I almost laughed, but her stubborn sense of justice softened me. “I think any binding agreement was thoroughly invalidated the moment I was publicly declared a traitor to the Crown.”
The shared memory hovered in the air between us. Tilting her head slightly, she considered me. “I must admit, you are not as wroth over it as I would have expected. By all accounts, the two of you were quite mad for each other.”
I leaned back in my chair, reflecting. “I was heartbroken at first, to be sure. We were well matched, Adrian and I, and I did love him. Quite a lot, in fact.”
“What changed?” she asked quietly.
The corner of my mouth twisted in a sad smile as I met her gaze once more. “Everything. I am not the person I was two years ago.”
Golden eyes watched me with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
My brow creased as I turned the thought in my head. “I’m not,” I realized aloud. She blinked at that, and I tried to explain. “I’m sorry for the people I’ve lost, certainly, and for those who’ve died because of my actions. I will carry their faces the rest of my life.” Light caught the edge of the crystal in my hand. “But I am what I am, Majesty. I cannot go back and change it.” I met her gaze with solemn self-awareness. “I cannot be other.”
“And the priest?” she asked carefully.
The beast in my chest somersaulted impatiently. “I would ask you to let me kill him myself.”
She stiffened slightly. “You are not the only one who seeks vengeance.”
I held her gaze. “I would ask it all the same.”
A long moment passed between us as she searched me from behind her delicate mask. At last, she stood, setting her glass aside.
“Come with me.”
I followed obediently as she led the way out of the large tent and across the clearing toward another, smaller one of white silk. Quintin stood abruptly from his seat beside the unlit fire where he waited, Will nowhere in sight. I gave him a discreet shrug as I trailed past him after my queen and into her pavilion. Her three ladies stood upon our entrance, curtsying gracefully to their mistress, who gently dismissed them. I looked around the well-appointed accommodations as she crossed to a trunk at the far side of the rug-laden space. Lifting the lid, she pulled a leather breastplate from within and turned to me with a grin.
“Brenna had me bring this for you.”
It was made for a woman, and recently. New stitching shined at every seam, fresh oil worked into every panel. Across the chest, a proud stallion had been embossed, with seven stars in an arc above it. My fingers traced them, not traditionally a part of my family’s crest.
Golden eyes watched me, her voice gentle. “I took the liberty of embellishing your sigil. You fight for every Alesian, not just your own people.”
Seven stars, seven bloodlines.
My heart swelled, and I met her gaze in earnest. “Thank you.”
She pressed the armor into my hands and insisted I put it on. It gave her joy, so I acceded willingly; anything, to make her smile. The breastplate fit like a well-tailored bodice, and I marveled at the craftsmanship. It was reasonably light, lighter than the plate one I’d had before, and the lobstered panels on the sides allowed for a wide range of movement. It might not stop a sword, but it would deflect a glancing blow and keep arrows from piercing deep enough to do any mortal damage. A pair of light chausses and greaves accompanied it, as well as a simple leather helm, all second-hand but good quality.
I was grateful she was content with the breastplate alone, as standing before her in full armor seemed somehow ridiculous. Circling me, she nodded in approval, reaching out to trace the sigil embossed on my chest.
“It suits you,” she said with an air of resolution to her tone. Her smile wavered a fraction. “Better than it ever will me.”
I caught her hand in my own as she made to withdraw it. “You do yourself a disservice, my lady,” I scolded gently. She swallowed, a hint of the frightened girl peeking out from behind her careful mask.
Pulling her hand delicately from my grip, she turned from me. “I’m no warrior.” She sank heavily into a chair near the plush bed, smiling sadly. “I’m afraid.”
She needed a friend. She needed reassurance. That she would come to me for it struck me with an unfamiliar weight. I was barely two years her elder. What did I know?
It doesn’t matter, my mother’s voice echoed in my mind. You can still be that for her.
I could try.
Sitting carefully in the chair opposite her, I did my best. “Izikiel told me once that fear and courage are as connected as the sun and moon. You cannot have one without the other.”
