Traitor (A Crown of Lilies Book 1) Page 11

  After dismissal, many lingered to say their farewells in the bailey. Samson’s hard eyes remained fixed on me and I knew he must be under orders to escort me home himself. Not eager to race into the waiting storm of my father’s fury, I turned my attention to James as he clasped Trente’s massive hand in his own.

  “Be seeing you in a few months, yeah?”

  “Don’t see why not,” James agreed, and I felt a sudden and uncomfortable sting. If he intended to return for patrol in the fall, he’d not mentioned it to me.

  “You too, Eli?”

  I met Trente’s gaze and forced a rueful smile. “Afraid I’ve other obligations.”

  He nodded, a strange glint in his eyes as he said, “Pity.”

  A few others wandered over to say their farewells, Lehs and Bryce among them. Both jostled me fondly and expressed their own disappointment when I told them I’d not likely return for patrol.

  “Why come at all, then?” Lehs asked with a bewildered shake of his head. “The training pay isn’t that good.”

  Bryce flashed a toothy grin and clapped me on one shoulder in feigned sympathy. “Dodging an arranged marriage?”

  “Did your parents put you out?”

  “If you’ve a mind to run away, I know a strapping young tanner’s son-”

  “Leave her be,” Trente grumbled in warning, and every drop of blood drained from my face.

  Her.

  James took a protective step closer and we both reached for our knives. Trente threw up his hands in a peaceable gesture, a small smirk curling the corner of his mouth.

  “Easy. We’ve known for a while, love.”

  “How?” I demanded. “How long?” I’d been so careful.

  “About a week. You’re not so good at pretending when he’s around,” he said, nodding at James.

  “Especially when he’s bleedin’,” Bryce contributed smugly. I flushed to the roots of my hair, the mess hall and James’ torn knuckles flashing in my mind.

  “And you didn’t tell anyone?” I pressed, practicality overruling the panicked racing of my heart.

  “We figured if you’d come this far…” Lehs trailed off with a shrug.

  Trente raised his brows pointedly at me. “Most of us have sisters, you know. Not about to out you in front of this lot,” he said, nodding toward the crowd around us. “I expect you’d not risk staying if it came down to that.” His light demeanor shifted, replaced by a worried frown. “Tell me true, though. Have you somewhere to go? If you’ve been cast out by your family-”

  “I could find work for you at the inn,” Lehs offered, his cheeks pinking. “Both of you,” he revised quickly, eyes flitting to James. “Ma always needs help in the kitchen, and we’ve a small stable…”

  My fear faded in the face of that earnest generosity and a sense of humbled awe flooded me. They’d actually talked about it, the three of them. They cared enough to not only keep my secret to themselves, but to find a safe haven for the runaway girl in their midst.

  “You have my thanks, truly,” I forced out, my voice rough with emotion. I scanned their faces one by one and offered a wry smile. “But I’ve not been disowned.”

  “Yet,” James muttered at my side.

  “Well,” sighed Trente, running a hand through his short hair. “If it comes to it…”

  “Thank you,” I said, reaching out to squeeze his massive forearm. I wanted to pull them all into an embrace, but men do not do such things, so we merely said another round of goodbyes and parted ways.

  James and I retrieved our mounts from the stables. Samson yet waited near the main gate, scowling from atop his chestnut warhorse like some immovable titan. Beside him, Captain Rowan watched the newly-invested soldiers take their leave, a steady trickle of young men passing beneath the portcullis on foot or horseback. To a man, they carried themselves proudly, shoulders square and heads held high, boys become men in those three brutal months.

  The sick feeling of dread gradually returned to me as we rode across the bailey toward Samson, his hard eyes tracking my approach. Rowan, too, seemed fixated on me, though on foot he didn’t cut nearly as intimidating a figure as the garrison commander.

  “‘Bout time, horse thief,” Samson growled when we fetched up before him.

  “My father sent you?” I inquired cautiously, casting a wary glance at Captain Rowan.

