Traitor (A Crown of Lilies Book 1)

by Melissa Ragland

  “And how do you expect us to do that?”

  “You passed for a man at the garrison,” he pointed out.

  “I was sixteen and a bit less…” I gestured at my body, which had filled out substantially since then, the boyish leanness of my hips and waist replaced by unmistakable curves. The barest tinge of pink flushed his cheeks, which surprised me. I’d said much coarser things in his presence.

  “Just do your best,” he growled, turning for the door. “They won’t be looking for a woman.”

  With my chest bound and my hair pulled back, there was little else I could do to conceal my gender beyond the tunic and breeches I always wore to practice. I hoped for both our sakes that it would be enough as we made our way down the street, pausing outside the double entrance of the massive stone structure that housed both the baths and the gymnasium. I followed Quintin through the left-hand door, keeping my eyes down. A few men milling around the entrance glanced at us curiously but said nothing.

  Once inside, I dared to look around. In the early morning, the place was all but deserted, a generous number of torches and braziers lighting the cavernous chamber. Under the high roof sprawled a massive sand arena with various sporting accoutrements I couldn’t identify, racks of equally unfamiliar practice weapons lining the walls. A few clusters of men engaged in wrestling matches, and my face turned an alarming shade of red as soon as I realized they were naked as their name day, sand coating their sweaty skin as they grappled.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” I groaned as Quintin posted up in an open spot far from anyone else.

  “Eyes on me. You’ll be fine.”

  It was easier than I had expected, to focus on him and forget everyone around us. We worked through various drills, including our latest deflection drill with the Freyjan shield, which combined all the others into a single flowing circuit. For a mercy, my commander’s interminable sourness seemed to be fading bit by bit as we clanged and grunted our way through practice. When I deflected, sidestepped, and closed on him with more finesse than usual, he even cracked an appreciative grin.

  “Very nice,” he remarked as I retreated again.

  Chest heaving, I dropped my arms for a rest and eyed him with a smirk of my own. “So you do know how to smile.”

  It vanished instantly, his brows darting together in stubborn rebuke. “I smile.”

  My involuntary snort expressed my thoughts on the matter.

  “I do,” he insisted.

  “Not lately. Not for a long time. Not since Viktor’s.” I tapped my sword against the Freyjan shield on my arm.

  Even in the dark of the torch-lit space, I saw his mask tighten. “I don’t like sea travel.”

  “And I’m at fault for that?” I balked.

  “In part,” he growled back.

  “You wanted to come. You volunteered.”

  He leveled that piercing gaze at me, hesitating before he replied, his voice losing some of its bite.

  “…You needed me.”

  Despite his mild tone, it felt like he’d hurled those words at me.

  I don’t need anyone, I snarled back in my head, but held my tongue in the face of how utterly childish and ridiculous it would sound spoken aloud; how glaringly untrue it was, given that I’d trembled – literally trembled – when faced with the possibility of making this journey without him. I hated that I needed his protection – any protection.

  Those pale blue eyes softened a fraction as they watched me bristle in silence, as though he could read me the way my mother did. I squared up again before he could speak whatever pitying sentiment was lingering on his tongue, angling my sword across my body with my dagger at the ready.

  “I assume we’re not finished,” I said, a shield of cold indifference thrown between us. Without so much as another word, he started in on me again.

  Inside the windowless gymnasium, only the gradually-increasing number of patrons served to suggest the passage of time. When the crowds began to encroach on our isolated patch of sand, Quintin called an end to our practice and we made a discreet exit.

  “And no one noticed?” Aubrey pressed at the breakfast table a short while later.

  I shrugged. “If they did, no one said anything.”

  “No one noticed.” Quintin reinforced with certainty. “People see what they expect to see. Besides,” he added, eyeing me. “You move like a man.” Aubrey snorted into his juice.

  “I’ll choose to take that as a compliment,” I retorted dryly.

