A Crown of Lilies

by Melissa Ragland

  He tilted his head at me, chapped lips curling in a sneer. “You must truly be desperate, to resort to rumors.”

  I cracked. “Please, my lord.”

  Cold eyes the color of old brass regarded me. “No.”

  I held his gaze in disbelief, unwilling to admit defeat, unable to move.

  “Perhaps, then, Your Majesty, we might turn the discussion to your own people.” My mother stepped forward, grabbing my arm and pulling me back to take my place at the fore.

  He looked annoyed. “I am well aware of the spreading sickness, Nefira. It is the same refugees your daughter wishes to aid that brought this plague to our lands.” He jutted his chin at me.

  “It is her betrothed and his House that she wishes to preserve, sire. My daughter is young, but she is not wrong. Surely, your extensive network has reported the shift in public opinion. Should the guilds continue to suffer, rebellion could break out in Daria.”

  He smirked bitterly at her. “My network?”

  Her tone was firm as she pressed on. “The destabilization of Alesia’s largest port could cost the Crown dearly, both in trade interests and lives.”

  “You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

  “Perhaps we could retire and speak practically, my lord, just you and I,” my father spoke up finally. “As friends, as brothers in arms, as we used to.”

  Amenon considered him for a long moment. I watched his face as madness warred with glimpses of sorrow, anger, and a fleeting desire for reconciliation with an old friend. In the end, the weight of his own personal misery won out. “Lazerin House has wasted enough of my time. Get out.”

  It was a long, terrible walk from the throne room. I had failed, utterly, and put my entire family into the King’s ill graces. Once safely ensconced in the carriage and well on our way back to the manor, I finally broke the awful silence.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered into the close air. My father offered me a rueful smile, but neither of them spoke.

  When we returned home and swept through the door into the foyer, my mother grabbed my arm. “Come with me.” My father shot her a meaningful glance as she led me away to the study.

  I felt ill. The pit of my stomach had morphed into a gaping maw of despair. People would die, Adrian could die because I had failed. As the door closed behind me, I struggled to find the words to explain. “I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I thought if I just had a chance, I could make him understand.”

  “You managed to secure an audience, which is more than we’ve been able to achieve in the last six months.” My mother squeezed my hand as she passed, crossing the room to the desk still strewn with maps and letters.

  “How could he refuse? Why? How can he not see what is happening around him?” I grasped angrily at the senselessness of it.

  She spared me a disapproving glance. “You see but you don’t observe.”

  I followed her to the desk. “I saw the damned priest. I stood closer than you, and I couldn’t make out his words. You certainly couldn’t either.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he said. It matters what he wants. Persica needs the White Sea to fall into chaos. Elas must be isolated in every way possible. She is too strong. The Senate provides a mass of redundancies that make it more difficult to infiltrate and destroy from within, as they did in Ulgar and Rume. If the refugees and this pirate king, if there even is one, can keep our southern fleet occupied, she is left without allies.”

  “Elas controls the most powerful navy in the White Sea,” I argued, shaking my head.

  She traced the country on the map before us. “That is a lot of coastline to protect. Even their substantial fleet is insufficient to the task.”

  So the priest will do everything he can to keep the King from sending reinforcements. The understanding settled in my gut like a stone. My cause was doomed before I ever loosed my arrow. “Then why did you let me send my petition at all?”

  “We have not seen Amenon since Rishel’s death. I’d no idea he’d slipped so far into Persica’s hands. I had hoped you might be able to get through to him, with a plea rooted in love. He is a scion of Adulil.” She smiled sadly. “Though I fear he no longer remembers as much.” A silent moment passed as she collected her thoughts. “What else?” she pressed, watching me expectantly. It felt like one of our lessons.

  “Well, he’s obviously gone mad.” I gestured angrily with one hand, bitterness in my voice.

  “An oversimplification,” she scolded. “His life has become a pantomime of misery. He cannot find sympathy for anyone else’s suffering, because how could it possibly compare to his? Love runs deeper in the blood of Adulil than in the rest of us. It is a sacred, powerful thing. Amenon is not a cruel man, but everything around him reminds him of what he has lost.”

