A Crown of Lilies

by Melissa Ragland

  The thought put a lump in my throat. “Nor I you.” I clutched him to me once more, burying my face against his neck. I breathed deep his scent, ink and fresh pressed paper and cedar. When I released him at last, he kissed my forehead and sent me on my way.

  At the end of the month, news finally came. My mother and I were out in the city with Gabe, visiting Sadie at her shop for some summer garments. When we’d concluded our business and stepped out onto the busy street, a scrappy boy scrambled up to me from an alley and tugged on my dress. I looked down, worried he might make for my coin purse, but stopped short when I saw his eyes filled with intent.

  “Ten great oaks make for the wolf’s den.” His gaze flicked to my mother. “The debt is paid.” Without another word, he vanished into the crowd. We waved off Gabe’s inquiries and made our way back to the house. I locked myself in my chambers as my mother went to report the news to my father. Finally alone, the last vestiges of my composure melted away. I collapsed against the door, the tension of the last month finally finding release. A crushing wave of fear, desperation, and relief crashed over me as I slid to the floor, hugging my knees and clutching my sapphire ring to my chest, Adrian’s face swimming in my mind. I prayed to Adulil that he was still alive to receive my aid. It had come at a steep cost, and I could only hope we would remain undiscovered long enough for it to make a difference.

  It was a lie in plain sight. Every man, woman, and child in Petrion would see the galleons come into port. Word would spread of reinforcements from the King’s Navy, reinforcements he had specifically refused. We were relying heavily on his self-imposed isolation, and Adrian’s voracity at sea, to ensure that the news would not reach Amenon or his white-robed advisor.

  When I’d recovered my composure and refreshed my face in the wash basin, I smoothed my skirts and made my way to my parents’ study. Squaring my shoulders, I knocked quietly on the door and entered, approaching the desk where they stood talking quietly. My mother held a letter in one hand. They both turned to me, discussion halting.

  She could see the question written on my face. “Damien,” she prompted quietly.

  He breathed deep and excused himself from the room. I held my mother’s gaze, motionless, until the latch clicked behind me. This woman, whose hands had cradled me as a babe, whose voice had soothed many hurts, she was a stranger to me. She had taught me to be a lady, to play music and recite poetry, to dance and curtsy and make polite conversation. But there was also the other woman, the one I barely knew, who taught me how to move unseen, to manipulate men, to seek out and exploit weakness. I needed them reconciled. Any sliver of doubt that remained had vanished when Tommy’s runner had spoken to her.

  “Who is Ana?” My whisper cut the air between us. We both knew the answer.

  To her credit, she didn’t flinch or dissemble. Gods know, my mother could fool anyone, even me. Instead, she set down the letter in her hand and straightened across the table from me. “Aileana is the name my mother gave me,” she began slowly. I didn’t press. She knew what I wanted from her. “She told me it meant ‘green meadow’.” A long, painful pause followed. “I watched her die, slowly, agonizingly, pinned under drunken sailors every night for ten years.” Anger and immense sorrow shook her voice. “I shortened it to Ana when I started running jobs.”

  Jobs? I asked with my eyes. She looked away.

  “It was innocent enough at first, deliveries and the like. I was just trying to earn some coin, to get us out of that godforsaken place.” Her hands fidgeted with some papers on the desk. “When she died, the madam put me on the street that day. I had to find more profitable ventures if I didn’t want to turn to whoring. One of the street boys I’d been running jobs with brought me to a man named Fenton – Tommy’s father.” The pieces began to click into place.

  My mother rounded the desk and led the way to a sideboard, where she poured us each a glass of wine from a decanter. “Fenton was a brute and a bastard. He ran a variety of jobs on the wharf, mostly smuggling and the like. When I proved I could be useful, he took me in and taught me much of what I know.” She sank down into a chair across from me, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. “Much of which, I have taught you.”

  “Why?” I could feel her relaxing, opening up.

