A Crown of Lilies

by Melissa Ragland

  “I fear that is where our similarities end, my lord.” Valia held her chin high, eyes blazing.

  He smiled, a predatory thing filled with carefully-concealed malice. “Indeed, where your goddess demands you helplessly suffer as she chooses, Al’Rahim asks that you decide the manner of your own sacrifice.”

  “And who is it that decides willingly to be burned alive?” Her voice cut the air like a knife.

  He lowered his voice, taking the humble approach. “We are not barbarians. No one goes to the pyre who does not choose to be purified thus. It is the greatest and most noble of sacrifices, the most direct path to His Kingdom.”

  “I wonder, then,” she countered calmly, “why you do not dedicate yourself so.”

  He grinned and gestured about him innocently. “One day. My work here is not yet finished.”

  “Enough,” the King snapped irritably, still rubbing his head. “I’ve not called this audience to listen to you bicker. My decision is final. Valia, go back to your forests. You and yours are no longer welcome here.”

  “Sire,” Augustus made one last attempt, immediately falling silent when Amenon’s wild gaze snapped to him.

  “Take your barbarian faith back to the hinterlands,” he hissed. “My city is for more civilized folk.”

  He could not be swayed. The throng filed out of the chamber slowly. I itched to stay behind, to try again to reach him. My mother shot me a warning glance and pulled me along beside her, my father falling in behind us. We had agreed, for the sake of our many moving pieces, to refrain from drawing attention to ourselves. I heard Amenon rise and make his way from the dais, the priest’s staff thunking methodically on the marble floor as he followed. I did my best to observe the crowd as we returned to our carriage, but I was angry and distracted.

  My parents dismissed me and closeted themselves in the study for long hours upon our return. I didn’t bother to eavesdrop. Chances were, they would share their conclusions with me anyway, and I was far too wound up to play at sneaking about the hallways. After pacing the common room for the better part of an hour, I sought out James in the stable. He was cleaning out a trough in the paddock when I found him.

  “Are you alright?” he asked with genuine concern, straightening and setting the scrub brush aside.

  I fidgeted. “I need…” I stumbled, feeling foolish. “Would you go for a ride with me?” I forced out.

  He looked surprised. “I suppose so. Give me a few minutes?”

  I nodded and went into the stable to saddle Valor. Aside from our daily foray to the Chamberlain manor, I’d not had the chance to really run him since his return. James joined me shortly, eyeing me sidelong as he readied his own mount. I ignored his concerned glances and climbed into the saddle, adjusting my ample skirts about me. With a silent nod from my companion, I led the way out the gate and down the cobblestone streets of Litheria. I didn’t bother looking behind me, I knew James could keep up. When we reached the gates of the city, I gave Valor his head. He burst from beneath me like a loosed arrow and I clutched his barrel with my legs, hunching down over his neck.

  I let him run himself ragged. Every stride, every heaving breath, I felt a tiny bit of the tension in my chest ease. The wind whipped at my face, stinging my eyes until they watered. When he finally burned through the bulk of his energy, we slowed and circled back for James and his stout gelding.

  Something in the distance caught my eye, a small figure making its solitary way toward the Kingswood. I kneed Valor and we cantered past a confused James as we crossed the field toward it. As we drew closer, I made out the mist green robes and brown curls of the High Priestess.

  She looked up at me with a surprised smile as we slowed to a stop beside her. “I recognize you,” she commented curiously.

  I bowed from my saddle. “I am Elivya fen Lazerin, my lady. I saw you at the palace this morning. You were incredibly brave.”

  She tilted her head at me. “That is not the word I would choose, but thank you all the same.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked. James shuffled up beside me.

  Valia raised her brows at me. “Back to my forest, as commanded by the heir of Adulil.”

  I glanced at the Kingswood. “You live there?” I asked and immediately felt foolish. Priests of Adulil didn’t live anywhere. They maintained a nomadic life, traveling around Alesia to offer aid and counsel to all the Mother’s people.

