Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

by Nilsen, Karen

  “Do you know what the difference is between a slut and a lady, Eden?” he had asked, the quiet depth in his voice stirring something inside I didn’t understand. Not then. When I shook my head, he shook me. “Listen now, you little fool. Sluts kiss stable boys. Ladies kiss princes. Do you understand?”

  “Not exactly, sir,” I whispered hoarsely.

  “What don’t you understand about that? The tutor said you were passably bright.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but I thought ladies didn’t kiss anyone,” I retorted, made bold by the fact I wasn’t dead. Yet.

  A fleeting shadow of a smile had creased his mouth before he shook me again for being flippant. Then he gave me the worst lecture of my life. He rarely had to thrash Merius, and after that lecture I understood why--his lectures were worse than any thrashing, full of biting sarcasm and horrible threats. I was terrified, yet fascinated. As I left him that day, my ego battered and my frock crushed from all the shaking, I looked back. He was at his open wardrobe, reaching in and pulling out a pair of brown leather gauntlets. I remembered the snugness of the leather over his square hands, the neat way his shirt had tucked into the narrow oval of his belt, the tautness of his stance, a tautness that came from the lean muscles gained in endless practice with a blade. It was the first time I could remember looking at a grown man like that . . .

  “What do you want?” he demanded finally, dragging me back to the present. He was still writing in the ledger.

  “You summoned me.”

  “See me tomorrow about it.”

  “I‘m here now.” Sometimes I wondered at my brazenness with him--I was but the orphan whore of the family. The only people in the House who had stood up to him with any success were his wife, who was dead, and Merius, who was disinherited. Yet here I was, making wisecracks. I bit my tongue, but it was too late. As usual.

  He lowered his spectacles and fixed me with that unblinking gaze that seemed to miss nothing. I shrank in my seat. “Do you want to balance this, Eden?” He pointed to the ledgers, the stacks of papers.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then leave.”

  I half rose, tensed to flee. “I heard an odd rumor about you at court,” I said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

  “What?” Even he was not above natural curiosity. I grinned inside and sank back in my chair.

  “Sir Casian intends to offer his youngest daughter to you.”

  He tipped his spectacles back up and returned to the ledger. “That’s nothing of note. These fools started baiting me with their daughters before Arilea was decently in the ground. This damned sot,” he muttered, evidently referring to Whitten. “I should have let Merius use him for target practice.”

  “But sir, shouldn’t you at least consider his offer?”

  “Consider his offer? What offer? An eighteen-year-old twit with a dowry of forty pigs and cattle and a few acres of swamp isn’t an offer. It’s an insult.”

  “What if Merius doesn’t come back?”

  His pen stopped scratching in the ledger, and there was a long silence. “That’s my worry, no one else’s,” he said finally, quiet warning in his voice.

  “You need heirs, Mordric, if you’re to hold your place at court.”

  “I have an heir.”

  “How can he be an heir if he’s disinherited?”

  “He’s not disinherited. I haven’t disinherited him, and he can’t disinherit himself.”

  “That’s what he appears to have done, for all intents and purposes. Besides, I said heirs, not heir.”

  Mordric gave up any pretense of writing and put down his quill pen before he crossed his arms. “He and Safire will have children in good time. Sons.”

  “But they won’t be your heirs, either, if Merius isn‘t your heir.”

  His voice went even quieter. “Eden, consider yourself warned.”

  I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, has Prince Segar said anything about Merius, asked you any questions?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Should I press him for you?”

  “No--I told you not to tumble him anymore.”

  “I don’t have to tumble him to press him. Besides, why do you care if I tumble him?”

  “What if you get with child? A royal bastard is a complication. I’m not in the mood for complications.”

  “I have ways of avoiding complications.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Eden, that’s dangerous.”

  “Bloodweed’s not dangerous.”

  “Women have bled to death from it.”

  “Reti says that’s a rarity. She‘s the court midwife--she should know.”

  “Reti’s an old witch and a liar.”

  “What am I to do? I’d have several bastards by now, if not for the bloodweed.”

  “You little fool,” he muttered. “If you take it again, I’ll whip you myself.”

  “Mordric, I can’t get the information you want without a little persuasion.”

  He ignored me. “It’s about time you married before your reputation’s completely ruined.”

  “Marry?” I heard my voice rise and tried to curtail it. “Marry? I won’t . . .”

  “Arilea took bloodweed,” he said quietly, and I fell silent. “She’d had three stillbirths in a row, and when she found she was with child again, she said she’d rather miscarry. She was hysterical.” He paused, and then continued on in the same flat voice, “I talked her out of the bloodweed the first time, reminded her that Merius had come after a miscarriage and another stillbirth. Then when she was seven months along, the baby stopped moving. She panicked--she thought her body a tomb. She took the bloodweed and was brought to bed, where she bled to death after delivering our stillborn son. Don‘t take it again, Eden. There are other methods.”

  “All of them more superstition than anything useful.”

  “The bloodweed is little better than superstition. At least the others won’t kill you.” He paused for a moment. “We should have put you in a convent when your parents died.”

  “A convent?”

