After long consideration, I shifted the topic toward another curiosity that had lingered in the back of my mind. “Why do they all call you wolves?” I’d heard it from my parents, Aubrey, and even Shera.
“It’s a moniker traditionally held by the commander of the Darian fleet. We’ve made a bit of a name for ourselves, I suppose.” Before I could press him further about it, he fixed me with a narrow-eyed stare, mouth twisted into a playful smirk. “You’ve had your go at me, it’s only fair I get a chance.”
“Is that so? Well, let’s hear it, then.”
He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head, evaluating me. “I think you’re hiding something, something you don’t want circulated at Court. I think you’ve trained your whole life to maneuver in this nest of vipers, but now that you’re here, you feel out of place. I think your father was much less upset about our secret rendezvous than he let on at dinner last night. Perhaps because he sanctioned it outright,” I snorted unattractively. He smiled and leaned forward onto the table once more, reaching across to me. “Or perhaps because your mother did.” His hand caressed the delicate underside of my forearm, fingers trailing from my elbow down toward my wrist. “And I think you’d rather freeze to death on a balcony to spend five minutes with me than enjoy a lifetime beside a warm fire with Aubrey.”
My flesh rejoiced at his touch, betraying all my attempts at guarded dignity. I fought to keep my breath steady, quiet, usual. I wanted his hands on every inch of my skin. Focus. I gave myself a mental slap and imagined diving into an icy stream.
“Aubrey is a dear friend, but nothing more.” Of course, I knew what everyone must think. Our parents were close, and we spent numerous hours in one another’s company. We were openly affectionate at public engagements, though Aubrey had a reputation for being amorous and brash. In some ways, the common assumption of our potential betrothal benefited us both. For me, it provided a public affirmation of my desirability. Men always covet what another has. For him, it helped divert undue attention from his time spent with Leon.
“I know,” Adrian confirmed plainly.
“Do you?” I raised an eyebrow.
“He spends more time with you than anyone. He doesn’t look like he’s drowning.”
I watched the storms swirling slowly in his eyes and feared he could look straight into my thoughts. His fingers continued their slow caress down my arm. “And you?” I asked, hard-pressed to keep my voice steady.
“Very nearly.” His hand slid down onto my palm and I winced involuntarily as he brushed my still-raw blisters. He narrowed his eyes in concern and took up my hand in his for examination. “These are fresh,” he remarked.
I shrank in my seat, mortified. “Yesterday.”
“Seven hells, Elivya.” Gods, I would never get tired of hearing him say my name. “What were you doing?”
My eyes flicked to Quintin, who sat cross-armed at his table, watching us with a disapproving scowl. “Drills.”
Adrian released my hand gently, retreating to his mug. “I take it you aren’t left-handed.”
“No.”
“Well that’s one way to build calluses, I suppose. Why bother training with your non-dominant hand?”
I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t know. Ask my commander.” I sneered sardonically. The entire arrangement was ridiculous. I was no soldier.
“I find it difficult to believe anyone could command you.” It was an attempt at flattery, but something about the topic soured me against it. He needed to be generous because there was no way a woman could measure up to the skill of a man in combat. A man’s strength alone offered him a nearly insurmountable advantage. I could be quick, but with a sword, I felt sure I’d always be inferior to any member of the opposite sex. All these thoughts, these doubts, sat and festered in the pit of my stomach, always lingering at the back of my mind. I could learn, and I could improve, but I was no Tuvrian warrior born with a sword in one hand.
“We all have our masters,” I replied quietly.
“May I speak plainly?” Adrian’s voice pulled me back to the moment.
“Please.”
He shifted in his seat and I watched him choose his words with torturous care. “My duty,” he began slowly, “my lot in this life, is one that offers little to anyone who joins me in it.” His eyes watched me, the barest hints of fear and loneliness in them. “I spend months away at sea, and there is little in the way of guarantees that each departure won’t be my last. Few men are fortunate enough to grow old, in the southern fleet.” He took my hand gently. “It is not a life I would wish on anyone, to stay behind and wait for their loved one to never come home.” Fingers traced my palm, carefully avoiding the blisters. “If that is not what you want, tell me now. I will understand.” When I said nothing, he pressed. “I cannot stand to know you any better if there is no place for you in my future.”
I considered his words, watching the unfamiliar candor on his face. Finally, I cocked my head at him and smirked wickedly. “And what makes you think I’d stay behind?”
Confusion, understanding, and relief rolled across his face in the blink of an eye, and he lifted my hand to press against his lips. Gods they were soft. He replaced it gently on the table and I watched his carefully composed demeanor return.
Unsure of what to say, I gestured at Natalia. “Quite honestly, I’m surprised your sister isn’t still shimmying down mizzen masts while her children hang off her skirts.”
He laughed at that. “Well, her husband has never been much for sailing. Oliver is a bit more practical than that, I think.”
“And you?”
He smirked wolfishly at me. “Mad as a hatter. I’d have you teaching them how to load the ballistae.” The image of the two of us raising a passel of wild sea children was not unpleasant.