She trembled, just barely, hugging herself in her seat. “I always knew it would come to this, but now...” she trailed off, avoiding my eyes. “So many are going to die. So many have died. I’m not sure it’s worth it.” Golden eyes snapped to mine, begging for an answer. “What makes my life worth so much more than any other?”
“You are the blood of Adulil,” I impressed, boring my gaze into hers with intent. “You may not carry a sword, but you’ve steel in you. I’ve seen it. So have they,” I nodded to the masses outside. “They will fight and die in your name, and every one of them will count it a glorious honor.”
“Why?” she pressed, eyes glistening with self-doubt.
“Because you are here, willing to fight for them.” I smiled softly. “Because you love them as He did.”
Selice shook her head. “I’m not sure it’s enough.”
“It was enough for me.”
I thought to leave her, then, as she stood and turned from me to compose herself and process my words. “Wait,” she called out as I backed away toward the entrance. Crossing one last time to the trunk, lid still propped open, she dug down into the bottom and drew forth something silver and gleaming. Straightening, she offered it to me.
Flawless panels of plate shone pristine in her hands. Unscarred, unscathed, the Freyjan shield was a close mimic of the one I’d once worn and the ones I’d seen on every warrior under Brenna’s command. I took it reverently from her, running my fingers down the steps of metal. Simple, unadorned, it was perfect. The last piece of the scattered shards that had risen from the pyre finally settled into place. Words failed me as I raised my gaze to hers in silent thanks.
Shoulders squared, spine straight, she was once again every inch the paragon of strength and dignity. Golden eyes met mine with determination.
“Give me back my city, and you can have the priest.”
With a single solemn nod, I left her. The afternoon sun had sunk low in the sky overhead. As I stepped out into the warm evening, my gear in my arms, I caught Colin’s eye across the clearing. He noticed my unsettled expression and strode over.
“She needs you,” I said, tilting my head at the pavilion behind me. A flicker of concern flashed across his face as his gaze drifted past me to the tent at my back. With a murmur of thanks, he went. He could give her what I could not: the comfort of a most trusted embrace.
The remainder of the evening was spent answering the litany of questions Will had about what transpired after we parted ways. He had seen me jump, catching one last glimpse of me over his shoulder as he fled. With a sure-footed horse and a quick wit, he managed to slip his pursuit in the darkness of the woods. Doubling back to the inn, he’d followed Quintin’s trail up the road.
I eyed my wheat-haired guardian with disapproval. “And that’s when he hit you?”
Will cast a sideways glance at him. “He was...upset.”
Blue eyes watched me, carefully masked. He’d believed I was dead - again. Guilt gnawed at me. No wonder he’d looked so stricken when I appeared out of the forest. He’d spent nearly two weeks thinking I was gone. Knowing him, he had blamed himself for it, no matter what message I’d sent back with Will.
My eager young man pressed me for every detail of my rescue and journey back, though I glanced over my encounter with Adrian. It was too personal, too private, to tell with a
ny kind of passivity. My descriptions of Natalia and her crew seemed to be his favorite. They were both glad I’d kept to the inns and off the road. Over a modest supper, Will recounted the surprise appearance of the Queen, Lord Reyus and her dutiful retinue in tow. Apparently, she’d taken charge quite readily upon her arrival, and I couldn’t help but harbor a secret smile of pride. Whatever her doubts about herself, Selice was a capable leader.
Will had scrounged an extra tent for me while I was busy making my allies into enemies, and had staked it neatly beside theirs, my bags and armor already tucked inside. Nearby, our mounts were hobbled in drowsy repose among the trees. As the night grew late and the encampment grew quiet, we decided to retire. I was exhausted from the road and longed for my bedroll. Quintin and I exchanged a meaningful glance before we each ducked into our tents.
We would talk later. There was time.
The sounds of crickets, owls, and the snores of men lulled me to sleep under the canvas canopy. For once, blessedly, I didn’t dream.
