Was this his penance?
The beast coiled in my chest. Someone had hurt him. I bit my tongue, turning away again. “Nothing,” I called out so he could hear. I kept myself faced carefully away as he finished and dressed in his own relatively clean clothes.
As the precious weeks of fall dwindled and the air took on the bite of early winter, we pressed our efforts. A sense of urgency hovered over everyone. Quintin and I continued to labor side by side with the rest, though I rotated through assignments to keep an eye on the camp as a whole. Amita, Henry, and Captain Rory did the lion’s share of maintaining order, each with their own groups of tasks and workers. Will reported regularly that the patrols were kept under strict discipline, and he had seen few lapses.
The gezgin, sure-footed and sharp-eyed, took over the hunting parties. Each day, their marksmen delivered fresh meat for the cook fire, allowing us to save our stores of dried meat for the leaner months to come. I joined them a few times and was humbled by their precision and wordless method of communication. They moved nearly silently through the trees. When I asked one man, who spoke quite fluent Alesian, he grinned and told me it was much easier than hunting on the open plains. Here, at least, you had trees for cover. Not all of them were happy for my presence, though when I bagged a few hares on one hunt, they warmed to me.
Henry kept the laborers hard at work, a hint of concern creeping into his cheerful disposition as the days grew shorter and colder. Shoulder-deep in wood shavings, he kept the construction progressing with efficiency. Piles of thatch accumulated as the walls of each shelter grew by the day. Half the structures had been completed by the time Selice returned with a second supply convoy.
I was a bit surprised to see her, in truth. It was an unnecessary risk for her to accompany them. When I asked, a bit of her cool demeanor returned. “They are my people as well as yours, Lady Lazerin. I’ll not let them think their queen has forgotten them.”
The western provinces had largely responded to her summons, begging a respite for their men until spring. The border territories had suffered much in the face of the Hydraxian incursion, and they risked mass desertion if they pushed their men to march east right away. Let them tend to their families, their lords said, and we will regroup when the snow melts.
It ate at me, but there was nothing I could do about it.
When the first frost hit, we began establishing sleeping quarters inside the shelters. Tents were broken down and stowed among the supplies. Many of the gezgin families chose to remain in their sturdy covered wagons, in which they were accustomed to passing the winters. Conditions in the lodges were cramped as it was. Many tossed and turned in their bedrolls on those first few awkward nights. Without windows, there was little light and even less comfort to be had on the wooden floors. In addition, few were used to sleeping in such close proximity to others who were not their kin.
For my part, I just pictured myself back in the garrison barracks and slept.
We celebrated when the last course of thatch was secured into place on the final shelter. Amita and the other women put on a veritable feast that evening, with roast venison and rosemary potatoes. She even delved into our precious stores of butter to make loaves of rich, sweet bread. A few of the folk had brought instruments with them, and as the evening deepened, dancing and lively storytelling filled the air with revelry. It was an uplifting sight, peoples of very different backgrounds joined in festivity over a shared accomplishment.
I sat at the fireside, my wolf skin cloak wrapped about me against the chill, and watched them with a sense of satisfaction. Will spun a pretty Alesian girl about to a spirited tune, smiling and laughing. Quintin was busy demurring as several young women attempted to pull him to his feet. I smiled quietly and slipped away into the forest, a part of me yearning for some solitude. The last leaves had fallen, crunching under my boots as I strode through the trees. My mind wandered, my feet delivering me unwittingly to the river’s edge. There, on the far side, a shadow moved in the darkness.
Fear gripped me as I reached for my sword.
“Peace, daughter,” a familiar voice called into the night. The figure approached slowly, hands raised. As he stepped into the moonlight, he pulled back the hood of his cloak.
“Izikiel?” I startled, dropping my half-drawn blade back into its scabbard.
His kind eyes crinkled in a smile. “Hello, child.”
It took him a minute to span the water, stepping carefully across a series of half-submerged boulders slightly downriver. When he approached, I embraced him tightly, inhaling his scent of pine and herbs.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, releasing him.
