I visited Valor in the stables, my brave stallion having remained near the place where I had fallen. Stephan had recovered him and returned him to the manor. He had escaped with only a few minor injuries, which my stablemaster had seen to and assured me would heal quickly.
The remnants of our forest encampment slowly returned to the manor over the course of the following week. Aside from our tiny militia, many others had followed the army into battle to tend the wounded and scavenge any weapons and arms that could be repurposed for our own troops. Reyus and Brenna commanded in amiable conjunction, seeing to the details and working toward establishing some semblance of order until Selice could meet us with the rest of her army. Couriers were sent to Caelin and Theria, announcing the reclamation of Laezon and calling for whatever supplies were yet to be had. I wrote to Lord Montre, thanking him for his assistance and telling him to send my people back to begin rebuilding their lives.
Will, being one of the least disturbed of anyone by my resurrection, recounted to me in generous detail the events that had followed my death on the battlefield. It was a glorious victory, to be sure. When our flank fell, Leon’s brother Brandon had diverted his infantry in an attempt to recover where we had faltered. It was a steady and brutal slog, with progress only made possible by the persistent archers atop the wall picking off anything in range. In such close quarters, the Persican catapults were useless, and the Freyjans harassed their southern flank mercilessly, sowing confusion and panic. The enemy rallied for one last push, forcing a phalanx of shields and spears out into the core of our divided infantry.
As our men were forced back, the portcullis opened, spewing forth Reyus, Foley, and their twelve hundred soldiers to bolster General Brenna’s cavalry and break the phalanx from behind. It was a bloody, brutal business, and by midday, many thousands lay dead or dying on the fields of Laezon. My two hundred had been largely decimated, pinned down by my own blind rage. Only a handful had survived, Will and Captain Rory among them. The beast still coiled, unsatisfied, within me, but with so many faces on my conscience, I swore to never succumb to it again. No one else would die for my vengeance.
No one, except Solomon.
A week after the battle, I woke to the dawn in my parents’ bed. Amita had moved my things, insisting that as the Lady of Lazerin, it was my room now. It still felt strange. Staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, I wondered if I would ever grow accustomed to it. Light peered in through the curtains, my muscles tight and stiff from a week without proper exercise. Throwing off my blankets, I gathered my resolve and dressed in my tunic and breeches. On the dresser, my sapphire ring lay on its chain. I’d left it with my chamberlain, along with the rest of my father’s armor, for safekeeping before the battle. It had been lying there since the day we returned to the manor. I thought of Adrian and wondered if Selice’s courier had managed to reach him. Wherever he was, my betrothed felt very far away. I struggled to recall what it felt like to love and be loved by him, and only succeeded in compounding my already labyrinthine guilt. My mind was too full, a tumbling disarray of thoughts and emotions not entirely my own.
All my arms were gone, but the small house armory had been restocked and I found a decent sword among the racks. The garden was empty, for which I was both relieved and slightly disappointed. Pushing my expectations aside, I started in on my drills. The stiffness gradually eased from me as I strove to bury my guilt and uncertainty in the rhythm of the blade in my hand. Without the weight of my shield, I felt slightly off-balance, but it was liberating to move through the forms once again. It made me feel more like myself than I had in days.
I heard him approach, the creak of the door followed by hesitant boot steps on the grass. Sheathing my borrowed sword, I turned to see him standing a few feet away with my yew bow in his hand.
“You found it,” I remarked, forcing a lightness to my tone that contradicted the unease roiling in my chest.
He held it out to me. “Itsu saw one of the gezgin men with it. No sign of the quiver, though.”
My hands ran the length of the wood’s curve, fingers tracing several scars. “You’ll have to thank her for me.”
“Thank her yourself,” he replied somewhat stiffly. I flinched a bit and could see him bite his tongue. “They’re eager to see you, is all,” he continued, careful to take the edge from his voice.
I nodded, chewing my cheek and keeping my disturbing eyes carefully averted. At least he was talking to me.
