A Crown of Lilies

by Melissa Ragland

  I startled, surprised. “Your service?”

  He faltered slightly, but steeled himself and continued with resolve. “I grew up on the streets, miss. Tommy has been good to me, but I don’t want thieving to be my only legacy.” He nodded to Quintin, standing behind my left shoulder. “You let him follow you everywhere, why not me?”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you a master swordsman?”

  He had the grace to blush. “No, but I know my way around a knife, and I can learn. I want to learn.” There was an earnestness in his voice that made my heart ache.

  “You’d be better off swearing your service to Queen Selice,” I pointed out. “Far more glory to be had in her employ than mine.”

  “Begging your pardon, miss, but it’s my boon and I’ve made my decision.” His green eyes held mine firmly. He wasn’t going to budge. I had given my word, whatever they wanted within my power to grant.

  I exhaled, defeated. Gesturing with one hand, I straightened my spine to accept his service with dignity. “Make your pledge.” I’d never seen such a thing done. In truth, it was rarely done at all anymore, with the exception of when members of the Royal Guard took their oaths. I wasn’t honestly sure what to expect. Will knelt on the cold cobblestones before me, eyes fixed on my face with solemn determination, and bound his life to mine.

  When I bid him rise, his companions jostled him good-naturedly. Amita saw to it that Daniel received his coin, and Matt, his horse. The former tucked the purse into his tunic with a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. The latter grinned from ear to ear, scratching the mare’s neck and chatting quietly to her. Will stood by and waited for my instruction.

  Tommy ambled over, having watched the proceedings from afar. “Stealin’ my lads now too, eh?” he growled with a smirk. “They’re few and far between as it is.”

  “That’s why he’s going with you,” I replied. Will made to protest but bit his tongue at my warning gaze. “You’ll accompany Tommy to Kingston and help him get settled.” I drew two letters from beneath my cloak and held them out to him one by one. “When he no longer needs you, deliver this letter to the Chamberlain manor in the noble quarter. This letter, take to Daria and seek out Adrian Van Dryn.” He took them somberly, tucking them into his vest pocket. “Then return to me by way of Kingston with your report.” I jutted my chin at the stable. “Go see Stephan about a horse.”

  He nodded. “Yes, my lady.” With a flicker of an excited smile, he dashed off toward the stable.

  “Ye ought not encourage him,” Tommy muttered as we both watched him go.

  “He deserves a chance, same as anyone. Let him prove his worth.” I turned back to Tommy, realizing the moment of parting had finally arrived. My throat tightened as I met his hazel eyes.

  One hand slowly pulled the short-brimmed cap from his head. “Well, lass...”

  I stood there a moment, unsure what to say, before throwing my arms around him in earnest. Clinging to him, I buried my face in his brown-and-silver hair as he wrapped me in a crushing embrace for a long, silent moment. His eyes glistened when he released me reluctantly.

  “Ana would’ve been proud to see ye standin’ there.”

  I bit my cheek to keep my own tears at bay. “Thank you, for everything.”

  He nodded, taking a deep breath and turning to Quintin. “Keep her safe, will ye?”

  I stepped aside as the two men clasped forearms. “I will.” Despite their initial encounter, they had developed a rapport over the months of my convalescence. With nothing left to say, Tommy presented himself to Selice for final instruction before the party mounted up and set out. We watched them go, clutching our cloaks about our shoulders until they disappeared in the distance.

  Chapter 20

  The bitter cold of winter finally relented, and I basked in the subtle warmth of spring’s first breath as I spun through my exercises each morning. Having painstakingly rebuilt the strength in my left arm, I began working with the Freyjan shield once more. My hand, despite my best efforts, never fully recovered. Quintin began training me again, but every attempt I made to block with my dagger sent it flying from my faulty grip. It was a permanent weakness, and I hated it. To his credit, my patient instructor redirected my frustration into an adjustment to my style. Only the shield would block, the knife held in reserve for when I could slip inside my opponent’s guard.

