A Crown of Lilies

by Melissa Ragland

  It took a long while.

  One finger traced a scar on his chest as I lay cradled against him in the dark. We’d still not spoken. We didn’t need to. Still, the sound of his voice made my heart sing as he broke the long silence.

  “Do you smell them, or am I going mad?”

  I gasped a quiet laugh, the scent of lilies heavy in the air. “I thought I was,” I admitted.

  He turned to fix me with his pale eyes, cast silver in the dim light, wheat hair plastered to his damp skin. With my head pillowed on his shoulder, his face hovered close to mine.

  “I’m sorry I broke my promise,” he murmured solemnly, absent-mindedly thumbing the scar Brenna had left on my arm. “I swore never to leave you again, but I did.”

  Daria.

  I shook my head. “I think if you’d been there, we all might have died.” An apologetic grimace twisted my face. “You are terribly stubborn.”

  He didn’t laugh. “I could have held them. I could have gotten you out.” I’d seen him fight. I had no doubt he could have delayed them long enough for both Will and I to escape to the forest, but every man is mortal. Against two dozen Persican marauders, even my unshakable Tuvrian could not best the odds. The unspoken truth of it hung in the air. He would have gladly given his life for ours.

  I pressed my palm flat against his chest, feeling his strong heart beating beneath. “And I still would have died, in every way that matters,” I replied, my voice cracking under the weight of what might have been. “I told you, I can’t carry your face.” Now, more than ever before, the thought threatened to undo me.

  That softened him, and he pulled me back to his lips. I breathed deep his scent, reveling in the feel of his skin against mine.

  “Sleep,” he murmured when he finally released me. Exhausted and at peace in a way I thought I could never feel again, I did.

  I woke with a start at dawn’s light filtering through the canvas. We’d shifted in the night, and Quintin’s arm lay heavily around my waist, his body cradled against my back. I could feel his steady breath on the back of my hair. For a few minutes, I allowed myself to linger and simply enjoy the feel of him against me, but the drive of years of routine won out and soon I had to rise. I lifted his arm in a careful attempt to extricate myself without waking him, but he stirred the moment I sat up.

  Rubbing his face, he watched me tug my breeches on with an amused smirk. The tent was too low to dress standing, and I’m sure I looked ridiculous lying on my back and pulling them up over my hips. I grabbed his own and tossed them at him.

  “Time for practice.”

  I was surprised to see Will already stoking the cook fire for breakfast when we emerged. He eyed us sidelong with a sly smirk.

  “About damn time,” he muttered and went back to coaxing the coals to life.

  Flushing, I snatched my gear from my tent and we made our way through the trees toward our clearing. I thought it might be strange, or different, after what had passed between us, but nothing changed. We fell into our usual routine of drills followed by a stretch of sparring. Ever patient, he offered correction and instruction in his long-familiar tone. When we’d finished, Will called us to breakfast, his voice echoing through the trees.

  We sat savoring our buttered bread and fresh eggs in silence. I avoided Will’s persistent gaze with determination. “If you hurry, you might catch the Queen’s retinue before they leave,” he finally said, leaving off his querying glances.

  I stiffened, having forgotten about it entirely. Downing the last few bites in a hurry, I thanked Will absentmindedly and rushed off toward the command camp. Quintin’s heavy steps followed close behind.

  Their tents and supplies had been packed into a trio of wagons, and the noble lords of Tuvre stood around making their goodbyes. Colin sat his mount patiently, his men waiting in tidy formation around the convoy. Selice turned to greet me as I rushed over. As I’d hoped, the coronation had given her a reinforcement and surety of purpose that sat lightly on her shoulders.

  “Please thank Brenna for me,” I said, one hand touching the Freyjan shield on my arm. Our two mornings of practice had already scuffed its pristine surface. She smiled and nodded, embracing me as a friend. My heart tugged in fear, knowing what lay ahead. “Please, be careful,” I begged, my voice muffled against her silken hair.

