Two more faces.
I could read him, then, in that moment. Rage. My face will be the last thing you see in this life. It lingered, still, slowly fading as guilt and shame took its place. It wasn’t the fact that he’d killed them. We both knew from the start what had to be done. We had laid our trap to ensure they would die, and die quickly. No, it wasn’t that.
He had enjoyed it. To him, to any Tuvrian, that was a blasphemy most dire.
I measured every quiet step as I rounded the fire and lowered myself to the ground beside him. He ignored me, working at his blade, fighting to bury his thoughts, to close his face to me. I reached out to place one hand on his arm, and he fell still at my touch.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he grated out, avoiding my gaze with determination.
I tried to find the right words. My mother would have known what to say, but I was not my mother. Instead, I tore a piece from his scrap of cloak and picked up his other sword. I could feel him watching me as I set to the task, scrubbing blood from the fuller.
By the time the dawn began to lighten the horizon, we had made our way out of the forest. The white walls of Litheria glowed in the near distance. Exhausted and somber from the night’s darkness, we pressed onward toward home.
Chapter 12
My lord!” Emmett shouted into the house, the door held open as his alarmed face gaped at our disheveled appearance on the stoop. Emmett never shouted. We must have looked terrible. Our ragged mounts milled in the courtyard, a stable boy holding their reins uncertainly. They were tired, and after nearly three days without sleep, so was I. We shuffled into the foyer as my parents rushed to see what was the matter.
“Good gods, Elivya?” my mother gasped at the sight of us. She gathered me into her arms, clutching me to her in a tight embrace.
When she released me, my father grabbed my face in his massive hands, examining my bruised and blood-crusted nose very much the way Quintin had done, anger and concern creasing his brow.
“What happened?” he demanded, turning his fierce gaze on my guardian.
“It’s my own damn fault,” I cut in before he could respond. “It’s fine, we’re fine.”
I could feel Quintin eyeing me sidelong as my father released me. “I’ll expect a full report,” he demanded curtly.
“Sir,” my companion acknowledged, pressing one fist to his chest in salute.
“Why on earth didn’t you send word you were coming?” my mother scolded. “Augustus said he’d see you back via the river.”
Between my exhaustion and the events of the last day, I’d pushed our ultimate purpose to the back of my mind. “I needed to return with haste.” I fixed her with intent. “I need your help.”
What she read in my face, I’ll never know, but it was enough for her to nod solemnly and call for Greta. “We can talk over supper.” She rattled off a series of orders to our household staff, which included seeing us both bathed and dressed in fresh clothes. My father chafed at having to wait, but she insisted. “Go,” she pressed us. “Wash, refresh, rest a bit. We can hear the whole of it this evening.”
Shera squealed excitedly at the sight of me, then immediately gasped and covered her face in horror when she noticed my nose. Peeling off my breeches and blood-stained tunic, I sank gratefully into the large tub of steaming water, my nose radiating pain through my face. One look in the mirror resulted in immediate regret. It was grotesquely swollen, purple and blue bruising across the bridge, the nostrils an angry red. I touched it gingerly and had doubts about Quintin’s assessment. It sure as hell felt broken.
The hot water alone nearly put me to sleep, especially when Shera began scrubbing my hair. I asked her gently to hasten, wanting nothing more than to collapse into my bed for a few hours’ rest before dinner.
She obliged, and I was grateful she didn’t press me for any details about our journey. Instead, she saw me dressed in a clean night shift and left me to my silent bedroom. Sleep claimed me almost instantly.
When I woke, it took me a few moments to realize that the light peeking through my curtains was of dawn, and not dusk. I’d slept through the afternoon and straight on through the night. Rubbing my head in an attempt to clear the haze, I dragged myself from my bed and found one set of my men’s attire freshly cleaned. My sword belt and boots were laid out beside it, the Freyjan shield set neatly atop the clothes. I smiled, knowing Shera was behind the thoughtful gesture.