  With the snow melted and the first blossoms emerging, I began riding daily. Valor reveled in the exercise, and I found myself saddle sore, an entirely different set of muscles weak from lack of use. After a few weeks, I no longer ached, and my daily rides became one of the few joys in my life. I resumed my long-neglected practice with a bow borrowed from the house armory. The first time I brought it to our morning training, Quintin eyed it dubiously.

  “I’ve little skill with a bow,” he informed me.

  I set the quiver against a bench. “I do, or did once.” I glanced around and spotted the straw target I’d requested from Amita, already set up at the perimeter of the garden. “I thought it might help strengthen my hand.” I noticed his shoulders sag a fraction. He didn’t believe my grip would ever fully recover. Neither did I, honestly, but I had been a capable marksman once, and I refused to abandon my strongest asset without at least an attempt.

  Ignoring him, I knocked an arrow, straining to draw the string back to my ear. My left hand trembled as I clenched the riser tightly, and I feared the wood would slip from my sweaty palm. Taking aim, I loosed and nearly lost my hold on the bow as the arrow sailed past the target and into the bushes beyond.

  Cursing my hand, I struggled to suppress the sharp sting of disappointment. Unwilling to admit defeat, I tried again, but my unsteady grip sent the second arrow just as far afield as the first. Digging deep for my mother’s training, I considered my weakness with systematic detachment. I trembled when I gripped the bow tightly, but the mechanics of the draw owed nothing to hand strength. Without it, though, the bow threatened to fly from my grasp when I loosed my arrow. My brows knit as an idea flickered in my mind.

  Quintin eyed me in confusion as I looked around in earnest, gaze settling on the neck of his tunic.

  “What are you doing?” he protested as I reached out and grasped the laces there.

  “I need this,” I muttered absentmindedly, tugging the knot free and working the length of cord from its eyelets. “I assume you’d rather I didn’t use my own,” I added dryly.

  His jaw tightened, but he offered no further argument as I liberated the cord, turning back to my bow and tying it around the riser. The other end, I looped around my wrist several times, tethering the weapon to my hand. Knocking a third arrow, I drew and locked my thumb alone, fighting instinct in order to relax the rest of my fingers. Cradled against the heel of my palm, the riser didn’t shake and when I released my arrow, it flew straight and true into the target. The cord held, and though it jolted forward as I loosed, the bow didn’t fall from my grip.

  Pacing myself, I adjusted the tether and shot several more times, my aim improving as the muscle memory began to stir in my body and I grew more confident in my unconventional solution. When the quiver was empty, my handful of arrows clustered neatly near the center of the target, with only a few outliers. A swell of satisfaction warmed my chest.

  Quintin stood at my side, arms crossed. “Well,” he exhaled. “I suppose we’ve finally found something you’re good at.”

  After a week of sore shoulders, I had mastered the use of the makeshift tether, and my aim improved markedly from even my days at the garrison. With Samson’s assistance, the fields outside the manor walls were lined with a half-dozen straw targets, and I began shooting from the saddle once more. Valor seemed to enjoy it, and though I spent the first few days cursing and hunting down my arrows in the grass, eventually that, too, returned.

  When I wasn’t riding or sparring, I was busy helping Elliot with the tedious acquisition of supplies for our impending army. We sent to every town in Laezon, offering a fai
r price for stores of grain and durable foodstuffs. Cartloads of supplies began to arrive, and when the lofts were full, we converted the foaling barn into even more storage. We commissioned tents from Estia, hardtack and jerky from Korent, and wagons from Fumel. The traveling stages from the latter were refitted to haul supplies, the large carts gutted and modified with arcing canvas covers that reminded me of the gezgin. In addition to requests for troops, our missives to Caelin and Theria also contained entreaties for physicians. All in all, it was an arduous and complex process.

  About a month after Tommy’s departure, Will returned. Selice’s new spymaster had managed to secure a sizable warehouse in Kingston and his men were already finding him again. My letter to Aubrey had been delivered without incident, and my enthusiastic courier had brought a hastily-penned response. My friend’s elegant hand scrawled across the paper, detailing the decaying state of the capital city.