Chapter 27
Dawn and the rousing of the camp woke me. It took me a moment to remember where I was. Sitting up, I eyed my pile of gear and blinked the sleep from my eyes. The cool, calm morning air greeted my face as I ducked out of my tent. Will was still snoring in his bedroll, the low embers of the previous night’s fire smoldering in the pit. One hand worked absentmindedly at the buckles of my shield as I looked around for Quintin. Our small cluster of tents sat near the edge of the encampment, separate from those of the armies. We were not soldiers. We were just…us.
The flash of steel caught my eye through the trees, and I made my way toward him. The breastplate creaked, the weight of it unfamiliar, but I needed to get used to moving in it. The sword at my hip rattled in its scabbard as I stopped at the edge of the small clearing he’d found. I waited, watching him move through his forms with precision. Finishing the cycle and sheathing his blades, he stilled and turned to face me. The gravity of his silent confession and the weight of yet another return from the dead hung between us. I wondered if it had ruined what comfort we’d found together in our morning exercise. Shifting, he pulled my father’s dagger from the back of his belt and held it out to me.
“I’ll be glad if I go the rest of my life without holding this again.”
My hand closed on it, squeezing it affectionately before taking a moment to re-settle it on my belt. The hilt felt warm in my hand, a familiar touch of wood and metal.
“I’ll do my best,” I promised. Balanced by the weight of the shield on my arm, I felt like myself again.
“Ready to break that in?” he asked, nodding to its unblemished plates.
We started slow with a series of drills, it having been weeks since my last practice. It took me a while to get used to the weight of the breastplate, but it was light and flexible and by the time we switched to sparring, I barely noticed it. The shield was less padded and heavier than my previous one, but Quintin reassured me he could make a few rudimentary adjustments for the short-term. I threw myself into the training with gleeful enthusiasm. Every deflection, every thrust, every parry was a homecoming, reaffirming me in my own skin.
This, this was what I was – what I had made myself into.
When he finally called an end to it, my chest heaved and I was drenched in sweat. My calluses had softened in my weeks of inactivity and my palms stung with fresh blisters. I sheathed my blades and slumped heavily onto the ground, sucking air. He tossed me a waterskin, eyeing me with amusement.
“Better?”
I swallowed several mouthfuls gratefully and nodded with a sated smile. He settled down onto the grass nearby, taking the skin when I offered it back to him. I felt the levity fade and watched a thoughtful solemnity settle over him. His hand fidgeted with the cork, one arm propped on his knee.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, the words stiff and forced.
“Whatever for?”
“I know how much Valor meant to you.” I nodded, but said nothing, thinking of my brave stallion and the first time I’d laid eyes on him in the courtyard. Hello, proud boy. You’ve a bit of fire in you. He had been with me for so many years, it was hard to believe he was gone.
Blue eyes glanced at me, well-shielded. “And about Adrian, as well. He’s a fool.”
Chewing my cheek, I replied as honestly as I could. “He did what he thought was right for his people.”
“He gave you his word. He should have kept it.”
A harsh laugh escaped me. “To marry a proclaimed traitor? A fugitive of the Crown?” I watched him bite his tongue. “Even I should have known it was too much to ask.”
Silence stretched between us. “Are you alright?” he asked with a gentleness that once would have seemed counter to his nature. I knew better, now. Beneath the leather and steel and icy stares of disapproval lay a good man with a kind heart.
I met his concern with an open countenance. “The spoiled girl you trailed back and forth to the Greyshor is gone.” Shaking my head, I laid plain the truth of it. “Even if he had kept his promise, what is left is nothing he would have wanted or understood.”
A flash of sorrow and pity flickered across his face. “And you?”
The beast coiled patiently in my chest. Sweat plastered my tunic to my skin beneath the leather breastplate. My shield weighed heavily on my arm. Far, far away, in another life, a naïve girl dreamed of silks and the sea.
“What he wanted from me, I could no longer give.”