  “I spend much time there, yes,” she said graciously.

  A memory pricked at my mind. “Have you seen a great stag?” There was an unintended edge of earnestness in my voice. I wasn’t sure why I’d asked; the question had just surfaced unwitting on my lips.

  The High Priestess eyed me, brows knitting. “There are many great stags in the King’s forest,” she replied carefully.

  I shook my head. “Not like this.”

  She nodded slowly. “You have seen one of the Old Ones?”

  “I have.”

  Her hazel eyes considered me. “You are most fortunate, then.”

  “What does it mean?” I pressed. Valor shifted beneath me.

  She ignored my query and lifted one hand to his muzzle. He snuffled her and pressed his velvety nose into her palm. Valia smiled. “You’ve seen him too, haven’t you?” she murmured to him.

  “Please,” I pressed her. “Tell me how to help.”

  Her gaze returned to me, sorrow in her eyes. “It is not my place to gainsay the scions of Adulil. If he bids me to go, I will go.”

  “We can’t just stand by and do nothing,” I protested.

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “I expect you won’t.”

  With that, she left us and continued along the path toward the Kingswood. I made to follow her and press my case, but James stopped me with a quiet reproach. Relenting, I turned and kneed Valor back toward the city. My friend wheeled his mount around alongside me, our horses plodding slowly along the road.

  “What was that about?” James asked.

  “I thought she might have some guidance for me. Some advice. Something.”

  “When did you see a Fey Beast?”

  “Just before I left for Elas. The King and Queen held a hunt and a feast for the spring equinox. We stumbled across it when chasing down a doe.”

  “You and Adrian?” he pressed. There was a hint of old hurt in his voice, but not so much as I had expected.

  I turned to meet his brown eyes. “Yes.”

  It took him a moment to decide whether or not to ask. “Is he good to you? Do you love him?” There they were, the questions that had hung between us, unspoken, for nearly two years.

  “Yes.”

  James nodded, looking away. “Good.”

  “And your Leanne?”

  His face softened at her name, and I didn’t need to hear his response to know. “Yes.”

  I smiled at him, genuinely this time. “Good.”

  Peace between us was a balm on my troubled heart. The rest of my world may be spiraling out of control, but this, I could fix. We chatted amicably the rest of the ride home. He told me about his new wife, who was pretty and kind, with wheat hair and hazel eyes. Apparently, in her pregnancy, she had a keen appetite for apples. He described her swelling belly with pride and I marveled at the entire situation. It seemed only yesterday that we were children scrambling around in the haystacks and throwing mud clots.

  For my part, I told him of Adrian and the Van Dryns. He laughed at my recounting of our drunken nights at the Greyshor, and my many adventures with Aubrey in Atenas. I didn’t tell him of the attack in Dockside, or that I’d killed one man and helped bait two others to their deaths. I kept the whole of our intrigues to myself, saying nothing of Tommy or the ships. In truth, there was a lot I didn’t tell him. A part of me wanted James to only know the good in my life, none of the bad. Another part just wanted to preserve that one happy moment in the midst of so much darkness and uncertainty.

  “Thank you,” I said to him as we led our mounts into the st
able. Our simple ride had been the best thing in my life since I’d returned to the city. He smiled and nodded, taking Valor’s reins from me.

  “I’ll see to him. Go. I’m betting your parents are waiting for you.” He was right. I found my mother pacing in the great hall. She scolded me briefly for my absence and ushered me into the study. My father sat at the desk with a missive in hand.

  “Tommy’s birds are reporting a mixed reception of your rumors,” he informed us. “It seems there are too many conflicting opinions on who exactly is spreading the sickness.”

  My mother slumped into a chair nearby. “Now that the King himself has openly declared the gezgin to be the cause, that particular play will no longer be effective.”

  He gestured to a separate report. “There is news from Montar, as well. The Persicans are buying up every crop they can, offering exorbitant prices for grain and foodstuffs.”

