A Crown of Lilies

by Melissa Ragland

  “There’s no garrison in Esens.”

  “We could stop all the same. It would only be an extra few days.” Part of me longed to see the fishing village that raised my stubborn companion.

  “There’s nothing left for me there,” he said firmly, his grin fading. “And we’ve a job to do.”

  Relenting, I nodded and pressed no further.

  It was a late night, and we didn’t set out until well past midday. To her credit, Amita saw us well-equipped on very short notice. I packed my bags thoughtfully, with a few extra pairs of breeches and tunics, as well as a single fine cotton gown that I rolled tightly and shoved to the bottom. The length of white silk gauze was carefully folded and tucked deep into my pack. I may not know what it was for, but it felt wrong to leave it behind. Aside from my arms, there was little else I needed. I settled the sapphire ring on its chain around my neck, tucking it into my tunic. Grabbing my wool travel cloak and saying yet another round of goodbyes, I left the comfort of my home behind once again.

  Our small company made good time, reaching Lord Caerus’ estate in three days. A scout announced our arrival, and a sizable welcoming party awaited us in the courtyard. Hooves rattled across the stones as our retinue came to a halt. Dismounting, we bowed low before our queen. I watched her careful composure falter as she saw my eyes, dignified grace replaced by surprise and confusion.

  “I know, it’s unsettling,” I tried to reassure her with the lightness in my voice. “Might we speak privately, Majesty?”

  She shook herself, nodding, an unexpected hint of apprehension tightening the set of her shoulders. “Of course. Join me.” I followed her to the study, watching her tense posture and carefully measured steps as she led the way. As soon as the door closed behind us, she whirled on me, golden eyes blazing.

  “You complete idiot! Of all the stupid, stubborn asses I’ve met in my life… How could you possibly think it was acceptable to go charging into a damned siege?”

  Her anger caught me off guard, but I’d been waiting several long weeks to speak with her. Ignoring her fury, I steeled myself.

  “I need you to tell me what’s happened to me.”

  That sobered her, and she took a few steps backward, brows narrowing as she wrestled her anger into submission. “You did die.” It was only half a question.

  “Yes,” I replied solemnly.

  Shaking her head, she sank into a chair. “Tell me what you saw.”

  I did. She listened without interrupting, waiting until I’d finished before pressing for details. What questions she had, I answered as best I could, sharing Izikiel’s interpretation as well.

  “Your priest is not wrong,” she said finally, after a long pause. “You can only follow the path.”

  “What do you know of this?” I pressed her, desperate for answers.

  She offered me a sad smile. “It’s called the Bronnadh.”

  I shook my head, confused. “I had my Bronnadh when I was thirteen. Izikiel was-”

  “It’s not the same,” she interrupted impatiently. “The word means ‘passage’ in the old tongue. It refers to a legend of the first King of Alesia. I’m not surprised that even the priests don’t remember it, now. His first son was stillborn. King Aurelius sat through the night before his Great Oak with the babe in his arms, praying to his father Adulil for mercy. At dawn, the child gave a great cry, and lived again.” I watched as she stood and began slowly pacing the room. “Every night, the boy had vivid dreams in which he either watched the lives of his people or wandered a great dead city. The visions showed him both the life he was meant to protect, and the result if he failed to do so.

  It humbled him from his youth on, to see how they suffered and struggled each day. When he assumed the throne, he spent his life doing all he could to make theirs better.” She ceased her pacing and turned to face me. “All of us have the dreams, Elivya. It is called the Bronnadh because my line believes we are passing back and forth across the veil, sharing memories with those who have gone beyond.”

  “I am not of Adulil,” I argued.

  “It seems He has claimed you nonetheless,” she said solemnly.

  “Why?” I pressed.

  She shook her head. “I do not know. Perhaps you entreated Him in earnest at some point?”

  I scoffed. “So does every Alesian!”

  Selice threw up her hands. “Something about you caught His attention. Does it matter? You have made the passage and ended up here. Tell me why you’ve come.”

