A Crown of Lilies

by Melissa Ragland

  I looked around at the dozens of wagons filled to the brim and felt my heart lighten. “Well done, lad,” I commended with genuine enthusiasm.

  “Thank you, my lady.” He bobbed a bow, then waved toward the crowd. “We got a few more volunteers, as well. Lots of folks weren’t in the market yesterday.” Hesitating, his grin faded a bit. “If you don’t mind my asking, miss, what’s next?”

  “We need to move all these supplies to the garrison. Is your collection almost concluded?”

  He looked around. “A bit longer, I think. Want to get everything we can.”

  I nodded. “When you’re done, lead them all to the fort. We’ll meet you there. Have you a wagon to spare and a few lads to man it?”

  Henry called out to another young man, who weaved his way through the crowd toward us. “Get your brother and bring your cart around to the south of town.”

  “But it’s still empty,” he protested.

  “I know, Devon. That’s why I asked.”

  The young man eyed us before disappearing into the crowd once more.

  We took our leave and spent the rest of the day going from farm to farm with our borrowed wagon and porters. Slowly, and with exhausting effort, the cart filled. As the sun began to set, we made for the fort. Captain Foley greeted us in the courtyard, a mess of supplies and men around him. Soldiers and civilians alike slung sacks of grain and baskets of vegetables over their shoulders.

  Henry spotted us and rushed over. “My cousin and some of the other lads are following behind with the livestock. Should be here soon.”

  I nodded. “Once the food is unloaded, the carts and remaining supplies should make for the manor.” Turning to Captain Foley, I continued. “Keep as much of the livestock as you can maintain. Send the rest on with the wagons. Do you have my volunteers?”

  He gestured toward the gate. Two dozen mounted soldiers waited, watching the proceedings. “Is it enough?” he asked hopefully.

  “It’ll have to be.” In all honesty, I had hoped for more. “Thank you,” I added.

  Orders given, we headed out, our contingent of cavalry falling in behind. Will caught my eye and grinned, sitting straight-backed and proud in the saddle. When we returned to the manor, I noted that nearly half of the refugee encampment had left for Montar. A part of me was stung that they had no faith in my leadership, but was quickly overruled by a breath of relief that we’d have fewer mouths to feed over winter. Those that remained still numbered well over a hundred, many family groups with elder or infirm members who could not make the long journey north with any amount of haste. With the volunteers from Bendton, my cavalry, and the Lazerin household, we would have nearly two hundred souls to see through the winter.

  That night, the weight of my actions was fully impressed upon me as my nightmares followed an unfamiliar thread.

  As usual, it began with the empty abyss, an all-consuming maw of nothingness that surrounded me, drowning me. I gasped for breath but could find no air, only silence and panic gripping my chest. Just when I thought I would perish, I was thrown out of the formless darkness and back into my own body. Atop a hill, my hand clasped a banner fluttering and snapping in the wind overhead. Before my feet, a great dead land extended to the horizon, and I was flooded with pure and utter despair. Not for myself, though, something else…there was something else.

  James approached and I turned to him, weeping. His lips parted as he inquired, words swallowed by the deafening silence. I looked behind me. A great mass of people waited below the ridge, unable to see the wasteland beyond. They watched me, hundreds of thousands of eyes, waiting. My heart sank. James inquired again, though I could not hear him.

  “I failed them.” My lips moved, but no sound emerged to validate the words. “Oh gods, what have I done…They trusted me, and I failed them.” I met his eyes, gray like the rest of the world. “I’ve killed us all.”

  I shot upright in my bed, the darkness around me causing me to question if I’d woken at all, or if I was still trapped in the crushing abyss of my nightmare. Heaving the night air, drenched in sweat, I trembled as my mind stumbled back toward reason. Outside my open window, a sliver of moon cast her dim light onto the world. Raking my hands through my short hair, I struggled to recover, as I’d struggled countless nights before.

  Just a dream, I assured myself, but the tempest of fear refused to subside. Who was I, to so arrogantly take the lives of others into my hands? I was no one, nothing if not a dismal failure. Everyone I loved had died because of my own selfish actions.

