Traitor (A Crown of Lilies Book 1) Read online

  The nights, though, the nights were ours alone. Adrian and I drowned in one another. Hands mapped every inch of skin, lips captured every impassioned breath. We lay in a tangle of sheets and limbs and spoke of past and future. His body was a web of scars, and he remembered the source of every one. I told him of my time at the garrison, and when I described being knocked nearly unconscious by Trente, he flinched visibly.

  “Why did you do it?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Why put yourself through such misery?”

  I met his gaze. “Why do you?”

  “It’s my duty as a son and an heir.”

  I settled my head back onto his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. “I suppose I feel it’s mine as well. Leading a Great House requires a strength that can’t be learned sewing embroidery or playing the lyre.”

  “There are other kinds of strength,” he countered gently.

  It was true, and I knew it. I had seen it in my mother, the most formidable woman I’d ever met. Her presence alone commanded respect, backed by a wealth of knowledge and a keen intellect. Natalia, though trained to the sword, radiated a different kind of strength: confidence and constancy and ruthless protectiveness. I pitied anyone who dared threaten her family.

  But that was not my way.

  “Tristan,” he murmured after many long minutes of silence, the easy rhythm of his chest having me nearly convinced he’d fallen asleep.

  “Mm,” I agreed with a soft smile. “Liam.”

  “I’ve a second cousin named Liam.”

  “Damn, I liked that one.”

  “We can still use it.” He breathed deeply, hand caressing my arm. “What about our girls?”

  I paused a moment. “Shera.”

  He shifted to eye me with surprise. “Your handmaiden?”

  “My friend,” I corrected firmly, tilting my head to meet his gaze. “She helped me through many difficult times.”

  His fingertips slid to my ribcage, gently tracing the scar there. “Was this one of them?”

  I looked away again, not wanting to think of James. “Some first loves leave visible scars.”

  He stiffened suddenly beside me. “He hurt you?” he asked, his voice taking on a hard, dangerous edge. It was only half a question.

  “No more than I hurt him,” I replied honestly. The words wrapped the mess of it in truth, granting me a clarity that brought me no comfort. Endeavoring to turn the conversation elsewhere, I reached to trace a scar on his bicep. “And what about this?”

  The tension in him eased a bit. “My second boarding party. Bastard nearly took my arm off.”

  I fingered a large burn scar on his leg. “And this?”

  He laughed humorlessly. “Ball of pitch. Nothing quite like the stench of your own flesh burning.” We fell silent, both reflecting on the myriad scars we had earned and given. Each of us had a history, a litany of experiences both good and ill that felt too vast to share. It would take years to tell it all, but we were young yet, with many decades of marriage ahead of us. After a long while, his voice interrupted the slow, rhythmic sloshing of the river against the hull.

  “I would never hurt you, Elivya.”

  “…I know.”

  On the fifth day, in the bright afternoon sun, we drifted out the mouth of the Septim river and into the Bay of Brothers. Two vast cities flanked the immense port on both sides. To the north lay Petrion, the bustling trade hub of Daria; to the south, Venici, Erade’s gleaming jewel of luxury. Where the two cities bled into one another, a great wharf sprawled along the bay. I am hard-pressed to do justice to the expanse of it. Dozens of docks extended their fingers into the water, vast ships tied alongside. Men swarmed like ants up and down the wooden planks, hauling barrels and crates on hand-carts.

  The ships themselves, I marveled at most, Aubrey joining me at the railing to stare in awe. More vast even than our well-appointed barge, their swooping hulls sat low in the water. Thick masts reached skyward, webbed with a baffling array of rope lines. Massive bundles of neatly-lashed canvas bulged against their restraints as they loomed over the scrambling sailors below. Under the guidance of our stalwart captain and his able rowers, our flat-bottomed boat glided into an open slip near the end of the docks, other nearby barges teeming with workers unloading cargo.

