“Your father’s?” her unusually kind tone queried.
“Mostly.”
“It must be difficult for you, coming back here.”
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to calm. “It feels empty without them.”
She nodded, turning to face me, her voice cooling. “Trina tells me you wish I had stayed in Litheria.”
Of course, she did. I could not bring myself to meet her gaze. “I had hoped you might seize power before the priest could.”
“After my father’s death?” She tilted her head at me. I could feel those glorious eyes burning into the side of my skull. She knew. She wanted to hear me say it.
I forced myself to look at her, then. She deserved that much, at least. “Yes,” I whispered meekly. My mouth felt dry.
“A death you arranged?” she pressed, anger edging into her tone.
It took all my willpower to hold her gaze. “Yes.”
She stood abruptly and left me, then. I waited, listening for the sounds of her guards coming to arrest me, to haul me into the garden and hang me from the branches of my family’s Great Oak. I waited a long time, but they never came. I was alone with the ghosts of my family.
The next morning, I asked Tommy to help me locate Leanne. I knew Amita had told her of James’ death, but I felt honor-bound to pay a visit myself. My letters had never been sent. She needed to know that he thought of her, and of their child, at the end. By the afternoon, he had found her and with Quintin’s diligent shadow behind me, we went to see James’ widow. Two men I guessed to be her father and brother labored in the stable yard when we approached on horseback.
“I’m looking for Leanne,” I called out to them. The younger pointed to the stone house nearby. I thanked them and we made our way toward it. Quintin helped me out of my saddle and offered to come with me, but I refused. Tommy sat atop his mount and watched me silently, knowing. This was mine alone to do.
My leaden feet made their way up to the snow-dusted front step. I knocked politely and heard some shuffling from within. The door opened and a pretty young woman with a wheat-colored braid over one shoulder stood before me. Grief clung to her like a shroud, dimming her beauty. Bright hazel eyes took in my face, and I watched the blood drain from hers, one hand clutching at the bulging swell of her belly.
I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but she cut me off.
“I know who you are.” Her tone was sharp. “Why are you here?”
Caught off-guard by her ire, I wondered if I’d made a mistake seeking her out. “I had hoped to speak with you.”
“Why are you here?” she demanded angrily, tears welling in her eyes as they burned into me.
I swallowed, my words faltering. “James wanted-”
“No, you,” she jabbed one finger at me, her anger rising in full force to bolster her in her grief. “You do not get to say his name! I knew something would happen if he went back. I thought he might just plant a bastard in you, and I could have lived with that, but no. You couldn’t have him, so why should I, was that it? He finally escapes your claws and you find a way to get him killed?”
“That’s not…” I protested weakly, wilting in the face of her rage and my guilt.
“Get out,” she seethed. “Stay away from me.”
I took a step back, trembling. “Please, just listen,” I begged her.
“Go!” The sound of boots on the frozen grass announced the arrival of her concerned family. Quintin’s hands closed on my shoulders, pulling me away. As he led me back to our mounts, I spotted Tommy handing a letter to Leanne’s father. Strong hands helped heave me into the saddle and I fled like a coward back toward home.
Lost in my misery, I didn’t wait for help when I reached the stable. Ignoring Quintin’s protests as he skidded up behind me, I swung one leg over the saddle and promptly collapsed to the ground as my muscles lacked the strength to control my descent.
Arms closed around me as I sat, humiliated, angry, and heartbroken on the cobblestones.
“Easy, miss,” came his familiar phrase of comfort at my ear. “It’s just her grief talking. She’ll come around.”
I shook my head bitterly. “You don’t understand. I killed him, Quintin. I killed him with my own hands.” He hauled me to my feet and I met his gaze, confusion and the all-too-familiar look of carefully concealed disapproval in his pale eyes. “What would your elder say about that?” I asked. He had no answer. Tommy just stared at me in silence from atop his mount nearby. The fact that he understood didn’t matter. It mattered that Quintin didn’t. I pulled away and limped off into the house.