The garden was green with the arrival of spring, trees covered in buds and new growth in every bed. I breathed deep the morning air and immediately winced, my nose aching. Muttering a curse, I began to stretch and warm up. Quintin would be there momentarily, I told myself. Surely, he had been as tired as me after our harrowing journey.
I’d finished my third circuit of one-handed drills when I finally gave up and went to look for him. A kitchen boy pointed me to the stables, where I found him with our two road-weary geldings, his back to me.
“What’s the idea, not showing up for practice?” I called out at him as I approached. He turned toward me, his face a careful mask. My eyes narrowed as I took in the scene. One of the horses was saddled, the other loaded as a pack-horse. “You’re leaving?” Anger and disbelief cut sharp edges into my voice.
He looked away again, hands tugging a stirrup strap into place. “Just for a month or two. I’ll be back before the solstice.” So Father hadn’t dismissed him, he was leaving of his own volition.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. He’d been at my side every day for well over a year. And before that, he’d seen me through the most difficult few months of my short life, helping me patch myself back together in his own brusque way. I wondered if he’d intended to tell me, or planned to just leave without a word. To ask as much felt childish, so instead, I inquired after his destination, struggling to keep my voice steady.
He took the reins of both horses and led them out into the courtyard. “Home,” he replied, offering nothing else.
I followed, the feeling of betrayal in my gut fanning the flames of anger. “To Tuvria? What about Adrian? What about my training?”
He climbed into the saddle, securing his pack-horse’s lead line to his pommel. “Continue your drills,” he instructed, his tone infuriatingly detached. “When I return, we’ll pick up where we left off.” Without even looking at me, he tapped his heels and trotted out the main gate, disappearing into the city.
I stood there a long moment, feeling bereft and hurt. Sure, we argued a lot, but for him to leave without even bothering to mention it to me seemed uncharacteristically cold. He might be stubborn and sharp-tongued, but we’d built some small measure of rapport over the last year in Elas, a comfort in each other’s constant company. Maybe what had transpired on the road had pushed him too far. Maybe I’d required too much of him. I’d seen the wave of shame and guilt that had followed in the aftermath of his unbridled rage. He carried four faces for me, now. Maybe that was too many.
Whatever the reason, he was gone, and I was on my own. Hurt quickly turned to anger. Fine. I don’t need you. I forced myself to believe the words, straightening and focusing on the larger issue at hand.
My parents sat chatting quietly at the breakfast table when I made my way back inside. They both looked up at my entrance. I filled my plate, suddenly aware of my hunger. I’d not eaten since the night before the attack, and my head felt light. My parents didn’t press me, and I guessed they had pulled every detail from Quintin at dinner the night before. I ate in silence, brooding over my companion’s indifferent farewell. When Greta had cleared the dishes, I sat back in my chair to find them watching me.
“First and foremost,” my father began diplomatically, and I could tell by his tone a lecture was imminent. “You should know how glad we are that you are home, and safe. That being said, your actions these last few days were reckless at best. Your mother insists you are capable of understanding the gravity of the situation at hand, but your choices reflect otherwise.” His evergreen eye
s glinted angrily. “We sent Augustus to Elas for a reason. You were to mind him and return with him as your escort.”
“I am of age, Father. I don’t need an escort.” The words came out more bitterly than I’d intended, my mood soured by Quintin’s desertion. I saw him bristle in response.
“You are my daughter, and as yet unwed.” He drew a calming breath. “The roads are growing more perilous by the day. We thought our letter would sufficiently impress upon you the danger we are facing.”
“It did.”
“Then why would you take such a risk?” he demanded.
I proceeded to explain the state of the White Sea, and Adrian’s impossible situation. I described as best I could the observations I’d made on the docks: the refugees coming off the ships in tattered masses, the captain and his haunted eyes, the discontent among the sailors on the wharf. In dispassionate and pragmatic terms, I told them of Adrian’s predicament, his father’s displeasure, the pressure from the merchant guilds, and the shift in public opinion. Then I fell silent and waited.