He tilted his head at me, dark brown hair heavily streaked with silver, the wrinkles on his face only deepened in our years apart. “This is my forest as much as it is yours, my dear.”
His patient tone took me back to the months of my Bronnadh. “Forgive me,” I murmured, chastened.
With a gentle grin, he gestured to the river. “I see you’ve not forgotten all I taught you.”
“How long have you been watching us?”
“A week or so. I wanted to see who had been thinning my herds.” He meant the deer. I was hit with a pang of guilt and opened my mouth to apologize, but he held up one hand to forestall me. “The Mother provides where it is needed. Every life must end. Some do so others may endure.”
I swallowed. “I’m afraid She might be less eager to provide for me if She knew the things I’d done.”
His face shifted toward sympathy. “We are all a part of the balance, child. There is-”
“Elivya!” Quintin’s concerned voice echoed through the dark from a distance, interrupting my childhood mentor.
I turned toward the sound of his voice. “Here!” I called to him, and he bounded over to us, boots skidding in the loose leaves underfoot.
Taking in the sight of Izikiel’s flowing green robes and walking stick, the anger on his face faded. He sheathed the bare blade in his hand.
“This is Quintin of Tuvria,” I introduced.
“Izikiel,” the priest grinned in greeting, extending one hand. My companion clasped it politely. “You are far from home, young man,” he observed.
“I served Lord Damien in Litheria.”
Green eyes shifted to me in query. “Where is your father?”
My smile faded. “There is much to tell.” I jerked my head toward the camp. “Will you join us?”
He grinned pleasantly and accepted. Alesians swarmed him the moment we stepped into the firelight, and I’m afraid we managed very little conversation that evening. Patient and gracious, Izikiel spoke with each of them, offering blessings and reassurance to all who asked. They entreated him well into the night until Amita finally shooed everyone to bed.
His presence in the camp was a balm, offering a sense of calm and comfort amid our precarious circumstances. Once I’d managed to fill him in on all the events of the past several years, he agreed to stay with us through the winter. I was glad for it, for though it meant one more mouth to feed, his knowledge of the forest was invaluable.
Soon, my mentor in his green robes was leading foraging parties into the woods, largely comprised of the older children. Alesian and gezgin alike, he taught them the things I had learned as a girl; plants and trees, berries and roots. Their additions to our food stores were welcome, and it helped free some of the women to aid in other preparations such as gathering firewood for the winter. In addition to contributing to the cook pot, he also spent a significant amount of time tending to the elderly and infirm among our numbers, administering poultices and medicaments that spared not a few lives.
With the snows nearly upon us, Quintin and I rode to the northern edge of the forest to check on Stephan and his men. To my great relief, they had completed their own smaller encampment, including a single large lodge and several sizable shelters for the horses. Vast paddocks had been constructed in the open, allowing for as much grazing as possible. James’ fathe
r greeted us with a stoic grin as we approached. One of the lads took our mounts from us, and we followed as Stephan gave his report.
Though the mares had gone out of heat for the winter, several were already heavy with foals. The barns they’d constructed would protect most of the herd from the worst of the winter, but they’d been working on stitching wool blankets for them from supplies from Caelin. As we followed him through the camp toward the central cook fire, I spotted a familiar face. Hazel eyes snapped to me from where she tended the coals. Straightening, she watched us approach.
“Leanne,” I greeted her cautiously.
Her face was guarded, but she didn’t immediately shout at me, and I counted that a victory. Stephan guided my companion off toward some distant construction, leaving us in privacy. I waited, balancing on the knife edge of her tolerance. She fixed me with her lovely eyes, her wheat braid hanging over one shoulder.
“Someone sent a basket of apples to my home.” I held my tongue, desperately afraid of her anger. “My father gave me your letter.” Fidgeting, she wiped her hands on her apron. “You were with him?” Her voice was tight, tears threatening in her eyes.
“Yes,” I managed to whisper.
She nodded, sniffling determinedly. “I’m glad he wasn’t alone.”
