A Crown of Lilies

by Melissa Ragland

  I bristled and opened my mouth to respond, but Tommy beat me to it.

  “Enough,” he snapped. “She’s goin’, and she ain’t your problem. I’m payin’ ye to take the gatehouse and the towers. That’s it.”

  None of them looked happy about it, but their protests fell silent. Tommy once again laid out the plan with the sketches spread out on the table before us. A few of the men had questions about guard positions and lighting, but for the most part, they just nodded and we were on our way before the moon was high in the sky.

  I felt conspicuous on my bay mare with my Freyjan shield shining in the moonlight, the cluster of dark bodies around me well-camouflaged on their black and brown mounts. Tommy had given us short, dark cloaks to match the rest of them, and I wrapped the edge of mine around my left arm to keep the metal from catching the light.

  We pushed our horses hard, Tommy at the lead, following the river toward the city. The moon had begun her descent in the sky by the time we finally reached the walls. The smuggler’s channel remained unguarded and we dismounted to file one by one through the sluice. Emerging into the narrow streets of Dockside, we split into four smaller parties and scattered, making our way toward the hideout in less suspicious clusters that could easily pass for common sellswords.

  It took well over an hour to pick our way through the city. The hideout lay so close to the main gate, I felt sure we’d be spotted. The first lights of dawn had barely begun to peek over the horizon when we found it, a vaguely familiar sigil carved into the wooden door frame. Sleepy guards leaned at their posts and paid us no mind, yawning loudly into the darkness and shuffling their feet to stay awake.

  We were the last ones to arrive, tucking our horses into the small blacksmith’s shop below and climbing the stairs to find a cluster of unfriendly faces waiting. Tommy breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of us and offered me a reassuring nod. The hideout was small and cramped with so many of us inside. Most of the men had already staked out spots on the floor and slept leaning up against the wall. The two cots and three chairs had long since been claimed.

  It was a long, hot, miserable day trapped in silence inside that single windowless room. Men stood occasionally to stretch and get up off the hard floor. Others lay unbothered by it and snored, catching an elbow from a comrade when they grew too loud. A few whispered in hushed tones to pass the time. Tommy flipped his slender knife absentmindedly in one hand. Our unwelcome trio finally resigned ourselves to the narrow stairwell, and I managed to doze off for an hour or so with my head leaning against Quintin’s leg a few steps above me.

  The sound of the door startled me awake as our scout arrived to give the signal. Wide-eyed and painfully young, he scrambled past us up the stairs to report to Tommy. After a long, slow day of waiting, it seemed as though I’d barely blinked before we stood outside the gatehouse. The roar of battle echoed over the walls and bounced between the buildings. Atop the battlements, captains shouted orders and ballistae launched their bolts at our allies outside.

  A supply entrance, rarely used, abutted a second sluice gate with its bars well intact. In groups of two and three, we timed our approach and slipped through the door while the soldiers above us on the battlements were distracted. Safely inside and out of view, we began our silent assault.

  With the portcullis shut tight, there was little attention paid to the gatehouse except for a few bored guards that sat dicing at a small table. Tommy’s men made quick work of them, and we stepped over their bodies to clear the rest of the building. In all, there were only six city guard inside. Each one died without a sound, throats cut with ruthless efficiency. These, too, were my countrymen, and my heart weighed heavily knowing I was responsible for more deaths, but I had sworn long ago to find the fortitude to do whatever was necessary. I swallowed my misgivings and hollowed myself to the task.

  The gatehouse secured, two of the men hung back to keep watch and deal with any errant soldiers who might wander in unexpectedly. Tommy had wanted me to stay, too, but I had soundly refused. It was my plan, and I would see it through to the end.

  The towers would prove a much more dangerous challenge, well-manned as they were in the heat of battle. Our advantage lay in that their attention would be focused outward. They wouldn’t expect an attack from within. The gatehouse and the towers that flanked it were all connected with stone passages that ran along the base of Litheria’s thick walls. We split into two groups, each slipping silently down the hallway in opposite directions.