  Setting my personal queries aside with difficulty, I jutted my chin at the closed door. “We should call for the others.”

  It took hours to convince Selice and work through the details of the plan to her satisfaction. With my relatively recent death on the battlefield, she was loath to send me headlong back into danger, but with the voices of Reyus and Brenna behind me, we eventually wore her down. Much of that time was spent arguing against sending an ordinary courier with her missives. There was too much at stake to risk an unknown element, or at least that is what I told myself at the time. In truth, I simply didn’t trust anyone else to see it done. Many of our reports had included accounts of couriers being stopped, searched, and even interrogated vigorously by the Divine Origin who swarmed the countryside.

  “Whoever carries this message must be able and willing to kill – or die – to protect it,” I impressed upon her with all solemnity. “Find me a courier whose dedication you can trust without a second thought, and I will gladly pass this burden on to them.” She flushed angrily at my challenge but eventually admitted she could provide no such guarantees, and the matter was put to rest.

  We would travel as swords-for-hire, presenting ourselves as couriers only once we’d reached our destinations. Anonymity would be our goal, though a number of redundancies had been contrived, should my disguise fail. I could only hope they didn’t remember Quintin from before, when he had delivered my parents’ missives nearly two years ago. If they did, it would be an uphill battle, given my House’s public denouncement by the King shortly before his death. There was nothing for it, though. I would not go without him.

  “And who will present the petition?” Selice challenged irritably. “Surely not you, a woman in Tuvrian country. And if your armsman is already compromised, he certainly cannot be expected to lead the treaty.”

  “I have another who is sworn to my service, Majesty.”

  Her golden brows raised. “That boy?” she startled.

  I held firm. “Will is a capable cavalryman and has alternative training that closely mimics my own. He has proven his loyalty and his reliability.” I was glad he wasn’t in the room to hear as much. “I would trust him with my life, my lady.”

  “And mine?” she contested.

  I hesitated, but only for the barest moment. “Yes.” Swallowing, I pressed on, knowing how my words would sound to those around me. “More importantly, I know I could kill him if the need arose.” My mother’s first and final rule lingered in my mind. That is what it takes.

  Ignatus balked, face contorting in horror. Reyus and Brenna watched silently, understanding better than most. Selice schooled her face to calm, but I could tell it unsettled her. I watched the gears turn behind her eyes as she considered my argument.

  “And your Tuvrian?” she challenged half-heartedly.

  The corner of my mouth quirked in a bitter smirk. “I would like to see the man who dared try to take him alive.”

  She didn’t like it. She wrote the missives anyway.

  Dinner was a muted affair, far more formal than those we’d had in Laezon the last several weeks. The Queen was openly intrigued by General Brenna, having never met a Freyjan in the flesh. Like the other scions of Tuvre, they were a reclusive lot, rarely leaving their own province except for the occasional contract. I was glad for some time out of the spotlight, my mind churning through what I’d learned of the royal bloodline and their hereditary dreams. By the end of the evening, I was no closer to any kind of understanding.r />
  I took advantage of her distraction to speak with Will and Quintin and lay out the details of our plan. The former was ecstatic at the prospect, excitement checked by a few sharp words from me about the gravity of the situation. The latter listened silently with his careful mask securely in place. What passed behind those eyes, I couldn’t rightly guess, but he looked unsettled.

  Many of our company retired early, exhausted from the road. Selice and I remained, and with a glance from me, Quintin excused himself for the evening. I sat with my queen as she watched him go. “He’s very… dutiful.”

  I suppressed a laugh. “Tuvrian nature, I think.”

  She considered me, all her earlier stiffness gone. “You have more questions?”

  “I didn’t realize I was so easy to read.”

  “Perhaps you’ve stopped dissembling with me,” she suggested with a friendly smile. “Tell me.”

  I shifted in my seat. “I’d wondered if you’d heard from Daria.”

  Her smile faded, face closing to me. “There was no reply, no.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “But?”

  She bit her cheek. “I won’t burden you with baseless rumors. You’ve enough on your mind as it is.”