  “Can we waylay the shipments somehow?” I asked.

  My mother’s voice sounded far away. “I’ll talk to Tommy. I have informants, but he has muscle.”

  “You would raid the caravans on the road?” I balked. House Montre was a lesser house of Lazerin, our own distant kin.

  She glanced at me. “It’s a dangerous time to travel.”

  “People could die!” I protested. “Innocent people! Our people!”

  That cold, pragmatic stare fixed on me. “They will die nonetheless, and in much greater numbers, if those supplies reach the Persican army.”

  I bit my tongue, knowing the bitter truth in it.

  “I will write to Montar and Korent, and see if I can convince them to hold the shipments of their own volition.” My father watched me, sympathy plain on his face despite his flat, reserved tone. I could tell the idea sat as ill with him as it did with me. “You must understand, Elivya. No matter what we do, people are going to die.”

  “But our own people? By our hand?” I shook my head.

  “I know,” he commiserated softly. “But some things must be done for the greater good. If you cannot make your peace with that, your mother and I will continue without you.”

  Both pairs of eyes watched me and waited as I wrestled with the stark reality of our situation. I thought of the nameless man whose face I carried. Was his death necessary? Perhaps not. I might have tried to run. Instead, I chose to kill him. He was an unsavory type, to be sure. I’d not forgotten the abhorrent violation he had inflicted upon me. The world was better off without him. But innocent blood? I wasn’t sure I could carry those faces.

  I looked to my parents. Both had sacrificed much to help Amenon retain his throne so many years ago. My father carried scars for our king. The War had planted ghosts in his eyes. I could see them even now. And my mother, she had taken more shadows upon her soul than anyone for their cause. How many innocent faces did she carry? Still, she pressed on, willing to sacrifice everything she had fought for in the service of our nation.

  Am I such a coward that I would shrink from the same?

  The thought hung in my mind, a silk thread from which everything I held precious dangled.

  No.

  I would find the fortitude to do what was necessary.

  My father’s letters were sent to the Lords Montre and Kortra. Tommy agreed to tip off a few unsavory groups of highwaymen he knew that there were some well-laden shipments moving east out of Montar - for a fee, of course.

  It turned my stomach.

  The day after the King’s audience, another round of royal decrees circulated about the city, announcing the High Priest’s appointment and crediting the Princess’s recovery to the One God Al’Rahim. It laid clear, in no uncertain terms, that Litheria would become a center of progressive faith, and the Old Ways were no longer permitted within the city walls. All throughout the streets, the shrines erected to Selice’s health were torn down by the city guard and burned on the cobblestones. There was an uneasiness among the people at such a massive shift in their way of life. Litheria had stood as the city of Adulil, the heart of our nation and our faith, for nearly a thousand years.

  More priests arrived from Persica, wandering the streets and spreading their gospel. The Temple of Adulil was emptied, its single open-air chamber stripped bare, the carved depictions of His travels chiseled from the white marble walls. The beautiful statue that had stood behind the altar for centuries was removed, destroyed in the streets in full view of the public. Those who spoke up in protest were arrested. In its place, a great white stone was said to have been placed.

  When we heard, I left my lesson with Aubrey and took Valor to the temple square to see it for myself. The pile of rubble still crowded the street, bits and pieces of my people’s lineage scattered on the cobblestones. Here and there, I could make out a face, a hand, part of a sun. I stood alone amid the crowd before the pillaged remnants of the Temple of Adulil, Valor’s reins in my hand. Priests stood on the temple steps, proselytizing to passersby. A half dozen city guards hovered, keeping the peace. From the eaves, they’d hung massive white banners marked starkly with a black hand, the palm dotted with a single drop of blood. I tied Valor’s reins on a hitching post outside, minded by a young acolyte. He murmured a prayer to me and held out one hand for a coin as I pushed past him toward the temple entrance.