  Our unsavory companions led the way, Quintin in front of me and Will bringing up the rear. My heart slammed in my chest as we approached the first door. Our leader pressed his ear to the wood, waiting a long moment before opening it quietly, a pair of daggers at the ready. In these tight spaces, swords were all but useless. I clutched my father’s knife in my right hand and followed.

  The stairwell provided our first obstacle. Spiraling and narrow, only one man could pass at a time. If a guard were coming down it, he would likely see us and be able to shout in alarm before he could be silenced. Luck was with us, and we encountered no one on our ascent from the tunnels.

  As far back as I was in our line, I could see little as it happened. We reached the first level and the skilled men at our front slipped quickly through the space, silencing a handful of guards in their bunks. Quintin paled at such dishonorable slaughter, but there was nothing for it. This was the path. I watched him struggle as he stared at the surprised face of one young man on his cot, throat gaping. Behind him, on the stair, I heard a faint rustle.

  The tip of a helm came into view first, and instinct alone moved me. Ducking behind Quintin, I rushed for the opening. Brown eyes widened in surprise, taking in the sight of his comrades’ bloodied corpses and our skulking figures hovering over them. Lips parted to shout as I reached him, clamping one hand hard over his mouth and driving my knife into his neck. The force of my rush slammed us both against the stone wall, blood misting my face.

  Young eyes, Alesian eyes, met mine in bewilderment. I watched him die, easing his heavy mass down to the floor so his fall wouldn’t draw attention. Shaking, I pulled my blade free from his flesh. Six men stared at me as I wiped my knife on his tunic and stood. Quintin’s hand found the side of my head and he pulled my gaze to his in concern, blue eyes searching mine in wordless query. I nodded, gathering my resolve.

  Go, the beast urged, twisting beneath my skin.

  We moved on.

  Two more levels were cleared with silent efficiency by hands other than my own. Outside, men screamed and died. Our leader sidled up to a window that looked down on the main gate below us. Across the gap, Tommy’s face appeared in a corresponding opening, signaling that they’d finished their sweep. At the gatehouse, a third pair of complicit eyes watched. We waited, ears straining for any sound of approaching footsteps, eyes locked on the ground far below for our scout to signal. Finally, after nearly a half hour, he appeared, waving his short-brimmed cap up at us. Our eastern army was in position outside the walls. The gears and chains creaked and rattled as our men heaved at the gate’s cranks.

  Alarmed voices overhead began to shout as the portcullis slowly rose. We pressed ourselves against the walls of the room and waited. The hatch above us was thrown open and men rushed down the ladder, oblivious to our waiting blades. We killed three before scrambling up through the opening and onto the battlements. If we didn’t take the wall above the gate, our soldiers would be vulnerable to attack as they passed under us and into the city.

  After the close air of the tower, the late afternoon breeze was a gift. Here, atop the walls, we finally had room to maneuver. Tommy’s men led the way with their quick feet and deft blades, clearing a space for us to emerge. Drawing swords, we laid into them in a melee just as chaotic and frightening as the one on the fields of Laezon. Our skilled companions acquitted themselves well enough, but against full plate armor and without their usual element of surprise, I saw two of them fall. Will and I held one front shoulder
-to-shoulder, giving Quintin space to work behind us.

  I dared not look back at him. I could hear the sound of metal clashing and men dying. Focus, I could hear him say in my mind. He could handle himself. With the help of my comrades, we cleared the top of the tower and moved out onto the battlements proper. Before me, soldiers took notice of our arrival and peeled off from their posts to confront us. Behind me, Quintin began pushing across the top of the gatehouse toward Tommy and his men.

  The harsh sound of the gate rising finally came to a halt, and I could hear men rushing through the opening beneath us. Fighting in earnest takes a heavier toll than sparring in practice, and I could feel my strength beginning to flag as they pushed us back, cursing myself for not sleeping when I had the chance. From the corner of my eye, I saw another one of Tommy’s men cut down, and fear gripped me as the enemy advanced. I dared a glance over one shoulder. Quintin spun and slashed in a calm fury, cutting through them like a scythe, but many more still stood between our tower and Tommy’s. Will and I had to hold, just a little while longer.