“You’d have to teach me first,” I pointed out, taking a hearty swig of my nearly untouched mead. He followed suit and we settled a bit.
“Will you stay, do you think, for the King’s gala?” he asked hopefully.
“It is a ways off yet. I’m not certain. Father will likely return to Laezon before then, to see to the spring foaling and visit the villages.”
“And you?”
“Mother and I will probably stay to attend. It would be indecent to miss it, I think. I expect the Queen will announce herself with child at the event.”
He smirked. “By all accounts, they’ve been making a valiant effort to that end.”
I flushed, which I immediately found ridiculous, given my own fairly extensive experience in that arena.
“Your man seems to be growing tired of my siblings’ company,” he observed.
I turned to see Quintin practically squirming in his seat, eyes still locked on us. His dark-haired companions laughed and jostled about him at the table. “Should I take pity on him? He has been an insufferable cock the last few days.”
Adrian didn’t even blink at my crude slur. “I think that would be the wisest course if you ever want to slip his watch.”
I eyed him sidelong. “Scoundrel.”
In the end, I did take pity on Quintin and took my leave much earlier than I would have liked. There would be, Adrian assured me, plenty of time before spring arrived and duty called us both home.
On the ride back, I couldn’t help but feel a bit sour at my reluctant shadow casting a pall over the evening.
“You needn’t sit there staring daggers all evening, you know.”
He kept his eyes fixed on the street before us. “The snake slips into the grass the moment you take your eyes from it.”
I stiffened at the unflattering metaphor. “Maybe you just enjoy watching me whore around,” I spat his words back at him.
“You’ll not bait me,” he replied steadily, despite his eyes glinting with anger. He turned to face me in his saddle. “Just as your friends cannot bait me. I have my orders, and I will see them fulfilled. You’ll not slip my watch.”
My parents were still awake when we returned to th
e manor, sitting together in the study. Their conversation halted upon our entry. “Back so soon?” my mother inquired.
“Quintin was tired,” I threw my barbed reply into the room and felt him tense behind me.
“My lady is mistaken,” his cool tone cut the air.
I slumped into a chair across from them, shooting my father an obstinate glare. “Your new man is ill-equipped for the rigors of polite company.”
My reluctant escort bristled. “If you consider that pack of wolves polite company-”
“Enough,” my father thundered. “Quintin, you are dismissed for the evening.”
He pressed his fist audibly to his chest in salute and made an abrupt exit.
“Why must you torment him so?” my father asked tiredly, rubbing his temples.
“Why did you assign him to me?” I countered, frustrated. “Why not Gabe or Preston? At least they know how to behave with some level of civility. How do you expect me to maneuver with that prude glaring at me for hours on end? His presence is suffocating!”
“I assigned Quintin because he is the best sword in this house and I trust your protection to no one else.” His voice was firm. “Those are the terms of your freedom. If you want to see your Van Dryn friends outside the realm of public engagement, you will have him at your side.” His tone brooked no further argument. I looked to my mother for help, but her sealed expression told me she would not interfere. They were as much her terms as his.
Needless to say, my life settled back into a routine. Quintin used my morning lessons to punish me for all the myriad inadequacies of my sex. I repeated the same drills day after day, my hands blistering and bleeding. He watched me, waiting for me to quit. Out of spite alone, I refused and pushed on. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. If I can survive Samson, I can survive you.
After I’d washed and dressed in proper attire, I spent the remainder of my mornings with my mother in the study, continuing my instruction in statecraft and intrigue. Afternoons were the best time, when I rode to the Chamberlain manor to resume my lessons with Aubrey. It was the one time I could leave the house without my miserable shadow in attendance. Gabe would escort me across the noble quarter and then return hours later to retrieve me.
Augustus seemed thrilled to resume our regular schedule, and we began reading the classical poetry and prose of ancient Elas. Most of it made my head ache, but Aubrey seemed to relish in the philosophical writings in particular. After each lesson, as we lingered before the hearth to sip wine, he would press the debate. I attempted to keep pace with him but just didn’t have the heart for it. It didn’t interest me. They were tomes full of old men talking each other in circles, never coming to any conclusions.
The plays, however, I pored over with a fervor. Some of the books even contained serigraphs, diagrams of the ancient theaters, so cleverly designed that the stage could be flooded to portray sea battles on actual water. The egalitarianism, too, intrigued me, as it seemed to pervade many aspects of life, especially the arts. Even in the theaters, the design was such that the performers could be heard as clearly in the last row as in the first.
My evenings were a mix of events. Rumors circulated that I was being courted by the Van Dryn family. Fewer invitations came, many of the lesser families pulling their offers in deference to a more prominent House. Still, there were a few, and we attended the occasional dinner as my mother deemed appropriate.
“We must make it clear that no promises have been made, but not accept so many invitations as to give offense,” my mother explained to me one morning. She eyed me. “Speaking of which, you seem fairly certain of his affections.”
“There is…” I struggled to find the right words. “A spark between us. An energy I cannot see but can always feel in his presence. His touch is like wildfire. I have a hard time keeping my wits about me.”
She looked concerned. “Be careful, Elivya. Distraction is weakness. You must use the tools I’ve given you.”
