The man holding the baby suddenly shifted it to his shoulder, his hood slipping down. He was young, not even twenty summers, and stern-faced, his bones as harsh-lined as the cliffs around him. His pale hair gleamed white in the moonlight as he rounded the bottom of the cliff . . . I squinted at the sketch. An illusion--it had to be an illusion. The figures weren’t stirring now. But even as I looked at them again, they started moving. Blinking, I stepped back. My imagination was too damned good sometimes, even after my father had tried to discipline it out of me. I went into the other room, still shaking my head.
Chapter Three--Safire
I threw my head back, laughing as Merius twirled me over the gleaming parquet floor of the palace ballroom. It was a merry place, full of the lively music of violins and orkas, a Sarneth instrument similar to a shepherd's pipe. Despite it being court, the crowd allowed us to keep our anonymity. We could slip in and out, and no one seemed any the wiser. Other couples danced and flirted all around us, the women draped in bright silks and jewelry, the men in colors almost as bright.
The formality of the Cormalen court was all but absent--even the Sarneth princess Esme giggled in the arms of her father’s weapons master. At one point, I might have envied her, if not for her position, then for her height. My short stature had always bothered me, especially at dances. I felt like my partners were always looking over my head. Then I met Merius, who couldn’t take his eyes off me, and I didn‘t feel short anymore.
After several turns, Merius pulled me back. My hand came to rest on his shoulder. We slowed for a moment, and I went on tiptoe so I could nuzzle his neck, relishing his sweet, dark scent. He had made use of the common baths at the embassy, as he usually did after exercise and practice, and I could smell the sandalwood and herbs Lord Rankin’s servants put in the water.
We whirled around the floor, deftly navigating the sea of skirts. Only once did Merius misjudge, and we brushed against the weapons master and Princess Esme, almost tripping her. “Excuse me,” I gasped.
Merius bowed. “Your Highness, I beg pardon.”
“Do you?” The princess arched one dark brow, her gaze traveling over him. “Cormalen?”
“Yes, Your Highness. This is my wife, Safire, formerly of Long Marsh. I am Merius of Landers.”
“Indeed.” She spared me an amused glance. “Of course, I know the House of Landers. I’m sorry to say I’ve never heard of the other--what did you say? Long Swamp? That isn’t to impugn its reputation. I‘m woefully ignorant of the Cormalen minor Houses.”
I bit my tongue as Merius continued in his formal court voice, “Please accept my humblest apologies. I was taught better than to be so clumsy.”
“It wasn’t your clumsiness, good sir,” said the weapons master gruffly. “I’m new to dancing.”
“Yes, I’m teaching Lord Tage the dance, so it is you who should be accepting our apologies.” Princess Esme gave a full, musical laugh, never taking her eyes off Merius. “It’s a shame you don’t need any lessons.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. Apology accepted,” I said. She glanced at me again, this time less amused. I smiled. “I know it can be difficult, learning to dance.”
“It certainly is,” grumbled Lord Tage.
Merius chuckled. “Just think of it as fencing, sir, without the swords. That’s how I learned.”
I looked up, met his gaze. “Does that make me your only undefeated opponent?”
Wench he mouthed. Then he looked at the princess again, his face freezing in a deferential mask. Merius’s father had not been lax in teaching him Cormalen court etiquette, something that was both intriguing and frustrating Her Highness the flirt. She flashed him a brilliant smile, but all he responded with was a polite incline of his head. “Do excuse us, your Highness.”
“Well, I hope all your fellow countrymen have your,” she paused, giving Merius another overly familiar look, “manners.” Then, with a perfect ripple of her straight, heavy hair, she was off with Sir Tage, wheeling across the floor.
“Horrendous flirt,” I muttered as Merius and I began to dance again.
“What was that, sweet?”
“I like her gown--the gold braid is pretty,” I said stiffly.
He grinned, his hand tight on my waist. “That’s not what you said.”
“Never mind what I said.”
“I’ll tell you a secret.”
“What?”
“Prince Segar aims to win her hand.” Prince Segar was the heir to the Cormalen throne. “It was in one of Rankin’s letters the other day.”