  “Selice.” He had kept her at arm’s length her whole life.

  She nodded gravely. “That girl is a prisoner, make no mistake.”

  “And the boy.” The one he’d not bothered to name.

  “Every room in that castle holds a memory that tears the wounds anew. The sheep of this Court wonder why Yule went unremarked this year, for the first time in centuries.” She shook her head. “His children, above all, remind him of the shattered pieces of his heart. He cannot face them, and he knows the hurt his neglect has caused. It is yet another bitterness stacked upon the rest, to see the harm you are doing and be incapable to act to correct it.”

  “He could, though,” I protested. “He could choose to be better; to name his son, and address this illness, and throw that snake out of Litheria.”

  “I assume you noticed the censer at his feet.” I nodded. “And the smell?” Another nod. Her eyes flickered with old shadows. “It has been many years since I’ve seen such a thing.”

  “What is it?”

  “Opium.” I opened my mouth to ask how she could possibly know such a thing, but she pressed on. “It dulls the mind, and pain. For those who suffer, it can be a balm, but it is also incredibly addictive. To Amenon, I fear it will be his downfall.”

  “So we kill the priest.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched, but her eyes looked sad. “They will just send another to replace him, and it would expose us to great risk.”

  “But it could give us time to reach the King, to get him away from the opium.”

  “A month, perhaps. Not enough. And the physical agony of his withdrawal could push him over the edge. He is already having the headaches, even with the censer constantly at hand.”

  I sank into a chair, desperation gripping me. Memories of my encounters with him flooded me: his golden eyes greeting me at my debut, the warmth and adoration on his face when he announced the impending arrival of his child, genuine kindness in his voice as we spoke at the hunt. He had ruled Alesia with a steady hand, an honorable man who had proven he would fight for his people and his right to the throne, whose bravery had been the highlight of my favorite stories as a child. Reading my face, my mother offered me a sympathetic smile, her eyes flicking to something behind me.

  “We are not all the men we once thought we would be.” My father’s voice. I hadn’t heard him enter, too lost in my thoughts.

  “What do we do?” I asked, my voice small. It all felt too big, too impossible, a giant maze with no exits.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “Which is often the most difficult choice.”

  I shook my head incredulously. “We must do something.”

  “We wait,” my mother intoned. I turned back to her. “When the time is right, we will back Selice to succeed her father as steward of the throne until the boy comes of age.”

  “You mean when Amenon dies,” I clarified sharply.

  Her expression was unapologetic. “When Persica shows their hand.”

  “And until then?” My voice trembled with anger and fear. “What do we do about it? We can’t just sit here and watch them tear everything apart. There won’t be anything left for her to rule!”

  My parents exchanged a
meaningful look, volumes spoken in silence. “We do what we can, where we can,” my mother’s voice sounded with resolve. “Starting with your Adrian.”

  Chapter 13

  A sliver of moon lit the sky as I rode one of our common house mounts through the streets of Dockside. My eyes darted down every alleyway, sweaty palm gripping the hilt of my belt knife beneath my cloak. I scrutinized every passerby. Despite my paranoia, I reached the hidden livery stable without incident. Once inside the warehouse, a lad I guessed to be around twelve or thirteen strode up to take my reins. I swung down from the saddle, pressing a silver into his palm.

  “I want to talk to Tommy.”

  The boy’s eyes widened and he bit the coin with a smile before jogging off into the dark expanse. I stood with my mount, heart racing. The lad returned shortly, taking the reins from me and nodding in the direction from which he’d come. “Go on, miss. He’s waiting.”

  I took a bracing breath and measured my pace as I made my way into the dim warehouse. Ears and eyes straining, I heard him before I saw him, halting halfway past a stack of crates marked with the sigil of House Eradine. My palm itched for my dagger, but I resisted the temptation.

  “I hear you’re the most resourceful man in Dockside.” I turned toward the sound, an unidentifiable metallic scratching.

