“Come,” he stood, shaking me from my rumination. He held out his hand to me, eyes bright. “I owe you a dance, a proper one this time.”
I needed to be taught, as the racing reel featured an unfamiliar structure and much energy. All of my formal lessons amounted to naught in this company, and I felt a bit ridiculous. Natalia generously obliged to show me the rudiments before passing me along to be spun mercilessly around the room from partner to partner. Men and women alike laughed and clapped as the tune shifted to one that was apparently intended for set partners, though with nearly as much vigor as the last. Adrian claimed me again, and I was glad to have had the chance to get my bearings with strangers beforehand.
One hand clasped mine in a callused grip, the other slid around my hip to brace the small of my back and pull me close. Pressed against him, my heart pounded in my chest. Heat radiated from him through my woolen dress, and his breath mingled with mine. I forced myself to look up at his grinning face. He raised his eyebrows at me. “Ready?”
“Likely not,” I confessed with a laugh and a shake of my head. At that, we were off again, whirling through the crowd on the tide of the music. To my credit, I only stepped on his foot twice. It was exhilarating, exhausting, and the most fun thing I’d ever done in my life. By the time we all retreated to collapse back into our chairs, my feet ached. We ordered another round and I pointedly ignored Quintin’s darkening scowl.
One of the other young men had started in on a story that was familiar to everyone but me, it seemed. “So she shimmies down the mizzen, stomps up to the foredeck-”
“I did not stomp!” Natalia protested.
“-and looks the captain straight in the face-”
“Miserable old codger,” someone added.
“-says ‘If you don’t swing round for that raft, it’ll take Brizo herself to keep me from thrashing you!’” The table erupted in laughter as Natalia objected to the unflattering rendition.
“You sailed?” I leaned in, aghast. “On a ship? With men?”
She met my eyes openly. “Of course.”
“Have you not wondered why we don’t use ben or fen in our surnames?” Alec put to me.
I shrugged. “I guessed it was simply too much of a mouthful.” That sparked a bit more laughter, and once again I felt foolish.
Natalia smiled kindly. “Men and women share a more equal footing in Daria, especially at sea. Brizo doesn’t care if you’re a daughter or a son, she’ll claim you regardless, so neither do we. If you can rig a sail, if you can load a ballista, if you can wield a sword, you are welcome in our fleet.”
“I hear you’re not unfamiliar with the concept,” one of their cousins muttered and was quickly elbowed into silence. I could no longer let it go unanswered.
“What exactly have you heard about me?” I asked the young man pointedly.
He looked around hesitantly at the others, taking his cue from Natalia who merely threw up one hand in acquiescence. His coy gaze and archetypal Van Dryn smirk returned to me.
“That you train with sword and shield. That you ride astride in the manner of a cavalryman. That you keep a Tuvrian manservant to train you in the ways of warfare.” He jutted his chin at Quintin at that last. I turned my head to glance back over my shoulder and was met with his ice blue eyes glinting furiously at the lot of us.
Fuck it. I threw caution to the wind and summoned Eli from the depths of the garrison. “First of all,” I turned back to my captive audience. “I’m shit with a sword and shield. Give me a bow and I’ll give you something to talk about.” That earned me some laughs and a few hoots. “I ride as men do because I am a Lazerin and because it is practical. And,” I added, jabbing the table with my finger. “I keep no one, nor does my family. Quintin serves at his own leisure, and if you’ve a more capable armsman, I’d like to see him.” It was a blind boast, as I’d seen little of his capability, but Tuvrian prowess at arms was renowned through all of Alesia.
The table was hushed, and the cousin chastened. A few exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“So you have trained with a sword, then?” Natalia broke the awkward silence.
I met her gaze unflinching. “I have.”
She grinned wickedly. “Well bugger off, lads, I’m resuming my commission with this one as my First.” Our companions erupted in laughter and she winked at me.