  “In case ye get any more bright ideas on yer way home.” Samson gave his reins a sharp tug and turned his mount toward the exit. “Say yer piece. I’ll be waitin’ outside.” The stalwart charger gave a hop and clattered out through the gate. If his dark mood was any gauge of my father’s, I wagered my return home would not be an easy one.

  “He’ll forgive you.”

  My head whipped round to find Rowan’s hawkish eyes staring up at me, the edges of his bored tone softened by something approaching compassion.

  “Your father, I mean,” he added, one corner of his mouth tugging with a hint of a smirk. “Samson doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Hasn’t since he lost his commission with the Crown.”

  “Such a betrayal is not easily set aside,” I replied carefully.

  “No,” he agreed, his cinnamon hair gleaming in the morning light. “But Samson is not your father.”

  “Thank Adulil for that.”

  The slight huff of air that slipped through his nostrils might have been a laugh, but I wasn’t entirely sure the hollow-faced captain was even capable of such a thing.

  “You are very much like your mother,” he mused with a tilt of his head, keen eyes glinting with memory. “And he forgave her easily enough, once upon a time.”

  “What-”

  “Damien respects honesty above all else. Tell him the truth. All of it. He will understand.”

  Dumbstruck, I could do little else but gape at him stupidly from the saddle. How long had he known? Before the question could form on my lips, Rowan took a step back and offered me a subtle salute, pressing one fist to his chest and bowing slightly.

  “Miss Elivya.”

  And then he turned on his heel and was gone.

  CHAPTER 10

  My mother was waiting in the courtyard when we arrived, deep lines of worry carved into her elegant features. The look on her face suggested she’d harbored substantial doubt that I’d return to her while still breathing. The sheer relief in those bright green eyes tore at me as I dismounted and walked into her crushing embrace. Behind me, I could hear Stephan laying into James for his disappearance, but I was too undone by the feel of my mother’s arms around me to care much for my friend’s plight.

  When at last she released me, her expression had turned from relief to foreboding, and I knew very well the reason. James’ entire family had welcomed him home. My mother was the only one waiting for me.

  “Thank you, Samson,” she intoned, casting a solemn glance over my shoulder.

  “My lady.”

  “I’m sorry-” I began, but she silenced me with a shake of her head.

  “Later.” Her warm hands rubbed my arms, the reassuring gesture countered by the grim look on her face. “Go,” she murmured. “He’s waiting.”

  I didn’t need to ask. I knew where he’d be, where he’d want to stage this particular verbal evisceration. As much as I dreaded the coming confrontation, I’d known from the start what my actions would bring. My father’s furious gaze in the training fields that day had promised a reckoning.

  My steps echoed off the walls as I made my way through the house, every room wholly abandoned in anticipation of my father’s wrath. I wondered briefly if there was a single warm body left within those halls, or if every servant in my parents’ employ had found some excuse to vacate the premises.

  The garden door stood as a final taunt, plain panels of heavy oak staring me down, the carved brass knob daring me to take hold. I paused, knowing full well what lay beyond them, and fidgeted with my belt, the unfamiliar weight of a shortsword tugging at my l
eft, the curved dagger on my right. My thumb grazed the tiny sigil carved into the pommel.

  I, too, am Lazerin, I reminded myself and felt a measure of the dread hanging over me relent, replaced by steady purpose. With it firmly in hand, I reached for the knob.

  He was standing before the Oak, his broad back to me, staring at the bark as though some great secret were etched into its grooves. I wondered, strangely, if he ever talked to it the way I did. He made no sound or gesture of recognition as I halted several paces away and mirrored his own posture, standing at ease, shoulders squared and hands clasped behind me in the manner of a soldier. I refused to speak first, to cow and grovel like a penitent child. The bruises on my ribs and the steel on my hip bore testament that I was no longer such. Whatever retribution he had in store for me, I’d face it without flinching.

  “You deliberately disobeyed me.”