  Pulling away, she squeezed my arms. “And you. I’ll see you soon.” With one last confident smile, she mounted her white palfrey and they made their slow exit, disappearing into the forest to the north. From atop his chestnut warhorse, Reyus nodded to us both with a wry smile as he passed. As they faded into the distance, Lord Nicholas watched me with a disapproving scowl, eyeing my breastplate and shield with distaste.

  Forcing myself to calm, I crossed the small clearing to where he stood with the other scion lords of Tuvre. I was grateful Ewan was not among them, on his way to the western forces at the Queen’s side.

  “General Nicholas,” I addressed him formally, as he was now in command of the eastern army. “My men and I make for Kingston at dusk.”

  He nodded, reining in his pride in the face of my deference. “Whatever you’re about, girl, make sure you get that gate open.”

  It was as close to a statement of approval as I’d ever get from him. “We’ll be waiting for you.” I extended my hand to him in a gesture of truce.

  He eyed it unhappily for a long moment before deigning to clasp my forearm. “We’ll see you inside.”

  Chapter 28

  The three of us napped through the afternoon, lazing in the shade of the trees in lieu of our stifling tents, endeavoring to catch a few hours of sleep before the long night ahead. When dusk began to fall, we rose and packed our camp, taking only the barest essentials with us. No fanfare, no calls of farewell or good luck heralded our departure. We slipped unnoticed from the camp and off into the darkness.

  It took all night and most of the morning to make our way circuitously to Kingston. In the light of the nearly-full moon, we dared not cross the open plains and risk being spotted. We were far enough from the city to not be in sight of the army, but they would have scouts patrolling far afield to warn of any approach, and we dared not risk drawing their eyes to the Kingswood. At dawn, we were able to fall in with the travelers on the main road, blending in with the crowds for the final leg of our journey. By the time we ambled into the bustling town, it was nearly midday and I sweated in my tunic atop my patient bay mare.

  Tommy’s warehouse was doing a lively trade that day, dozens of porters hauling handcarts of goods back and forth from the nearby docks. He paced slowly among them with a thick manifest in his hands, pointing at stacks of crates and shouting orders in his curt tone. When he spotted us, he loosed a sharp whistle and a spry young man emerged from the rear of the warehouse to take our mounts. I slid from the saddle and walked into Tommy’s fond embrace.

  When he released me, his grizzled face eyed me in query. “When?”

  I squeezed his shoulder. “Tomorrow night.”

  Nodding, he flashed me an apologetic grin. “I’m afraid I’ve a bit of work left to do here, but Wesley’ll take ye to the house. I’ll be there when I can.”

  I quirked my brow at him. “A diligent businessman? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  His grin widened. “Wars end. Life goes on. I’ve a mind to see mine is a comfortable one.”

  Once the horses were seen to, his man led us through the streets to the tidy house we’d visited before. The same cook greeted us and instructed the lad to take our things up to the guest rooms. “The three on the left, Wesley,” she instructed, pointing up the stairs.

  While we waited for Tommy, I explored his home. The cook, Lorena, kept a tidy house, despite having no help. I supposed it was less work to manage a household of one than a full family estate. The thought made me slightly sad, that my sharp-tongued friend had never found another after my mother. Despite his bluster, I imagined he’d enjoy having a passel of foul-tempered brats. Out back lay a
small garden which Lorena used to grow a variety of vegetables and fresh herbs. In the hot afternoon sun, they wafted their fragrance into the house through the open windows.

  A small study was surprisingly lived-in, with stacks of papers and a thick blue ledger on the desk. Aside from Tommy’s and Lorena’s personal quarters, the three guest rooms were the only others in the house. The single shared privy was modest, but neat, with a generous wooden tub. It was a charming house, and being there put me at ease in the face of the daunting task to come.

  He returned to us in the mid-afternoon, and over the course of several hours, we laid out every detail of our last few months. Once again, Will did the majority of the talking, spinning the tale with eloquence. I had to correct him a few times when his flair for the dramatic strayed him from the truth, but for the most part, he made good work of it. By the end, Tommy sat back in his chair with arms crossed, eyeing Quintin and me with his piercing gaze. I knew that look. My mother used to give me that look when she was reading me.