With the evening’s mood rescued by my elegant and unexpected ally, we finished a few more rounds of mead before calling a close to the festivities. My head swimming, I was whisked along with our party out into the night and through the streets to our covert stable. I don’t remember mounting Valor, parting ways with my companions, or following Quintin back through the city to the manor. I do remember him helping a sleepy Shera guide me up the steps to my bedroom. Then, darkness.
Waking in a sweat, I saw midday peering through my curtains, and squinted against the light, clutching my head. The door to my chambers burst open louder than the unleashing of the seven hells and Greta stomped her way to my bedside. She thrust a glass of some mysterious concoction at me as I groaned in agony and cursed at her to be quiet.
“Drink,” she demanded.
Sitting up reluctantly, I gulped some and nearly vomited on my bedsheets. “What the bloody hells-”
“All of it, miss.” Her tone left no room for disagreement, so I held my nose and forced down the rest. “You’ll feel right as rain in a trice,” she said, snatching the glass back and heading back out the door. “Shera’ll be in straight away to get you dressed.”
Lunch, and my parents, were waiting for me in the dining room, the latter with displeased expressions. I suppose the former as well, as the head of the recently roasted hog sneered at me from the centerpiece. Quintin, you bastard. The realization broke over me like a wave of cold betrayal. I tried to make myself as unobtrusive as possible as I helped myself to some ham and biscuits.
“You seem to have enjoyed your evening,” my mother murmured sardonically.
My father seemed to be in a significantly less charitable mood. “I do not have enough years left on this earth to enumerate the dangers of your actions.” His anger crackled in the air. I’d never seen him so furious.
“I was well-protected,” I began carefully.
“My garrison is not at your beck and call,” he snapped.
“Natalia and many others were in attendance, I’m not an idiot-”
“You are the heir to this House!” he thundered, his fist slamming the table.
“Enough,” my mother intervened sternly. She fixed me with a commanding stare. “Elivya, the study. Now.” As I stood and took leave of my barely-touched plate, I caught a glimpse of my parents as I stalked out of the room. My mother laid a reassuring hand on my father’s shoulder. He reached up to place his hand over hers, his head bowed. They exchanged a few words, but I was already too far to make them out.
In the hallway, Quintin waited at loose attention, his face tired but resolved. All the daggers in the world could not adequately fly from my eyes. I shoved indelicately past him and immediately regretted slamming the study door behind me.
My head still throbbed when my mother strode into the room. “Sit,” she commanded. I obeyed, sinking onto the couch and watching her gather her thoughts as she paced before me. “Your father and I have always tried to give you your freedom. We both believed that it would serve you better than keeping you on the short leash most young noblewomen endure through their youth.” I wondered if that included her, and realized I had never asked. She pressed on. “You wanted to ride astride, and we humored you. You wanted to run about with the young boys of the household staff, so we let you scrap and wrestle and throw mud. You wanted to train with the garrison, and gods, I thought James would bring you back in a canvas bag, but we let you go nonetheless.”
“And I am grateful-”
She whirled on me, her anger surfacing as I’d not seen it before. “No. You aren’t. You have no idea what it could cost us to raise you this way.
What your actions could have cost us.”
“You trained me to navigate Court as well,” I said carefully. “I took precautions and-”
“You could have been seen! You could have been killed for your coin purse riding to or from that place! Or for your fine horse!” she added, gesticulating furiously. “To ride Valor, of all the stupid things-”
“I know,” I cut in, my skull aching. When does this stupid concoction start to work? “I was distracted.” Adrian’s face swam in my mind.
She ceased her pacing and jabbed one finger my direction. “And that is the danger. You cannot risk distraction in this place. You are the one and only pure heir to the Lazerin bloodline. If you do not make a good match, this House will fall to lesser hands.”
“And that is why I deemed it worth the risk.”
She stilled, reading me. “The Van Dryn boy?”
“Adrian is a man grown. Give him his due.”