  She looked a bit offended. “Because I was good at it. Picking pockets was the least of it, though that’s where we all started.” She took a slow sip of wine. “At first, Fenton mostly used me as bait, luring merchants into alleyways to hold them up and take their coin. I wanted more, though. I wanted respect.” Her eyes glinted at the memory. “So I started running my own jobs on the side. I discovered the value of information. I built my own crew and we earned a reputation for ourselves. When you wanted to know something, you came to Ana.” The slight smile that curved her mouth faded, eyes darkening with old shadows. “I was fourteen when Fenton found out.” Her eyelid twitched. “He beat me within an inch of my life and tossed me to his men.” She tugged at her gown, pulling it down to reveal a crude brand on her shoulder in the shape of an ‘F’. “I was unconscious when he did this.”

  A tear slipped down my cheek as my mother smoothed the fabric back into place.

  “He wanted me to know he owned me.” She fell silent a moment, her body stiff with rage. “Tommy and a few of the other lads pooled their spare coin for a physician. It took two months for my ribs to heal, another month after that before I was back to running jobs again. I kept my head down and stayed out of the way for a few years, biding my time. Fenton only got worse, bringing on more young girls to work for him. I tried to help them, to keep them from his worst impulses. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes not.” She took a deep breath. “And then there was Brigid.”

  Her eyes hazed over at the memory. “Sweet girl. Tommy was mad for her from the start. When Fenton took her....” Her voice faltered. “Tommy lost it. I found him kneeling on the bed, covered in his father’s blood like some wild beast.” Deep green eyes welled with angry tears. “I hated him for it,” she whispered savagely. “I had spent three years watching, waiting for the right moment. He was mine.”

  I swallowed, afraid to make a sound.

  Her eyes flicked to me. “Tommy took that from me. And I took the blame for him. That is the debt that bought your ships.”

  “They believed you killed him?”

  “It was an easy enough story to swallow. Who among us had more reason to want him dead?”

  “Why would you protect him?” I asked, shaking my head.

  She fixed me with her practical stare. “Because Tommy had sat by my bedside for two months, forcing stew into my mouth when I begged him to let me die. Because I wanted to get as far away from Dockside as possible, and it was as good a reason as any to leave.”

  “I don’t understand, how did you ever meet Father?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. There lay a memory she enjoyed reliving. “When the War broke out, I was running a crew in Venici.” She considered me. “A few years older than you are now, if I remember correctly. Nothing puts coin on the table like war, and I had plans to capitalize on it. So, when Amenon sent your father to oversee a shipment of armaments in Petrion, I offered my services.”

  My mind wandered, wondering what that particular first encounter must have been like.

  “The King had his own spies, of course, but when I proved my resources were significantly more extensive, he agreed to pay my price.” A private smile flickered across her lips. “Your father was every inch the loyalist. At first, I found him tiresome and overzealous, but so were many of the young men, every one of them eager to prove their mettle.” Her smile faded, eyelids flickering. “They all are until they see battle.” She pressed on. “I built my network over the course of the three years that the War raged. My crew provided troop positions, supply lines, battle plans.” She watched my face carefully. “Assassinations. We were very… effective.”

  “And your price?” I asked quietly.

 
My mother smiled softly at me. “A new life.”

  It took me several days to process, during which I was quiet and removed, preferring to spend my time drilling in the garden. For a mercy, my parents left me undisturbed. On the fourth day, after I’d washed the sweat and grime from my skin and dressed in clothes more appropriate to my station, I came to them in the study.

  They watched me silently, two pairs of eyes waiting with aching hearts. I understood, then, that they were afraid I would hate them for the lie. My mother, especially, very nearly trembled with it. There was steel in her, still, but I was her flesh and blood. I could wound her deeper than anyone in the world with my rejection. I was the daughter of a whore’s get. Amenon must have known. I wondered how many others.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. We are what the world makes us. What we become, we control. You are what you choose to be – what you mold yourself into. She had chosen. I could too.