  I was ready for a fight, hackles up and armor donned, fully expecting my father’s furious roar and succinct, cutting tones. Instead, his low baritone threaded through the silence, slow and quiet, though no less intimidating for its lack of volume. A deaf man could have heard the anger in it – and the betrayal.

  My tongue felt thick and heavy inside my mouth. “You gave me no choice. You refused to listen.”

  “It is not my place to listen,” he snapped, thick hands tightening. “It is yours. And you will be silent until I give you leave to speak.”

  I bit my cheek hard to suppress the surge of pride and anger rising in my chest, but in the face of that thunderous fury, only a fool would dare to make a sound.

  “You lied to us, Elivya,” he continued sternly, still staring at the Oak. “Betrayed our trust. Disregarded my orders. Put yourself and your friends at great risk.” An edge of disgust crept into his voice. “Not only that, but you had Shera lie for you rather than deliver your treachery yourself.”

  Coward. He didn’t need to say the word aloud for me to hear it. I yearned to protest, to point out in my most vicious tones that a coward would never have dared the garrison in the first place. But I knew that by taking the whole of the blame unto myself, Shera and James would be much less likely to be dismissed, so I held my tongue.

  “Your actions reflect not only on me, but on this House,” Father added, his voice turning low and dangerous. “And the consequences of those actions determine the future of this family.” He did turn, then, face tight and forest eyes dark with anger. “Have you any idea what could have happened if you’d been discovered? Not only the risk to your reputation, but to yourself?”

  I was wise enough to keep my mouth firmly shut.

  Father drew himself up like an Elder passing sentence, his massive frame casting a long shadow over me. “Your selfishness and disregard have clearly demonstrated how unprepared you are to lead this House. I am of a mind to confine you to your studies and postpone your return to Court until you have proven otherwise.”

  A spark of dread shot through me, Aubrey’s face surfacing in my mind. My father’s chin lifted a satisfied fraction.

  “If you have anything at all to say for yourself, now is the time.”

  A warm breeze tugged at my tunic, as though the Mother Herself was offering reassurance. Distant trills of birdsong flitted through the vast canopy above our heads, oblivious to the battle taking place below. I held his furious gaze, using every ounce of my hard-won courage to maintain some semblance of calm.

  Tell him the truth, Rowan’s voice echoed in my head. All of it.

  The words rose from deep in my chest, dredged from some hidden ocean to roll off my lips one fragile syllable at a time.

  “Have you never once wondered why I am the way I am, Father? Why I stole horses and played with the stable boys and begged Seth to teach me how to shoot?”

  Dark, bushy brows darted a fraction closer together. “We have tolerated such things to a generous extent.”

  “And yet you refused, time and again, anything approaching proper training.”

  “That is my right as your father. Such training is dangerous. Painful. Liable to cause permanent injury.”

  “So it was my pretty face you were protecting all this time,” I drawled – a poor choice, given the spur of anger that flashed across his face.

  “There are reasons women are not permitted at the fort.”

  “Because we’re too fragile?” I retorted, an uninvited edge of bitterness creeping in. “Too weak? Quit too easily? Samson was sure to make that point to me years ago-”

  “Do not pretend ignorance. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “No one ever made move to harm me, not even those who discovered what I was.”

  “If you truly believed yourself safe in their company, you would not have bothered to go in disguise.”

  His flat tone and perfectly valid point reduced me at once to a fuming silence. I ground my teeth and glared daggers at him, too proud to admit there was truth in his words. After a long, tense moment, the stiff set of his shoulders softened and a hint of regret crept into his voice.

  “Some endeavors are simply not meant for you, Elivya.”

  “Because I’m a girl.”

  “Because you are not their equal.”

  I huffed a tiny, incredulous laugh. “Not their equal?”

  A deep sting of hurt shuddered through me, a searing wave of anger quickly following on its heels. I had survived three months of blood, sweat, and suffering among men. How could he still not consider me worthy? I jerked the tucked hem of my tunic free from my breeches, lifting the fabric to reveal the fresh patch of deep purple across my ribs.