Hours later, I lay curled up on my bed when he came to see me. I had slept, fitfully, in the wake of such exertion. The latch clicked as he shut the door and I heard him pause before his boots thudded across the floor to my bedside. He sank down into the chair against the wall a few feet away. I watched him, watching me through his careful mask.
“He was dead long before you poisoned him, Elivya,” he said gently.
Tommy. I hauled myself upright, tucking my legs under me on the bed. “And yet I am the one who gets to carry his face.”
“Yes.” Never one to mince words, this man. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “But it is one you should carry lightly. It was mercy, what you did, and that is the most honorable reason there is to take a life.”
“And Amenon? What honor was there in that?” I asked bitterly. Selice’s anger still haunted me.
Quintin blew his breath out his nose. “I am not an elder or a priest. It is not my place to judge the lives you take.”
“I don’t need a priest to tell me I should feel shame.”
He didn’t respond to that. It hung between us. What my parents and I did, we did for the greater good of our people, or so we told ourselves at the time. I was a necessary evil. Now, the King was dead and Selice was here. Instead of tipping the scales and saving my nation, I had fed it into the mouth of the snake. It was murder, plain and simple.
“Who was the fourth?” his quiet voice cut through my thoughts as he stared at his hands.
“What?”
“You said four, when I asked. Who was the fourth?”
“One of the soldiers who attacked the house.”
He looked up at me, surprised. “You fought one of them?”
I almost laughed. Even in this, I could claim no honor. “I rode him down in the courtyard.” My voice was hollow, matter-of-fact.
He stared, his face unreadable. My chest hurt. There was no redeeming action to make up for the things I’d done. I could not claim to have bested my opponent in fair combat. I couldn’t point to a newly-crowned queen on Litheria’s throne to justify the murder of a good man. I hadn’t even honored the dying wish of a friend. Instead, I had stolen his last noble gesture from him and taken his life myself because I couldn’t bear to watch him suffer. Now that he knew the whole of it, Quintin would leave me too. I could see it in his eyes, the regret peeking out from behind his careful mask.
I smiled, a sad, bitter grimace. “You see now, don’t you? You shouldn’t have come back. There is nothing in me that is worth saving.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” he rebuffed quietly, but I didn’t hear his words, too lost inside the misery of my own mind.
He didn’t deserve to remain bound to my shame. He had sworn his swords to my father, a good and honorable man. I would not keep him trapped here, beholden to me. This, at least, I could do right.
“I am the Lady of Lazerin now,” I said decisively, willing my voice to steady. “And I release you from the service of my House.”
His brow knit, hurt and anger emerging as his careful composure faltered.
“Go home, Quintin.”
He stood, looking down at me in silence a moment before he left me there alone.
Chapter 19
The next morning, I woke with the dawn peeking through my curtains, a reminder of my old routine. I lifted my right hand in the dim light, examinin
g the fresh, pink skin on my palm, all my hard-won calluses long gone. My left, I cursed, a daily ritual as I glared at the splint in disgust.
You can’t lay there forever, James’ voice teased in my head. The corner of my mouth twitched in a sad smirk, and I heaved myself out of bed. My sparring gear sat folded neatly in one drawer, the bundle of my arms atop the dresser. It took some doing, one-handed, but I eventually managed to struggle into them. Lacing the breeches proved to be the hardest part. With my left hand encumbered by its unwieldy bindings, donning the shield was not an option. Once I had dressed, I took a moment to recover my breath.
Pathetic, the dark voices scolded inside my head. Can’t even dress yourself without breaking a sweat.
I was tired of being weak and helpless, sick to death of relying on everyone else. Splint, feet, and ribs be damned, I was going outside. Firm in my resolve, I made my way steadily downstairs and out into the garden. A few servants nodded politely as I passed them in the halls, but once I stepped out into the frigid air, I found myself alone. I stared up at the Great Oak rising majestically before me, deep in its winter slumber.
“Hello, old friend.”
