“He was a good man, once. I mourn the man I knew, the man my parents knew.” And I am partially responsible for his murder. The words floated in my mind. She deserved to know, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud.
Her remarkable gaze burned into mine. “Your parents served Alesia, and their King. In the end, they abandoned one for the other.” Her cool tone was unforgiving. “I would know where your loyalties lie.”
I trembled under her regard. My father had loved Amenon. The truth of it had always echoed in his voice when he spoke of his king. Not in the way he loved my mother or me, but of a wholly different kind. Before, I had always dismissed it as staunch allegiance to a dear friend. As I gazed across the wheat fields that held court in my queen’s eyes, I understood. Like her father before her, Selice was the undeniable heir of Adulil. His blood flowed in her veins, and with it, the same sacred gift the Mother had sent out into the world a thousand years ago. Like my ancestors long before me, I could not help but love her.
Swallowing my awe, I answered her query as honestly as I could. “Their king abandoned his people. I am yours, my queen, until the day you do the same.”
My candor softened her. She sat straight in her chair, hands folded delicately in her lap. “Let us both hope that day never comes.”
“That will depend entirely upon you, my lady.”
Her mouth twisted into a smirk. “And until then?”
I smiled back through my weakness. “I am at your service.”
She stood, smoothing her skirts, white-blonde hair spilling over one shoulder. “Then here is my first command to you, Lady of Lazerin: rest and recover. Regain your strength and report to my council when you are able.” She raised her chin a fraction. “Are we understood?”
Another tear slipped from my eye. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
After she’d gone, her words struck me. I didn’t feel like the Lady of Lazerin. That was my mother, not me. All of it was backwards and upside down. I was just… me. And given the events of the last several weeks, I was quite sure I had no business being responsible for anyone or anything else.
Later in the day, that point was driven home a little bit deeper. Another familiar face visited me, one I’d not seen in several years: James’ mother, the chamberlain of our rural estate. Guilt and sorrow flooded my chest as she closed the door carefully behind her and crossed to sit beside me. She forced a smile, but her face betrayed her fear.
“Amita,” I greeted her sadly.
She fidgeted, wringing her hands. “I didn’t want to disturb you, my lady, given all you’ve been through.” Her light brown eyes pleaded with mine. “But I am a mother, and I need to know.” Her voice cracked and faltered. I could tell she already did, deep in her soul, she just needed to hear it aloud. “My boys?”
I swallowed hard and forced the words from my lips. “I’m sorry.”
She ducked her head then, weeping quietly into her lap. My heart writhed in my chest. I wished I could cut it out, make at least that much of the hurt stop. When she’d collected herself, she nodded, sniffling. Brown eyes, caverns of incalculable misery, met mine. “Tell me.”
I did. I told her of Seth’s bravery, defending our home shoulder-to-shoulder with Gabe. I’d never learned how James had gotten his wound, but I told her he had saved me from myself, drawing me away when I would have gone to my death. I couldn’t bear to tell her about the Widow’s Tears. Perhaps that alone is testament to the depth of my guilt. Instead, I gave her his message and assured her he’d died peacefully in the company of a friend. She didn’t ask about their bodies, too overcome by her grief. I didn’t volunteer it, and she left me with reassurances that she would pass the news on to the rest of their family. I thought of Leanne and the child who would never know their father’s contagious smile or the warmth of his voice.
Reminded of my duty and my debt, I summoned Shera’s father shortly thereafter. He watched me with his daughter’s kind eyes as I told him in faltering words of her death. She had taken my place on the pyre beside my parents. It was an awful way to die, a sacrifice I could never repay. My apology felt hollow and empty, but I gave it anyway, watching his eyes well with tears before he, too, left me. Alone with my grief and my guilt, I curled up on my bed and wished once more that I’d died in the dark dungeons of Litheria.