  Will you at least try to go a bit easier on yourself?

  I had promised I would, but in the face of such a glaring misstep, it was a difficult one to keep. I dug desperately for a memory of my mother’s voice, her farewell to me on the docks when Aubrey and I were leaving for Elas.

  Do not take the weight of the world with you.

  I clung to the feel of her hands on my shoulders, gentle and bracing as I met her bright emerald eyes. Alone in the darkness, it is difficult to shake from the dogged grip of such a dream. In my desperation, I dug deeper for something, anything, to steel myself against it. This time, it was my queen’s voice that rose to the fore.

  We do not choose our circumstances, Elivya. Only whether or not to rise to them.

  Clutching my hair, my breathing slowed and I threw off the covers to cool myself in the gentle breeze that swirled through the window. I could not guarantee their survival, no, but I could do my best. I’d been raised to lead, just as Selice had. Perhaps I was not the infallible figurehead I’d imagined I could be, hiding behind my family’s banner in anonymity, but no flag could feed them in the depths of the Alesian winter. No faceless mascot could build shelters or coordinate rations. Those things required a tangible involvement, flesh and bone and a steadfast presence. That, I could be, for above all things, I was most assuredly human in the most basic sense of the word. It was all I could do, to try. I hoped it would be enough.

  The morning of the third day dawned like all the rest, though with the weight of finality. I strode through the halls of my home, seeing to the final details, for which I’d no need. Elliot, Maria, and Amita had everything well in hand. My father’s armor was tucked into a chest and loaded onto a wagon like all the rest of the supplies. The camp outside the walls had been broken down, horses, mules, and oxen re-harnessed. Stephan and his men had the herd gathered, as many as possible saddled with riders. Those that couldn’t be were haltered with lead lines, to be led along by those mounted.

  Henry and the other volunteers manned the wagons, helping load and secure every bit of supplies we had scrounged up that hadn’t been sent to the fort. Several carts had been dedicated to bales of hay and oats alone, precious provisions to see the herd through the winter months. Three others had been marked with strips of bright gold satin torn from one of my old dresses, marking them as the valuables that were to continue on with Selice. For her part, she was mounted and waiting with her Queen’s Guard. When the wagons and the refugees were ready, they headed out. I watched from the gates as the long column trailed off toward the forest, Colin taking charge at the lead. My volunteer cavalry went with them as well, providing an armed escort and some semblance of structure. To his dismay, I sent Will with them. For this next part, I’d not risk anyone unnecessarily. I would have sent Quintin as well if I’d thought he’d listen.

  I bid a bittersweet farewell to Elliot, Maria, and Patrick. They had done their part and were headed home to their own estate to the south. Their young son clung to my Tuvrian with a will, sobbing loudly. When his mother finally pried him free, his wails continued until my blue-eyed companion produced a small wooden sword from his jerkin. Tiny hands grabbed it excitedly, waving it and squealing with delight.

  “Oh, now you’ve done it,” Maria muttered good-naturedly, favoring him with a smile.

  “Apologies,” he grinned sheepishly as he clasped Elliot’s forearm. I ducked around Patrick’s waving sword arm to give Maria a bracing hug. Afte
r a moment, I felt tiny arms wrap around my head and squeeze. Laughing, I kissed the boy’s cheek and bid farewell to his mother.

  “Thank you, for everything.”

  She smiled kindly. “It is good to see you take your father’s place. Even if they burn this place to the ground, you are still the Lady of Lazerin.”

  “Indeed,” Elliot affirmed, joining her.

  “Thank you both.” My words felt insufficient in the face of everything they had done.

  “Good luck. We’ll see you in Litheria for the Queen’s coronation.” He favored us with one last encouraging grin before they climbed into their carriage and headed out, their few guardsmen and servants in tow.

  When the last of the household had vacated, I took a moment to stand in the garden before my family’s Great Oak. I raised one hand to the bark, running my palm across its coarse skin, warm to my touch. Leaves overhead had begun to shift, traces of gold limning the edges of the green. The breeze rustled them, the Oak breathing slowly and languorously in its vast canopy. This, the first and last vestige of my House, I had to leave behind. It hurt more than I’d thought it would.