One hand reached behind to the back of his belt and drew forth a familiar blade. My heart tugged as I grasped the proffered hilt of my father’s knife, the grip warm in my hand, the blade gleaming. On the pommel, an engraving of the Lazerin sigil stared up at me.
“I’d thought it lost,” I murmured.
“When I...” he began, but his words failed him. He tried again, jaw tense. “Will found it on the field.”
I couldn’t help but glance at him then. “He kept it?” He started at the sight of my unsettling eyes, and I dropped my gaze quickly, remembering.
“I did,” he admitted. Staring at the dagger, I heard his throat working as he battled for the words. “I meant to finish what you started.”
“You’d have been better suited to it than I,” I replied dryly.
“It should be you.” His tone was firm, sure. “I’m glad it’s you.”
I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. “What’s one more face upon the mountain?”
“Hopefully, the last one.”
I prayed he was right. Tucking the dagger under my belt, I turned back to the garden, crossing to set my bow against a nearby bench. Unsure if he meant to stay, I waited, looking at the flowers, the grass, anywhere but at him.
“I’m not afraid of you,” he finally said.
Damn you, Izikiel.
I tried to keep my tone light. “Why not? Everyone else is.”
“Please look at me.” A deep well of pain lay beneath those words. With effort, I turned to face him. Blue eyes met mine, misery barely held in check. “I’m afraid of myself.” Of all the things I’d expected him to say, that was not among them. “I should have been there,” he grated out. “I should have protected you.”
I couldn’t help but pity him in his implacable sense of duty, forcing a wry smile and tilting my head. “No one can protect me from myself, Quintin. Not even you.” When the struggle in his eyes failed to soften, I couldn’t help but try to read him, searching for the core of truth behind his misery. As always, it was a futile endeavor, his Tuvrian composure a mask I’d yet to crack, but bits and pieces eked out around the edges when he was angry or upset. The few shreds of truth I could glean offered no real answers. Guilt, above all, radiated from him, dwarfing my own in its intensity. Just looking at me seemed to cause him pain.
I was struck, suddenly, with a terrifying possibility, and felt the blood drain from my face. “You’re not leaving.” The words slipped unwittingly from my lips, half-question, half-command. Are you?
The sharp bite of shame quickly followed as I trailed the thread to its conclusion. What if he couldn’t stand to be around me anymore? What if I was too much a reminder of his failure to protect my family – to protect me? He’d set the torch to my pyre and watched me burn. How much more brutal a reminder could there possibly be than to see my face every day? It was my own damned fault that I’d ended up as kindling, but I knew him. He would never see it as anything but his own failure to keep me safe. I swallowed, eyes burning at the thought of trying to continue alone.
“Unless you need to,” I amended carefully, fighting to swallow my fear.
“No,” he replied firmly, taking a step forward. Nodding with a bit too much vigor, I stared at the grass beneath my feet and fought the aching tide of relief that threatened to overwhelm me. Gods, I was so damned afraid to be without him. “Do you want me to go?” His hesitant voice cut through my thoughts as I grasped for calm. There it is, the truth of it. He was afraid I’d send him away. He thought he deserved to be s
ent away, just as he had when we’d returned from Elas.
A short, desperate laugh escaped my lips, and I couldn’t keep the tears at bay any longer. Shaking my head, I threw up my hands, feeling utterly lost and a bit mad.
“I don’t think I can do any of this without you.”
Four long strides closed the distance between us, and he gathered me in his arms the way he’d done among the ashes. I shook with quiet sobs against his chest, clinging to him. Muffled by his tunic, I begged him not to go. Face buried in my hair, he promised to stay.
When I finally settled and he released me, I felt childish and a bit embarrassed at my outburst. Hands on my shoulders, he looked down at me with something like hope in his eyes.
“I agreed to help Reyus with the infantry today,” he informed me gently. “But I’ll be back for dinner.” He nodded to my borrowed sword. “I’ll see what I can do about some equipment for you. Start anew in the morning?”