She nodded slowly, considering, and I watched the anger fade from her face. “A bit old for you,” she muttered. I stiffened but said nothing. “And was it his invitation or his sister’s that drew you to make such irresponsible choices?”
I held her calculating gaze. “His.”
She turned away to resume her slow pacing in silence as I waited. “And can you gauge his interest?” she finally asked.
I shrugged, unsure. “There are too many variables.”
“Try.”
I thought back to our limited interactions: our charged introduction, his ruse to get me to the solarium, the earnestness in his eyes when he asked me to slip away in the early evening hours. My body flushed at the memory of being pressed against him in the tavern. “He’s...intrigued. I think he wants to know more.”
“Then we shall arrange it.”
A desperate laugh burst from my lips before I could stifle it. “Father will never-”
“Your father,” she stopped me short, “knows that in these matters, I know best.”
It turned out that my mother’s arrangements began with a week of calculated silence. Blue-and-silver-liveried couriers were turned away time and again, and my heart ached to see my mother refuse the letters they offered. After three attempts, the messengers stopped coming, and I was sure she had made a grave misjudgment, but she was resolute.
“We must appear to be displeased with the callousness of their actions. It will help you to recover some measure of credibility, once all of this sweeps the Court with fresh gossip.”
The week progressed hour by torturous hour. I was kept under lock and key, not even allowed to leave the manor for my daily lessons with Aubrey. I wondered if my mother was right about the gossip, and if so, what my closest friend thought of it. I’d soon find out.
At last, when I was sure the potential was all but shattered by my mother’s constant rebuttals, she called me into the study. We would extend a reciprocal invitation to Adrian, inviting him to our house – alone – to enjoy a family dinner with us. As our House was significantly less prolific than the Van Dryn line, she decided for appearances’ sake to invite Lord Chamberlain and Aubrey. At her behest, I hand-wrote the invitation myself and sent it in the same manner: the day of the event, with a courier to collect an immediate response.
“My lord Van Dryn accepts your invitation gladly,” the messenger relayed with a crisp bow. “He would also like me to reassure you that he will secure his own transport.” I concealed a smile.
“Did you offer the carriage?” my mother asked me, confused.
“No.”
Flushed with excitement, I couldn’t wait for the evening to arrive. The midday sun dragged its feet across the sky as I paced the halls. My father found me circling the salon, searching paintings on the wall for distraction. I stilled myself and faced him solemnly when he entered. Hands folded before me, I waited as he sized me up with his stern gaze, formidable anger still lingering in his countenance.
“Get changed, and bring your sword.”
Confused but obedient, I stepped into the garden ten minutes later in my woolen breeches and tunic, sword on my hip. My father waited on the frosted grass before the fountain.
“Your mother,” he began roughly, “is the keenest mind I’ve ever known when it comes to surviving this...Court.” His mouth twisted with distaste at the word. “It is to her judgment I defer when it comes to matters of politics. I’ve no patience for it.” I remained silent, standing at stiff attention. He considered me before pressing on. “She has taken measures to ensure that you, too, have the skills necessary to navigate the labyrinth of society here in Litheria. I would see you fit to survive everywhere else.”
I paled. “Are you sending me back to the garrison?” It would certainly get me out of the public eye for a while until the rumors died down, and keep me from doing any further damage to my reputation. My parents could easily arrange my marriage in absentia, and Samson would certainly keep me occupied at the fort.
He let me sweat a moment. “No.”
I turned toward the sound of light armor and boot steps approaching. Quintin offered my father a crisp bow, ignoring me completely. “My lord, you sent for me?”
My father’s eyes remained fixed on me. “You will continue to learn the sword, and whatever other weapon Quintin deems fit for you. In this garden, you hold no noble rank, and he is your commanding officer. Do you understand?” his tone left no room for argument.
“Yes, sir,” I muttered miserably.