It was a week and more before the physician proclaimed me free from completely restricted bed rest. I was instructed to begin moving about my room in a limited fashion to keep blood circulating and help repair my damaged body. Standing was excruciating, though I could manage it for short stretches. Quintin insisted I get up and move when I could, despite the pain. The exertion caused me to breathe heavily, which only caused me more agony, thanks to my ribs. I cursed at him through his patient encouragements. To his credit, he ignored my sour attitude and my frustration with admirable consistency.
I was sitting in a plush armchair, resting from my recent walk about the room and staring at the splint on my left hand, when I finally dared give voice to my fears. “Will I ever hold a blade again, do you think?” I struggled to keep my tone nonchalant.
Blue eyes looked up from the tunic he was patching. He nodded at my splint. “At least it’s your left hand.”
“So much for my dagger,” I muttered bitterly.
“We won’t know until the splint comes off.” He was trying to make me feel better, but I could hear in his voice that he held little hope for it. Every bone had been well and thoroughly broken. The priest had been patient and surprisingly creative in the variety of methods he applied. I felt sick, the sound of my own screams ringing in my memory. “Hey,” he called out sharply, his voice cutting through the darkness. I looked up at him and he pointed at the floor, stern gaze fixed on me. “Stay here.”
I nodded, swallowing and pushing the memories back down into the abyss where I’d buried them. In my efforts to distract myself, I thought of Tommy. He had visited a few times over the last week or so, and it suddenly struck me that I’d never thanked him. In many ways, he had lost more than I, largely because of my own actions. It was forging the King’s seal that had gotten his warehouse burned down, his boys tortured, his men killed and scattered. Despite losing his entire livelihood, he had stood by me, sheltering me and putting himself at great risk to sneak me out of the city. I asked Quintin to fetch him, as well as the men who had secreted me from the prison.
He was gone a while, and I paced the room slowly while worrying they’d no interest in seeing me. I remembered the tone of the man who’d delivered me to my hostage-taking guardian. I couldn’t blame him, not really. He and his companions had been forced to risk capture and death for a proclaimed traitor they didn’t even know. I had just resumed my pacing after a rest when they filed into my room. Quintin held back, watching discreetly from the door. I stood, facing them, drawing myself up as straight as I could manage. Tommy stood to one side, his three lads arrayed before me, short-brimmed hats in their hands. They wouldn’t meet my eyes, staring at the floor.
They must hate me, I thought. Who knows how much they lost because of me.
“Thank you for coming,” I said somberly.
“Miss,” they each mumbled in turn.
“What are your names?”
They exchanged a glance and sounded off. The eldest, somewhere in his mid-twenties, was Daniel. I remembered his face as the one who had pulled the spikes from my feet. The younger two I judged to both be somewhere near my own age. The tallest, Will, had been the one to haul me most of the way out of the garrison dungeons and again into the hideout. It was his voice I remembered filled with anger. The smaller was named Matt and had been the one to meet us with the horses.
“I asked you here to thank you. I know you did not come for me of your own volition, and I’ve no right to expect you to have anything but contempt for me, but I owe each of you a great debt. One boon each: whatever you wish, if I can, I will grant it. Money, land, horses, it’s yours.” They did look at me then, surprise in their e
yes. I waited as they whispered to one another.
“May we have some time to consider, my lady?” the eldest asked politely.
“Of course. Come to me when you’ve made your decisions.” They scurried from the room in lively form, exchanging excited murmurs. Tommy made to follow them, shaking his head and grumbling about foolish boys. “Wait,” I called after him. He stopped and turned back to me, that sharp gaze finding mine.
“Ye didn’t need to do that.”
“They saved my life.”
“They’ll spend it in a month on dice and whores.”
“I’d see them have it all the same.”
He threw up his hands and began to turn away again.
“Tommy,” I stopped him once more. One glance to Quintin and my blue-eyed guardian slipped from the room, leaving us alone. Feeling a bit dizzy, I sat down.
He watched me, face carefully schooled to neutrality. “Ain’t nothin’ I want from ye, lass.”