  I grabbed her wrist hard, fear gripping my chest. “Tell me.” Pity filled her eyes, and the reluctance of a friend bearing bad news. I barely managed to force the question past my lips. “Does he live?”

  “Yes,” she answered quickly, though it did nothing to ease her discomfort. “There are rumors that he has taken his father’s place as Lord of Daria.”

  “And?” I pressed.

  She chose her words carefully. “They say he is married, Elivya.” The blood stilled in my veins, breath frozen in my lungs as my entire body revolted against her words. I wanted to vomit. He wouldn’t. My mind refused to consider it. “They are only rumors,” she continued quickly. “None of our men have even seen Adrian in well over a year.”

  I’d not seen him in more than two. The gears turned in my head, and I wondered.

  Chapter 25

  With spring marching on, there was no time to linger and we made ready to leave the next morning. Hollow and distracted, I barely acknowledged the parting words of our comrades. Quintin watched me with poorly-masked concern but said nothing. Lord Ignatus had seen us well supplied, and I was vaguely aware of Selice handing my shadow a hefty pouch of coin along with our priceless royal missives. We set out with our small company, my young new sword leading our pack horse with a wide grin. I hardly noticed either of them that day. We rode east through Caelin, making our way toward Elliot and Maria’s for one last stop before turning northeast for the river.

  Whatever misery I thought I carried with me at the rumor of Adrian’s betrayal paled in comparison to what awaited us.

  There was no smoke, no noise to warn us from afar. Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t even know anything was amiss until I heard Will curse colorfully from his saddle. My eyes focused and I saw it in the distance ahead: the fields, the manor, blackened and charred. I dug my heels into Valor’s flanks and he shot off toward the house. I’d barely reached the gates when I saw them. My companions skidded up behind me as I dropped from the saddle and stumbled forward.

  There, from the branches of the tree in their courtyard, hung four bodies. Long dead, the vultures and the elements had been at them. Two men and a woman, ropes still wrapped around their necks, swung gently in the wind. I fell to my knees, choking on a sob. Beside them, a tiny figure, small hands clenched into fists as the noose bound his throat.

  I reached toward them, the carefully-patched pieces of my heart shattering in my chest. The shards cut me from the inside out, every slice burning like a brand until I thought I would burst. Quintin’s boots shuffled up beside me. Will sat atop his horse in silent horror.

  We buried them. It was bitter, awful, hateful work, but they deserved a proper resting place. I dug as my companions scavenged bits of cloth from the ruins to wrap their bodies, and cut them down from the tree. Patrick’s was the hardest, on Quintin more than any of us, I think. I’d never seen him weep. He did, then, as we laid the small bundle into the ground beside his parents and brother. Silently, miserably, my pillar of unwavering strength wept, and my heart broke all the more.

  I understood a bit, then, why Amenon had spurned his gods. My parents, Aubrey, even the young boy who had carried my banner into battle, all had known the risk. They had lived and chosen, their deaths no less horrible for it, but at least they’d had the chance to walk their own path. There was no greater understanding, no divine purpose, in the death of an innocent child. How could Adulil have let this happen? How could She? The dark beast churned in my chest. Damn the balance, and damn them both. Patrick deserved a second life far more than I ever would.

  I dug in my pack and pulled out the length of white silk. Will gave a small cry of protest as I grasped the edge and tore with spiteful determination, separating a single long strip. Stuffing the remainder of the cloth unceremoniously back into my bag, I tied the length around the trunk of the tree under which they lay. Just outside the walls of their home, looking out toward the sunset, it grew tall and proud, the fields spread before it flecked with new growth, bits of green peeking through old ashes.

  There was no revenge to be had, no way to sate the darkness twisting in my chest. Those who’d killed them were likely long since dead. Freyjans take no prisoners. I hadn’t been alive to argue. It left me wholly unsatisfied now, knowing I had nowhere to put my misery and my rage.

  The day was nearly gone by the time we’d finished, so we camped nearby, the shadow of the tree a cruel silhouette in the night. We sat around the fire in silence, each of us retiring without a word.

