A Crown of Lilies Read online

  “Aubrey, my boy! I see you’ve made acquaintances with the newly-announced Miss Elivya,” he puffed in front of us. I curtsied.

  “She is a most intelligent and intriguing young woman.” He glanced at me with a sly wink.

  “I am sure!” Augustus bellowed, the buttons of his waistcoat straining.

  Aubrey continued quickly. “I was thinking she would make an excellent study companion. I would very much enjoy someone more neutral to review my scripts, and she is surely sharper than any of the boys from the Academy.”

  Augustus was eying me skeptically when my parents approached. “Ah! Damien, Nefira! Lovely to see you again!”

  My father clasped hands with him and my mother eyed Aubrey and me curiously. “What are you about, Augustus?”

  “My son is requesting that your daughter study with us.”

  “Sweet boy,” my mother crooned with graceful fervor. “But you are far too busy to cater to a second apprentice. And with your health….”

  His sweaty brow knit in consternation. “Nonsense! I am in peak condition, my lady,” he protested, his belly heaving. “And Aubrey could use some competition to motivate him.”

  Her subtle barb settled the matter. Aubrey caught my eye and flashed a broad grin. I couldn’t help but smile back. I had just met this heir of Chamberlain House, but I found myself not displeased at the idea of spending many afternoons with him in the months to come.

  As the months marched on, I studied statecraft and intrigue in the morning and had my lessons with Aubrey and Lord Chamberlain in the afternoon. Between them, I learned music, dance, languages, poetry, and more. I memorized the Greater and Lesser noble Houses, and the technicalities of the breeding and marketing of our horses. I came to respect my mother greatly. She had a soft heart, I found, but her station required her to be strong. And oh, she was. She taught me everything she knew. I learned to be an heiress. I learned to be a lady, and Aubrey and I grew close.

  Once my parents had announced that we would be staying in Litheria through the winter, many of our entourage returned to Laezon, including James. I missed him, but my lessons with my mother and Aubrey kept me fully occupied.

  One afternoon in the midst of winter, I was helped out of my fur cloak inside the entrance to the Chamberlain manor. To my surprise, Aubrey was not there to greet me, so I wandered up the stairs toward his quarters. Finding his study empty, I made my way down the hall toward his private rooms. The door was barely cracked, and I raised my hand to knock but paused when I heard soft laughter and voices from within. I moved to peek through the opening and caught my breath. Aubrey was tangled in his sheets with another figure I couldn’t see, the sounds of gasping and moans barely reaching my ears. I flushed to the roots of my hair and knew I should pull away, but jealousy and curiosity got the better of me and I lingered a moment longer, hoping to glean the identity of the other figure. As they shifted, his companion sat up, one hand gently grasping Aubrey’s head and kissing him. I drew back, confused and hurt, before fleeing silently to wait in Augustus’ study.

  After our lessons, alone in the study with wine in hand, Aubrey rambled on about the ancient border disputes we had discussed that day. I forced out single-word responses to his largely rhetorical inquiries as we sat together before the massive fireplace. Tension suffused my body, and I couldn’t help but avoid his gaze.

  “For the love of Adulil, Elivya, what is wrong with you today?” he finally asked in exasperation.

  I shifted my gaze to him in the beginnings of an effort to dissemble but faltered at his disarming amber eyes. I dug for words and came up wholly empty. Despite my silence, I could tell by the shift in his expression that he understood.

  “Oh, gods….”

  “I didn’t mean to spy,” I stumbled in a desperate whisper, my face hot and tears welling in my eyes. Staggering desperately through my apology, my words tumbled from my lips in a rush. “You weren’t there to greet me, so I went looking for you, and the door was open, and I’m so sorry, Aubrey!” The dampness on my cheeks left me feeling childish and embarrassed.

  He stood from his chair and crossed to me, kneeling at my feet and taking my hands. “I know…” he trailed off, his gaze shifting uncomfortably. “I told him it was getting late. Please, it was my folly.” He reached to my face and thumbed away some of my tears. “Why are you crying?”