“What you deserve is beyond my reach to give,” I said tiredly. “You took me in when I had nowhere else to go, and hid me at great risk to yourself and your men. You pulled me from my grief long enough to help me bury my oldest friend. And then, when I cursed at you and pushed you away, you remained.” I watched him carefully. “You helped me find my way to an honorable death, even if things played out otherwise. Why?” He breathed shallowly and didn’t respond. “You could have traded me to the High Priest for a sizable reward. I was far more trouble than-”
“Ye look like your mother,” he said suddenly. I closed my mouth on words unsaid. Tommy shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly, no, but there’s enough of her in ye. Oh, I can see plenty of that hard-headed soldier she married, as well, but-”
“I am not my mother,” I said firmly. If he had any romantic notions, it was best to put them to ground now. I had misread him, though.
He smiled sadly. “No. But she made ye, and that’s good enough for me.” I watched his throat work as his eyes flicked away from me and back. “I’m not your father, lass, but part of me would like to think that maybe if things had been different, I might’ve been.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I’d grown fond of Tommy and his coarse, direct way. He had saved me as much as anyone, mostly from myself. I stood with effort, crossing slowly to him and taking his hands in mine.
“Thank you,” I said, gently but firmly. “Thank you for the gift of my life.” I had nothing else to offer him. After everything he had done for me, I hoped it was enough.
Two more weeks dragged by, and I grew more and more frustrated at the slow pace of my healing. The worst of the bruises faded, with the exception of my ribcage. There, a stubborn purple mass lingered and my breathing continued to cause me pain. The physician examined me periodically and assured me that it, too, would eventually heal. The burns on my palms faded, for which I was immensely grateful. Tommy had returned my arms to me, and I spent hours each day squeezing the hilt of my dagger. It had been Quintin’s suggestion, to rebuild the strength in my sword hand.
Adrian’s ring, I returned to its chain around my neck.
Tommy sat with me charitably each morning, allowing Quintin a few hours to run drills somewhere on the premises. Each time he returned, he looked calm and languid, and I envied him. Though I insisted to them both that they need not waste away their days at my bedside, they each refused just as staunchly as the other. In the end, I was glad for it. On the few occasions I was left alone with my thoughts, my mind drifted to dark and terrible places.
My pale-eyed Tuvrian did his best to keep me informed about the goings-on of the estate. When conversation lagged, he offered to fetch me some books from the study, and we spent hours sitting in amicable silence, each of us buried in a tome of our choice. He seemed to enjoy the selections I put to him, mostly Elan myths about great warriors and heroic battles. For my part, I re-read some of my favorite poets and plays, though I forced my way through a dry but instructive volume regarding the intricacies of maintaining an army.
While my guardian was otherwise occupied, Tommy proved to be amusing company, sharing a number of his own stories from the annals of his vast life experience, many of them humorous. Some of them included my mother. I liked those the best. A few times, I asked after the state of our infant rebellion, but he waved me off and told me I needn’t worry myself. Others were handling the particulars, and I was strictly instructed to focus on my recovery. Those orders, he impressed upon me, came from the very top. I relented with a measure of relief. It was too heavy a burden for me, and I was glad to be rid of it.
Aside from Tommy, a few others visited. Selice sent one of her ladies-in-waiting to help me have a proper bath. With the worst of my wounds healed over, the physician had given his permission. After weeks of washing myself with a damp cloth, it was an unaccountable luxury. I heard her catch her breath as she pulled the shift over my head, my naked body revealed.
“I guess that answers that question,” I muttered bitterly. In my convalescence, I had fretted numerous times about the permanence of the damage I had suffered. When I pressed her, she fetched a mirror, holding it behind me as I craned my head over one shoulder. Angry red lines covered my back from nape to tailbone in a grotesque web. My heart sank, the memory of Adrian’s hand on my formerly silken skin echoing as a bittersweet taunt. I wondered what he would think of me now, in my ruined state.
“They are still healing, my lady,” she said gently. “It will fade.”
Yes, I thought to myself. Some.