  Over dinner, we discussed the battle strategy and our plan for taking the gatehouse. Tommy had brought in his best men for the job, ruthless cutthroats and assassins he rarely had cause to hire. For this, we needed them all. There were a dozen of them, plus our three.

  “You think we can take the gate and the towers with just fifteen?” I asked, unsure.

  “Sixteen,” he replied firmly. “And yes, if you lot can keep quiet.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re not coming with us.”

  He scowled at me. “I damn well am, and ye can leave it off. You’re not goin’ without me.” The set of his jaw told me any protest would be a waste of breath.

  Exhaling my frustration, I pressed on. “What’s the plan, then?”

  The evening stretched on as he laid it out in detail. Lorena brought him a crude drawing of the gatehouse and towers, a rough blueprint sketched by one of his men. The entryways, stairs, and even the rooms were narrow, and I realized why he was so confident that we could manage with so few. We had to. There wasn’t room for a more sizable force inside those walls.

  Once we’d agonized over every step, every detail, we finally retired for the evening. My mind full, I followed my companions up the stairs without thought, trailing after Quintin into his room. The sound of the door closing behind me pulled me from the churning gears of my mind and back into the present.

  “You don’t need to go tomorrow,” he said, watching me wrestle with my thoughts.

  I quirked my brow at him. “I’m not staying behind. This was my idea.”

  “That doesn’t mean-”

  “I’m going, Quintin,” I snapped, and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry.” Running my hand through my hair, I struggled for calm. The magnitude of what lay ahead terrified me. Between my fear and my sense of duty, the dark beast twisted in my chest, clawing at the insides of my skin. Above everything, overshadowing the mess of emotion within, lay rage. I met his steady gaze and tried to make him understand. “I have to.”

  Solomon. The name lay unspoken in the air. He nodded and crossed to me. One hand pulled my father’s knife from its sheath and pressed it into my palm. Closing my fingers around the hilt, he guided the tip of the blade to his chest, angling upward to prick the vulnerable flesh beneath his tunic.

  “Here,” he instructed. “Just beneath the breastbone.” He guided my grip, tilting the knife as he explained. “Too low, and you’ll miss the heart. Too steep, and you’ll hit bone or glance off entirely.” He tilted my hand back to the optimal angle. “Here,” he reinforced firmly.

  I didn’t need to try to make him understand. He knew me, every failure, every bitter flaw. What’s more, he loved me in spite of it. Oathbreaker. Traitor. Kingslayer. Outcast. We were what we were, and no act of valor, no great deed could unmake us. The world would always see us thus, but it didn’t matter. My blue-eyed shadow, the sunlight in my darkness, he didn’t try to turn me from my path. He took my hand and showed me how to claim my vengeance.

  Morning came too soon, and I woke to find him watching me. The tenderness in his eyes made my heart ache. I smirked through my drowsiness.

  “Didn’t you despise me once?” I rasped, throat dry.

  He quirked one brow. “You weren’t overly fond of me, either, if I recall correctly.”

  I laughed softly, stretching against him beneath the tangle of sheets. “And now?”

  “Mm,” he murmured, smiling. One hand slid through my hair to the back of my neck and pulled me to his lips.

  I hoped we might linger a while longer, but he was a man of routine and the task hovered over us both. Will joined us in the garden after an hour, running through his own drills from the garrison. When Quintin invited him to spar with me, my eager young man hesitated.

  “If I cut her, are you going to hit me again?”

  He smirked and tilted his head. “You can try.”

  His captain had been right, Will had taken to the sword quite naturally. He was certainly much more skilled with it than I had been after three months of training. With his broad shoulders and height, he had a formidable reach and speed. He pressed me cautiously at first, afraid, I think, to injure me. I used his reluctance to learn his pace and get a gauge of his movements.

  “Come on, boy,” Quintin scolded him impatiently, pacing at the perimeter. “You won’t break her.”