  Only three of us remained to face the five soldiers that advanced cautiously on us, swords in hand. I dug for my rage, grabbing hold of it in a final bid for energy. Three rushed us at once. I focused on my footing and quickly found myself inside my opponent’s guard. A backhanded swipe with my dagger opened his throat. I hadn’t even a moment to breathe before the next one was on me.

  His axe battered my shield mercilessly and I fell back a few steps. A handful of glancing blows with my sword failed to find purchase in his sturdy armor, and panic began to creep in as I felt my last reserves of strength fading. Beside me, Will stumbled and I saw his opponent move for the killing blow.

  Disregarding my own foe, I lunged for his, thrusting my blade into the vulnerable gap at the side of his breastplate. A fiery pain rang through my thigh as an axe bit deep, cleaving my chausses to find the flesh beneath. I cried out in pain as he wrenched his weapon free, and hobbled backward as he advanced to finish the job. Will blocked the first few blows for me as I regained my balance, but he was just as exhausted as me, and caught a hard strike to the shoulder that sundered his pauldron. He grunted in pain and his sword clattered to the ground as he fell. I pressed forward in a final desperate attempt to drive our opponent back, bracing my sword against the metal plates of my Freyjan shield to deflect one heavy blow after another.

  A boot caught me hard in the stomach and I toppled backward onto the ground. Will had struggled to his feet and retrieved his sword, straining to lift it with his injured arm. The soldier pulled his helmet off, a frenzied battle grin plain on his face.

  “Come on, boy,” he taunted, tossing it aside to clatter on the stones.

  I threw.

  He stumbled backward, one gauntleted hand grasping at the knife hilt protruding from his eye. He slumped to his knees and fell back, heavy mail clattering on the ground. My relief was short-lived as two more quickly closed on us. Tommy’s man was on one knee, breathing hard and bleeding into his dark leathers.

  “Quintin!” I shouted in fear as they advanced. Will braced for one last defense as I scrambled backward, placing himself between me and the approaching enemy. Behind my head, boot steps pounded the stone and then he was there, all whirling steel and fury. Moments later, our reinforcements finally arrived, clambering up the ladder and out onto the battlements to our aid. An entire company of Tuvrian warriors swarmed the wall, driving the enemy back. Will slumped against one of the merlons and sank to the ground as Quintin rushed over and dropped to his knees beside me. Hands tugged the laces of my chausses free, tossing them aside to examine my leg. I gritted my teeth as he prodded gently.

  “Going to need stitches,” he murmured.

  “It can wait,” I grated out.

  A tilt of his head told me he wasn’t so sure. I reached up to my right shoulder and tugged hard, ripping the sleeve of my tunic. Once he realized what I was doing, he helped me tear it free and I loosed a stream of curses as he knotted it tightly around my leg.

  “Will,” I insisted, waving him off to tend to our companion.

  “Easy,” Quintin murmured as my young man grunted in pain. The pauldron was removed and discarded, tunic torn to reveal the wound beneath. The blade had bit deep into the top of his shoulder, blood soaking down his chest. “You’ll be alright, the bone stopped the worst of it,” he reassured, bandaging it with another scrap of tunic as I rested my head on the cool stone beneath me. All around us, the sounds of battle continued. Men screamed and died. Metal clashed. Horses shrieked. I was tired, so damn tired.

  “Hell of a throw,” Will commended as he found his feet and retrieved my dagger.

  “Come on.” Quintin offered one vambraced arm, blue eyes bracing me. “We’re not finished.”

  I stifled a cry of pain as he hauled me to my feet. We made our way slowly back down the gate tower to where we’d left our horses. Tommy and his men had already retreated to the lower level, making way for General Nicholas’ men to take the battlements.

  “Ye alright, lass?” Tommy inquired, hurrying over as I limped out of the service door. He had a few small cuts here and there but overall seemed to have made it through relatively unscathed. I nodded and smiled at him reassuringly. He glanced at the chaos unfolding around us in the evening light. “Our bit is done, yeah?”

  “Done,” I agreed tiredly, nodding again. The remaining five out of the twelve men he’d hired shifted nervously and eyed us sidelong. “Pay them well.” I reached out to grasp the side of his neck affectionately. “Go home, Tommy.” His hand reached up to grip my arm in fond reply.