I swallowed, forcing my voice to steady. “He thought of you, at the end. Both of you. He loved you very much.”
“You wrote as much,” she reminded me. It had been a year since I’d penned that letter. I barely remembered its contents myself.
A long silence passed between us. Finally, I couldn’t help but ask, my heart aching. “May I see him?”
Anger flashed in her eyes, a mother’s protectiveness in its purest form. Breathing deep, she found her calm and eventually agreed. A wizened older woman I gauged to be her grandmother emerged from another part of the camp, a young boy on her hip. Not even a year old, he was his father in miniature. A shock of dark red hair and a spray of freckles tugged at my heart, and I was hard-pressed not to weep at the mere sight of him. His eyes, though, were his mother’s, and a part of me was glad for it. I wasn’t sure I could look into James’ eyes again and not lose myself in my grief.
Fighting to bury my sorrow, I looked to Leanne. “Can I hold him?” My voice trembled.
She nodded and watched me as I settled the boy in my arms. He stared curiously at me, tiny hands tugging at my hair and poking my face.
“Your father loves you very much,” I told him with a forced smile, tears slipping from my eyes. “He wanted to be here with you, to see you grow up and teach you to ride.” I brushed one curl of red-brown hair from his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He began to fuss and reach for his mother, so I handed him off gently. She gestured for me to sit, settling onto a stump nearby. Baby Seth bounced on her leg, half-wrapped in her cloak. We talked a while, a tense and sorrowful conversation. I told her how her husband had died, the whole of it that I hadn’t been able to put into the letter. She was angry and hurt, and rightfully so, but she deserved to hear it from me. It shattered what slim hope there had been for reconciliation between us, but at least she knew the truth. Let her blame me. Let her tell the boy I had taken his father from him. Anything, so long as he knew James loved him.
When winter dug in its claws, it was sudden and dramatic. Selice and her supply convoy had only just arrived when the snow began to fall. We rushed to unload the wagons and unhitch the horses, securing them in the shelter with the cavalry’s mounts. The sky opened, a thick screen of white blustering down from above. The whipping wind scoured our faces and froze our fingers as we worked frantically, passing sacks of grain and baskets of produce down a line into the storehouse. Amita shouted orders over the howling of the storm as it churned through the barren trees. Once the animals and supplies had been safely stowed, we all retreated to the shelter of the lodges to wait out the tempest.
Wood creaked and thatch rustled as the snow piled atop our steeply-pitched roofs. We huddled in clusters around a few precious lanterns, their dim light our rallying focus. Hours passed, and we chatted conversationally to pass the time. A few told stories, others pressed Izikiel to lead us in prayer. Selice huddled in her fine fur cloak, Colin at her side. The rest of her envoy had been split between the other lodges, to keep from over-filling ours, but her captain had refused to leave her side.
Watching them made me smile. She was careful, with so many eyes about, but I had been raised to observe. Where their shoulders touched through their woolen layers, there was a tension. In both their eyes, the fiery passion of youth burned, and I caught the occasional furtive glance or hint of a smile exchanged in secret. The faint scent of lilies clung to them. I thought of Adrian and wondered if he yet lived.
Day wore into night, and still, the storm raged. We’d only a few extra bedrolls, just barely enough to accommodate our unexpected guests. With the addition of extra bodies, we were crammed in even more closely than usual, people and blankets pressed side by side. Selice didn’t seem to mind, flanked by myself and her captain, though for the sake of propriety, she lay facing me. Behind me, near without touching, Quintin huddled in his blankets, his gentle breathing a long-familiar sound.
At length, even our queen slept.
In the morning, the howling wind had subsided, but outside the door lay a veritable mountain of fresh snow. Several of the men had already begun to clear the main pathways through the camp, but it was bitterly cold and hard work. With nearly everyone contributing, we managed to finish by midday. Amita and some of the other women were already hard at work getting the cook fires roaring. I offered to help, wrapped in my wolf-skin cloak. Selice followed, offering her own assistance, insisting stubbornly when I assured her it wasn’t necessary.