“Merius! You read his letters?”
“Shh.” He guided us along the edge of the crowd. “He sometimes has me transcribe his letters in secret. He told me his scribe is a dunce--actually I think he fears him a spy and doesn‘t want him transcribing the more private correspondence.”
“Why doesn’t he sack the man then?”
“Because that would alert whoever is paying the scribe that Rankin knows about the spying.”
“Oh.” Sometimes I felt a fool when Merius talked about intrigue. “So why does Prince Segar want her? Her looks?”
“No--her dowry includes several mines near the Marennese border, and it would strengthen our alliance with Sarneth.”
“Poor girl.” My sympathy was in earnest.
“Why do you say that?”
I made a face. “Prince Segar? He’s hardly a desirable catch, crown or no.”
“He’s your future king, sweet.”
“How treasonous of me.” I snorted. “I danced with him once. His hands were like dead fish, clammy and cold, and he never took a gander at my cleavage. Hardly looked at me at all in fact.”
Merius was taken aback but recovered. “Perhaps he was being polite.”
“You weren’t polite when we met,” I said. Merius turned me so fast I felt dizzy.
“Ass,” I gasped, laughing.
He twirled me back to him, almost too close for propriety, a devilish glint in his eyes. “Was that polite, my lady?”
“No--do it again.”
“You know, I never would have thought that of Prince Segar. My kinswoman Eden was practically his mistress, may still be . . .”
“Perhaps he tumbles her for the same reason he danced with me.”
“And what would that be?”
“For show. He danced with me because his courtiers were watching him.”
“And the king.” Merius was thoughtful. “You may have something there. God, my father would kill to know that. Blackmail, you know.”
“Isn’t that dangerous, blackmailing the prince?”
Merius shrugged. “Father doesn’t know what dangerous means.”
“Neither do you sometimes.” I touched his side. The bandage had come off today. “How does it feel?”
“Fine--would you quit fretting?
“No.”
“You did an excellent job. It‘s fine. Now stop prodding it, or I‘ll twirl you till you‘re dizzy. Oh, excuse me,” he said suddenly to a man who had appeared at his side. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I came to ask for a turn with your lady,” the man said in a quiet voice.
I could feel the blood draining from my face. It was the man from the market, the strange nobleman who had bought half of my sketches with twelve gold lupins. Merius, none the wiser, passed me over to him. I tried to shake my head, say no, but found that I had gone numb, my throat constricted. This was ridiculous--the man had merely bought some sketches from me and paid an unusually generous sum. I would be a fool to offend him. I took his smooth, cool hand, felt that ice blue aura envelop me, met his sharp hazel eyes. He swept me off into the crowd, as proficient on his feet as I imagined he was at everything else he did. I looked after Merius, my gaze pleading. He was watching us. Just before he disappeared behind another couple, I saw his eyes narrow, and he stared after us. Then I lost sight of him.
“So we meet again, my lady--I see you still have charcoal dust on your hands.” His aura probed mine. He was i
ntensely curious about me. I could almost feel him in my head, poking over my brain as an alchemist pokes over metal dust and quicksilver. My hand jerked suddenly toward my belly, as if to protect the baby, and I stopped myself. “Are you all right?” he asked.
There was no way he could know about the baby--my skirts were loose, and although my middle seemed to grow more every day, I had at least another month before I wouldn’t be able to hide under a high-waisted frock anymore.
“I don’t believe I know your name, my lord,” I managed finally.
“Falken didn’t tell you?” He asked, amused.
“No.”
“He’s a fool boy, but even he knows his limits, it seems.”
“What is your name?”
“Lord Toscar.”
“The one who controls the inlet?” My voice shook. Toscar Inlet was at the mouth of the Arkaddian River, the border between Sarneth and Marenna. He must be powerful indeed, to have so much wealth pouring through his fingers.
