A Crown of Lilies

by Melissa Ragland

  Quintin and I stepped out into the early morning light and trekked to the dockside market. Several horse traders serviced the wharf, enabling travelers to buy and sell mounts as they came and went from across the sea. We passed over a few with poor stock before finding one with better potential. I hung on the fence and watched as they ambled around their paddock, evaluating their gaits and temperaments.

  “What about that one? Looks hale enough to me.” Quintin pointed at a chestnut gelding with white socks.

  “See how he favors that foreleg? Every time he stops, he shifts his weight from it. He’d be lame in a day.”

  Crestfallen, he abandoned making suggestions and left me to my work. When I’d identified two suitable mounts, I noticed the trader sauntering over to us with a greasy smile. I elbowed Quintin. “You’re up.”

  “What?” he startled.

  “Just look menacing.”

  Then the man was upon us. “I see you have good taste, coming to see the finest livestock on the wharf!”

  I fixed him with a stern gaze. “We’re interested in two horses and tack. For riders, not cargo. What can you offer us?”

  He swept a grand gesture over his paltry herd. “Any of my prized beasts will serve you well, I can assure you. What color do you prefer, my dear?” I’d not done a good enough job passing as a man, this time.

  I managed to suppress the urge to spit on his boots, and instead smiled sweetly through gritted teeth. “I can pick any two I like? Even that beautiful golden one?” I pointed at an old tawny mare with a white blaze.

  “For you, little raven, any two you like!” His grin widened. He had plenty of swayback nags, and I was obviously unable to tell the difference.

  “How much?”

  “I like your spirit!” he exclaimed. “For a special young lady and her handsome companion, just two silvers each, and another for the tack.” It was an exorbitant price.

  I made a show of digging in my coin pouch, then fixed him with a falsely determined eye. Let him think me an ignorant girl playing at bargaining. “Would you take three silvers for both? And I’ve only a few coppers for the tack….” It was still a ridiculous cost for such low-quality livestock, but we needed mounts and I was eager to be on our way.

  The corner of his mouth twitched triumphantly. He heaved a dramatic sigh, scratching his head. “Ah, you remind me of my daughter Marisa! Okay, okay. Three for the horses and six coppers for the tack. I’ll take a loss for you, sweet girl, but don’t tell anyone!” He waggled his finger at me. I held out my hand to him, which he clasped and shook enthusiastically.

  The deal made, I’d no more need for the facade. I leapt over the rail and tagged his two best horses.

  His face fell. “Now wait a moment, my dear, those are not-”

  Quintin took a few menacing steps toward him, hand resting on the hilt of his belt knife.

  I dug his coin out of my pouch and dropped it into his hand. “I assume you are a man who honors a deal shaken upon.” His face reddened. “The tack, if you please.”

  We passed out of the city gates in the early afternoon, fully equipped for three days on the road. I could feel Quintin glancing my way now and again as our mounts plodded down the dirt road.

  “What?” I finally pressed him, tired of his looks.

  He shook his head, a smirk twisting his mouth. “I thought you were going to hit him,” he muttered.

  My own lips twitched as I struggled to draw my face in a mock of his serious scowl, throwing my voice deeper. “It’s a matter of self-discipline.” It was a terrible impression of my Tuvrian’s stoic mannerisms, and I snorted as my composure shattered and I burst out laughing. He followed suit, favoring me with a mildly offended glare. “He was a self-righteous cock who deserved what he got and more,” I justified forcefully.

  “You don’t need to convince me,” he said, shaking his head.

  I eyed him askance. “It wouldn’t have worked without you. You can be quite intimidating when you try.”

  He looked away, but I could tell he was still smiling. “Yes, I hear my scowl is second to none.”

  “Mm.” It was nice to be on good terms with him, if only for a moment. We pressed the horses as hard as we dared, finally stopping at dusk to make camp out of sight of the road. I tended our mounts while Quintin gathered wood and built a fire. After a meal of dried meat and a few mouthfuls of bread, we laid out our bedrolls. I huddled down into mine and then noticed him sitting at the fire, making no move to follow suit.