“I have, I have,” I waved her off. “It’s there, that’s all. I think he can feel it too.” I thought back to his carefully worded ultimatum. “I think he has spent much of his life feeling very alone.”
She sat back in her chair, considering me. “Well, not for much longer, let’s hope.”
Once or twice a week, a handwritten note was delivered, Adrian’s scrawl inviting me to the Greyshor. On my first return visit, I was surprised to see the tavern full of faceless patrons once more. Eleanor circled proudly in a new dress of heavy cotton and a stainless white apron. There were even a few barmaids about, seeing to customers and swatting away wandering hands.
“I’ve a business to run,” Adrian explained with a fond grin as the stalwart barkeep delivered our two mugs herself. “I certainly can’t expect Eleanor to run the place without some assistance.”
“I’ve done as much for many years before you came along, lad,” she muttered at him.
“Then I’d say you’ve earned a respite,” he countered.
She grumbled something under her breath as she ambled away back toward the kitchen.
“I’ve brought you something,” he said, returning his attention to me. Fishing a small tin from his pocket, he slid it across the table to me. “Bit late, I’m afraid, but I had to send home for it.”
I opened the lid and gave it a cautious sniff. A thick salve filled the tin, rich smells of eucalyptus, mint, and honey wafting from it. “What is it?”
He took my left hand in his and turned it over to expose my palm and the fresh blisters I’d earned that day. “We use it mostly during our first year in the fleet. The ropes tear your hands, and the salt water keeps them from healing.”
“Thank you,” I said softly, carefully closing the tin and tucking it away. It was a simple gift, but an incredibly thoughtful one.
I put it to good use that evening, and the next morning I found my palms were much less painful than they’d been. Rising with the first light to don my sparring woolens, I made my way down to the garden. Quintin was already there, warming up. I waited as he completed a cycle of the intricate dual-wield drills I’d never learned.
“Here,” he thrust a small strip of muslin at me. I took it obediently. When it became clear I’d no idea what he meant me to do with it, he snatched it from my grasp and grabbed my left wrist. Pulling me unceremoniously toward him, he wrapped the cloth around my palm several times, tying it efficiently at the back of my hand. Fetching a practice shield from where it leaned against the fountain wall, he thrust it at me. “You’ll work with the shield for a few days.”
I slipped my left arm into the straps and drew my sword in my right. It had been a while since I had practiced with a shield. The weight was uncomfortable and I felt just as off-balance as I ever had at the garrison. He squared up across the grass, a sword in each hand.
I made a poor show of it, to be sure. Slow and stumbling under the added weight, I struggled to block Quintin’s heavy blows and slashed ineffectively as he retreated back out of range. When he finally called an end to my humiliation, I could barely stand.
“You were right.” He sheathed his blades with ease, the barest hint of exertion on his brow. “You are shit with a sword and shield.”
My blood rising, I opened my mouth to spit some scathing retort, but he held up his hand and I held my tongue.
“Eventually, we’ll find something you are good at. In the meantime, you will at least learn to defend yourself.” He strode past me toward the house. “You are dismissed.”
The remaining weeks of winter passed quickly, with so many diversions at hand. Quintin finally abandoned all attempts at improving my skill with a shield. I was physically stronger for the practice, but no more capable. Instead, he drilled me with sword and dagger. At first, I frequently forgot about the knife in my hand. After the hundredth reiteration of, “Left!” from my stoic and merciless commander, I finally started to adapt. It was slow progress, but it was progress nonetheless.
My mother began to teach me d
arker skills, about various poisons and the methods to prepare and identify them. When I asked her why I would need to know such things, and how she came to know them in the first place, she was evasive. When I pressed, she made it clear there was no harm in knowledge, only the potential in how we choose to use it. She showed me books with drawings of various plants, many of which I recalled from my days wandering with Izikiel. As it so happened, several of the species that could be used medicinally could also be deadly in higher doses or by using a different part of the same plant.
The afternoons spent with Aubrey continued to offer a mix of ease and mental torture. Lord Augustus, spurred by his son’s enthusiasm for philosophical pursuits, steered our readings and discussions more toward that realm. We studied the nation of Elas in its modern state, as well as the various cities within. Soon, Aubrey grew fixated on Atenas, the heart of research and foremost center of education in the world. It was a self-proclaimed distinction, but certainly, there was nothing in Alesia to contest it.
In Litheria, the prestigious Royal Academy housed some of the greatest minds our nation had to offer, each professor a master of his trade. The brightest boys of the Noble Houses and wealthy guild families vied for the limited number of openings each year.
Atenas was home to a half-dozen great schools of philosophy, as well as a sprawling university that spanned a quarter of the massive port city. As a young man at his majority, my friend quickly adopted dreams of studying there.
“Think of it, Elivya.” He paced excitedly before the hearth, wine forgotten in his hand. “A whole year of freedom, to live and learn and explore a great ancient city the same as any common man!”
“You would live in a dormitory full of other stinking, impoverished students?” I laughed. “Aubrey, you’d die of horror at such conditions.”
A Crown of Lilies Page 13