond. A dozen soldiers in plate armor swarmed in the courtyard of my family’s home, their white uniforms cast yellow in the light of the flames. Two silhouettes made a stand at the doorway, steel flashing to hold the threshold without boots or armor; Gabe and Seth, woken in the night. I watched from a distance, frozen in terror, as they were cut down on the steps.

  Several of the men rushed into the house, ignoring the growing inferno. Those who remained began to circle the perimeter, disappearing along the sides of the house. One lingered at the front, heading for the barn with a torch in hand. A brave stable boy rushed him with a shoe hammer and was quickly dispatched, a spray of blood painting the night. I watched his small body crumple to the ground, the hammer clattering on the stones, and learned in an instant that which would see me through all the hell to come:

  Nothing thaws the icy paralytic of fear quite like rage.

  I spurred Valor with a sharp dig of my heels, my brave stallion diving through the open gates and past the roaring blaze of the gatehouse without hesitation. My fury focused to a pinpoint on the murdering torchbearer as we raced up the drive and into the courtyard proper. Drawing my sword, I rode him down, pouring my rage into one arcing swing that caught the soldier in the face as he turned toward me. The impact of steel on bone jarred my arm, nearly ripping the blade from my hand. Valor’s hooves skidded on the stones as I drew sharp rein, leaping from the saddle to finish the job. I scrambled over to the fallen suit of armor, only to find an empty shell staring up at me, face cleaved in two. Training alone spurred me to glance over his uniform, white like the King’s Guard, but not. Overtop the golden sunburst of Adulil, a black hand had been painted on his breastplate, a sloppy smear of red in the middle of the palm.

  I swore, panic and anger feeding fire into my veins. The stable still stood untouched by flame, so I hid Valor without tying him and slipped through the darkness toward the house. Stealing around the side toward the kitchen, I hid in
the bushes along the stone wall as I drew near three of the soldiers, the torches in their hands blinding them to anything outside their ring of light. I slid past unnoticed and in through the servants’ entrance.

  My foot slipped in something the moment I stepped through the door. Blood, I realized in horror as my eyes flicked downward. There was blood everywhere. Greta and her two kitchen boys lay dead on the floor, eyes open wide. Grief surged, tears threatening, but I shoved it down as deep as it could go. Not now. Keep moving. I stepped carefully over their bodies to make my way into the main house.

  Screams sounded from somewhere deep within and I ducked into the long shadows of a doorway as two more soldiers rattled by, torches glowing. The better part of the upstairs was already engulfed in flames. The heat of it scorched my face and made my eyes water. Just beyond the dining room, I spotted Preston’s body lying face down on the rug, two Origin soldiers slumped motionless on the floor nearby. He’d managed to don his armor, for all the good it had done him.

  I had to find my parents. When the soldiers passed, I gathered my courage to press further inward, but a hand grabbed my shoulder from behind. I whirled, reaching for my dagger, only to find James, his face strained and sweaty, hovered behind me. He threw up one hand, stumbling backward away from the threat of my blade, his other hand clutching his stomach.

  “James,” I breathed, taking in the sight of him. Blood seeped between his fingers, his tunic drenched with it. His scabbard was empty.

  “We must go!” he whispered earnestly.

  “My parents…” I shook my head and turned back toward the main hall. He snatched my arm hard enough to hurt and held on with an iron grip.

  “There are too many. They’ll catch you. We have to go now!”

  I tried and failed to pull away, panic raising my voice unwittingly. “I can’t just leave them!”

  A pair of male voices sounded nearby, and the rattle of armor drew closer. James’ eyes begged silently, the rest of him pale and weak as he wavered on his feet. One soldier, I might be able to catch off-guard and kill, but there were at least two heading our way and my friend was all but useless in his state. More likely than not, I would be captured and the details of our plans would be drawn from me. All that we had worked toward would be lost, if it wasn’t already. Who knew how many fires were burning across Litheria that night?

  Later, my mother’s voice snapped inside my head. You are here. Now. Focus! I pushed those fears from my mind and pulled James’ arm over my shoulders.

  We slipped back through the servants’ entrance and toward the front of the house. The courtyard was being watched, but the side gate stood unguarded, so I left him in the bushes near it and slunk through the shadows back to the stable. My first kill had been spotted and the soldiers were searching for the culprit. I couldn’t risk taking the time to saddle another horse. I grabbed Valor’s reins and led him out a back entrance in the unwatched paddock. The wooden gate creaked as it swung open, the sound as loud as thunder to my ears. I was sure I’d be discovered, but no one came.

  It took every ounce of my strength to get James into the saddle, but we managed it and slipped out the side gate onto the street. Behind us, flames licked the sky as the stable was set afire, the screaming of the horses wrenching at my heart. Too late. There was nothing left to do but run. Once we’d rounded a corner out of sight of the manor, I climbed carefully up behind James. Valor sidled unhappily but obeyed when I put my heels to him.

  I don’t remember much of the flight to the Greyshor. I was numb with terror, drowning myself in narrow focus to keep the paralyzing fear at bay. Left turn here. Three streets down. Now right. Don’t stop. Keep going.

  When we reached the hidden livery stable, the boy looked us over nervously as I slid down off Valor’s rump and approached him.

  “Let us in,” I demanded.

  His eyes took in my haggard appearance and James’ desperate state, voice timid and unsure. “I can’t, if you bring trouble. I’m not supposed to, if there’s trouble.”