  I looked up from my lap to meet his gaze. “Don’t you know?” A long moment passed between us, and understanding dawned on him for the second time in as many minutes. He let go of my hand and sat back on his heels.

  “You thought…”

  “I thought that was why you had invited me to study with you so quickly.” Embarrassment quickly turned to anger, and I abandoned my chair to put some distance between us. “Gods, I’m an idiot!”

  I heard him stand. “I’m sorry. I never meant to mislead you. I do truly enjoy your company.” Hugging my arms about me, I couldn’t bring myself to face him in my abject humiliation. One boot scraped on the rug as he took a tentative step toward me. “Please, don’t hate me, Elivya. I don’t think I could bear it.”

  The hurt in his voice caught me off-guard, and I turned to him, brow knitting incredulously. “How could I possibly? My anger is for myself, not for you.”

  An uncomfortable silence stretched between us.

  “Who is he?” I asked quietly after a few minutes.

  “Leon ben Therus.” My mind filed through bloodlines.

  “Is he an heir?”

  “Third in line for his House.”

  I nodded, sniffling and scrubbing tears from my face. “That doesn’t help your situation much.”

  “My aunt has two sons.” His answer came quickly, and I could tell he had given it thought.

  “Do you love him?”

  His face told me more than words ever could. “Very much.”

  I was so painfully young, then. What Aubrey had been to me, my heart had hoped might grow into something more. I enjoyed our time together. We shared common interests, and our temperaments were much alike. What was a good marriage if not that? Ah, gods, I knew nothing of love’s delicate misery.

  I made my exit, leaving Aubrey and my ridiculous impressions before the fire.

  Chapter 2

  The following spring, we returned to Laezon and I turned sixteen. My debut and subsequent winter in the white city had been a well-received success by all accounts, my mother’s most importantly among them. She informed me over supper that several houses had expressed their interest in pursuing an alliance once we returned to Litheria after my seventeenth natality, the age deemed appropriate to begin courtship proceedings. Though I had never lacked for confidence, the accomplishment bolstered my ego, and with it firmly in hand, I went to my father to petition him one final time. I found him in his study, reviewing breeding charts with my mother on one not particularly remarkable afternoon. They both looked up when I entered, conversation halting as I carefully approached the large wooden desk.

  “Father,” I began softly, then steeled my voice and met his eyes with determination. “Father, I would like your permission to train with the garrison cavalry.”

  I watched his shoulders droop as he exhaled wearily. “Elivya, you know my answer.”

  “I’ve only one year left until I go to Court,” I pressed. “Please, Father. It is all I have ever wanted.”

  He stood with effort and rounded the desk to set his heavy hands on my shoulders. As I held his gaze, I saw faded scars on his face that I had never noticed before; old scars, battle scars. Foolish though it was, I yearned for the opportunity to earn some scars of my own.

  “You had your chance, Father. Allow me mine.”

  He seemed stung, and I realized too late that my choice of words had been poor. He had been a valiant commander in the War of Crowns and had led the Lazerin cavalry to many victories in the name of his King. To call his years of service a ‘chance’ belittled them, and I opened my mouth to correct myself.

  “A
lright.”

  My mouth stayed agape, but no sound came forth to express my shock.

  “Alright,” he repeated, a bit more softly, his dark forest eyes meeting mine. I’d soaked up enough of my mother’s training to read the mix of worry and hope on his face. He was afraid for me, and rightfully so, but within him lay a proud confidence that made my heart ache. I was his blood, his heir, the last of the purest Lazerin bloodline. Girl or no, he believed I could do what I had begged incessantly for years to be allowed to attempt. I glanced past him at my mother and, to my surprise, saw her smile and nod slightly to me.

  I would have to disguise myself, of course, as women were not permitted at the fort. My parents had a myriad of conditions between the two of them, foremost among them that I take no undue risks with my person. Training would be no leisurely outing, and my father assured me in no uncertain terms that I’d face more hardship than I’d ever known, but I was to use my best judgment to determine when the demands surpassed reasonable expectation given my sex and station. Samson was already at the garrison and would have no forward notice of my arrival.