My mother shifted in her seat. “You mean to petition the King?”
“I must,” I replied earnestly. “If there is any chance he will send reinforcements from the Royal Navy, I have to try.”
“Amenon refuses to see anyone. Even me.” My father’s voice was grave, tinged with sorrow.
“I would petition him alone.”
They refused outright at first, but I was insistent. My father threw up his hands in frustration and left it to my mother’s judgment. When he was gone and we sat alone, she regarded me for a long moment. I could see the gears turning behind her eyes.
“People do foolish, desperate things in the name of love.” Her voice cut the air like a knife. “I thought I had taught you better.”
Chastened, I flushed. Her disappointment hurt more than my father’s anger. I clenched my fists in my lap, digging for my resolve. “Would you rather see his House fall? I’ll not sit here and wait for news that he was slain at sea.” Tears threatened my eyes at the thought. “You taught me to act.”
She leaned forward in her chair, jabbing the table with one finger. “I taught you to gauge the landscape. To weigh the risks, then act.”
“There is no time!” I gasped in frustration.
“You put yourself and Quintin at great risk to pursue this course, not to mention this House.” She stood, staring me down. “You ought not be so reckless with the lives of those who care for you.”
I bit my tongue, fingernails digging into my palms.
“Write your petition, and bring it to me. Then I will decide.” She strode purposefully from the room, leaving me alone, and I released the trembling breath I’d been holding.
Shera brought me paper and ink. I sat down at the small desk in my chambers and stared at the blank sheets. How do you reach someone who is lost in grief so deep you cannot even comprehend it? By all accounts, the depth of Amenon’s misery was consuming him, a vast canyon of darkness that left no room for kind words or gestures of friendship. I needed to shed a glimmer of light, of hope, into that chasm.
Many drafts later, I folded my petition, tucked it into a drawer, and went to the stables. Bow and quiver strapped to my chest, and my sword belt on my hips, I simply told the stable boy where I was going, and left. I felt exposed and vulnerable without my familiar shadow at my side, but I was too stubborn to hunt down Gabe. I returned two hours later, a brown hare tied to my saddle with an arrow jutting from its chest.
After refreshing myself in the washbasin and changing into a simple cotton gown, I presented my final version to my mother in my parents’ study. She sat at the large desk, poring over a pile of maps and letters, her gaze lifting at the sound of my entrance. Worry and frustration flickered on her face for a mere moment before she closed it to me.
I placed the letter into her outstretched hand and stood silently as she read it.
She looked at me, perplexed. “Is that all? Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t. Not at all, but it was my instinct that where lengthy pleas had failed, this might succeed. “There’s something else to accompany it.”
When I told her, she laughed harshly, fear plain in her voice. “You’re mad.”
I held her gaze. “I need you to trust me.”
In the end, she did, and in doing so, gambled our entire House upon it. I didn’t realize it then, but with age comes wisdom, and I have long sight lines from where I now stand. When the courier returned from the palace, I was pacing in the courtyard. “Well?” I pressed when I spotted him.
He looked winded and a bit frightened. “The King demands the presence of House Lazerin immediately.”
My parents dressed in their Court finery, deep Lazerin green. I opted for a modest wool dress to match, in color if not in quality, the one I had worn to the equinox hunt one year prior. Shera did her best to cover my bruised nose with cosmetics. We piled into my family’s carriage and rushed to Crofter’s Castle.
A high-strung doorman ushered us quickly down the empty halls and into the throne room. The palace echoed around us, cavernous and desolate, servants scurrying silently through the shadows. King’s Guard lined the throne room, standing at hollow attention in their crisp white uniforms. He was waiting, seated on the dais and looking agitated. My parents exchanged a glance and led the way down the long golden carpet to the far end of the chamber. My eyes flicked about the room, taking in as much as I could.