  “You’ve had no proper upbringing, passed from this nurse to that. And Arilea and Talia weren’t good influences for you.”

  I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable myself. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing besides poor judgment. It’s just the convent would have been better for a young girl.”

  “Can you see me as a nun?”

  He snorted and shut the ledger, bracing his elbows on the table as he leaned forward. “I can see you as a wife to some high courtier. It’s time you married, Eden.”

  “No.”

  “Do you defy me?”

  “You’re but my second cousin once removed. You can‘t command me.” Outwardly, I stayed cool but inside I was shaking. He couldn’t make me--he just couldn’t.

  “I can’t? Just what have I been doing the last seven years at court, if not commanding you?”

  “Whitten’s the head of the House. He‘s the one who officially contracts the betrothals, not you . . .”

  “If that’s to be your line of argument, I’m afraid it’ll soon play out, my dear.”

  “Is this why you summoned me here from court?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it awhile. You’re our only marriageable alliance left.”

  “But I thought you said I wasn’t marriageable, with my reputation.”

  “You irked me, so I lied. Other courtesans have married, at least the ones from families with enough political connections and coin to make up for a questionable past. I‘ve had offers for you.”

  “From who?”

  “You don’t want to know.” He offered one of his rare smiles, but I was not comforted. “Come, Eden, don’t you trust me to make a good match for you when I can make a good match for the likes of Whitten?”

  “Have you betrothed him then?” I asked, happy to change the subject.

  “To Cyranea of the Helles Isles.
”

  “That‘s a ripe plum of a match.” The Helles Isles were off the northeastern coast, the source of Cormalen’s best wool, arguably the finest wool in the world.

  “Her father needs the influence at court. King Arian is not pleased half our wool is going to Sarneth with no tariff.”

  “Can’t he stop that?”

  “It’s difficult enough having all our ships patrolling the main coast, much less the islands. Besides, the king only has suspicions, nothing more. He dare not change the whole course of the royal navy on a hunch--it would upset the merchants on the mainland who need the protection from pirates.” Mordric rustled some papers. “But back to the subject of your marriage . . .”

  “There’ll be no marriage for me, not to some provincial.”

  “I can arrange it so you’ll still be at court. Some men don’t bury their wives in the country.”

  “You did.”

  He ignored me. “Surely you didn’t think you could be a courtesan forever?”

  “I seem to be doing well enough. You’ve always been happy to have the information I’ve brought you, the intrigue I’ve uncovered. Why change it now?”

  “I’ve never approved of it, that’s why,” he said shortly. “It’s a talent you discovered on your own, something I would never have trained or asked you to do.”

  I sank against the back of my chair, gaping at him. “When did you grow the interfering conscience of a fussy bachelor?”

  He ignored the question. “Now I’ve given you what you came for, so leave.”

  “And what have you given me?” I asked, rising. My legs shook as if I’d walked all the way from court.

  “A bone to chew on, vixen. Now leave.” He opened up the ledger again and polished his spectacles on his sleeve before he perched them on his nose. They looked out of place on his hawk-featured face, the mundane trappings of middle age forced on the still able warrior. “Think on who you’d like to marry,” he continued, “so long as he’s not too low.”

  You. I want you. I fled the chamber, slamming the door behind me before the outrageous thought became visible on my face. Mordric could read faces with some skill while keeping his a cipher. It was one reason he’d gotten so far at court. I leaned against the wall beside the dusty portrait of some long-dead ancestor, my chest heaving. He was twenty-eight years my senior, a distant relative, and he clearly viewed me as a wayward child in need of guidance. I shouldn’t want him. But what I should do was often different from what I did.

  Chapter Six--Mordric

  The Landers horse master Ebner stopped on our walk through the stable and leaned against the last stall gate. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he said, nodding to a chestnut filly eating in the corner.

  I watched as the filly took a bite of hay and tossed her mane at the flies, flashing the white star on her forehead. “What ridiculous name did you give her again?”

  “Moon’s Envy--that’s what Merius’s wife called her. It suits, I think.”

  “Interfering wench,” I muttered.

  “What, sir?”

  “Never mind.” I turned my back to the stall, braced myself against the carved pillar with my arms crossed. This gave me a good view of the courtyard through the open stable doorway. Whitten had skulked off earlier, supposedly to visit some tenants, and I wanted to see when he returned. “What do you think we should do with her?”

  “What, with the filly? Keep her--breed her when the time comes. There’s no way to know her true worth until she’s foaled a couple times.”

  I nodded. I would have said the same. Ebner had proven his common sense many times over, but I still tested him in small ways. A fool trying to impress me would have said the filly was worth twice her weight in gold and I should sell her as soon as possible.

  There came the hollow clap of hooves on the cobbles. Cyril of Somners rode into the courtyard on his bay gelding. I straightened and began to walk out of the stable. “Get Hunter saddled,” I told Ebner, “and bring him out to me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good afternoon,” I said as Cyril dismounted.