  With an uncertain shake of his head, he redoubled his efforts and set into me with determination, but he was still holding back. I deflected and parried him with relative ease, knocking him in the ribs with the pommel of my dagger when I ducked inside his guard. After that, he let loose on me, throwing his full speed and strength into his offensive. It took all my focus to keep him in check, agonizing over my footwork and waiting for an opening. He was good, but I’d had Tuvrian instruction nearly every day for several years.

  There. He overextended in an attempt to thrust past my shield arm, and I ducked underneath to his exposed side with the edge of my sword against his ribs. My left forearm landed hard on his shoulder, the point of my dagger angled back at his throat. We both stilled, chests heaving.

  Will swore colorfully as we parted. I swelled with pride. I’d never bested any opponent in fair combat. He sheathed his sword, a near twin to my own, and shook his head with a grin. Quintin favored me with a reserved smile and called an end to the morning’s practice.

  Lorena saw us well fed, and we spent a few hours drawing and emptying our own baths. In the afternoon, we decided to ride out to the fields outside town and get a look at our enemy, as well as ensure the western forces were in place before making for Litheria. As we crested the hill and the vast open plains spread out before us, the icy claws of fear chased away any calm or confidence I might have found. The white city stood in the distance, dwarfed behind an ocean of soldiers outside its walls. My breath left my lungs in a rush, and I struggled to slow my racing heart. The sheer number of them was utterly terrifying.

  “I’ve never even imagined such an army,” Will breathed. Even Quintin looked unsettled. Their encampment of tents lay tucked against the city walls, their forces standing in tight formation in front. Columns of infantry, rows of pikemen and archers, and orderly clusters of cavalry were flanked by countless ballistae both on the field and atop the battlements. White banners with the black hand of the Divine Origin fluttered en masse in the breeze.

  Across the field, far out of range, our army gathered. Ten thousand - barely half their number - in a motley array of colors and banners, made camp. They looked puny and disorganized in the face of such practiced precision. I had to remind myself that it was intentional. Straining my eyes, I searched the tiny figures in the distance for the Lazerin flag and fretted for what remained of my cavalry. There was nothing I could do for them, now, except to ensure our clandestine assault succeeded.

  The remainder of the day dragged on. I should have slept, but with my mind whirring, I paced the halls in restless torment instead. What peace I’d found in Q
uintin’s embrace was overruled by the persistent shadow in my chest. The beast coiled in anticipation, the faces of everyone I’d lost swimming in my memory. I wished my mother was there to squeeze my hand and tell me to be brave. I wished I could see my father’s bracing smile. I wished Shera and James and Aubrey would appear around the next corner. I wished I could hold Patrick again and hear his contagious laugh, take comfort in Maria’s steady countenance and Elliot’s generous nature. Even Samson’s crude insults would have been a balm.

  But I couldn’t, and never would again. They had been taken from me, every one of them, and so many more. I fingered my knife and waited.

  Tommy sent one of his lads to fetch us at dusk, and we followed him back to the warehouse. A dozen unfamiliar faces waited, clustered in the shadows at the back of the deep structure. To a man, they were intimidating, unsavory types with sharp eyes and dark-stained leathers, the blades at their hips well-worn with use. None of them looked particularly pleased to see us.

  “That’s the last of us,” Tommy began, nodding to us in greeting. He’d swapped his usual dock worker’s clothes for dark breeches and tunic, an unfamiliar sword belt at his hip. A simple leather breastplate provided his only armor.

  “What’s the girl doing here?” one of them grumbled.

  “She’s goin’ with us,” Tommy replied.

  “Like hell,” the man scoffed. “You didn’t mention nothin’ about no girl, Tommy.”

  “This job’s difficult enough without havin’ to play nursemaid,” another chimed in, equally unhappy.

  “I can take care of myself,” I said stiffly.

  Another man laughed, the scar on his lip curling his mouth unpleasantly. “Some pretty armor and a sword don’t make you capable, girl.”