  Inside, I saw the extent of the damage. The white marble walls had been abraded clean, dust still piled on the floor below where masterfully carved friezes once sat. The rows of sacred wheat that had been lovingly maintained for generations had been removed, the dirt troughs filled in with rubble. They would have been golden, ready for harvest, right about now. I very nearly trembled with anger. There at the back of the temple, a massive white stone sat where Adulil’s face had once gazed down on his people. Common folk and priests milled about inside the vast space. Some clustered in conversation, others appeared morbidly curious about the recent activity. Many spoke eagerly with the Persicans, others shook their heads and wept openly at the desecration of our temple. I looked up at the oculus far above my head, sunlight beaming in.

  At least that, they cannot take from us.

  The massive white stone was covered in its entirety with strange symbols. I had studied many languages, but these markings were foreign to me. As I examined them, one of the priests approached me from the side.

  “The Lodestone is a sacred gift, upon which Al’Rahim’s word is written.” His voice echoed off the marble, soft and kind.

  I fought to keep the rage from my voice. “You can read these?” I gestured to the symbols.

  He smiled. “Only the Divine Ruler can read them. The language is that of Heaven, and is beyond mortal ken.”

  “If it’s so precious, why is it here?” I challenged.

  “The Emperor has sent it to your king as a reward for his devotion.” He gestured around him. “He believes Litheria is destined to become a great center of knowledge and faith.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Incredible, how it arrived so soon after the King’s decree, given that Persica is a month’s hard ride from here.”

  He was unbothered by the bitter sarcasm in my voice. “Al’Rahim’s Chosen sees all. Time is irrelevant to Him. Surely, He has seen even this conversation many years in advance.”

  I laughed. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

  His dark eyes told me that he could and did. I wasn’t sure what to say to such willful lack of reason. “Have you not suffered in this life, young miss?” He tilted his head at me, changing the subject.

  “Everyone suffers,” I replied curtly.

  He nodded, his gentle smile still firmly in place. “If you’d had the chance, would you have changed the manner of that suffering?”

  I thought of Amenon and his incalculable grief; of my fourteen-year-old mother beaten and raped. A grimy hand and a cruel sneer hovered in my memory, my stomach churning. “What is your point, priest?” My patience was wearing thin.

  “That you have a choice, child. Al’Rahim gives his people the power to choose
their own sacrifice. Save the life of your child in exchange for a scourge of your flesh. Lift your family out of poverty in exchange for guiding your fellow man to His Truth.” He spread his hands magnanimously. “All he asks in return is devotion.”

  “Blind submission,” I corrected pointedly.

  “Yes,” his smile broadened. He felt he was reaching me. “What is faith, if not blind?”

  “I’d call that ignorance. A powerful tool for the manipulation of the people.”

  “Its name is irrelevant,” he dismissed gently. “What matters is that you accept Him into your heart and forsake all false gods. Only then, will you feel His grace lift you from your darkness.”

  His arrogance ate at me, crumbling my last fragile bastion of restraint. “These false gods you speak of,” my voice slipped from my lips with brutal conviction. “They do not ask blind obedience or the scourge of the flesh in exchange for mercy.” I took a step toward him. “They taught us that life is. That is all. We take the bad with the good and know that in that balance lies the divine gift of our being.” I took another step. “They are here, now, in the sacred wheat you ripped from this temple.” I pointed at the oculus. “They are in the sun that beats down on this city. They are the grass and trees and rivers of this land. You cannot chisel them from the walls. They are this land, and we follow them because we can see them.” He took a step back, offended by my closeness. I continued to press him until his back bumped against the wall. “Every breath of wind, every newborn foal, every drop of blood in every Alesian holds a piece of our gods.” I could feel the eyes on us. A rattle of armor announced that my aggression had drawn the attention of a few of the city guard outside. Mailed hands grabbed my arms and pulled me back from the priest. “Neither you nor anyone else will ever take that from us!” I shouted at him as they dragged me away.