Start moving before you start shivering, the voice in my head commanded. Drawing my sword, I gaped at the weight of it as I started moving slowly through my one-handed drills. It was dismally hard, every stroke requiring an intense effort. Without the weeks of squeezing my dagger hilt, I doubt I could have even lifted it. My tunic clung to me despite the chill winter air, drenched in sweat by the end of a single cycle, my lungs gasping for breath.
“Your backstroke is still sloppy,” a familiar voice commented behind me.
I froze, chest heaving. I couldn’t move, couldn’t turn to face him, leaden feet anchoring me in place. “I told you to go.”
“I don’t serve House Lazerin anymore, remember?”
My heart hurt. “I figured you’d be on your way home by now.”
A long silence passed, and I began to wonder if he’d left when his voice cut the air once more, filled with a familiar curt tone. “Don’t overdo it. You’ll only prolong your recovery.” Boot steps retreated back into the house.
I hid my trembling smile and the shudder of relieved tears that followed it. I hadn’t realized how desperately I’d wanted him to stay, how terrified I was to be alone. I looked up at the barren branches of our Great Oak and thanked my ancestors for sending me my stubborn Tuvrian. He could be an ass, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t leave.
That afternoon, Trina found me wandering the house as usual. She bobbed a curtsy as I turned to greet her. “Good day, Lady Elivya. Her Majesty wishes to know if you feel well enough to attend this evening’s Yule celebration.”
I startled. “Yule is today?” She nodded patiently as I processed. Perhaps Selice isn’t as angry with me as I’d thought. “Yes, of course. I’d be very happy to join.”
“My lady will be pleased to hear it. One of us will find you later to help you get ready.”
I smiled and thanked her, and she disappeared into the hall. The invitation bolstered me, and I spent the better part of the afternoon digging through old gowns. To my dismay, all the ones I’d left behind were too short. I’d gained an inch or two since leaving for Litheria. When the knock came at the door, it wasn’t Trina who arrived to assist me, but a small, delicate girl by the name of Caitlyn. She helped me bathe and dress in the deep emerald gown I’d chosen.
“It’s lovely, miss,” the girl said as she laced the stays.
I smiled a bit sadly. “It was my mother’s.” I could still remember her wearing it, simple satin lines with emerald and gold brocade on the bodice. Long sleeves that had concealed the brand on her shoulder now hid my lingering bruises. She did as much as she could with my short-cropped hair, massaging rose oil into every neglected strand and brushing it until it gleamed. Caitlyn had a gentle, soothing touch and after the exertion of the morning, I found myself yawning.
“Now now, miss,” she scolded with a smile. “None of that. The evening’s not even begun.”
“I’ll be fine,” I reassured her. In the end, I was, mustering my energies and making my way downstairs to join the others in the great hall. Selice caught my eye and nodded in welcome. I curtsied to her from across the room. There were several other familiar faces, including my father’s cousin, who stood chatting with Tommy. In typical Lazerin tradition, many of the servants and armsmen also milled about for the celebration. It heartened me to see Elliot and Maria keeping to it.
“You look much improved from the last time I saw you,” Lord Reyus startled me, emerging from somewhere to my right.
I greeted him with a reserved smile. “I wasn’t aware you had arrived.”
“Only just,” he informed me. “It would have been conspicuous to leave the city sooner, given both yours and Selice’s simultaneous disappearance.” Pale green eyes peered at me sidelong. “And who would have guessed she’d end up here.”
“Her Majesty came by another route, and not of my knowledge,” I retorted stiffly. “What I told you in Litheria was the truth.”
He nodded dubiously and didn’t pursue the matter. “Once the winter is over, we can start pressing our allies. With some luck, we could be celebrating next Yule in Crofter’s Castle.” He raised his wine glass to his lips and added. “As it should be.”
I’d never taken him for a devout man, and I suspected much of his fervor was due to patriotism rather than faith. “I’d caution you to superstition, my lord. I expect we’ve a long road ahead of us.” He left me with a polite excuse, obviously not terribly interested in my company. I tried not to take it personally.