  He failed to completely conceal his grin as he picked at the pile of unfamiliar food on his plate. The look we exchanged across that table settled something undefinable between us, a kind of truce that set the tone for the whole of our time in Elas.

  CHAPTER 27

  The following months were filled largely with routine. Oh, we found adventures enough, but between the gymnasium and the university, much of our time was already claimed. Despite Aubrey’s unwavering enthusiasm, I found the lectures to be of mixed quality. Some professors droned on relentlessly, and I caught myself more than once reviewing whatever drill sequence we’d worked on that morning in my head while my friend scribbled beside me in his notebook. Aubrey soaked it all in with the mind of a great scholar, droning or otherwise.

  In our free time, we explored Agorai, a city full of artists and entertainers. Every corner hosted a cluster of actors or puppeteers, musicians or singers. Occasionally, we came across a pauper philosopher lecturing from atop an empty wine barrel. Aubrey enjoyed those the most and often stopped to listen or ask questions while Quintin and I exchanged pained glances.

  We made a few acquaintances, of course. We were not the only Alesians studying at the university, and the wine shops were a popular evening gathering place for students. We crossed paths with a pair of siblings from Ulta, studying theater, who reminded me of the Ardontus twins, Ero and Ila. When I said as much to them, their eyes glistened and they bought me another cup. It was, I learned, a great compliment to the scions of Oristei. There were others, of course. Local merchants’ sons and daughters who were studying at the university found us amusing and exotic. Our retinue changed almost nightly.

  Quintin’s rigid demeanor continued to ease over time, though I suspect much of that had to do with Aubrey and I obeying his directives with little-to-no complaint. In truth, he asked little of us and only limited our actions when they posed a genuine threat to our safety, so neither of us were foolish enough to argue. The one time my friend did dare protest such an order, he’d drank the better part of a cask by himself. A single withering glare from our guardian made it clear he’d have no qualms about throwing Aubrey over one shoulder and hauling him kicking and screaming back to Lyra’s, noble heir or not.

  As the summer solstice approached, we found ourselves once again in our favorite wine shop with a trio of young men from Briare as our companions for the evening. Aubrey leaned in close while they detailed some engineering marvel of ancient Elas, sketching impressively thorough schematics on a weathered scrap of parchment. Across from me, our Tuvrian shadow sat with his arms crossed, sword hilts jutting up over his shoulders and drawing not a few curious stares.

  “I thought he worshipped poetry, not…” Quintin’s dry tone hesitated as he squinted at the hasty drawing. “Whatever that is.”

  I huffed a laugh into my cup and took a sip. “He’s drawn to knowledge. That’s the true gift of House Chamberlain. Mother always said they’d make excellent spies if they weren’t so soft-hearted.”

  He stared at me as though I’d grown branches out of my nostrils, and I realized too late what I’d said.

  “Shit.”

  Sloppy. Too much wine. It was true, my head was swimming in four cups already, and we’d not yet had supper.

  “So that’s why she has that…look,” he observed, lifting a hand to gesture loosely at his own head.

  “What look?”

  He raised one brow at me. “Like she knows every
awful thing you’ve ever done in your life. Like she can see straight into your mind and read your thoughts.”

  Another laugh. “She can.”

  He eyed me with a look not terribly dissimilar. “And she taught you this ability as well?”

  My mouth twisted in a wry smirk. “Don’t worry, armsman. Whatever you learned back in Tuvria, it has served you well.” I waved an uncoordinated hand at his face. “That is by far the most impenetrable mask I’ve ever seen. Except maybe for my mother’s.”

  I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, but was quickly distracted when Aubrey grasped my arm in drunken fervor.

  “Come on, Elivya, please-please-please! We must go!” he gasped, and I noticed his companions were watching me eagerly for my reply.

  “Go where?”

  “To the iliovas… ilvasilem…” He scrunched his face with the effort of producing whatever Elan word he was attempting to recall. A few nearby drinking companions shouted the proper pronunciation my way over the din, though it sounded just as incoherent as my friend’s interpretation. “That,” he impressed, gesturing toward the locals who had supplied the word.