  “Good afternoon.” He gripped the pommel of the saddle and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. We were the same age, though he seemed older. He always had, ever since I first met him at the academy and later when I courted Arilea at the House of Somners. He had been Arilea‘s favorite cousin, perhaps because he was a chivalrous fool who believed her innocent act despite all sordid evidence to the contrary. Her false tears and ranting about my lack as a husband even goaded Cyril and I into a duel with each other at one point. It was the silliest duel I had ever fought--and won. Now he and I served on the king‘s council together as uneasy allies.

  “The prince said you were here until the end of the week,” he snorted, clearing his throat.

  I glanced at the house and thought I saw the drapes of one of the second story windows stir. The last thing I wanted was Eden eavesdropping on my business with him. “Let’s ride the property together--I’d rather talk without walls.”

  Cyril nodded and climbed back on his horse. Ebner brought out Hunter. I mounted and urged him forward with a slight tightening of my knees. He had been my horse for many years, and he responded to my will with little guidance.

  We rode through the courtyard gate and on to the graveled path that led by the orchards. I steered Hunter left, along the grassy slope between the lines of trees. Apples hung heavy and red on the branches, on the verge of picking. The worms had already tested a few, the acid sweetness of the apples' ferment pungent in the air. Cyril swore behind me, a branch hitting his arm.

  “Mordric, who the hell would listen, that we had to come out here? I want some of your cook’s peach brandy, not wormy apples.”

  “You’re the one who’s always insisted we not speak at court.”

  “But your study’s always been secure enough before. Why isn’t it now?”

  We left the orchard, and now the horses waded through the knee high grass of the meadows on the edge of the forest hills. “Eden’s at the hall.”

  “Ah--you think her a spy?”

  “No. She’s close with the prince though, and it’s better she doesn’t hear us. She likes to eavesdrop.”

  “She’s a loose cannon ball,” he grumbled. “You’d best keep her from rolling.”

  “I’m more worried about our heads rolling,” I said. “Eden’s loyal, Cyril. But even loyalty can be compromised by too much knowledge--she might accidentally let something she overheard slip to the prince, given their frequent meetings.”

  “If she’s so loyal, why haven’t you used her position to press him?”

  “I have, just not in this matter. It’s too dangerous.”

  He was silent a moment. The horses’ hooves rustled the leaves on the forest path. “I don’t trust her, Mordric.”

  “I don’t give a damn, Cyril.” Cyril and I were allies by default, not by choice. He was the head of council at court, a position a hairsbreadth above mine on the official record. Unofficially, though, I had more influence, and it rankled him.

  “It’s just every loose woman I’ve ever known had a loose tongue as well,” he muttered.

  “And how many women have you’ve known? Your mother, Arilea, and your wife make three.”

  “I’m honorable,” he said, his voice stiff. “I’ve never kept a mistress.”

  I smirked. “If you’re so concerned about Eden’s reputation, perhaps you would be willing to betroth your nephew to her.”

  “What?” he exclaimed. “Darin? Darin’s courting Alane of Casian.”

  “Another marriage would strengthen the bond between our Houses.”

  “Yes. Likely the king would let us hang together then,” he said dryly.

  A silence fell as Cyril and I rode further up the path into the forest. I gathered my thoughts about the situation in Sarneth. It seemed every prince in the known world wanted to marry Her Royal Highness Esme. A marriage alliance with her was an alliance with Sarn
eth, the only northern nation large enough and rich enough to combat the SerVerin Empire. Cormalen didn't stand a chance against the SerVerin Empire without Sarneth's help. Luckily for us, Sarneth and Cormalen had been ready allies for a thousand years. It had seemed a given when Esme was born that she and our Prince Segar would one day marry and strengthen this alliance between Cormalen and Sarneth. However, what had once seemed a certainty had become worrisomely uncertain of late. Although she had never stated it publicly, Queen Jazmene's sympathies seemed to lie with her birth land Numer and the SerVerin Empire, and Queen Jazmene had a lot of power. King Rainier was a reclusive sphinx, so reclusive that some fools even credited Sarneth's growing riches to Queen Jazmene's ready manner and diplomacy in public rather than to King Rainier's brilliant administration behind the scenes. I knew better--I had played chess with King Rainier.

  "We need to get Lord Rankin a private audience with King Rainier," I mused aloud. "An audience without Queen Jazmene present--or any of her spies."

  "Mordric, you know the only Cormalen noble Rainier will see on his own is you, and that's to play chess, not discuss betrothal arrangements. Damn near impossible to get an audience with Rainier--I didn't see him at any of the palace dinners or balls when I was in Sarneth, or I would have approached him." Cyril swatted at a horsefly. "Damned things."

  "Lord Rankin's a scholar and quite skilled at chess. I wager he and King Rainier would get along like sparks and tinder if we could just arrange a private audience. The problem is bypassing the queen's spies so she doesn't find out about the audience until after it's happened--with this betrothal agreement up in the air, she doesn't want Rankin anywhere near the king. Who do we know that is in a position to be a ready spy in the Sarneth court, someone who could help Rankin get past the queen?"

  “Merius is in Rankin’s household. Better yet, his wife is at court--I saw her several times with Toscar, even with the queen once.”

  “Who, Rankin’s wife?”

  “No, Merius’s wife.”

  “Merius’s wife? You saw Safire at the Sarneth court?” I drew rein and looked at him.