  I crossed the room to the desk where they stood. Smoothing my gown, I stopped before them, raising my chin a fraction. “I am what you made me, and I am grateful for it.” I met my mother’s eyes. “I am proud to be your daughter.” I held her gaze a long moment, reinforcing the sincerity of my words, before turning my attention to the map on the desk. “What’s next?”

  My mother handed me a letter, her eyes glistening. I took it and began scanning the script.

  “Hydrax?” I asked, my eyes narrowing in confusion.

  “Rumors of a secret alliance surfaced over a year ago,” she informed me. “Now, it seems they have been confirmed.”

  The report spoke of a wedding, an ornate and private affair, having taken place six months prior. “Princess Hasha?”

  She nodded solemnly. “Queen Hasha, now. Her father was assassinated two months ago.”

  “You think she is in league with Persica?”

  “It would explain the Hydraxian delegation last spring. Gauging the landscape.”

  “They could have simply been here to congratulate the King.” It had always been part of our lessons, to have one party play the doubting voice. The counter-argument forced the other to dig deeper into their observations, to justify their assessment with more than just assumptions.

  I noticed the corner of her mouth quirk in a smile. “No such delegation arrived for Cerya. That, combined with their comments to Augustus, leaves little doubt.”

  My mind flicked a thread to the fore. “Adrian mentioned that Hasha had a sand lion cub when he was there many years ago.”

  My parents exchanged a glance. “Persica sowing the seed long before her father was willing to marry her off.”

  “How is she holding power?” I asked, bewildered. “I thought Hydrax was a strictly patriarchal succession.”

  My father passed me a second report. “With an iron fist, we are told.” The missive laid out numerous descriptions of brutal public executions of detractors, including the uncle who was slated to inherit the throne. Anyone who had spoken up against her or accused her of her father’s murder was summarily put to death.

  “And her alliance with Persica?”

  My mother spoke up again. “Queen Hasha is also Empress Hasha.” He solemn gaze fixed mine. “We now face an enemy on both fronts.”

  I considered it a moment. The entire eastern border of Alesia was held by scions of Tuvre. The Persican army would be hard-pressed to force their way through, but in the west, a sporadic collection of garrisons served as the only defense, with the exception of Frii in the north. Alesia had grown complacent in her years of peace. Hydraxian troops could overtake the western regions quickly unless they were warned to mobilize.

  “We need to send to the western provinces,” I said. “Tell them war is coming.”

  She smiled her approval. “Your father leaves in two days.”

  He nodded. “Under the guise of seeing to our estate in Laezon. You and your mother will remain here.”

  “All of Court thinks we are disgraced,” she added. “We must act the whipped dogs and remain behind cowering before the throne.”

  I bristled at that. “Lazerins do not cower.”

  My father smirked. “Pride can only get you so far, Elivya.” I bit my tongue, chastened. “You and your mother will use your unique skill set to probe the Court for potential allies. I will see to rallying the west.”

  “Alone?” I gaped at the enormity of the task.

  “Your mother has seen to it that I am well aided.”

  It had to be done, and there was no point in gainsaying months of planning. I left it and focused on my own task. Father departed two days later. We made no fanfare, only exchanged hard embraces and sent him on his way. As he and his company of guards and servants disappeared out of the gate, I sent a silent prayer to the Mother to keep him safe.

  Not a week after his departure, Crofter’s Castle broke its months-long silence. A royal decree was issued and flyers posted about the city. One was delivered solicitously to our house by a hired courier. My mother’s eyes flashed angrily as she read the words. Handing it brusquely to me, she muttered something unintelligible but unmistakably crude.

  I scanned the decree. In essence, it informed the public that more priests from Persica were arriving to assist with the spreading illness, and were to be given every assistance by order of the King. “What does this mean for us?” I asked her.

  She paced the foyer, one hand tugging at her lips pensively. “It means they are going after the people, weakening any chance of rebellion before it can begin.”

  “How?”

