A Crown of Lilies

by Melissa Ragland

  “How long have I been asleep?” I asked quietly, my throat still hoarse.

  “A few days. The surgeon’s been. He says you’ll live if we can get some food into you.”

  I almost laughed but resisted the urge for fear of my ribs. It was a bitter parallel to my mother’s brutal youth. I’d avoided the rape, though, and for that, I counted myself infinitely fortunate. A soft knock sounded at the door. Quintin shifted in his seat, one hand resting on his dagger as it opened and Tommy shuffled in, followed by another familiar face.

  “Lord Reyus?” I whispered in disbelief. He pushed back his cowl and offered me a nod in greeting.

  “We need to talk, lass.” Tommy dragged a second chair to the foot of my bed, sinking into it.

  “I didn’t tell them anything,” I grumbled bitterly.

  “We know,” he said gently.

  “The King is dead.” Reyus leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and watched me with his hard gaze. “And Selice is missing.”

  My heart lurched in my chest. “Is she alive?”

  “We don’t know. She vanished from the castle the night her father died. We were hoping you could tell us where she was.” Suspicion rang clearly in his voice. I couldn’t blame him, after the spectacle in the temple square.

  I took a deep breath and struggled to sit up. Quintin moved to help, shifting my pillow as I heaved my worthless mass backward to lean up against the wall. Wincing from the effort, I replied through gritted teeth as waves of pain radiated through my torso and legs. “I don’t know where she is. That was never part of the plan.”

  “And the assassin?” Reyus pressed.

  I met his gaze unflinching. “We did what needed to be done.”

  He pushed off the wall in disgust, pacing and running one hand through his hair. “You had no right.” He jabbed one finger at me angrily. I held my tongue.

  “Everyone is sayin’ you killed him,” Tommy informed me. “That ye escaped the guards, slipped into the palace, and slit his throat yourself.” I did laugh, then, short and bitter, and clutched my sides as my ribs punished me for it.

  Reyus pressed on irritably. “And with the Princess’ absence, the priest has taken stewardship of the throne as Royal Adviser. Some of the King’s Guard staged a coup, but not enough. Those that weren’t slain outright were summarily executed.”

  I wanted to spit and curse and hit something. Why must everything always be so damned difficult? I was almost afraid to ask, but the words surfaced anyway. “And the boy?”

  Anger burned in his pale green eyes. “They named him Samuel.”

  Silence fell over us. It should have been his father who named him, but Amenon had been too lost in his grief. Now, the boy was over a year old and in the hands of the enemy, a pawn, a hostage, a piece on the board. I didn’t know what to make of any of it. I wished my mother was there.

  “Do you know who betrayed us?” Reyus’ voice cut through my thoughts.

  I shook my head. “No one.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Solomon wanted me to name my allies. If one of them had willingly informed on us, he wouldn’t have needed to ask.”

  “How did Amenon find out, then?” he argued.

  Shrugging immediately made me wince, as the bandages rubbed against the web of wounds on my back. “Any unscrupulous servant could have overheard our invitation.” I watched him consider my deduction, and a curious thought crossed my mind. “Why are you here, my lord?”

  He eyed me carefully before responding. “Because that is my nephew, and he deserved to be named by his family.” I held his hard gaze but said nothing. The corner of his mouth twitched. “I am here, young Lazerin, because you stood up when no one else would.”

  “Maybe I just wanted to die,” I countered bitterly.

  He tilted his head slightly. “There are easier ways to accomplish that.”

  “What does it matter? I failed.” The knowledge was a bitter end to a bitter struggle. Everyone I love died for nothing. Adrian’s face flickered in my mind, and my heart ached all the more. My head whipped toward Tommy, making my vision spin. “My letters?”

  He pulled them from the inner pocket of his vest. “There wasn’t time to send ‘em, before. Then yer man showed up and then ye were here. I thought it best to wait.”

  I nodded and mustered my courage to ask, “Any sign of Adrian?” Tommy shook his head, mouth quirking in apology.

  “You can’t keep waiting for him,” Reyus cut in impatiently. “Solomon has his Origin guard tearing Dockside apart looking for you.”