  “Which is…”

  His grip tightened and he opened his mouth to explain, but one of the Elans beat him to it, leaning far over the table to fix his sharp features on me.

  “A celebration of light, Alesian! You, of all people, should appreciate it!”

  “A festival for the whole of Agorai,” Aubrey added with enthusiasm. “Tomorrow night, atop the temple mount at the heart of the city.”

  I hesitated, glancing toward Quintin to find a familiar look of wary suspicion on his face.

  “I don’t know,” I started, turning back to Aubrey.

  “A thousand casks of wine!” he protested, shaking me.

  “And dancing!” shouted one of the locals.

  “And theater!” supplied another.

  “We went last year,” offered one of the young men from Briare. “It was quite the spectacle.”

  After one more look at Aubrey’s pathetic, pleading visage, I turned my moderately-more-sober gaze toward Quintin and quirked one brow at him in query.

  He angled his head at me in that way I knew meant he disliked the idea tremendously.

  “It’s a religious festival,” I pointed out.

  “A massive crowd of unfamiliar faces,” he countered.

  “Who would make trouble at a sacred rite?”

  “Don’t be naïve.”

  “Come on. We’re here to experience all of Elas.”

  “You two,” he jutted his chin at us. “With a thousand barrels of wine and five times as many drunken strangers?”

  I untangled my arm from Aubrey’s grip and he retreated to his companions with hands raised in surrender. Quintin didn’t budge an inch, watching me lean over my nearly-empty cup toward him.

  “It’s one night,” I murmured.

  “It’s dangerous.”

  “We’ve been here for months now, and not a single incident. Hell, we haven’t even seen so much as a cutpurse since we left Petrion.”

  “You’re a fool if you think they aren’t there.”

  My temper flared. “It’s an experience we may never have a chance at again.” The set of his jaw remained unmoved. I gave my head a small, incredulous shake before fixing him with my best stubborn stare. “A sacred gift, remember?”

  The slight sag of his shoulders told me my words had cut deep. His eyes flared slightly, brows flicking together for an instant as that awful morning in the garden flashed through both our memories.

  “Every day,” I added, driving the point home.

  Quintin chewed his cheek a moment before blowing out his breath in resignation.

  “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” he grumbled, and a roar of celebration rang out around us.

  The Elan religion, I had learned, mirrored our own quite similarly. They, too, marked the cycles of the year, though they had specific gods to accompany each holiday. In truth, they had gods for nearly everything. I never could keep them all straight. Their names and faces wove through my mind as we climbed the countless marble steps alongside beggars and merchants, porters and priests. Along the way, acolytes offered water and rest to those who needed it.

  The sun was setting over the city when our small party finally reached the complex at the peak of the mount, a massive central temple flanked by smaller ones, all open to the air and built entirely from glistening white marble. Above the columns, ornately carved panels depicted various myths and gods, the flames from a multitude of giant metal braziers casting their reliefs in flickering firelight. A frenzy of humanity swarmed around us, threaded with the thoughtless ecstasy of faith unleashed. Drums and flutes and timbales rang merry tunes into the night. Blue-robed priests and priestesses knelt before laden altars, calling prayers to the heavens. Acolytes threw handfuls of flower petals into the air as they meandered through the crowd, anklets of bells chiming.

  The festivity continued through the night, filled with music, dance, and theater. Groups of players donned fantastic costumes and reenacted great scenes from Elan myth, elder priests narrating in booming voices. Each time I thought to depart, our companions insisted we stay. It’s almost time, they said. When will you be here again? So we stayed, Quintin stifling yawns as Aubrey and I frolicked with strangers and offered polite prayers to foreign gods.

  And oh, was it worth it.