So it came to be that I stood side by side with the Queen of Alesia, cutting carrots and potatoes in the snow. Our gloved hands fumbled with the knives, but Selice was a patient and diligent study, accepting my instruction with humble earnestness.
As we worked, Quintin caught my eye across the encampment, face twisting with surprise as he took in the sight of us at the cook fire. Nudging Colin, the two shared a chuckle before returning to their work, helping to clear the last piles of snow from the camp. I shook my head, glancing at Selice.
“I imagine this will make for an amusing story someday,” I commented dryly.
Her face was hidden in her hood, head bowed to the task, but I heard the smile in her voice. “Oh, let’s keep this one to ourselves, shall we?”
I laughed and worked in silence for a bit. “You’re good with them, you know. These people love you.”
Her hands hesitated before moving on to the next potato. “I am not the one who gave up everything to save them.”
“I gave nothing,” I corrected bitterly, my short temper rearing its ugly head. It was taken from me.
She did look at me, then, one golden eye peeking around the edge of her fur hood.
I immediately regretted my impertinent tone. “Forgive me, Majesty.”
One gloved hand waved me off. “Please, for once, can we speak as friends?”
“I’d like that,” I admitted with a small smile. We both resumed our chopping, and I glanced up at the sound of Colin’s voice directing his men to assist in some task or another. “He’s quite mad for you, you know.”
“Pardon?” she startled, a defensive edge creeping into her voice.
“You wanted to speak as friends. This is what that sounds like,” I retorted dryly.
She swallowed any further protest, eager for companionship. I wondered how her ladies-in-waiting handled such conversations, or if they avoided them entirely. Given her reaction, I suspected it was the latter. “Is it that obvious?” she whispered after a long hesitation.
I couldn’t help but grin. “Perhaps not to everyone.” I felt her tension beside me and tried to put her at ease. “There is no need to be ashamed.”
“I’m not!” she protested, louder I think than she had intended. A few fac
es glanced our way and she lowered her voice. “But you know better than most the unwritten rules of our station.”
At first, I thought she’d somehow learned about James until I realized she was simply referring to my unusual position as a female heir. I remembered Shera’s words to me when things began to go ill between James and I. Jealousy makes monsters of us all. My chest hurt to think of my queen suffering the same heartache. “Maybe someone should rewrite them.”
A humorless laugh escaped her lips. “One needs a throne to issue decrees.”
“You’ll get it back. You could start a trend,” I teased companionably, pitching it in the light of a new seasonal fashion or obscure hairdo. It made her laugh, which lightened my heart. “Truly, though,” I pressed when we’d settled. “It is good to see you happy.”
She met my eyes with a sincere smile. “Thank you.”
They stayed with us for two more days. Selice spent a significant amount of time in private conversation with Izikiel, and I was once again thankful for his presence. Whatever he said to her, she seemed more at ease in her own skin by the time they departed. With the empty wagons hitched and her Queen’s Guard mounted and waiting, she bid us farewell. As she embraced me, a sudden realization crossed my mind. I turned my head and murmured into her ear. “You do have silphium, right?”
She stiffened in my arms, pulling away. A slight flush on her cheeks, she smiled wryly. “Of course, Lady Lazerin. My handmaidens are very… resourceful.” She left me with that, and I felt foolish for having asked. Without a mother, though, I couldn’t be sure she’d had the same practical instruction I’d received, and the last thing an ousted monarch needed was a bastard in her belly.
It was a long, cold, miserable winter in the forest. Without the supply convoys from Caelin, I’ve no doubt we would have starved. We nearly did, when the torrent of snows delayed Selice’s convoy for almost three weeks in the depths of the bitter season. The hunting parties returned time and again empty-handed, and our stores ran frighteningly short. We slaughtered what livestock remained to us, and boiled the carcasses for every last ounce of nutrition. Amita rationed our limited provisions as best she could, but all of us felt the sharp ache of hunger. When the supply train finally did reach us, we were hard-pressed to keep order.
A Crown of Lilies Page 48