“You seem a quick girl.” He sounded displeased. He steered us toward the edge of the room, near one of the large archways that led to the main hall. I glanced around but didn’t see Merius. I looked back at Toscar and wondered if I dared kick him, Lord of the Inlet or no. He gave up any pretense of dancing then, grabbing my elbow as he led me under the archway and into a dim hallway, filled with more arches and mirrors. After the noise and light of the ballroom, this deserted echoing space was a rude shock.
I tried to wrench my arm away, but Toscar’s grip only tightened. “Stop it!” I yelled.
Suddenly Merius was at my free elbow. “Let her go this instant,” he said, his hand already going for his dagger.
Toscar paused, his hand still clenched around my elbow. His eyes flicked over Merius. “Sir Landers, I presume?”
“All right,” Merius said. “I don’t know who you are, but evidently you don‘t hear very well.” He started to draw his dagger.
Toscar snapped his fingers. The sound reverberated up and down the hall, and dark shapes I hadn’t noticed before appeared between the arches. “Merius,” I hissed. With the mirrors, there seemed at least twenty shapes, who or what I didn‘t want to find out.
“I see them,” he said, but his hand was still on his dagger.
“Let me assure you, sir, I mean no dishonor to your wife,” Toscar said.
“Then let her go.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’m escorting her to meet with Her Majesty.”
“Under armed guard? What for?”
Toscar smiled faintly. “The guard is for my own protection. As for the nature of the meeting, that is for Queen Jazmene to reveal. I am merely her servant.”
“Who are you?”
“Lord Toscar.”
A stillness came over Merius’s face, the same stillness he had had in the presence of the princess. His court mask. “Safire, how do you know this man?”
“He bought some of my sketches a week ago.”
Merius turned back to Toscar. “You’ve met my father, my lord?”
“Mordric’s been a good ally, though most formidable at chess--and in the practice salon.” Toscar’s chuckle was thin. “I still have the nicks his blade left on me.”
“You told me that to assure me you are indeed who you say you are.” Merius’s voice was flat.
“Yes--I know you’re your father’s son and wouldn’t trust merely seeing my family crest or colors.”
“Which you don’t wear anyway for fear of assassination,” Merius finished for him, as if by rote. He slid his dagger back into its sheath. “Why must a high lord like yourself resort to common kidnapping and threats to procure my lady wife?” he asked coldly.
“I admit, it’s most unorthodox, but then Lady Safire here is far from an,” here his hand tightened on my arm, “orthodox woman. Consider it one of my little jests. No insult intended. Now, we must to the queen‘s private chamber . . .”
Merius stopped him. “Insult has been taken, whether intended or not. My father will hear of it.”
Toscar‘s sudden laugh startled me. “Indeed. It’s a bold bluff, Sir Merius, worthy of your father if you were still in his House. But you and Mordric have lately quarreled, as my spies in the Cormalen court tell me. In fact, all you have to back your fine words is your dagger and your shadow. Now, I mean no harm to your lady, whatever you may think. Come along.” He led me swiftly along, Merius following us. Around him floated the silent shapes, likely the queen’s personal guard--I caught the glimmer of swords when I looked behind us. No harm, indeed. With a snap of his fingers, this terrifying man beside me could have both Merius and me cut to shreds, and he said no harm.
After walking through a series of shadowy halls lit only by a few torches, we stopped beside a large wall tapestry of a lioness sleeping near a fountain in a garden maze, a riderless steed galloping wildly outside the garden gate. The founding of Sarneth began with such a myth, a talking lioness in the middle of a maze that gobbled up knights who failed to answer three arbitrary questions. I stared at it, at the rich golds and greens of the threads, at the dark red stain the color of cherries around the lioness’s mouth. How comforting.
Toscar glanced up and down the hall before he lifted the tapestry to reveal a small, ornately carved door. Merius had to duck as we were ushered through it into a well-lit chamber hung in light blue damask. Thankfully, only two of the guards shuffled after us, staying close to Merius‘s heels.