My face remained relatively unmarred, with the exception of a small scar on the side of my jaw. For that, at least, I could be thankful. I was rail-thin, ribs and breastbone jutting out from beneath my skin. All my lean muscle had atrophied over weeks of bed rest. The dismal state of my hair stood as a last bitter jab to my vanity. Cropped well above the shoulder, it was matted from weeks without attention. The girl, Trina, who was barely sixteen, made decent work of it. Every knot was patiently untangled, and she used a pair of shears to even out the worst of the raggedness. I couldn’t help but flinch at the sound of them slicing through the shabby remnants of my locks, dark memories invading my mind.
All-in-all, it took hours, during which I learned from her of Selice’s escape. The night of her father’s murder, one of her other ladies-in-waiting had overheard Solomon giving instruction to his Origin guards. With the King dead, the princess was an obstacle that needed to be removed. The High Priest couldn’t risk her stepping in and taking control. Afraid for her lady’s life, the girl had taken the matter to the captain of Selice’s personal guard, and the princess and her loyal companions had fled in the night. I swore internally at that. If only she had stayed. If only she had fought. Our last ploy had failed utterly when she had fled Litheria. The babe, kept under constant guard, had to be left behind.
Trina worked oil into what little had been salvaged of my hair. I sat in the steaming water, my splinted left arm held carefully outside the tub. “You think we should have stayed?” she asked me when my shoulders sagged. I startled. I hadn’t thought to school myself in her presence.
“You’re quite observant.”
“My queen has taught us to watch, to listen, especially since the Persicans arrived. We can help her in this way.” I heard her smile with quiet pride. “No one suspects us to be anything more than doe-eyed girls.”
“A useful cover.”
“Mm.” She fell silent a while, focusing on her work.
“How is she?” I asked after a while. “Our queen.”
Trina hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Her Majesty is strong and fearless. A true heir of Adulil.”
“You’ve seen my back, girl. I am no friend to Persica. Speak plainly.”
Another pause followed my dry retort, but I felt her relax a fraction. “She has thick skin, but my lady has suffered much. Beneath that cool demeanor, she mourns deeply. Queen Rishel was a dear friend, helping to mend the vast distance between her and her father. When she
died...” her voice trailed off. “And now, the King is gone as well. I think she feels very alone, miss.”
“She has you, and her other ladies,” I pointed out.
“We are not the same. Friendly conversation, whispers in confidence, an afternoon of happy diversion; these are things we can give her, but we cannot hope to understand her loss or the burden she carries.”
I thought on it for a long while, as Trina finished with me and helped me to dry and dress. I understood what she meant. Without her father’s guidance, without a mother to teach her as mine did, Selice had led a solitary life. Now, she had to be a queen and a deposed one at that. What burned me most was that I didn’t know how to help her. I was no different from her ladies-in-waiting.
Dressed in a fine combed wool gown, I felt more human than I had in a month. I dismissed Trina with sincere thanks and made my way slowly down the stairs. Taking periodic rests whenever the need arose, I wandered my family’s home. Everything was familiar and unfamiliar to me, the same rooms, the same furnishings, all the same smells I remembered from before. Despite the strangers bustling down every hall, the house felt hollow. I meandered slowly from room to room, seeing ghosts in every corner. It hurt. I missed my parents. Every chair, every row of books, every inkwell reminded me of them. I was sitting in the study, staring at my father’s desk when she found me.
“Are you alright?” Selice’s gentle voice cut through the bitter silence.
I hadn’t heard her enter. My head whipped around and I heaved myself to my feet, offering her a clumsy curtsy. With one hand, I hastily dashed the tears from my cheeks. “Majesty.”
She crossed the room to me and gestured for me to sit. I sank back onto the couch. To my surprise, she sat down beside me, mere inches away. She was so close, I could smell her, lilies and sunlight and open fields in summer. Despite the intimacy of her nearness, she held her back straight and stiff. An invisible wall filled the space between us. I wondered if she ever let her guard down. Her eyes examined the desk on which I’d been focused.
A Crown of Lilies Page 37