  He glanced at me and settled another log onto the flames. “I’ll stay up a while, build up the coals. Get some sleep.”

  Huddled in my blankets, I did. A hand shook me awake at dawn. I rolled over to see Quintin, bleary-eyed with exhaustion and offering me the waterskin.

  We broke camp with only a bit of stumbling on my part. He pointed out patiently when I missed things like burying the coals from the night’s fire. I’d never traveled without servants before, so everything was a learning experience. I soaked up his instruction eagerly, and before long we were back on the road. We pressed our mounts hard, that second day. I called periodic stops to check their joints and give them a reprieve from our weight. Their long legs ate up the miles, and by nightfall I gauged we were halfway to Litheria as we made camp in a copse of trees. When we set out our bedrolls, I settled down with my back against a sturdy oak.

  “What are you doing?” he grumbled at me half-heartedly.

  “I’m not letting you stay up all night again. I’ll take the first watch.” When he didn’t move, I nodded at his bedroll. “Sleep,” I insisted stubbornly. “I can sit here glaring at the shadows just as well as you can. I’ll wake you if I hear anything.”

  Finally, he did. It was lonely and utterly boring, sitting there for hours. I poked at the fire, tossing nearby twigs and acorns into it. When I ran out of things to feed to the flames, I listened to the sounds of the forest around us. Once that became too unnerving, I focused on the stars wheeling overhead and thought of Adrian.

  When the moon began its slow descent in the night sky, I considered waking Quintin, but when I rose to shake him, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. His wheat hair, brought to life in the flickering firelight, scattered across the arm that pillowed his head, freed from its usual tidy knot at the nape of his neck. The tension in the strong lines of his jaw was gone. I’d never seen him off his guard, without his dour mask and austere composure. The horse trader was right, he was handsome when he wasn’t scowling at me or whacking me with practice swords; my blue-eyed shadow, my stubborn guardian, who had followed me across the sea and back. I quietly settled another log onto the fire and sat back down at the base of the tree to let him sleep.

  I didn’t have to wake him when dawn broke. He started the moment the light began to filter through the branches above. Pale eyes whipped around, taking in my untouched bedroll and me, seated stiffly before the smoldering remnants of the fire. He sat up, rubbing his face.

  “Elivya,” he grated in his reprimanding tone.

  “You needed the rest.”

  He stood and crossed to me, offering me a hand. I took it gladly, stiff and sore from my night’s vigil. When he’d pulled me to my feet, he caught my eye. “Don’t do it again.”

  “Now we’re even,” I pointed out.

  He smirked and left well enough alone. My mount’s foreleg was a bit swollen, necessitating a less strenuous pace as we broke camp and set out for our third day. I had time to observe the other travelers on the road as we ambled along. Several merchants in their heavily-laden carts rattled by with their hired guards in tow. Stout cart horses strained in their traces, pulling wagons of grain, wool, wine, and other commodities on their way to the port behind us.

  We were well inside the King’s province of Aduline when we came to the crossroads. A trio of covered wagons lingered there, weathered horses resting in their harnesses as children milled about. The men eyed passers-by nervously while the women drew water from the public well, refilli
ng barrels and skins. We stopped for a rest and to replenish our own supplies. Quintin stayed with the horses while I stood in the queue for the well.

  As I waited, I watched the foreign travelers at their colorful wagons. Their garb caught my eye first. Not the men’s, for it was similar enough to our own, but the women adorned themselves in layers of colorful fabrics, the patterns faded by time and hard travel. Scarves of similar quality shrouded their dark hair, wrapped loosely once about the neck to keep them in place. Their skin glowed a dusky almond hue, their eyes of striking blues and greens.

  Across the clearing, a merchant caravan paused for respite under some shade. Hired swords lazed about, leaning on the carts and chatting. A few of them stared at the colorful wagons and their dark-skinned occupants. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone of their conversation was clear, and a sense of unease gripped me. I glanced back over my shoulder at Quintin, who was busy checking the horses’ legs the way I’d shown him. One of the guards spat on the ground and said something else, then pushed off the cart and sauntered over to the well where the women were working to refill their last small barrel.