Standing to his left, just behind the throne, a hawk-nosed man in flowing white robes hovered. His dark complexion reminded me of the gezgin, but his black eyes held none of their kindness. The priest. To Amenon’s right stood Selice, looking older than last I saw her. She was, of course, but it was in her carriage rather than her appearance: a hint of strain, of a burden well-hidden. Those magnificent golden eyes watched us suspiciously as we approached and made our obeisance before the throne. I noted a strange smell coming from a silver thurible seeping smoke near his feet.
A brown hare thudded onto the floor before us, the arrow still protruding awkwardly from its chest. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. His tone held a cruel edge I’d never heard before. Flesh that was once tan and hale now slumped in his seat, pale and wan. His eyes were hollow, dark shadows sinking them into his face. Madness lingered there, at the edges of his mind. He threw a crumpled piece of paper onto the floor – my petition – four words, followed by my signature.
This time, it matters.
I pressed my way between my parents to stand at the fore, determined to take the brunt of his ire. Something akin to recognition flickered in his gaze as it settled on me. My choice of attire had done its job.
“You. You dared to send me this insult? This threat?” he thundered at me. I noticed the corner of the priest’s mouth twitch.
“It is no threat, sire.” I curtsied deeply. “Nor is it meant to offend.”
“Then what?” His voice cracked like a whip in the cavernous marble hall. Selice winced.
“A reminder, Majesty, of happier times. Times that could be again, if we find the will to act.” I was walking a knife’s edge, every muscle in my body strung tight.
“My wife is dead,” he hissed at me.
“But your son is not,” I pressed carefully.
“My son...” he trailed off, his eyes glazing over, madness creeping at the fringe.
“Surely you mean to preserve the realm he is to inherit.”
His attention snapped back to me, and with it, his anger. “Do not presume to tell me my mind.”
I heard my mother shift behind me, a warning to back down. I could not, not without my ask. “I merely request your aid, my king. Your people are suffering.”
That seemed to soften him a fraction. “Speak.”
“The White Sea is overflowing with refugees.” I eyed the Persican priest but held my tongue on that front. Careful. “The Darian fleet is overburdened and undermanned. Alesian merchant ships are being pilfered at an increas
ing rate. Civilians are brutalized and slaughtered at sea. Women and children, sire.”
“What would you have me do?” he asked, wincing suddenly and rubbing his head as though it were about to burst. Selice eyed him sidelong, concern flashing across her face.
I held steady, ignoring them both. “Send to your navy for reinforcements.”
The King pulled at his thinning hair. “It will take them months to sail around the continent to the White Sea.”
“All the more reason to make haste, sire.”
He rubbed his head a bit longer, before glancing over his shoulder at the priest. Dark eyes watched me as he leaned down to murmur in the King’s ear. Whatever was said, Amenon nodded in agreement.
“The Van Dryn fleet can protect its own interests,” he intoned with finality. “If they don’t want their trade ships raided, they have plenty of coin to hire more escorts.”
It ate at me to see him defer to a foreigner when his own trusted countrymen stood right in front of him. “Every freelance frigate and galleon has already been conscripted. It is still not enough.”
“Tell them to build more ships. This is not the Crown’s problem.”
I clenched my teeth and willed myself to calm. “With all due respect, sire, there is more to this than just coin.”
He waved a hand dismissively, growing impatient. “With Van Dryns, everything is about coin.”
My blood boiled at that. I struggled to keep my voice steady. “You do them a disservice, my lord. People are dying.”
“Not my people,” he hissed, leaning forward in his seat and fixing me with a hard stare.
How could he not see? My mind grasped at the threads of reason unraveling before my eyes. I felt myself slipping, anger giving way to the paralyzing fear of failure. “The refugees tell of a pirate king uniting a great marauder fleet under his banner. If Alesia does not contest him, we will lose dominion over the White Sea.”
A Crown of Lilies Page 24