  “He’s right, lass. Most of my boys have scattered, on orders to lay low for a while until the worst of this blows over. Not long before this place gets found.”

  “She’s in no condition to travel,” Quintin protested, his voice carefully measured.

  “I can manage,” I grumbled.

  “Two days,” he pressed, eyes flicking between the two men.

  They exchanged a glance. “Two days,” Tommy agreed.

  “We should go to Petrion and find Adrian,” I suggested.

  “The Origin’s watchin’ the river closely, and the roads are just as dangerous.” My heart sank.

  “Laezon is a safer bet,” Reyus murmured. “It’s closer and you have loyal men there to protect you, should the enemy come calling.”

  Tommy offered me a reassuring nod. “We’ll send to your lad once you’re safe away.”

  I was too exhausted to argue, my mind too harried to be relied upon for sensible decisions, so I left it to them. Adrian would come for me in time. For now, we had to focus on getting out of the city.

  For me, that meant regaining as much strength as I could manage in the following two days. When I wasn’t asleep, I pestered Quintin and Tommy with questions, trying to fill in the blanks as they took turns at my bedside. In between bites of stew or porridge, I interrogated them relentlessly.

  The day of my arrest, Tommy’s runner had returned with haste to deliver the news of their discovery. A contingent of Origin soldiers arrived barely ten minutes later and burned both the warehouse and the Greyshor to the ground. At least a dozen had died either by the sword or in the flames, which had spread to consume the entire block of wood-and-daub structures. No one knew whether or not Eleanor had escaped.

  Those who had, scattered, with the exception of a few of Tommy’s most trusted boys, who had holed up in the windowless hideout with him to wait for the dust to settle. The next day, while I was having stakes driven through my feet, Quintin had tracked them down and taken Tommy hostage, demanding my rescue in exchange for Tommy’s life.

  “How on earth did you find them?” I asked.

  He hovered at my side, a bowl of stew in one hand and a spoon in the other. “Your mother gave me the names of a few contacts before I left, in case things went badly.” His eyelids flickered. “You did say I was good at being intimidating.”

  “Please don’t tell me you carry more faces for me,” I muttered miserably.

  He smirked. “Just a few bloody noses and maybe a shallow cut or two. Nothing that won’t heal.” One hand carefully spooned another bite of stew into my mouth. His sad smile faded. “And you?”

  I chewed thoughtfully, my jaw aching. Their faces swam in my memory. “Four.” His shoulders sagged as he exhaled audibly, shaking his head a fraction. My eyes watered as I thought of James. “Where were you?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

  He met my gaze, and I caught a glimpse of the guilt he was keeping so carefully masked. It gnawed at him, weighing heavily on his soul, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

  “I had some personal matters to attend to.”

  I failed to keep the hard edge from my voice. “I think you owe me more than that.”

  He took a deep breath and set the spoon in the bowl, rubbing at his short-cropped hair. “The scions of Tuvre hold to the Old Ways closer than most. To my people, the taking of life is a solemn and sacred charge, not to be wielded lightly.” He eyed me hesitantly. “There is honor i
n being the steady sword that protects Adulil. There is none in being the madman who kills in his rage.”

  I knew the story, everyone did. Tuvre cut down a madman in the streets of the far country, saving Adulil and the Chamberlain from certain death. Afterward, Adulil had wept beside the body.

  I remembered, too, the look on Quintin’s face as he watched the caravan guard die.

  “You were just protecting me,” I argued gently.

  He smiled bitterly and shook his head. “I wanted him to suffer. There was pride and malice and cruelty in what I did.” Pale eyes dodged away. “I went home to see our elder, to beg forgiveness and complete my penance.”

  “Your hair?” I asked foolishly.

  He laughed without humor. “Among other things, yes.”

  I thought to press but decided against it. Like my Bronnadh, some rites were sacred and private. “You said you’d be back by the solstice.”

  “I meant to be. Your parents charged me with delivering letters to every major Tuvrian garrison on my way back.”

  “What took so long?”