  The sky began to lighten and a hush fell over the masses as a priest emerged from deep within the great temple. Step by step, his snow-white robes trailed through the flower petals scattered across the marble. Seven sharp points crowned the elaborate gilded mask on his face, gleaming in the lingering firelight as he came to a halt at the top of the steps. One purposeful hand raised a white staff capped with a golden starburst, and the crowd turned in unison toward the east. Hopeful eyes watched, fixated.

  I’d never heard so many people fall so utterly silent. We held our collective breath for several long minutes until the tip of the sun breached the horizon, peeking its golden head over the sea. A thunderous cheer erupted around us and the celebration began anew. Music rang out, acolytes emptied their petal baskets into the air, folk hugged and shouted prayers of thanks to the sky.

  But these were not my gods, and I was very far from home.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes from that sight, the sun’s first light scattering like diamonds across the waves. Adrian. I fretted for him. I wondered where he was, if he was safe, if he thought about me. Mother preserve me, I missed him.

  “Come on,” Aubrey’s voice murmured gently at my ear, brown eyes reading me like an open page as he slipped his arm into mine. “Let’s go.”

  By the time we made it back to the house, the morning sun hung well overhead. Aubrey begged off and disappeared into his room. I envied him, knowing rest was not in my near future. I turned toward Quintin to find him watching me with a strange expression.

  “Just let me change, and I’ll be right down.” I started up the steps, digging deep to find my last reserves of energy.

  “No.” His voice stopped me in my tracks halfway up the staircase. When I turned back, he was already disappearing down the hall. “Just get some rest.”

  Only a few weeks later, we were sitting in another one of our favorite wine shops when the real world came creeping back into our lives. A few students from Makednos had joined us after the day’s lectures. They had received word from home, and the news was grim. The Sultan was dead, along with his entire family.

  “What happened to them?” I asked carefully.

  “Persica happened,” one grumbled and spat on the floor.

  His companion shook his head. “First Ulgar, and now this. They mean to claim the whole of the Mare Nox for themselves.”

  “Rumor has it they’ve already pushed into Dacia.”

  “An army?” Quintin pressed, brows furrowed.

  The fir
st man shook his head. “No. Well, yes. But it’s the priests who come first. The army follows later.”

  “How does an entire nation fall to a few priests?” Aubrey asked no one in particular.

  Our companion’s dark face twisted with distaste. “Ask the Sultan.”

  In the late fall, we received Lord Augustus’ letter only a few days before he himself arrived at our doorstep. My blood ran cold when he pushed through the entryway into our small common room. Fear. It was all over his face, poorly concealed. Quintin, Aubrey, and I exchanged worried glances as Lyra guided his porters to the room she had prepared. While they hauled his trunks in, the four of us settled into the kitchen.

  “What’s happened,” Aubrey prompted anxiously. For all his scholarship, my friend had no patience.

  “Some water, please,” his father rasped, and I rose with alacrity to retrieve it. After gulping down two glasses, Augustus attempted to collect himself. “Thank you, my dear.” I settled back into my seat, my stomach sinking to the floor beneath me. “The Queen…”

  Oh, gods.

  “The Queen is dead,” he forced out, his hands fidgeting atop the table.

  None of us spoke for a long moment.

  “How?” Aubrey finally pierced the stunned silence.

  “The child came early. Ignatus did all he could, but she could not be saved.”

  “And the babe?”

  “He lives.”

  He.

  “And the King?” I pressed, my own voice tight.

  Augustus turned to me, his agonized face telling me more than any words could. “Lost in his grief.”

  The weight of that news settled over us like a dark shroud. Such immense sorrow, I could not even begin to fathom. To have loved Selice’s mother and lost her, to have finally found someone who could mend his wounded heart, only to have her torn from him as well… The depth of such anguish was beyond my ken.

  “What about the delegation, the one from Persica?” I asked, my mind flicking a spark through the fog of disbelief.

  “You are your mother’s daughter,” he mused softly. “They arrived three weeks after you left. There was some disagreement over who should preside over the Queen’s delivery. Apparently, one among them is a renowned physician in their country. Ignatus won out, of course, but I’m afraid with the way things ended up….”