  More Origin soldiers had arrived, and the cleansings had only increased in frequency. Half the people lived in fear, the other half consumed by religious fervor. Many of the noble houses had sworn their allegiance to the High Priest, and those who hadn’t were either arrested or fled. Despite the danger, Aubrey and his father had resolved to remain to provide what support and insight they could from within. House Therus had elected to stay as well, and it lightened my heart a bit to know that Leon would be there with him. Still, I was terribly afraid for them all.

  The Persican Emperor was said to be en route to Litheria, a lavish reunion planned for him and his bride. Preparations were being made for a grand celebration, as they were rumored to be staying in the city for some time to come.

  Seeing to the completion of their conquest, no doubt.

  I thought of what my mother had mentioned about Elas. Litheria was a powerful staging point for their impending advance on the last bastion of the continent. That, too, was telling. To Persica, Alesia was merely a stepping stone to its ancient neighbor. They considered us already defeated, having ousted our rightful monarchy and taken control of our capital. It was an underestimation that I vowed to make them regret.

  Will had spent a week in Daria searching for Adrian, only to be told by Lord Yuri that his eldest had already left for duty for the summer. I suppressed a curse, frustrated to have missed him again. The letter had once again been left with Adrian’s parents, to be passed along upon his return in the fall. When I pressed, Will reported that the Van Dryns appeared tense and strained, though that was no surprise under the current circumstances. The King’s ten galleons had been recalled to the North Sea, leaving the Darian fleet once again desperately undermanned. It had been a full year since I’d seen my husband-to-be, though it felt like so much longer, given all that had happened. That he had left no letter for me stirred the doubts in my mind, but I forced them aside. At least he was alive.

  I decided to ride to Bendton, the nearest large town to the Lazerin manor, named so due to its location at the bend of the Laezon River, a sizable tributary that fed into the Septim. Elliot had suggested getting a gauge of nearby supplies to plan for the fall harvest, and I was eager for a change of scenery. A sprawling cluster of single- and two-story wooden structures straddled the water, arching bridges spanning from one side to the other. Hard-packed dirt streets snaked between the buildings, a bustle of people going about their business.

  Will held himself upright in the saddle with quiet pride as the three of us rode through the town. We hired a livery stable to tend our mounts while we meandered through the extensive market square, chatting with local farmers at their stands. Many had heard of House Lazerin buying up all the grain in the province, and I found a number of crofters eager to contract their fall harvest to me in advance. My short hair earned me a number of stares, and I had to repeatedly convince the men I met that I was indeed the daughter of Lord Damien. Yes, there had been a terrible fire. No, my parents had not survived. Yes, I was now the Lady of Lazerin and was helping the rightful Queen Selice to reclaim her throne.

  Several of them had heard of my arrest and denouncement, which initiated a longer conversation about the Queen and her stay of judgment in light of the impending threat. That she was currently in residence at Lazerin manor was kept under wraps, but we had committed ourselves to open rebellion. I spread as much reassurance as possible among the common folk. Several offered to send their sons to the garrison to train as cavalry. Others looked concerned and bit their tongues. I couldn’t blame them. Many were as old as my parents had been and remembered well the ravages of war.

  Our discussions took the better part of the day, but by the end of it, we had secured a number of fall crops for our army. Quintin begged off and left me with Will for a few minutes as I chatted with a particularly garrulous man tending his stand of apples. I remembered what James had told me, and purchased a small basket of fruits from the very last harvest, carefully stored over the winter. For an extra copper, I arranged to have the basket delivered to Leanne’s house. The man agreed enthusiastically to reserve the lion’s share of the year’s crop to sell to me. After we clasped hands on it, I thanked him and we stepped out of his stall, my eyes scanning the crowds, searching for Quintin’s face. Will stood close at my side, doing his best to look stern and intimidating.

  “Fetch the horses, would you?” I asked him absentmindedly as my gaze swept the masses.

  “I ought not leave you alone, my lady,” he protested.