  Swallowing my sorrow, I buried it once again beneath the coiling beast in my chest.

  Go, my father’s voice urged.

  Go, the rage whispered.

  I went.

  We rode through the day, pushing our mounts eastward as hard as we dared. Late in the afternoon, we spotted them. A harried and scattered army pressed westward toward us, loose columns barely recognizable in the chaos as we raced down into the valley toward them. I spotted Samson’s chestnut warhorse at the fore, and he rode out to meet us. It was Reyus, though, not Samson, who sat in the saddle.

  As he drew closer, I saw the exhaustion in his pale green eyes. His breastplate was painted with dried blood, one thigh tied tightly with a bandage that was overdue to be changed. “The smuggler’s boy reached you, I see,” he drawled darkly.

  “How many?” I asked pointedly, glancing at the dismal remnants of our army.

  He made an effort to mask his disgust. “Less than a thousand left.” His face twisted miserably. “We’ve had to leave the majority of the wounded behind, anyone who couldn’t sit a horse.”

  “Samson?”

  It obviously ate at him. “I told him to stay at the rear. Not much use without two good arms. He refused, of course. Stubborn bastard. Had to ride with his men.”

  I swallowed, forcing myself to numbness. “And my cavalry?”

  “They’ve been doing the majority of protecting our retreat. Skirmishers have been nipping our heels the whole way.” He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “We’re moving as fast as we can, but your boys have taken the brunt of it.”

  I waited, pressing him silently for a number. How many of my men are still alive?

  He shook his head. “A few hundred, maybe.” Lord Oristei glanced at Quintin, then back at me. “What are you doing here? I sent word for you to get the Queen to safety.”

  I told him the plan, then, as quickly as I could. The column caught up to us and we resumed the march westward at Reyus’ side. Whether it was the exhaustion or the actual plan itself, he could find no fault in it. He was glad we had sent Selice ahead to Caelin, a bit farther from harm than our motley forest camp. The idea of one of his men parading in the Queen’s gown atop the battlements shed a glimmer of light into the depths of his darkness. He even cracked a small smile when I suggested he conscript his most fair-haired soldier to do the honors. When all the details had been exchanged, we left him to gauge the enemy at our backs. It was nearly dark when they came into sight.

  Thousands of them, in tight formation, marched tirelessly into the dark hours of the evening. We watched from a discreet distance as they finally broke ranks to make camp. Well-equipped and efficient, they made for a terrifying sight. White banners fluttered in the firelight, the black hand of the Divine Origin stamped starkly at their center. Scouts circled the perimeter at regular intervals, lookouts posted at every vantage point.

  They were born to war, and less than a half day behind the bedraggled remnants of our army.

  On the way back, we stopped at the rear of the column to offer a bit of encouragement to what was left of the Lazerin cavalry. Their faces were drawn and haunted, eyes hollow and armor bloodied. I saw several of the horses with blood at their mouths and noses. My heart ached for them all. With a mask of reserved confidence, I offered what reassurance I could. They were only a day’s ride from the fort. Supplies were waiting. One more day and they could finally rest. Their makeshift leader, a young captain named Blain, did his best to remain stoic and commanding.

  I didn’t see Bryce among them.

  We gave a final report to Reyus, who listened with a nod and a grim thanks. I offered one hand to him as we made to leave. He grasped my forearm without hesitation.

  “Push them.” It wasn’t my place to give him orders, or to tell him how to general his army, but I met his eyes in earnest. I sensed he needed to borrow some strength, and it was all I had to offer. “Just one more day.”

  He nodded, pale eyes glinting in the moonlight. They were too exhausted to build fires, too harried to pitch tents. Men lay on the ground, sleeping side by side in full armor.

  Quintin, too, clasped forearms with our resilient general before we mounted up and, without another word, disappeared into the darkness. Pressing hard through the night, we reached the fort in the early hours of morning. The first hint of pink began to tint the distant horizon, a warning of blood to come. The gate guard admitted us and a sleepless Captain Foley met us in the courtyard.