I was still trying to not take it personally when I recognized another face in the crowd. “Samson?” I exclaimed a bit too loudly, drawing the eyes of many around me. He heard me too, his grizzled scowl turning toward the sound of his name. I don’t know why I was so pleased to see him, except that he reminded me of my father. Looking back, he had been a brutish troll for most of my youth. Nevertheless, I felt my heart lighten as he crossed the room toward me.
“Gods, girl, is that really you?” he growled as he approached. I wasn’t sure what to say to him. It was just good to see another piece of home and made me feel a little bit less lost. His steely eyes took in my hair, mouth twisting. “Getting a bit too dedicated to passing as a boy these days, are we?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, though it was haunted with bitter memory. “Courtesy of the Divine Origin’s infamous hospitality.”
He nodded, watching my face. He’d already known. I doubted there was anyone there that didn’t. I held his gaze steadily as he chewed his cheek. “How are you holding up?” he finally asked, a bit of tenderness creeping into his gruff demeanor.
“I’ll live.”
Another nod. “Good.” He swirled the wine in his glass, considering it. “Still playing soldier in your free time?”
I narrowed my eyes at the barb, but it was just his way. “I’ve kept up my training, yes.”
“Good,” he repeated stiffly. I was surprised.
“Good?”
He wouldn’t look at me. “We’re going to need every available sword for what’s to come.”
“Well, I won’t be any use for some time. I can barely lift one right now.”
“You’ll get it back,” he encouraged awkwardly, his voice stiff. “Just quit crying and get to it.” Those were the words he left me with, as he returned to his previous company.
“Kind of an ass, isn’t he?” Quintin’s voice sounded at my left shoulder. I turned to greet him, my earlier relief at his choice to stay echoing once again through my chest. “Not wrong, though,” he added, and all feelings of amity abruptly fled. I suppressed the urge to hit him and settled for a withering glare instead.
“That’s uncharacteristically churlish, for you,” I observed.
“Keeping disreputable company will earn you bad habits.” He was referring to me.
“I still outrank you, armsman,”
I pointed out dryly. He looked crisp in a simple brown doublet and breeches, freshly shaven with a sword on each hip. After so long seeing him in his double baldric, it looked strange. “Why don’t you always wear them like that?” I asked, nodding to his belt.
He fidgeted with the hilts unhappily. “The draw is awkward, and the scabbards hinder mobility.” Blue eyes met mine again, reading the question without my asking. “I refused to go unarmed. This was Her Majesty’s compromise.”
I returned my attention to the crowd just as Amita called for supper. We filed into the adjacent dining room, the long table loaded nearly to bursting with a vast array of dishes. Bodies lined the long rows of chairs, standing and waiting for their queen to be seated. Selice circled to the head of the table, her golden eyes scanning us. I had landed near the far end, Quintin at my left.
“No, my lady, not there,” a man’s voice murmured at my right ear. I turned to see Lord Elliot, his green eyes entreating me. “If you please,” he gestured toward the tall chair at the foot of the table - my father’s chair.
“That’s not necessary,” I demurred. “You are the lord of this house now.”
“We are merely stewards,” he countered firmly.
“Is there an issue with your seat, Lady Lazerin?” Selice’s cool tone echoed across the room. The air fell utterly silent.
I flushed to the roots of my ridiculous hair. Elliot and I bowed to her from where we stood. “It is not mine, Your Majesty.” I glanced at my father’s cousin. “Lord Elliot is the lawful head of this House.” I had been denounced by the King himself in full view of the public before his death. Elliot and Maria had every rightful claim to what I had so callously offered to Tommy’s men.
“You were accused of treason, were you not?” she demanded.
“I am guilty of treason, my lady.” I’d had weeks of bed-ridden tedium to think about it. Better to own up to the truth of a thing than to live a lie. In that, at least, I could claim a shred of honor. My words spread a murmur through the crowd. Quintin shifted nervously at my side. I held her glorious gaze across the room, not daring to falter.
A Crown of Lilies Page 38