  In the morning, I walked to their resting place to say one last goodbye. The white silk fairly glowed in the dawn light, fluttering slowly in the morning breeze. As with James, I laid one hand upon the trunk and asked the great tree to guard them well. My anger had been replaced by hollow grief, resolve focusing me on the task ahead.

  We spoke little for days, the three of us trapped in our own dark thoughts. In the day, we pushed the horses as hard as we dared. At night, we went about our duties automatically. I watched Quintin across the fire, his face a torment of poorly-concealed misery. Will hadn’t known them well, but the death of a child is a heavy thing and he took the depth of our loss to heart.

  For my part, I’d plenty of experience burying my grief in the face of necessity, but even I struggled to claw my way back from such crushing sorrow. My mind reached into the darkness for some words of comfort to offer my companions. I thought of James lying on his deathbed, talking about the child he’d never meet. My mind painted a pretty fantasy, my red-headed friend laughing and calling encouragements to his freckle-faced son atop a painted pony.

  “James will teach him how to ride.” My voice was hoarse from lack of use, barely a whisper into the silence between us. The fire crackled. Two miserable faces turned to me, startled by the sound of speech after days without. I forced a sad smile for them, pressing on. “How to charm horses and wield a sword.” My eyes fixed on Quintin’s. “He always was a good teacher.” He swallowed and nodded as I painted a path out of our shared grief. “By the time we get there, he’ll be a man grown. And then you can teach him like you taught me.”

  No one knows what death holds for us, not for certain. Even those of us who have gone beyond the veil have never seen the far shore Adulil promised. We needed to believe, that night. We needed something, anything, to salve our wounded hearts.

  In time, it did. We spoke softly of those we’d lost, placing them in our shared fantasy of the life beyond this one. Quintin spoke of the parents he’d never known, meeting him with open arms as he stepped onto the sand. Will smiled and spoke of a brother he’d lost to the streets as a boy, wondering what pranks he was playing on the other children. I imagined Aubrey and Leon lounging beneath some tree, reciting poetry to a small cluster of loved ones; Amenon and his wives,
my parents and Patrick’s, Shera and Greta and so, so many others.

  I wondered if Adulil walked among them. I hoped so.

  By the time we fell silent, our hearts felt a bit lighter, and at length, we slept. When dawn came, I woke to the sound of Quintin spinning through his exercises a fair distance from the campsite. Slipping from my bedroll, I stepped past Will, careful not to wake him. Twin blades cut the chill air in a blur, patterns beyond my ken. His eyes were closed, face steeled to disciplined calm as his body paced through the forms. It was just as beautiful as the first time I’d seen it, a dance of death as natural to him as breathing. His wheat hair had grown out well past his ears, a shaggy mop that crinkled into waves as it soaked up sweat from his brow.

  He completed his final cycle and sheathed his blades, muttering something under his breath, head bowed. When he turned to face me, I asked him about it.

  “A prayer, of sorts,” he explained quietly. “An offering of thanks to our ancestors for the sacred gift of another day.”

  “Another Tuvrian tradition?” I tilted my head at him, trying for some semblance of normalcy.

  A small smile curved the corner of his mouth. “One of many, yes.”

  “Would you teach them to me?”

  A soft laugh escaped him. “I don’t think you’d do well in Tuvria. Frii, maybe, but there’s a reason the two are on opposite ends of the country.”

  His deflection stung me a bit in my sore state, and I hugged my arms about myself in a subconscious defense. “Do your people truly hate women so much?”

  He considered his response carefully. “Hate is not the right word. Women are the givers of life, the Mother’s grace made flesh. Tuvre was Her shield, the guardian of Her only son as He walked this earth. As his scions, it is our duty to carry on his charge and protect Her living effigies from harm.”

  I raised my brow at him. “You know as well as I that women are far from worshipped by your people.”

  “It is a different kind of reverence, an over-inflated protectionism that has been twisted by time and the possessive hearts of mortal men.”