  He stepped into the lamplight, picking at his nail with a slender knife. Tommy was not a large man, all lean muscle and sharp edges. A ragged crop of dun hair poked out from beneath the short-brimmed cap that was popular among dock workers. He was older, near my parents’ age, with flecks of gray peppering his stubbled chin. “You must be needin’ somethin’ quite badly. Nobody pays a silver to see me.” His voice lilted casually, heavily accented. I recognized it from my nights at the Greyshor.

  “You’re from Lloegr,” I observed.

  He snorted, raising his brow. “Ye really don’t know anythin’ about me, do ye, lass?” I stiffened slightly at his ridicule but said nothing. He noticed, taking a few steps my way and waving his blade in my general direction. “I know who you are, though. My boys and I made a hefty sum kickin’ in ribs and playin’ sentry for ye.” He circled me, looking me up and down in my breeches and tunic. His knife tapped the hilt of my sword at my hip. He seemed amused. “Did ye come here lookin’ for a fight? Somehow I doubt ye know how to use that.”

  I suffered his taunts, picturing Quintin’s cool composure in my mind. You’ll not bait me.

  Having completed his loop, he stopped in front of me, squinting and making a face as he examined my bruised nose. Finally, he relented and leaned back on his heels, looking bored. “Tell me what ye want.”

  “I need a forger.”

  He flipped his knife a few times. “That sounds illegal.”

  My nostril twitched angrily at his evasiveness. “I imagine those crates don’t repaint themselves.”

  Tommy plopped down on one of said crates, slapping it affectionately with his free hand. “These? I bought these fair ‘n square off a wine merchant just last week.” He grinned innocently. “I’ve got the papers to prove it.”

  “I’m sure you do. I’m in need of some papers of my own.”

  He pointed his knife at me. “And why should I help ye?”

  I held his gaze. “I can pay.”

  “I’ve got plenty of work.” Tommy gestured to the stacks of illicit merchandise filling the warehouse.

  “Not for long.” A flicker of uncertainty flashed across his face. There it is. “The shipments from the Darian fleet have been lagging as of late, have they not?” He didn’t confirm or deny, but I could see the gap in his mental armor. “If you refuse to aid me, the Van Dryns will lose control of the White Sea. If that happens, I wish you the best of luck negotiating a new arrangement with the Persican navy.”

  His knife had fallen still. “I’m listenin’.”

  My heart leapt. “I need papers.”

  He scoffed and tossed his head his annoyance. “Yeah, ye mentioned that. What kind.”

  “The kind with a golden seal.”

  I watched his face close like a trap. Fear. “No.”

  “Just a manifest and an accompanying letter,” I insisted.

  He jabbed a finger at me. “No.” I held my tongue and tried to stare him down. Tommy shook his head adamantly. “I’ll not hang for ye, lass.”

  He will refuse, my mother had said. As well he should.

  “Would you do it for Ana?” My final gambit.

  I watched his walls crumble. “Where did ye hear that name?” he whispered.

  “The favor has been called. You can make me what I need, can you not?” I pressed, unrelenting.

  Stunned, he shook his head, his mind far away. “It can be done.”

  “Good.” I laid out my needs and then had him echo them back to me to ensure he’d heard. As I spoke, his attention gradually returned to me, and he repeated it nearly word for word. Satisfied, I dropped a heavy pouch onto the crate beside him. “An advance. You’ll get the rest when it’s done. How long?”

  He calculated. “Three days,” he murmured. I took my leave quickly, afraid he would change his mind.

  I found my mother pacing barefoot in the foyer when I returned. Her eyes snapped to me in inquiry. I nodded. She exhaled her relief, eyes shadowed. I wanted to ask her one last time, but her face made me reconsider. Ghosts lie there.

  Three days later, I returned under cover of a cloudy night. Only a few lamps flickered in the dark warehouse, casting the barest hints of light into the cavernous building. A somber lad eyed me tentatively as he took my mount and pointed me toward a small office off to one side.

  I dropped the remainder of Tommy’s payment on the table in front of him - half my dowry, a substantial amount of coin. He leaned back in his chair, the documents in his hand, face pale and uneasy.