  He chewed the inside of his cheek, brows knitting. “Some of them didn’t like the message I brought, or that it was I who brought it.” There was much he wasn’t telling me, but I chose not to pursue the matter. For now, it was enough. “When I was in Savern, I heard about the fire. I burned the last two letters and rode for Litheria. Two days and as many horses later, I was here and you had been arrested for treason. The Greyshor was burning by the time I reached it, so I resorted to your mother’s contacts. After a few heated conversations, I was able to find Tommy and enlist his help in retrieving you.”

  I snorted. “That’s an interesting choice of phrase.”

  “I couldn’t risk his refusal.” Always the pragmatist.

  “And Reyus?”

  “I sought him out while you rested. He was on your mother’s list.”

  So many threads, so many moving pieces. How did my mother ever keep it all balanced? While I thought about it, Quintin resumed spooning stew into my mouth. Though it had gone lukewarm over the course of our conversation, I chewed and swallowed obediently, watching him. I had been on the precipice, so desperately close to breaking. If it hadn’t been for him, I would have betrayed everyone I ever cared about, and then died at the hands of the enemy.

  “Thank you.” I forced the words from my lips, forced myself to meet his gaze unflinching. He paused, guarded eyes considering me, and nodded once.

  By the end of the two days, I could feel some of my strength returning. To be sure, my body was in dismal form, wrapped in a ridiculous web of bandages, many of which had to be changed daily. In my weakened and one-handed state, I had to rely on my male companions for assistance, which prompted some uncomfortable interactions when it came time to change the dressings on my back. The food and rest helped, though, and I was able to at least feed myself by the time we had to leave. I winced with every bite, the spoon pressing my burned palms through the bandages, but I was young and proud and refused to be fed like a child. There was little else I could do for myself, though, and the journey ahead was one I didn’t relish.

  “Ready, lass?” Tommy asked, offering me a hand to help me from the cot. I stood with his assistance and only a bit of cursing. We made our way down the alley to the street. His boys waited on horseback with a small covered cart. A stalwart black stallion shifted in the harness, his breath steaming in the cold night air. He turned toward me, looking profoundly displeased, and I realized I recognized him. As we approached, I held out one hand and he pressed his nose to my bandaged palm.

  “Valor,” I breathed. His dappled gray coat had been concealed entirely with soot, turning him a deep, mottled black hue. I didn’t blame him for being upset. He wasn’t trained to the harness, and the ash made him look dull and common.

  Tommy murmured from close at my side. “The city guard’s been on the lookout for him. He’s a bit conspicuous. Not easy to hide a damned horse, but I didn’t think you’d want to leave him behind.”

  “It’s brilliant. Thank you.”

  It took some doing to get me into the wagon, which he had thankfully filled with straw and bales of wool, along with a variety of supplies. Quintin and one of the other men settled me carefully on a thick fleece amid the straw, covering me with a pile of blankets. I nodded in response to his inquiring glance, confirming I would be alright. They jumped down out of the wagon and secured the canvas tarp over top.

  A few muffled exchanges and we were off into the cold dark. My heart pounded in my chest when I heard us approaching the night watch at the city gate. The rattle of armor and the sound of heavy boots circled the cart where I lay. Terror gripped me as one corner of the tarp was pulled back, revealing one of the bales of wool near my feet. All they had to do was lift the canvas a bit more, and we were all as good as dead. Tommy’s gregarious tone rang out and I heard the exchange of coin. I released the breath I’d been holding and sent a prayer of thanks as the cart lurched forward and we ambled through the gate.

  Once we were well clear of the city, I tried to sleep. The jostling of the cart rattled my bruised body and I quickly realized that doing so would be impossible. It just hurt too damned much. We pressed on through the day, stopping occasionally for meals and rest. Quintin saw to it that I had a skin of water, for which I was grateful. I had to struggle to pry the cork free with only one good hand, but after two parched days in the King’s dungeon, I would have put up with just about anything to have a readily available source of water.