  She glanced at me. “They will use their influence to turn public opinion. If they can convert even a portion of the populace to their faith, they will sow enough discord to undermine our efforts.”

  I was skeptical. “What could they possibly do to convince people to turn against their own country, their own heritage?”

  She halted and faced me. “Faith is a beautiful, terrible thing. Religion can twist ignorance and fear into cruelty. This emperor, this divine leader, claims to be the embodiment of their god Al’Rahim. Those he fails to conquer through spectacle, he conquers by force. You’ve seen the reports from Makednos.” I had. The sultan had soundly disavowed the emperor’s magic as trickery and charlatanism. A month later, he and his entire family were slaughtered.

  “What do we do?”

  I watched her mind land on a course of action. It was clearly not one she relished. “I need to talk to Tommy.”

  I balked. “He was very specific that last time I was there.”

  “My resources are already spread thin. I need his courier network.”

  A letter was sent, the contents of which I never saw. That night, a cloaked figure slipped into the kitchen through the servant’s entrance. Mother and I sat at the table, waiting.

  “Fuck me, it’s true.” He pushed his hood back and ran a hand through his silver-and-brown hair.

  “Hello, Tommy.” My mother sat upright and rigid in her chair. I had chosen to wear my sparring gear and leaned back in my seat with one hand resting on the hilt of my knife.

  “Ana.” His eyes flicked to me and he raised his eyebrows at my sword belt. “In the house, as well? Not very ladylike.” I ignored his taunt. “Why am I here?”

  “You are here because I need your help.” My mother’s voice was calm and steady.

  “I don’t owe you anythin’,” he growled, turning on her. He thumped his chest with one fist. “My debt is paid.”

  “It is,” she admitted calmly. It caught him off-guard since he was looking for a fight. Her acquiescence knocked him off-balance. Gods, it was as natural as breathing to her. “I need your help all the same.” Her voice was soft, slightly vulnerable; firm, but with a poorly-couched plea to make a man feel like saving her. She’d taught it to me as well, though I doubt I could ever have employed it so masterfully.

  He almost resisted. Almost. I saw in his face that he knew it was a ploy, but he took the bait all the same. Scratching his stubble, he sat. “What do ye want,”
he murmured.

  “I need your network. Nothing that would take your boys off their usual assignments. Just a mockingbird game.”

  He nodded, clearly glad it wasn’t anything quite so dangerous as forging royal missives. “And the song?”

  “That the Persican priests are spreading the sickness.”

  He snorted a laugh at that. “You’re joking.”

  “We need to sow seeds of distrust among the people. This is the best way to ensure they remain suspicious of foreign influence.” I winced. That same distrust would make the gezgin’s plight even more difficult.

  “A war of opinion, then, is it?”

  She nodded gravely. “For now, yes.”

  He watched her for a long moment. Something in his eyes softened, and I saw a glimpse of the kind boy underneath the sharp-edged man. “Alright.”

  She pushed a pouch of coin across the table to him. “For your birds.”

  At first, I thought he might refuse it, but he was a profiteer at heart. He tucked the pouch into his tunic and stood, disappearing out the door and into the night.

  Spring turned to summer. We watched and waited. Reports came every few days from various parts of Alesia, always anonymous, usually coded. I learned to read them, my morning lessons taking a turn toward more immediate applications. My mother explained somewhat to me of how her network operated, though in hindsight, she never told me anything of substance. It was too dangerous, she claimed, for everyone involved. There were many things I could not know. Should our intrigues go awry, and I be captured, what knowledge I had would be pried from me. I, of course, vehemently protested such a thing, but she smiled her sad, knowing smile. There are ways, she said, to break even the hardest stone.

  I gave it much thought over the next several days. It was a perilous path we were on, and things would surely get worse before they ever improved. I played through the scenarios in my head. I could only imagine the methods to which she referred, but even those were plentiful and terrifying. In the end, I concluded that even I, with my stubbornness and pride, was a risk in the wrong hands. It was better to not know.