  “Ye haven’t thought this through, lass.” Hazel eyes met mine, voice quiet and solemn. “Somethin’ this big, ye can’t keep it hidden. It’ll come out eventually, an’ when it does, those ye mean to help’ll take the brunt of it.”

  He was right, of course. My gamble, our gamble, was that it wouldn’t come out until the tide had turned. “Steps are being taken to postpone that eventuality.”

  The barest hint of a smile curled the corner of his mouth. There was much more awareness behind those eyes than Tommy let on. “Ye don’t get to steal ten of the King’s ships and just walk away. Someone’s gonna die for it.” He leaned forward over his desk, holding out the papers. “That someone better not be me.”

  I took them gingerly from his hand and examined the seal. It was exquisite work, not that I knew how such documents should look. For that, I had to rely on Tommy and my mother’s trust in him. I hoped it was not misplaced. Satisfied, I returned them to him.

  “You’ll see that they’re routed properly?”

  He exhaled heavily and nodded. The orders had to be delivered via the correct avenues, to reinforce their validity. We had no access to Royal Couriers. Neither did Tommy, for that matter, as the King had not sent any missives in six months. What Tommy did have was men aplenty, and appearances were easy to fake. It unsettled me, how heavily we were relying on one man.

  I fixed him with a hard stare. “I’m sure you recognize that you hold the lives of everyone I love in your hands.” Gods it would have been so much easier with Quintin scowling over my shoulder, but I would have to make do without. I rested my shield hand on the hilt of my sword. The threat did not need to be voiced.

  He sat back in his chair, eyeing me with an amused smirk. “As much as I’d like to see that….” A young boy slipped into the room, and Tommy handed him the packet. He tucked it into his satchel and disappeared into the night. “My boys’ll see yer letters delivered. After that, yer on yer own.” He stood, squaring his shoulders. “Tell Ana this makes us even, and don’t come back here again.”

  The next month was an excruciating test of my nerve. I drilled in the garden for hours every day. It was the only thing that could keep
my mind off our gambit for any length of time. Augustus and Aubrey returned to the city two weeks after Quintin and I had shown up on my parents’ stoop with two nags and a busted nose. The latter, thankfully, was healing, but there was still some residual bruising when I went to the Chamberlain manor to welcome my friend home and resume our lessons.

  I told him of our harried journey on horseback, and of the failed audience with the King, but of our illicit gambit, I said nothing. Unless it was absolutely necessary, no one was to ever know of our actions. It was for their safety and ours.

  “He just left?” Aubrey asked, dumbfounded. I’d told him of Quintin’s abrupt departure as we sat in the salon and sipped wine. It felt like it used to, almost.

  “Said he was going home to Tuvria.”

  “What a cock, abandoning his post without a word.”

  “I think I pushed him too far.” My voice was quiet, regret creeping in. “He never wanted to be responsible for me in the first place.”

  “And yet he practically begged to go to Atenas with you.” Aubrey watched me with his eyebrow raised.

  I deflected. “That was different. After what happened, he knew I was afraid to go without him.” His face swam in my mind, scowling and shooting me his disapproving glare. I wondered where he was. “Have you seen Leon since you’ve returned?” I prompted, eager for a change of topic.

  “Tonight.” He smiled into his glass.

  It made me smile as well. They were well matched, my mischievous friend and his steady, kindhearted lover. I swallowed the last of my wine and stood. “I’d best not keep you, then.”

  “I’m sure you have plenty of other important business to attend to. Rabbits to shoot, monarchs to insult.” He stood with a bounce and teasing smile. I embraced him tightly, both of us sobering as the reality of our world settled back around us. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday,” he murmured into my hair. In truth, I’d missed it as well. My nineteenth name day had gone entirely unremarked in light of recent events. Aubrey held me at arm’s length. “I know you well enough to know when you’re not telling me something.” He forestalled any protest with a shake of his head. “I’m not asking. Just, whatever you’re about, please be careful.” His eyes pleaded with mine. “I could not bear to lose you.”