  He stooped over, peering under the nearest woman’s scarf. “I think you’ve had enough. Why don’t you piss off and let someone else take a turn?”

  She kept her eyes averted and didn’t respond. The woman beside her quickened her pace, sloshing water as she tried to fill the barrel in a hurry.

  “What, not even an apology?” he sneered, straightening. “You lot come here uninvited, traveling our roads, hunting our forests. The least you could do is wait until your generous hosts have had their fill.” He waved his hand at the crowd of Alesian travelers. When she still did not respond, he raised his voice so others could hear. “Not that you’d want to drink it now. They’ve had their grubby paws all over the bucket. Whole well’s probably contaminated.”

  She did look at him then, face peering up from her colorful scarf, young and pretty and angry. “We bring no sickness.” She pronounced each word carefully in her heavy accent.

  Finally able to get a response, he grinned and grabbed her upturned chin. “Then you won’t mind if I steal a kiss?”

  The small world around us shifted. The woman at her side shouted something in a language I didn’t recognize. In response, the men of her caravan sprang into action, rushing to her defense with whatever weapons they had. For many, that was a simple belt knife, though I spotted one man brandishing a hammer.

  “You mustn’t touch me!” the young woman cried, trying to pull her face away from the guard’s grip. Seeing the group of men closing on their companion, the rest of the hired swordsmen hurried to the scene with hands on their hilts.

  This wasn’t going to end well. I spared another glance toward Quintin, who caught my eye and shook his head in clear warning. Don’t get involved. Adrian’s face swam in my mind, and I knew I couldn’t just stand by. Breathing deep and steeling myself, I slipped my belt knife from its sheath and dropped the waterskins quietly to the ground. Three quick, long strides set me behind the sneering guard’s right shoulder, the point of my blade pressed into the gap in the side of his shabby leather armor.

  “Let her go,” I demanded loudly. In my heated state, I hadn’t schooled my voice to a lower pitch and it slipped from my lips, sharp and unmistakably feminine.

  He smirked at me over his shoulder, releasing his grip on the woman’s face and shoving her rudely away. “Careful, little miss,” he taunted. “You might hurt someone with that.” His right elbow snapped back in a flash, slamming squarely into my nose. I stumbled back with a cry, landing hard on my backside. Women shrieked. Boot steps scuffled in my vicinity. Holding my bloodied face, I sat up in a blind fury. Quintin stood between me and the guards, one sword at the offender’s throat, the other extended toward his companions as a warning. A few had drawn their weapons.

  “Touch her again, and my face will be the last thing you see in this life.” His voice was deadly calm, threaded with a palpable menace that chilled my hot rage. I found my feet, still clutching my knife.

  A harsh laugh escaped the man’s lips. “A Tuvrian! You have some interesting friends, little wagon rat.” The young woman, held tightly by her female companion, watched the proceedings with wide, fearful eyes. Taking a careful step back off Quintin’s blade, he spat on the ground where they huddled. “Next time, maybe.” He smirked and eyed my wheat-haired shadow with disdain as he sauntered away. When it was clear he and his friends would cause no more trouble, Quintin sheathed his swords and turned to me. He grabbed my face, pushing my hand away and tilting my head back to examine my nose.

  I could feel the blood seeping down my lips and chin. Now, without the rush of anger to dull the pain, it hurt like hell. “Fucking bastard,” I muttered bitterly. He’d gotten the better of me, and it ate at my pride.

  “We need to work on your positioning,” he murmured pragmatically. I gasped a laugh, spraying blood. Satisfied, he released me. “It’s not broken. You’ll live.”

  Timid footsteps halted behind him. Quintin stepped aside and the young woman approached me, holding out a brightly colored kerchief. Taking it, I bobbed my head in thanks and pressed it to my nostrils after wiping the worst of the carnage from my lips.

  “Thank you,” she enunciated carefully. “You do not have to do this.”

  “Are you alright?” I asked her, my voice muffled by blood and cloth.

  She raised her brows in surprise and smiled at me. “Yes.”