Heartened by the promise of some return to normalcy, I agreed and he left me with a reassuring nod.
Weeks passed, and with the help of my capable staff and allies, some semblance of order was restored to Laezon and my household. Quintin and I resumed our daily routine, sparring in the garden in the morning and training the refugees through midday. Largely due to their position near the rear of the column, most had survived the battle, though a few had fallen to the enemy, including several gezgin men. It humbled me that they would give their lives for a land and a people not their own. My steady Tuvrian accompanied me to visit the families of each one of our militia who had fallen, Itsu translating where needed. While he managed to find suitable replacements for most of my gear, a Freyjan shield was not among them. Though many of Brenna’s warriors had fallen in the battle, their shields were as good as sacred to each scion of Freyja, and as such were buried with them. I understood, unaccountably bereaved at the loss of my own.
The camp had been reestablished outside the manor walls, and I spoke at length with Amita on how to best assist the displaced. In the end, I resolved to extend an offer of permanent residence to each of them. Whoever wished it was welcome to build a homestead on Lazerin land. Many accepted wholeheartedly. With the help of my chamberlain, plots were designated and deeded, many of them immediately adjacent to the manor walls. It warmed my heart to see the beginnings of foundations taking shape.
The gezgin refused, though they asked instead for hunting rights within the province. They still held out hope of returning to their homeland.
“It is not our way, young one,” Itsu told me kindly when I pressed for them to put down roots. “To wander is in our blood. One day we will take back the plains of our forefathers. Until then, what you have given is more than enough.”
With Amita’s help, I drafted my first decree as the Lady of Lazerin, granting hunting rights and safe passage to any gezgin within Laezon.
It was a sad day when they left us. Quintin stood at my side as their bright wagons ambled off into the distance, children hanging out the backs, waving and shouting farewells to us. Dogs bounded alongside, barking and nipping at each other. I clutched the scarf Itsu had given me in parting, bright green with a pattern of leaves. Even some of the men had been loath to part ways, clasping forearms with an unusually solemn Henry and exchanging hushed words. To me, they offered nods of respect and even a few warm smiles. It would be strange not to see their faces every day, but we had done what we set out to do. We had survived, together.
The volunteers from Bendton left shortly thereafter, Henry bidding us a tearful farewell in the courtyard. These were my own people, the blood of my forefathers. When they bowed, I waved off their obeisance and embraced them each in turn. We gave them what we could, and sent them off to begin rebuilding their homes.
All of it, every task, every gesture, every morning of drills, served to piece me back together from the scattered fragments that the silk shroud had returned. Each friendly face, each deflection and strike reminded me that I was something more than the flames and guilt that had consumed me. I was still me.
My twenty-first birthday was marked with a small family dinner, a humble celebration among our motley company. Reyus raised a toast to my continued health, shortly followed by one of significantly less decorum given by Brenna. Her two captains laughed and slapped the table. Even Lord Oristei couldn’t contain an amused grin. Will beamed from his seat. His leg had healed fairly well, though I’d been afraid he’d lose it in those first frightful days. Amita eyed our makeshift family with a mother’s patient affection, Stephan and Erik arguing about the new stable hands. Izikiel was red-faced from too much wine, engaging Quintin in deep conversation about Tuvrian tradition.
I watched them all, feeling more at peace than I had in a very long time. Swirling the glass of Eradine red in my hand, I thought of Aubrey, and my heart ached. As beautiful and joyous as that moment was, the path still waited before me. I stood slowly at the head of the table, silence falling over the room as eyes turned toward me. I steeled myself and thought of my parents.
“We have a great victory to celebrate, and I am glad beyond words that you are all here to raise glasses with me. We have lost so many.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Let us have a toast to them, for we would not be here without their sacrifice.”
Reyus raised his glass and his voice. “To the victorious dead.” We echoed his words and drank. I nodded to him in thanks before pressing on.