  Once all the necessary arrangements had been made, Adrian led our party down the wharf, Natalia linking arms with me and Quintin trailing close behind. We stretched our legs along the endless rows of tall ships, sailors taking note as we passed. Calls rang out between crews, quiet at first, but quickly growing louder until, eventually, I was able to make out their words.

  “The Sea Wolf!” they shouted. “The Sea Wolf has returned!” Cheers were accompanied by a chorus of howls from various vessels. Adrian raised one hand in greeting as we made our way down the wharf.

  “The Sea Wolf?” I asked Natalia at my elbow. “Like-”

  “Like the first Van Dryn to command the fleet,” she finished for me, beaming proudly at the back of her brother’s jacket. “Only the third of our House to ever bear the name. He’s earned it, with all he’s done for our people. The coastal waters are safer now than they’ve been in generations.”

  I watched as a few bold sailors approached him, removing their hats and speaking in hushed tones. Adrian clasped forearms and patted shoulders, every man and woman greeted as a brother or sister in arms. He was a well-respected and well-loved leader here, in his home. This fleet was as much his family as the blood kin around me.

  At length, we halted before one great ship, a weathered older man in a bright yellow coat waiting to greet us. He clasped arms with Adrian and turned to us with a broad smile that reminded me of Lord Augustus, if a bit more roughly featured.

  “This is Captain Russo,” Adrian introduced. “He will see you to Elas.”

  “An honor, my lord and lady,” he bellowed, offering Aubrey and me a sweeping bow.

  “You’ll find no safer berth across the White Sea,” Adrian assured us. Aubrey made his farewells as the captain shouted orders to have our belongings loaded. Natalia wrapped me in a crushing embrace. A swarm of wailing children soon followed, my husband in all but name waiting patiently nearby.

  The time had gone too quickly, and my heart ached to leave him. Strong arms enveloped me as I clung to him, breathing deep his scent, trying to commit it to memory.

  A flash of silver caught my eye as we parted, Adrian’s hand emerging from his pocket. Metal slid up my finger, warm from his body heat and heavy with the weight of the large sapphire embedded there. I had barely glimpsed the impossibly dark stone when rough hands seized my face and those full lips closed on mine, kissing me with ardor.

  “Come back to me,” he whispered, his nose grazing mine.

  “And you,” I replied, gripping the front of his doublet, the ring sparkling between us. “No new scars, alright?”

  “You know I can’t promise that.”

  I thumped his chest half-heartedly. “Next season, you’re taking me with you.”

  He offered a crooked smile, blue-gray eyes glittering. “That will be a sight to see.”

  I laughed, a tear slipping down my cheek. I was so terribly afraid for him, but this was the life I had chosen. I could not ask him to change who and what he was just for my peace of mind.

  “Just be careful.”

  Nodding in promise, he kissed me one last time, then released me to join his party. The Van Dryn horde waved from the wharf as the lines were untied and our ship drifted backward into the harbor. Rowers heaved, turning us slowly toward the open sea, and we left home behind.

  CHAPTER 26

  Being aboard a tall ship was a very different experience from the river barge. Once we reached open water, the vessel lurched and bucked methodically beneath our feet. Aubrey did not take it well, growing green in the face and heaving his lunch over the railing. The captain laughed good-naturedly, patting him on the back and assuring him that it would pass.
For my part, the sway of the ship reminded me of riding a very large and poorly-gaited horse, and I grew accustomed to it fairly quickly. Quintin didn’t seem fazed in the least, though a shadow lingered in his eyes.

  Our berth on the merchant vessel was cramped and significantly less luxurious than the one we’d enjoyed the previous week. We shared a single small cabin, outfitted with wooden bunks and lumpy mattresses. I noticed Aubrey set his chin determinedly in the face of such abhorrent conditions, but it reminded me of the garrison and I quickly grew accustomed to the snores of my two male companions.

  At Quintin’s insistence, we continued our morning practice, being assigned a small section of the deck where we wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. The motion of the ship challenged my balance, and I faltered much more frequently. Even my patient instructor was pressed, sweating more than usual under the extra exertion. There was no great copper tub in which to wash the grime from myself each morning, but I did my best with the basin of water and small towel provided to me in our tiny shared privy.