  I waved him off. “Quintin is around here somewhere. I’ll find him and meet you at the stable.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he obeyed, disappearing into the crowd. Unable to spot my Tuvrian’s face, I began wandering down the row of market stalls. Folk made way for me, recognizing my fine emerald gown and short sable hair. It hadn’t taken long for word to spread through the village of my presence, and we’d spent the better part of the day in the market. I began to grow frustrated in my search when finally, a familiar pair of blue eyes caught mine in the throng. He wove his way through the crowd toward me, a large bundle in one arm. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face when he saw I was unguarded, but was quickly replaced with a muted excitement as he reached me and nodded to a nearby row of wine barrels.

  The merchant began to protest when Quintin set the bundle atop them but swallowed his complaints when he recognized me. I flashed the man an apologetic smile and turned my attention to my companion.

  “Open it,” he nodded eagerly to the wrap of canvas, and I was reminded that despite his dour countenance, he was only a few years older than I. Beneath the folds of rough fabric lay a fine yew bow and quiver, the wood polished to a shine, the bow meticulously inlaid with brass wire in winding organic patterns. Two dozen arrows, fletched with green feathers, filled the quiver. He watched me silently for my reaction.

  “Quintin-” I started, my voice edged with protest. It must have cost a small fortune.

  “A late name day gift,” he cut me off. My twentieth birthday had gone unremarked in the whirlwind of assembling an army. It was becoming a tradition. I didn’t mind. I hadn’t felt much like celebrating.

  “Where on earth did you get the coin for such a thing?” I’d certainly never paid him.

  “Amita saw to it that I received a bit of back pay I was owed.”

  I raised one brow at him. “You might’ve sent it home,” I pointed out.

  He smirked regretfully. “No one to send it to.”

  I was ashamed to realize I’d never really asked him about his family. In all the time we’d spent together, I barely knew anything about him. We could communicate with a glance across a room full of people, but I didn’t even know his surname. I made a mental note to rectify that gross oversight.

  He pointed to the riser and the deep groove that encircled the top of it. “Should fit your tether nicely.” When I didn’t respond, he nodded stiffly to the bundle. “You should have a bow that suits your station and your skill.” It would wound him, to refuse, no matter what reservations I had about the cost.

  I
ran one hand down the sleek inlay, the polished wood warm beneath my touch. “It’s beautiful.” My eyes met his with sincerity. “Thank you.”

  He returned my gratitude with a warm smile, one of the few I’d ever seen from him. Something shifted in his eyes and he turned his attention toward the crowd. “Where’s that fool boy of yours? I’ve a mind to give him a thrashing for leaving you unguarded.”

  I chuckled, rewrapping the bow and quickly purchasing a small cask of wine from the merchant we’d inconvenienced. “You’ll do no such thing. I sent him to ready the horses.”

  We made our way through the crowd toward the livery stable, I clutching my bundle and Quintin carrying the small barrel on his shoulder. Will was waiting, all three mounts in hand. As we started back toward home, the afternoon sun sinking lower in the sky, I sent my eager young man to ride ahead and alert Amita to our return. Quintin and I hung back, pacing ourselves as we plodded down the dirt road toward the manor.

  “He needs instruction if he’s going to be guarding you.” His solemn, pragmatic demeanor had returned.

  “I thought I might send him to the garrison for the summer. Three months drilling with the cavalry should do him some good.”

  “Who will train them, with Samson gone?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I’m sure he’s a captain or two he can leave to manage the next round of recruits.”

  We rode a while in silence. Finally, I gathered the courage to fill in some of the blanks that had become painfully obvious to me. “You never talk about your family,” I observed aloud.

  He didn’t look at me, eyes remaining fixed on the road. “You’ve never asked.”

  “I’m asking now.”

  Quintin hesitated before replying. “I have none.” All his earlier openness vanished and he was once again my father’s reticent armsman.

  “No siblings? No kin at all?” I pressed carefully.

  “I was orphaned as a babe. The elder of my village and his wife raised me.”