“More than anything, I wish this night and its joy could last forever. We have reclaimed Laezon, but much of Alesia still stands besieged by the enemy.” My eyes swept the haggard faces of my companions. “I know you are all tired. Gods know, so am I, but I must see this through to the end. Too many have died for it.” My voice faltered, throat tight. “I ask that you help me see it done.” A silence followed my words, and I fretted.
“Did you think we would leave, little thorn?” General Brenna scoffed from her seat. Her captains exchanged a glance. “Selice is our queen as much as she is yours.”
“Then you’ll stay?” I asked, unable to hide the hope in my voice.
“Freyjans never run from a fight,” she replied sternly. Her companions pounded the table twice in solidarity. She eyed me with her battle grin. “Are we to meet in the middle again?”
I nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“Plan? What plan?” Will balked in confusion.
Reyus watched me from his chair, understanding dawning on his face. He gave me a small nod of agreement before I explained. “While you lot muster the western provinces, I will ride east and rally the scions of Tuvre. If I leave now, we should be able to meet you outside the walls of Litheria by the solstice. They’ll see you coming, but the Kingswood will hide our approach. We can trap the Persican army between us and then take the city the same way we’d always planned.”
“Tommy,” Amita breathed. I nodded.
“You do realize you’re going to be the last person those self-righteous bastards will listen to,” Brenna scoffed. A woman, trained as a man. It would be an offense to the very core of their traditions. Beyond that, though, I was a proclaimed traitor accused of regicide. None of those qualities would endear me to any loyal scion of Tuvre, but it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t know who I was. All I needed to be was a courier. All I had to do was deliver the message.
“They don’t have to listen to me. They will listen to their queen.” I glanced at Reyus. “Tomorrow, I ride for Caelin, and one final meeting with Selice. If she provides me with a royal missive, the Tuvrians will come.”
“I’ll join you,” he nodded to me.
“As will I,” Brenna offered.
Brandon and Titus exchanged a glance before the latter spoke. “We will remain here with the infantry to reinforce Laezon until it is time to move.”
“That settles it,” Brenna declared with finality, slamming one fist on the table. “Now no more talk of battle plans. Tonight is for celebration, for the living and the dead alike.”
&
nbsp; At Izikiel’s urging, Erik hauled a second cask of wine from the cellar and breached it with Will’s eager assistance. It didn’t take long before Brenna’s captains were challenging their male counterparts to competitions of strength and exchanging bawdy tales similar to those I’d heard nightly in the garrison. I sat back and watched with a smile as the merriment continued, nursing the glass in my hand.
“One of these days, you might consider asking me ahead of time when you mean to go riding off into danger.” Quintin sank into a chair beside me. He’d left his baldric leaning against a nearby wall, a testament to his comfort in our current company. “There may come a day when you forget to mention it and find yourself riding off alone while I’m snoring in my bed.”
I eyed him askance. “As if you’ve ever slept past dawn in your life.”
He grinned, watching Will show the others some sleight of hand. “Once, I think.” I snorted into my glass as I took a sip. He had a glass of his own in his hand, and the glint in his eyes told me that it wasn’t his first.
“Off duty, for once?” I asked as he took a drink.
“It’s your birthday,” he retorted. “And Will is very persuasive.”
It made me smile. “He likes you.”
He pointed at the Freyjans. “Not as much as Brenna likes you.” She flashed me a wicked grin from where she stood across the room. His smile faded. “They won’t, though.” Blue eyes met mine. “She’s right about that.”
“That’s why I have you, one of their own to smooth the way.”
It was his turn to snort. “They’re not very fond of me, either.”
I thought about the broken shield on his shoulder and the scars across his back. I considered asking but decided to preserve the rare moment of joy we’d managed to find in the midst of our perpetual darkness.
“Will you be glad, to see home?” I asked instead. “We could stop in Esens if you wanted.”
A Crown of Lilies Page 52