  Despite that precious courtesy, I stank. We all did. After the first week, I didn’t dare don any of my gowns, choosing instead to fester in my spare breeches and tunic for fear of ruining my good clothes. Salt spray crusted my hair, and after a few days of battling with it, I plaited it tightly and left it for the remainder of the journey.

  In the long hours of tedium each day, both Aubrey and I endeavored to teach Quintin some of the Elan language. Though he made a decent effort of it, he’d not been raised with any language but his own, and it is difficult to learn a thing when you’ve no experience in how to learn it. Still, through determination and repetition alone, he managed to grasp a handful of common phrases, which I could tell gave him a small sense of accomplishment.

  I turned eighteen on our passage to Elas. Despite my protests, Aubrey saw to it that everyone on the ship knew. Captain Russo humored him and allowed the crew to spend an hour or so celebrating on the deck with us. We made as good a time of it as we could, under the circumstances. As it turned out, we were able to manage quite well, with several of the lads producing instruments from below and none of them being shy with their voices. I may have been filthy and rank, but so was everyone else around me. We danced and sang lewd shanties and drank our extra ration of wine with good cheer.

  Celebration aside, it was a long, cramped, miserable three weeks, and by the time we sighted the port at Agorai, I’d never wanted a bath so badly in my life. Quintin and I were hard at our morning drills when the call rang out from a sailor near the top of the main mast. Our blades stilled, and we followed the collective gaze down the coastline to a gleaming white speck in the distance.

  “Agorai!” the captain called down to us jovially from the forecastle.

  The city drew closer over the course of the day, revealing a sprawling metropolis that climbed over rolling hills beside a grand port. Atop the highest point, a complex of bright white marble structures gleamed in the late afternoon sun. As for the rest of the city, it looked much like any other: wood and stone and daub buildings, folk swarming through the streets.

  Once docked, Captain Russo saw to the unloading of our trunks, helped us to hire porters at a fair price, and bid us a fond farewell, leaving the three of us standing of a foreign wharf very far from anything resembling home. Aubrey beamed with excitement, eyes taking in the bustling scene around us. Quintin twitched anxiously behind me, the weeks at sea having done little to improve his temper. For my part, I was miserably filthy and eager to locate our lodgings. Our porters led us up the cobblestone streets toward the center of the city, their patient carthorse plodding along obediently. I caught a few looks as we followed on foot, still dressed in my breeches and tunic with my sword on my hip. My hair was caught back in its tight plait, but I still looked very much like a woman. Agorai was widely touted as a progressive city, but I saw no other women in such garb.

  Night had fallen by the time we arrived at our destination, a tidy wooden house tucked neatly alongside many others just like it. Aubrey knocked politely on the door, which opened after a short wait to reveal a wizened old woman in a spotless apron. She scanned our company with sharp eyes.

  “You must be the Alesians,” she grumbled.

  Aubrey offered her a charming bow. “Aubrey ben Chamberlain, at your service, madam.”

  I saw a flicker of amusement cross her face before she shuffled to one side of the doorway. “Well don’t just stand there lowing like livestock, come inside.” As we obeyed, she continued in her curt tone, herding us into the common room. “I do the cooking and the laundering, but make no mistake. I am no one’s servant.” She eyed Aubrey and me suspiciously. “You two are siblings?”

  We exchanged a glance, and I answered for both of us. “Near enough.”

  She nodded. “Good. I’ll have no untoward nonsense in my house. No visitors after dark. No feasts or fetes or whatever it is you Alesians do for fun. If you want to make a ruckus, you’ll make it elsewhere. Understood?”

  We both fought to suppress our smiles. “Yes, madam,” we agreed in unison. Satisfied, she left us to get settled.

  I paid our porters a bit extra to see our trunks to our rooms and dismissed them with thanks. The house matron, Lyra, ran the place alone, the modest boarding house tidily kept despite her age. She waved a ladle at me when I encroached on her domain in the kitchen, but relented when I made it clear I meant to draw my own bath. Pointing to the large copper pot near the hearth, she grumbled some direction as to the location of the well before returning to her cooking.