  “You’re gezgin? From Dacia?” I inquired, nodding at their colorful wagon. She nodded, though the word didn’t seem to be one she liked. I fidgeted, unsure what to say. “He was a right cock.” I jerked my head in the direction of the merchant caravan. “I hope you don’t think we’re all such poorly-mannered asses.”

  She shook her head, eyes uncomprehending. “Too many words. I don’t know.”

  “Oh,” I said foolishly. I tried thinking of a way to rephrase using simpler terms but came up empty. In the end, I just shrugged and shook my head.

  She grinned and nodded. Bobbing and pulling her scarf tighter about her hair, she left us to return to her family. A few others nodded to us from across the clearing, but no one else approached. Quintin refilled the skins while I calmed the horses and kept an eye on the caravans. When he returned with the water, the merchant caravan was pulling away southward down the road. We both eyed them as a few turned in their saddles to give us one last taunting look before they disappeared down the path.

  “Can we make it to the city before nightfall?” I asked.

  He secured his waterskin on his saddle. “No.”

  “Will they double back, do you think?”

  “That one might,” he nodded at the now-empty path, but we both knew of whom he spoke.

  We mounted in silence and pressed on toward the north. I had hoped he was wrong, that we could reach Litheria before nightfall if we pushed the horses, but the sun began to set and we still had not sighted the white city. Quintin called a stop and we took our time finding a good site far from the road. It was hidden entirely on one side by thick bushes, which we put between us and any eyes that may be searching from the main path. We went about our tasks in silence, sharing the last of our dried meat and bread. It hurt to chew, so I settled for the bread alone, giving him my ration of meat. Tearing off small bites, I let bits of stale loaf soften in my mouth before swallowing them whole, sipping water in between. Quintin chewed thoughtfully. I waited.

  Once we’d finished and set out our bedrolls, he laid out his plan.

  The moon shone high overhead when I heard muffled footsteps picking their way through the thicket. I listened carefully, forcing myself to stillness. Only two of them. Good. Huddling in my blankets, the fire crackled cheerfully in my face, Quintin’s bedroll a dark human-shaped mound nearby. My hand clutched my belt knife against my chest. I waited, heart racing, as they slipped into our camp almost silently, shutting my eyes before they could see my face, and relying on sound
alone to track them. One set of footsteps approached Quintin’s bedroll, the other to mine. I heard a dagger slip free of its sheath near my shoulder, the rustle of his tunic as he knelt down at my back.

  “What the hell-” the other man’s voice mumbled from the other bedroll.

  At the same time, a hand closed on my shoulder. I rolled onto my back, raising my gauntleted left arm to break his grip, and thrust my dagger at anything I could hit. He fell backward in surprise, the edge of my blade carving a deep gash in his hand and forearm as he raised it out of reflex. Throwing my blankets off, I scrambled away from him, putting the fire between myself and the man who’d mangled my nose. He stood angrily, cursing and shaking his wounded hand.

  “You’re gonna make that up to me, girl,” he seethed. Fear set its icy claws into my chest.

  “He’s not here-” his comrade began to say, straightening next to the other bedroll. He stopped short when the point of a sword burst through his chest. Quintin ducked from behind him, abandoning his first blade to face his second target.

  His first swing separated the guard’s hand from his arm as he made to draw his sword from its sheath. A shriek of pain echoed into the treetops as he gaped at the stump of his wrist. As my guardian closed what little distance remained, he drew his belt knife and buried it in the man’s thigh. With a gruesome twist, Quintin wrenched his dagger free, leaving behind a savage gash a handspan wide and misting the darkness with a spray of blood. As my attacker staggered backward, my companion delivered the killing blow, laying him open from hip to shoulder with a single arcing swing.

  As he fell, my blue-eyed shadow followed him to the ground, staking his sword in the dirt. His freed hand grabbed the brute’s face harshly, his own hovering close above. It took me a moment to realize what he was doing. When the final gasp of life had shuddered into the darkness, Quintin released the man’s corpse and stood, every movement laced with anger. Crossing to his first target, he planted one boot on the man’s back and retrieved his abandoned sword with a vicious yank. A rip followed as he tore a large length from the man’s cloak and promptly sat to clean his blades. I watched him, frozen in place.