  “He will keep you from any mortal danger,” my father assured cautiously, eyeing me from the couch he shared with my mother. “But he will not treat you any more charitably than the other men. It is not his way.” I was glad for it but held my tongue in the face of my mother’s concerned expression. I wanted to be treated the same as any man. Any special consideration would invalidate the very strength I intended to earn by virtue of my own blood and sweat. He went on to firmly assert that, should I be in danger of irreparable harm or discovered as a woman, I was to return home without hesitation.

  I couldn’t sleep that night. I packed and repacked my saddlebags six times, after which, I tossed and turned in my sheets, remembering the first time I followed my father to the training fields to watch the cavalry practice. I willed the morning to come and, eventually, I slept and it did.

  My chambermaid Shera woke me at dawn, brown eyes wide in the morning light. The cook’s daughter, she was a mousy girl a year younger than I and had only recently been appointed to me. At sixteen, my mother had said, I was past due for a personal attendant. It had been awkward at first, but I was slowly growing accustomed to her presence. She roused me with an armful of men’s clothing and a mischievous smile. My quite handmaid had been one of the many children complicit in my horse-thieving escapades, though I’d not known her well back then. She buckled an empty belt around my waist and plaited my hair tightly before sending me down for breakfast.

  My parents were already at the table when I arrived, tucking into a light meal of honeyed bread, sweetmeat, and apples from the winter stores. I joined them, reveling in the ease of movement that breeches afforded me, and set into the meal with a will. As they each eyed me in turn, I kept carefully silent, terrified that they might change their minds at the last moment.

  After the meal, we filed out into the courtyard, and I hurried to the stables to saddle Valor, where I spotted James tacking up his own mount.

  “Where on earth are you going?” I asked him sharply, already suspecting the answer.

  He glanced at me from the stirrup he was adjusting. “With you, of course.”

  My saddlebags dropped to the cobblestones with a thump. “What the hell do you mean, with me?”

  He turned toward me and rolled his eyes as I stomped up to him. “You didn’t honestly think your father would let you go alone, did you?”

  “I don’t need a nursemaid,” I snarled, realizing it was a precaution I should have expected. It was nothing we’d discussed the previous day, but my mother’s concern had not been lost on me, and I suspected her hand in this most recent development.

  He flashed his contagious smile. “Maybe not, but Samson is going to whup you, and I want to be there to see it.”

  I bristled without comment, slipped Valor’s bridle over his ears, and led him determinedly out to the courtyard.

  It hit me in a harsh instant that I was abandoning the safety and comfort of my childhood home as my gaze fell on my parents, waiting patiently to see me off. They had given me everything, and I had tried so hard to get away from them in my sixteen years. Now, they had finally agreed to let me go, and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to. Doubt gnawed at my core like a ravenous dog with a fresh bone.

  The morning air clung to my skin, cool and damp. Even the early summer dawns were chill, and I was glad for my cloak, acutely aware of every sound, every movement around me. I wondered if Adulil Himself was watching as I left Valor to bid farewell to my parents.

  My mother hugged me first, pulling away to rest one solemn hand on my cheek. “Be careful.” I nodded gravely as she stepped aside for my father, who held his chin high and peered down his nose at me. Drawing a quick, deep breath, he pivoted stiffly to the servant behind him and removed a sheathed dagger from an aged wooden box. Turning back to me, he grabbed my wrist, thrusting the leather bundle into my hand. His glistening eyes locked on mine as his hands clasped the sheathed blade to my palm, and I had to fight my own tears with a will.

  “Return with honor.” It was a father’s farewell to a son, and I was proud to receive it.

  James finished his farewell to his parents Stephan and Amita as I secured the knife to my belt before climbing into the saddle. Valor skirted across the stones beneath me and, with one last look at my parents, I shifted in my seat and turned to the manor gates. My dappled stallion gave an excited hop as he spun for the exit, surging forward with all eagerness, James close behind on his painted gelding. As we raced across the fields, I dared not look back, desperately afraid of losing my nerve.