  I made do, but it was hard work. Drawing the water and heating it, I hauled pot after steaming pot to the small wooden tub in the privy. After the third trip, I was thanking the Mother Herself that the damned thing was on the first floor. It took eight trips and over an hour to fill the entire tub. When I finally shed my salt-crusted clothes and sank into the lukewarm water, I had never been so grateful for anything in my life.

  Blessedly clean at last and dressed in one of my simple wool gowns, I made my way to the dining room – if you can actually call a table and chairs crammed into the kitchen a ‘dining room’. Aubrey and Quintin still sat in their traveling clothes, spooning stew into their mouths. I wrinkled my nose at them as Lyra deposited a bowl in front of me.

  “You needn’t be rude,” Aubrey pointed his spoon at me. “We were being chivalrous in letting you have the first bath.”

  “Still needs to be emptied,” our silver-haired cook grumbled.

  “I’ll see to it,” I reassured her. My hunger had forced me to put it off until after supper.

  “No hurry, the baths down the street are open late.”

  Aubrey perked. “Public baths? Still?”

  “For eight hundred years,” she informed us proudly. “Still only for the men, though. You have to go halfway across the city for the women’s baths.”

  “Remarkable,” he grinned, delighted by the revelation. “Do they still use the same ancient systems to heat the water?” he pressed her.

  She waved him off. “How am I to know?”

  In his excitement, he launched into a detailed explanation of the mechanisms designed to carry hot water from massive underground boiler chambers up to the bath houses above. Quintin and I exchanged a commiserating glance, but I didn’t have the heart to stifle my friend’s enthusiasm.

  After supper, the two of them made their way out into the night, returning an hour later freshly washed and visibly more relaxed. Even the dour Tuvrian looked like he had enjoyed himself, and I hoped the excursion had taken some of the sharp edge from his persistently sour mood. Satisfied that they had made their way back safely, I retired for the evening.

  My mind woke me at dawn, a habit becoming less and less arduous as the months passed. I descended the narrow steps to find Quintin shoving furniture against the walls in the small common room. The house had no garden. We would have to practice indoors, and it was the largest available space.
/>   “I think this will qualify as a ruckus,” I said.

  “You’re not falling out of practice.”

  I’d argued with him enough times to know when he wasn’t going to budge, so I shut my mouth and let him dig his own grave. As expected, the clatter of our sparring quickly brought a furious Lyra hobbling out of her room in her nightgown. After a thorough dressing-down made it clear our practicing indoors was out of the question, we gave up for the day.

  “I’ll figure something out,” Quintin mumbled to me as I shot him my best told-you-so glance and took my leave.

  We spent the first day exploring the city that was to be our home for the next year. Our rented lodgings sat in a merchant class neighborhood, an area with simple but well-kept shops lining the streets, many with dwellings above. A few nearby attractions included the bathhouse, a tavern, and a small outdoor theater.

  In the afternoon, we made our introductions at the university where a dour man in blue robes looked over our letters of recommendation and asked us a few questions. Simple as that, we were admitted. As it turned out, the university accepted anyone of age who could pay the meager tuition. With our names added to the rosters of a few standard lectures, we celebrated with a cup of wine in the student quarter, a collection of apartments and businesses catering to the university and its attendees. Quintin sat and looked bored as we drank a spirited toast to luck and adventure. Conscious of our newness to the city, we returned to the house well before dark and chatted at the table while Lyra fixed supper. It was a quiet ending to a stimulating day, and I collapsed gladly into my lumpy bed.

  When the next dawn came, I dressed in my freshly laundered sparring gear, unsure of what the day might hold. As promised, my wheat-haired commander had found a solution to our problem.

  “We’ll go to the gymnasium.”

  I snorted an incredulous laugh. The bathhouse and its accompanying recreation arena were strictly for men. I crossed my arms, angling my head at him.