  I snatched a fistful of his filthy tunic and shook him. “You open this door and go fetch Tommy before I throttle you, boy!”

  Wide-eyed, he scrambled to obey. James ducked over Valor’s neck as I led him into the dark warehouse. A lad came to take him from me and stopped short upon closer look, the young boy I’d threatened racing past him toward the small office. No one bothered to help me ease my bloodied friend down from the saddle. Pulling one limp arm over my shoulders, I endeavored to take some of James’ weight as his breathing grew more labored.

  “The fuck is going on?” Tommy’s harsh voice snarled as his quick steps approached, halting abruptly when he drew near. Hard eyes appraised our grim state, that sharp-featured face paling as he took in our blood-smeared clothes. He gestured to the young man who was meant to accept my mount and instead stood gaping at us.

  “Help her,” he barked irritably. A shout into the darkness brought a few more young men of varying ages to our aid. Two of them took James from me. One led Valor off to the pens. Tommy conversed with the other two quietly. Whatever he said to them, they touched their knuckles to their brows and raced off into the night. Then he turned his attention to me – or rather, to what was left of me, now that the surging drive for survival had vanished.

  I couldn’t move. My feet were filled with iron, anchoring me where I stood, my mind faint and buzzing.

  “I have to go back.” My voice cracked, reality rushing in like an unstoppable wave. Fear, grief, despair, uncertainty, anger, all crashed down on me at once. “I have to go back,” I repeated hollowly. My voice sounded far away.

  Tommy grabbed my arm. “Ye need to lay low, lass. Ain’t nothin’ ye can do for ‘em now, anyway.”

  “I have to go back.” Tears burned my eyes.

  He shook me, genuine concern flickering across his face. “They all knew to meet here, should things go bad, yeah?” he pressed reasonably. I nodded, barely. “So we stay put, lay low, an’ wait.” When I didn’t respond, he pulled on my arm. “Come on.” I went.

  I’d never noticed the back entrance to the Greyshor, a staircase off the alley that led up to the row of rooms that were regularly let out. Tommy and his boys dragged us both up the steps and deposited us in one such room. James, they lowered carefully onto the bed, and I heard Tommy tell one of the young men to fetch a surgeon. The other stayed to stand guard in the hall. I sat on the bed beside my wounded friend, trembling.

  “Elivya,” James murmured through gritted teeth. I turned toward the sound of his voice, a ghost in my own skin, and saw the fear in his eyes. He needed me. I swallowed my despair, forcing it down deep, and tried to focus on him.

  One of the lads fetched me a basin of water and a clean cloth from downstairs. I peeled the bloody tunic back and caught my breath at the sight of his ravaged abdomen. Faking a reassuring smile for him, I went to work cleaning his wound.

  To his credit, Tommy stayed with us for the better part of an hour until his runner reappeared with a tired-looking medic in tow. James hissed through his teeth when we lifted his arms to remove his tunic. The wound still seeped blood, surrounded by sticky clots. The surgeon’s solemn face only darkened as he examined the damage, fingers prodding around the perimeter, pressing on the unmarred parts of the belly and causing his patient to unleash a stream of curses. From his bag, he drew a bottle of dark liquid and administered a careful dose before cleaning and bandaging the wound.

  The physician stood, retreating to the doorway with us. “The blade has pierced the bowels,” he told us quietly. “There is nothing I can do for him.”

  My heart sank, the last flickers of my desperate hope extinguished by his solemn diagnosis. “There must be a way,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

  His wizened face regarded me with compassion. “I am sorry, my dear. I’ll leave you something to make him comfortable. We must all return to the Mother one day. His time is near.”

  Tommy pressed a c
oin into the man’s hand and sent him away. I looked over at James, his eyes closed in his exhaustion.

  My friend… my friend was going to die. He was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it. He would die, and it was my fault. All of it, my fault. Greta. Seth. Gabe. Preston. How many others? All because of me. A gruff voice cut through the torrent of misery coalescing in my mind.

  “A word, lass.” Tommy pulled me out into the hall and closed the door quietly behind us, fixing me with a stoic gaze. “Ye don’t live as long as I have in Dockside without watchin’ a few people die.” He tilted his head at the closed door. “The way he’s goin’ is not quick or easy, and that valerian concoction will only help for so long. If ye care for him at all, you’ll end it for him.”

  His words turned my stomach, driving home the bitter realization that if I’d just let him come with me like he’d asked, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. My mind could hear the truth in Tommy’s voice, but my heart refused outright.

  “Lass...” he pressed gently.

  I dashed tears from my cheeks and nodded vigorously, avoiding his eyes. Gathering myself, I took a breath and slipped back into the room alone. I stared at James across the dark space. He slept in the wake of the physician’s careful dose, his copper hair plastered to his sweaty brow. Crossing the floor quietly, I sank down onto the mattress beside him, a low murmur escaping his lips as I took his hand into my lap. With no one to witness, I wept.

  The first lights of dawn began to peek over the rooftops outside the dingy window. No one had come. I stood stiffly, careful not to disturb him, and pressed my lips to his damp forehead.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I promise, I’ll be back.”

  One of the lads lingered outside the door and made to stop me as I slipped from the room.

  “Tommy said you shouldn’t leave, miss.”

  I pressed one finger to my lips and his protests fell silent.

  “Just keep an eye on him,” I murmured. “I’ll be back soon.”