  “Ye best take care of her, lad,” he warned Quintin. “She dies again....” He didn’t need to finish the threat aloud.

  I could hear the wry smirk in his voice. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Go,” I pressed him. They went, disappearing into the dusk light.

  Will and Quintin helped me into my saddle before mounting up, and we raced off through the city toward Crofter’s castle. Here and there, pockets of resistance boiled up and were quelled by the efficient and methodical companies of Tuvria and Euzros. We found ourselves forced time and again to backtrack and circle around to avoid roadblocks and small battles. Aside from Quintin, we were all but useless now, and he wasn’t willing to risk our safety to join the fray. A few times, we came across units of Freyjans and asked after General Brenna. They pointed us onward toward the palace, but the city is vast and we spent a long night weaving through the streets.

  It was nearly morning by the time we reached it, the doors flung wide and bodies of Persican guards sprawled on the steps. To one side, a cluster of horses milled about, minded by a pair of soldiers in white armor. After a tense moment, I realized they were Queen’s Guard and spotted Selice’s white palfrey among them.

  I swore from my saddle. She must have ridden in with the first or second wave. Hollow, resolved, and afraid for my queen, I slid from my mount and limped up the steps and into the castle. It was dark, with only a few torches lit and the first lights of the day not yet above the horizon. I could smell smoke and death and fear.

  “Selice!” I shouted into the darkness. “Brenna!”

  Footsteps reverberated down the shadowed hall, approaching at a quick pace. Quintin drew, positioning himself in front as I leaned on Will. As the figure slowed and stepped into the light, I recognized her braids and the shield on her arm; one of Brenna’s captains. I didn’t like the worried expression on her face. She led us toward the throne room, a distant echo of memory surfacing in my mind as I limped into the vast marble hall. Thick smoke hung in the air, the golden carpets scorched and smoldering, stinging my eyes and burning in my lungs. As we made our way through the haze to the far end of the room, I saw the source.

  Upon the dais, they had built a pyre.

  Ah, gods. No. Please, no.

  Selice knelt before it, shoulders shaking with sobs. Reyus stood beside her, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. I pushed off
of Will and stumbled toward them, climbing the two steps with agonizing difficulty. Amid the ashes, three blackened bodies lay: a man, a woman, and a small child.

  “They are in Al’Rahim’s Kingdom, now,” a familiar voice crooned victoriously. “You cannot touch them.”

  I heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh, and the crunch of bone.

  “Why...” Selice whispered in misery beside me, trembling before the charred corpse of her infant brother. I wanted to touch her, to offer comfort, but I knew better. No hand could reach where she was, no balm found in that abyss of utter despair. Only vengeance.

  Rage dulled my pain, granting me one final reserve of strength. I crossed to where Colin held Solomon captive, his own eyes glistening with sorrow at his queen’s loss. He wanted to kill the priest. So did I. So did a lot of people, I imagine.

  His bloody grin faded as recognition settled on his dusky face. Dark eyes glinted with hate.

  “You,” he hissed through the ruins of his nose.

  “Me,” I confirmed, voice thick with loathing.

  MINE, the beast demanded, bashing at the confines of my flesh. I drew my dagger and grabbed Solomon by the collar of his white robes, yanking him ungently toward the dais. He stumbled, hands bound behind his back.

  “Majesty,” I called hoarsely to her. She didn’t move, didn’t respond. “Selice!” I barked, my sharp voice echoing off the distant ceiling. Whether it was the anger in my tone or the lack of propriety, she heard me there in her darkness. Slowly, she stood and turned toward me, her beautiful face twisted in misery. I pressed the point of my knife into the tender hollow between Solomon’s neck and shoulder. “Down,” I commanded. When he didn’t move to obey, I dug the blade into his flesh until he did.

  Selice approached slowly, eyes locked on the priest’s face as he knelt before her. She trembled beneath the intensity of her own unfamiliar fury. Tears streaked her fair cheeks. Gripping the back of his robes, I flipped the knife in my hand and held it out to her, his blood slick on the point between my fingers.