  “Tell me, Father, do men bruise with more dignity? Do their bones break with some noble fanfare ringing in the background?” Venom dripped from every word I hurled his way as I dropped the hem to grasp at the neck of my shirt and tug it aside, laying the abraded skin of my right shoulder bare. “Do they bleed better? Seems unlikely. Women have far more regular experience-”

  “That’s enough.”

  I paused just long enough for my lip to curl in furious rebuke, my fiery Lazerin pride refusing to be silenced. “I am the best rider and the best shot in my company. I have stood across the circle from men twice my size without flinching and taken a hundred thrashings from fist and sword alike-”

  “That is beside the point,” he countered stiffly. “I made my decision on the matter perfectly clear and you chose to disobey me.”

  “Then why allow me to stay?” I challenged. “You could’ve made up any number of excuses for bringing me back, once you found me at the fort. Instead, you left me a knife and a threat.”

  “Not a threat.”

  “A warning, then,” I bit back, unable to stifle the resentment in the words. “Well you can be sure my ‘honor’ has not been compromised. My precious virtue remains as unspoiled as it was when I left.”

  His face flushed, brows knitting angrily. “Your virtue is not the issue at hand, Elivya.”

  “You’ve made it quite clear that it’s my most valuable asset.”

  “You are my-”

  “Daughter, yes!” I spat, bearing down on the word, tears blurring my eyes. “As if I could ever forget. As if I could ever look at you without seeing the disappointment on your face at that grave misfortune.”

  He looked stung, startled to silence and face tight with dismay, but I was too far gone to stop now, sixteen years of pent-up truth pouring from me in a torrent of bitterness.

  “You said it yourself. I will never be a son. I will never charge into battle wearing your armor. I will never command men. But I have chosen the interests of this House over my own time and again, and I will see to its survival.” I squared my shoulders, hands shaking from the force of my anger as they blindly worked to free the sheathed dagger from my belt. “But I will do so my way. With more than pretty smiles and polite manners at my disposal.”

  He stared at the knife when I held it out to him, my hands and voice suddenly and impossibly steady,
the intangible wisps of my rebellious youth finally coalescing into something recognizable. Something with a shape. A name.

  My name.

  “If that makes me unworthy of this steel, unworthy of this House, so be it. I am done apologizing for it.”

  A stone silence settled over the garden in the wake of my declaration, the both of us as still as the moss-covered statues tucked between the flowers and herbs. Finally empty of my long-suppressed resentment, the red haze of anger subsided and I saw the wounded look on my father’s face.

  “Disappointment,” he breathed, disbelief woven into the word. I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat at the sound of it.

  He closed the distance between us with stiff, slow steps and gingerly took the dagger from me, steel pommel catching the afternoon sunlight. Worn leather creaked as he turned the curved scabbard over in his hands, pulling the blade a few fingers’ breadth from the sheath.

  “Return with honor, or not at all,” he murmured.

  I stiffened slightly, hearing those cutting words from his own lips. Marbled Euzoni steel shimmered between us for a moment before he returned it to its rest and closed his thick fingers around the leather.

  “My father’s words to me, the day I left for the garrison.”

  A cold sweep of realization trickled down my spine.

  Not a threat. A challenge. A father’s farewell to a son.

  Dark eyes lifted to mine once more, a sea of ache replacing the well of pride and anger I’d seen in them only minutes ago.

  “Leaving you there was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  My hammering heart stumbled, breath catching in my throat at the unfamiliar shade of regret on his face.

  “Seeing you bruised. Bloody. Thin. You think any parent wishes to see their child suffer?” A small shake of his head offered the answer I lacked. “It would have been easier, if you’d been struggling. If you were in over your head or in clear danger. I could have simply put an end to it and brought you home. But you weren’t any of those things. No more so than any other recruit. You… you fit there. In a way I’ve never seen you fit anywhere before.”