We sat in silence for a long moment before he stood and offered his hand to me. “There’s a small river not far from here if you want a wash.”
I clasped it and let him haul me to my feet. “I’ll grab my things.”
It was far enough from the encampment to allow for reasonable privacy, but not far enough for Quintin to allow me to go alone. He posted up behind a nearby tree to keep watch as I shed my tunic and breeches and waded into the water. In the height of summer, it ran warm and clear, deep enough in places to submerge myself completely in the meandering current. The mid-morning sun dazzled through the trees above as I breathed deep the forest and marveled at its beauty. When I finally relented and climbed back up the bank to dry and dress, I was calm and refreshed.
“Your turn,” I called to Quintin, who emerged promptly from behind his tree and began unbuckling his baldric. I took it companionably from him, startled by the weight of it. I’d never held it before. As I propped it against a boulder, I was surprised to see him peel off his tunic right in front of me. Caught off-guard by his unprecedented lack of modesty, I couldn’t keep the flush from my cheeks or my eyes from flicking across the corded muscle and myriad scars, a lifetime at the sword written in his flesh.
His mouth quirked as he pushed past me. “I’d ask you to turn around if I didn’t already know you for a shameless snoop.”
I grinned and turned politely away. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
The sound of his boots being tossed aside was followed by a series of splashes as he ambled into the river. “I thought Nicholas might draw on you when you offered to give him the mark.”
I waited to reply until he’d finished washing and dressed in his clean clothes. Handing him his baldric, I met his gaze with a hint of apology.
“I didn’t know what it was, at first. Then, in Tuvria, he called you ‘oathbreaker’ and I remembered seeing it in a book once.”
Deft fingers secured the buckles with practiced ease. He made to start back without comment, but I waylaid him with one hand on his chest.
“Quintin, who did that to you?” I had to ask, unable to keep an edge of anger from my voice. The question had burned in the back of my mind for nearly a year.
He met my gaze with something akin to the self-awareness I’d found in Daria. “The man who raised me.” My face twisted in horror and he placed a reassuring hand over mine as he rushed to clarify. “The mark, not the scars.”
“And those?” I pressed.
He exhaled though
tfully, searching for the right words. “My people believe that our strength, our skill at arms, comes from the sacred blood of our ancestors, the descendants of Tuvre himself. Like any blessing, that gift can be taken away, should we dishonor it the way I did.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Once the mark is made, the oathbreaker must take a vow of pacifism for two seasons; the first, to beg for Tuvre’s forgiveness, and the second, to remind the accused of his transgressions, that he may never betray his oath again. If he draws his weapon or raises his hand, even in defense, in that time, the gift of our ancestors leaves him forever. To any Tuvrian, death is preferable to that loss.”
He hesitated before continuing, knowing I wouldn’t like it. “During the six months of penance, anyone who wishes can do him harm, if they discover what he is. Usually, it’s just floggings, though some get maimed or killed for it. More likely, if you try to run from the lash.”
My throat tightened with anger and sorrow. “Your own people did that to you?”
He tilted his head bitterly at the memory. “It’s a small village. I didn’t leave as quickly as I should have.”
A horrifying thought crossed my mind. “Did my parents know, when they sent you?” I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.
“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head as he squeezed my hand. “I don’t think you can read about that part in any book. Your father seemed to think the mark was the whole of it. They needed a courier they could trust, so I didn’t correct him.”
Mollified, I nodded, selfishly relieved that their legacy would remain untainted by such cruel disregard. My mind flicked a query to the fore, long years of my mother’s training catching an inconsistency in his tale.
“Ewan asked, in Savern. He asked about your back.” How could he have known about the mark, which lay well-hidden beneath tunic and baldric alike? Even I would never have known, had I not stolen a glance at him in the forest.
Another bitter memory flickered behind his eyes. “An oathbreaker must disclose his shame to any scion lord of Tuvre, so he cannot falsely embed himself among honorable men.”
A Crown of Lilies Page 60