Despite our predicament, I stared slack-jawed at the beauty of that room. Furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a massive collection of SerVerin ivory, a silver and blue rug woven into the design of the Sarneth royal crest (a leaping porpoise), so thick and soft my feet were almost lost in it. And paintings--so many paintings, all styles, both oils and water. I almost touched one, a water painting of a country manor at dawn, before I stopped myself--it was just that the colors were so real, the pink and golden clouds perfectly vague and diaphanous. The queen must be a collector.
Merius touched me then, and I almost jumped, so lost was I in the painting. I glanced back at him, our gazes meeting. He still wore his court face, but his eyes had a glazed cast--I knew then he had never been in a chamber this sumptuous either, despite being the only son of a high Cormalen courtier. He shot me a small, tight smile and ran his fingers over my shoulder blades, just a light pressure to let me know I wasn’t alone.
There was a curtained archway opposite the door we entered. At that moment, the silken curtain stirred, and Queen Jazmene entered with two veiled handmaids. Although I had never seen her before, there was no doubt this woman was the queen. Her dark hair, piled into a mass of curls, was topped with a delicately woven gold circlet, set with diamonds and sapphires. She swept into the chamber with the assurance of one who had had others bowing to her since before she could remember. Her skin had the thin, pale cast of a woman in middle age, crow’s feet just beginning to appear at the corner of her large brown eyes. Otherwise, she might have been just a couple of years older than her daughter.
Lord Toscar bowed deeply. Both Merius and I followed suit, my curtsy made awkward by my trembling knees. “This is the Lady Safire, Your Majesty,” Toscar said, gesturing to me. “And her husband, Merius of Landers.”
“Why, my dear,” she exclaimed warmly, coming forward. I realized then Princess Esme had inherited not just her mother‘s eyes but her height as well. “You’re a mere slip of a girl.”
I straightened and made myself as tall as possible. “I’ll be nineteen in February, Your Majesty, well above marrying age in my land.”
“So young,” she murmured, her fingers sliding under my jaw. She was so close I hardly dared breathe. Her hand was dry but firm as she raised my head. A hand with authority. An aura as brilliant and hard as diamond. An aura with authority. Just what Merius and I needed--authority. Someone else telling us what to do. I felt my lip start to curl in distaste. Oh no. Not here. She was a queen and could have our heads. I had better behave myself. After all, I
didn’t know what she wanted. So I managed a slight smile as her eyes searched mine. Although she was far warmer in manner than her servant Lord Toscar, I felt the same probing curiosity from her that I had felt from him.
I forced myself not to jerk my head back as she touched my hair. “Such a lovely color. And so rare. How did you escape the stake?” she asked. I did jerk my head back then. “Oh, my dear, I’m sorry,” she continued swiftly. “Never fear, we don’t have such barbaric practices in Sarneth. We would never burn someone for the color of her hair.”
“We wouldn’t do that in Cormalen either, Your Majesty,” Merius said, his tone cool. I could tell he was furious.
“Ah.” The queen showed him a dazzling smile that put me in mind of her daughter. “A lion-hearted protector. That’s good. You have something truly priceless to protect here, young man. Not from me or Lord Toscar, though--we mean her no harm. You look so much like your father, it’s almost uncanny.” She stepped back, away from me, and I finally dared breathe again.
“Thank you. I’ve heard that before.” His tone had gone from cool to clipped. “Now, Your Majesty, if I may be so bold, to what do we owe the honor of this meeting?”
“Radik.” She looked at Lord Toscar, reproachful. “You should have told them. No wonder they‘re frightened.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, I thought that best left to you.”
“Perhaps.” She turned to me and Merius, her hands clasped behind her back. “As you can see, I collect art. Particularly paintings. I have several masters living here at court and others scattered around at our royal manors. I’m usually loyalist in my tastes, except when it comes to SerVerin ivory.” She indicated the pieces with a graceful wave of her hand. “I find foreign painters primitive, even our close cousins in Cormalen. Perhaps if Arian’s court patronized and encouraged painters and sculptors as we do here . . . ah, but that is another lecture for another day. I tend to ramble on this subject. Suffice it to say, I was much surprised when Radik brought me your charcoals, my dear.”
“But they’re rough, primitive as you say. I’ve had no proper training . . .”
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 6