  It took us nearly a week to reach Laezon. Winter had settled in and the trip was bitterly cold, snow slowing our already sluggish pace. Wagons could not travel as fast as carriages, even on the main roads, and the weather only made things worse. I was grateful for my pile of blankets, and for once didn’t envy those riding astride in the brutal wind. In an effort to distract myself from the painful jostling of my brutalized body, I occupied my mind by reciting Elan poetry and practicing what I would say to Leanne and James’ parents.

  On the fourth day, the fever crept in. Whether it was from my injuries or the cold, I’m not sure, but it clung to me with a will. I sweated and trembled under my blankets, fading in and out of consciousness.

  On the afternoon of the sixth day, we rattled into the courtyard of my childhood home. The tarp was thrown back and I was vaguely aware of being lifted on the woolen mat and carried into the house. Someone called for a physician. Tommy barked at his boys. I heard a woman’s stern voice summoning the chamberlain. Quintin’s face hovered over mine, brows knit with concern. A soft bed rushed up to cradle me, and I saw no more.

  I learned later that it took three days for the fever to finally break. When I woke, once again it was my dour blue-eyed guardian who sat beside me. He was fixated on his hands, head bowed over them clasped between his knees.

  “You need another hobby,” I whispered hoarsely.

  He startled and his head shot up. One callused hand felt at my forehead. He stood quickly. “I’ll fetch the medic.”

  I was too exhausted to argue. He returned shortly with a man and a woman in tow. The first examined me dispassionately, gauging my temperature, measuring my pulse, inspecting my eyes. When he was satisfied, he withdrew, and I could hear him speaking to someone out in the hallway. The woman remained, settling delicately on the bed at my side and reminding me with a pang of my mother, although they looked nothing alike. Perhaps it was merely her age and her gentle disposition. Light brown hair was streaked with hints of silver, deep blue eyes watching me kindly.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Thirsty,” I answered honestly.

  Quintin handed her a glass and she helped me take a drink.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  She smiled. “My name is Maria. I am Lord Elliot’s wife.” I searched the catalog of my mind to place the names. Everything was a fog. Nothing made sense. She saw me struggle and placed a reassuring hand on my arm. I noticed, then, that my coar
se breeches and tunic had been replaced with a fine cotton shift. “My husband is your father’s cousin. He fostered here as a boy, and always considered your father like a brother.” Her face fell, eyes filled with sympathy. “I am so sorry for your loss. I can’t even imagine.”

  I couldn’t find the will to utter a polite reply.

  “I’ll leave you to rest.” She stood gracefully. “You are safe here. Your father visited us not long ago. Elliot and I…” Her words faltered. “Just know that you have our support, no matter what.”

  This time, I did manage a response. “Thank you.” She flashed me another sympathetic smile and took her leave. Quintin stayed and helped me down a good portion of the broth that was delivered by a solicitous kitchen boy who gaped at me rudely before retreating in the face of my guardian’s withering scowl. After that, he chatted quietly to me about the state of the house and the herd until I fell asleep.

  The next time I woke, the figure that hovered at my bedside was not Quintin’s bulky shadow. My vision focused slowly, the small bright silhouette clearing as I fought to suppress my panic. I blinked, unsure of my eyes. The ones that stared back at me were bright gold, like wheat fields in the afternoon sun.

  “My lady?” I whispered in disbelief. Part of me seriously considered I was still asleep.

  Selice’s carefully composed expression held steady. “Hello, Elivya.” Her voice was cool, impersonal, just as I remembered it from the equinox fete. There was something else beneath it, though: a fragility, a deep and abiding sorrow that haunted her.

  “How?” My voice sounded childish and far away.

  The barest hint of a smile curved the corner of her mouth. “Later.” She paused, considering me. “Why did you go to the temple square on the day of my majority?”

  I stared, too delirious for common propriety. Gods, she was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. After a moment she raised her brows at me and I realized I’d not responded. I struggled to find the right words.

  “Someone had to try.”

  She seemed amused by my simple answer. “To try and get through to the King?” I nodded. “And now the King is dead,” she said, her voice edged with bitterness. A tear slipped from my eye. Selice blinked at me, surprised. “You mourn him? You, who stood up before all of Litheria to denounce him?”