“When you leave this house, he is to be your shadow. You go nowhere and do nothing without him.” I opened my mouth to protest but closed it again with a click as he held up one hand to forestall me. “Against my better judgment, I defer to your mother in allowing you the return of your undeserved freedom. This, however, I can ensure. Where you go, he goes. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” my misery compounded tenfold.
“Training begins now.” Glancing at each of us in turn, he stormed back into the house. A moment passed before Quintin strode over to where my father had stood, and turned to face me.
“Rat.” I spat the word at him. He bristled beneath his careful composure. “Did you go crawling to him the moment we returned? Or did you dare to wait until morning?”
“You may be the future of this House, but I serve your father. Not going to him at the very first is what earned me this disgraceful assignment. You should never have been allowed to leave.”
“You’d rather get fat sitting in the kitchen and riding escort to the family carriage?” I taunted.
He pounded his chest with one fist. “Tuvrian warriors do not trail after spoiled noble girls as they go whoring around Dockside!”
My anger flared to a bonfire. “You will not speak to me that way, armsman!” I roared, indignant.
He pointed at the garden walls. “Within these confines, I am commander and I’ll speak to you how I damn well please. Now draw.” I obliged with a vigor, foolishly hoping he meant to spar me. I wanted to cut his icy blue eyes right out of his face. Instead, he shoved past me. “Complete ten full cycles of one-handed drills. Both sides. Then you are dismissed for the day.” At that, he left me alone with my fury.
He expected me to quit, to sheathe my sword and retreat in anger to my bedchamber. I’d give him no such satisfaction. I’d performed the same standard drills with my one-handed sword hundreds of times. I started into them, fueled by my rage. Looking back, I would have been better served by pacing myself, but I’m sure that’s what Quintin anticipated. I was sweating by the end of the third cycle. By the time I finished the tenth, my sword hand was cramping and my feet were sore, and I still had to stumble my way through them all again, only this time with my left hand. I’d never practiced the sword with my left hand.
At the end of the fourth cycle, I had to take a pause. The muscles of my left arm were weaker, unaccustomed to the range of movement required while wielding such weight. My left hand was already seizing with agonizing cramps. It took a very long time to complete them all, but I m
anaged it. The sun was fading in the sky when I finally finished. I sat resting on the grass, cradling my left arm, when Shera’s timid footsteps padded into the garden. I heard her pause as she caught sight of me, then rush to my side and pick up my discarded sword in one hand. I looked up to meet her wide brown eyes filled with concern.
“Are you alright, miss? Should I call for Greta?”
I shook my head, every muscle in my body screaming. “No, please don’t. Just help me up.” She pulled me to my feet and slid my sword into the sheath at my belt. When she made to pull one of my arms over her shoulder, I waved her off. “I’ll be alright, just walk with me so I don’t feel quite so foolish.”
We made our way slowly into the house. Inside the doorway, Quintin stood beside one of the windows onto the garden. He met my exhausted glare with his impenetrable Tuvrian mask firmly in place before stalking off in the opposite direction.
Shera enlisted the help of the two other maids of the house in drawing my bath. I lingered in the steaming water and felt the knots loosen in my limbs. My left palm stung, and I realized I’d earned and subsequently worn through several layers of blisters. I might have soaked there forever, but for the intrusion of my mother demanding I be dried and combed, as the hour was growing late.
She awaited me in my bedroom, poring over my gowns. I instantly feared she’d pick something embarrassingly modest, but said nothing. I was pleasantly surprised when she chose a deep emerald lace gown with a deceptively conservative front and a scandalously low back. I eyed her, and she raised her chin, handing the dress to my handmaid.
“Remind him you are worth the wait,” she added wickedly before leaving me to my work.
When all was said and done, I felt a bit strangled by the high lace collar and uncomfortably exposed by the open back that left me bare all the way down to the small curve of my spine. Shera had to add a few small stitches to ensure the dress hugged my figure just right and didn’t gap indecently. She embraced me in a sisterly fashion when she was finished.
A Crown of Lilies Page 11