  I slid down from the saddle. “They’re coming. A day’s ride. General Reyus will push them, but they may not reach the fort before nightfall.”

  “And the enemy?” he pressed.

  “Not a half day behind.”

  He nodded solemnly. “We’ll ride out, try to cover their retreat.”

  My gut tugged in warning. “Do what you think is best, but do not risk the fort. You must be able to close the gate before the Persicans arrive.”

  Foley acknowledged my concern, reassuring me that every precaution would be taken. I provided what little else we had learned, mostly of troop numbers and conditions so beds and physicians could be ready to receive them. The morning light threatened, peeking above the horizon. I remembered Samson shouting at us to be dressed and in line before the sun cleared the wall. My heart ached for the mean old bastard.

  “Is there anything else we can do?” I heard Quintin ask.

  “You’ve done all you can. This bit is ours.” The two men clasped forearms, and Foley turned to me.

  Emerging from my memory, I met his gaze and offered my own hand. “Good luck, Captain.”

  He grasped my arm in kind, nodding solemnly. “And you, my lady.”

  Chapter 22

  We watched from just inside the tree line as the masses of tiny figures moved in the distance. Reyus had pressed them hard, and the column made it to the fort in the late afternoon. Persican skirmishers harried their flank, barely kept at bay by two small clusters of cavalry. The portcullis opened, spewing forth a sizable cloud of reinforcements which swept across the field to bolster the rear defenses and drive back the pursuit. Freed from harassment and in sight of their salvation, the column redoubled its efforts and raced for the fort. One dark mounted figure paced the column, waiting until the last man had passed through to safety before bringing up the rear. The gate slammed shut, echoing across the hills. A mass of white trampled the bodies of the fallen that dotted the field. Horns sounded and the enemy broke ranks to begin making camp just outside ballistae range. Nearby fields smoldered, my beautiful home transformed into a frightening pantomime of death incarnate.

  “Let’s go,” I murmured quietly.

  The sun sat low in the sky. “We should make camp,” Quintin muttered back. “You’ve not slept in two days.”

  “Neither have you,” I pointed out.

  “All the more reason.�
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  In the end, I relented, and we found a dense thicket a ways inside the forest where we could make a fire unseen. I tended to the horses while Quintin foraged for wood and struck the sparks. After laying out our bedrolls, I dug in the saddlebags for our small bit of hardtack, wrapped in a cloth. Sinking to the ground beside him, I handed him his portion. We chewed in silence, both staring at the fire.

  “Will they hold, do you think?” I finally asked, passing him the waterskin.

  He took a drink and passed it back. “They’ll hold.” Glancing at me, he nodded to my bedroll. “Get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”

  This time, he did wake me, one hand shaking my shoulder when the moon had passed its zenith. I startled, grabbing for my knife.

  “Easy, miss,” he murmured as he straightened. “You’re up.”

  I took a drink from the skin to wake myself, rubbing my face and pacing around the fire a moment. Quintin settled into his bedroll and I settled into my watch.

  At dawn, we headed deeper into the woods. We reached the encampment by early evening, the sounds of labor ringing into the thick forest, and I was glad I’d chosen a site so far from the fort. Felling trees and building shelters was making an awful lot of noise.

  They’d made a decent start of it, the gezgin and Alesians working side by side, saws and axes in every hand. Women stripped branches as children and dogs gave chase through the trees. A makeshift paddock had been erected for the few horses we’d keep with us, mainly the cavalry’s mounts. The sturdy carthorses and oxen that pulled the wagons had been sent along to overwinter with the rest of the herd. A sizable coop had been constructed, chickens milling about on the ground around it. Beside it, our limited feedstock ambled in their own shared enclosure, goats and cows and even a few pigs skittering unhappily around one another. Their unease would be short-lived, as we’d need to slaughter many of them early on and dry their meat for storage. With the horses, we’d not enough feed to maintain them all. Wagons clustered to one side, well clear of the area where the men were felling trees. Shouts rang out as we were spotted. Henry buried his axe in a nearby stump and jogged over to greet us.