  When I finally eased Valor into a comfortable pace, James drew up beside me and eyed me with what he thought was subtlety, but I had come to know as concern. I ignored him, pressing on in silence. I needed to be strong for my House, and what better way than through strength of arms? I wanted to make my father proud, to eliminate his sorrow at having no son, and to ease my mother’s guilt at failing to bear him one. I wanted to prove that the Lazerin line would not fail at my hands, that I could withstand anything, overcome anything. I prayed I would be able.

  Around midday, James called for a rest. He had packed a suitable lunch for us both, an oversight I was ashamed to admit I had not even considered when packing my bags. We stopped to eat under one of the many large trees that dotted the rolling hills of Laezon, the vast territory of my House’s governance.

  For fear of betraying my sudden uncertainty, I remained silent as we passed the smoked meat, cheese, and hunk of bread back and forth. I could feel my friend watching me, and knew it was only a matter of time before he broke our silence. It wasn’t until we were re-packing the horses that he finally did.

  “Are you sure?” His eyes held no judgment, though they never did. My hands stilled on the straps of my saddlebag.

  No. My heart yearned to say it. The word ran through my head, screamed in my veins. I wasn’t sure about any of it. I had been for years, but now my entire body was reeling as I second-guessed myself. What if I failed? What if I was discovered? What would my father do? What would the other soldiers do?

  “Don’t, James,” was all the answer I could give. Avoiding his gaze, I secured my bags and mounted. As we set off again, I regretted not confiding in my oldest friend, but I had made my choice long ago. To turn back would be cowardice, and that was one thing I could not abide in myself.

  We rode the rest of the journey in silence. When we came upon the garrison in the early evening, we paused at the crest of a nearby hill. Below us sprawled the vast training fields, dotted with practice targets and rails. Beyond them lay a massive stone fort with five towers, each flying the emerald banner of my House. Atop the tallest, a white flag of the House of Adulil rose above the others, its golden sunburst catching the evening light. The walls stood high and thick, taller than five men and wider than six abreast. It had been an intimidating stronghold in the War of Crowns, one which my father had defended well. I
vowed then and there to do honor to my House, whatever the cost. James sat atop his gelding a few paces away, silent and watchful. I turned to him and offered an apologetic grin.

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use some hot food and a soft bed.”

  James flashed his all-forgiving smile, and we took off at a gallop toward the fort.

  It was fully dark by the time we reached the sturdy wood-and-iron gate. Two armored sentries halted us before it, spears at the ready. After a short exchange, we were admitted into a massive stone courtyard still bustling with activity. We relinquished our horses to the stable hands who directed us to the main hall.

  “You’ve missed supper, but Sarah may be willing to warm you up something,” offered one boy with a friendly smile. I thanked him and we headed for the hall. The main basilica reached nearly as high as the fortress walls and was as wide as it was tall and nearly twice as long. Simple shutters had been thrown wide to allow smoke to escape into the pleasant evening air.

  The doors before us burst open to expel four very inebriated men, a cacophony of noise spilling into the night behind them. They stumbled past us as we made our way inside. I was glad for my breeches and tunic, and even more glad that Shera had tied back my hair. My face and figure were boyish enough to do the rest. None of the men paid much attention to us as we passed through the long hall toward the enormous hearth at the far end where some empty space was to be had.

  All of the men were fantastically drunk. Mugs and pitchers of ale were the only adornments on the long wooden tables. Tattered, bloodied flags lined the walls, hanging like tapestries over the stones. I recognized very few of them but spotted one infamous black flag with a golden sunburst near the far end.

  Brandon the Bastard.

  We made our way through the mass of ale-stinking bodies to the far end of the hall and found seats near the hearth within sight of the kitchen. James poked his head into the galley to ask after some supper. The garrison cook, an annoyed-looking older woman, brought us bowls of lukewarm stew and some crusty bread. We thanked her as she retreated to the kitchen, and I took a long look at the wanton chaos around us.