Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

by Nilsen, Karen

  “Supper was all I was meaning, sir.”

  Evil vixen. “Good, because usually you take half the night, washing your face and flirting with the stable hands.”

  “How do you know that?” she shot back. “This is the first time we’ve ridden this road together in a year.”

  “Perrin told me. Ebner even mentioned it once.”

  She muttered under her breath as I continued, “Speaking of your unbridled flirting, I’m ordering you to desist immediately. No more winks behind your fan, ribald remarks, or clandestine trysts.”

  “Why?”

  “You said earlier it would be impossible for you to play the virgin bride. It wouldn’t be so difficult if you’d behave yourself. You should be chaste. Reformed. At least for awhile. It will make it easier to find you a husband.”

  “How chaste?”

  “As chaste as a nun, my dear. Remember I have the carriage whip at the ready.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “From now on, the only time you go on your knees is to pray. If I hear differently, and believe me, I hear everything, you’ll regret it.”

  “What about what just happened? Will you punish me for that?”

  I took a deep breath. “No. That was my fault.”

  “How noble of you,” she said wryly. “I suppose next you’ll say the whiskey unhinged your wits.”

  “No.” I gritted my teeth. “I was perfectly aware of what I did. It was wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t mock me. You know why.”

  “Our blood tie is so slight we might as well be from different Houses, and couplings occur within Houses all the time. Look at the royal family.”

  “I hardly need you to give me a lesson in our traditions and customs, Eden. Now, we’ll speak no more of this. It won’t happen again, so there’s no point.”

  “I’m far from a child, Mordric, no matter my age in years,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ve experienced enough to know what I want . . .”

  “I said we’ll speak no more of this.”

  “Fine. Speaking of it is not what interests me. Nor you evidently.”

  I surrendered this last word to her, wanting to avoid any more dangerous banter. Silence smoldered between us, lasting so long that I wished for the banter again. At least it would have distracted me from my dishonorable thoughts, as vivid and inescapable as any young man’s fantasies. I was too old for this, damn it. Good women never understood how we struggled to protect them from ourselves, and wicked women never understood why.

  Chapter Seven--Safire

  Using a glass pipette, Korigann added several drops of the linseed oil and beeswax medium to the brown lump on the marble palette. “See, we want this thinner,” he explained, mixing the medium into the brown ochre with the palette knife in messy swirls. “It’s to be the wash for the background.”

  I nodded, glancing at the table set before us. Several glossy apples and fat pears had been scattered across a swatch of brown velvet. The velvet, deliberately wrinkled and bunched up, would offer me practice painting different textures and kinds of shadows. Korigann handed me the palette knife, his callused skin brushing against mine. Forty years of handling turpentine and various mineral compounds had given him the hands of a peasant ploughman.

  I finished mixing the brown ochre with the medium, adding three more drops of the oil-beeswax mixture before it attained the proper consistency. “Good,” Korigann said, gazing over my shoulder. “Now you can start.”

  I took a deep breath and picked up a wide-tipped brush. I dabbed it in the brown paint, hesitating before I touched it to the canvas. The canvas, stretched across a wooden frame, hung on the easel before me, an awful expanse of white. We had already primed it once, but this brown would be the first bit of color I put on it. Even though I had done several paintings this past month under Korigann’s expert tutelage, I still felt like the first one to walk in the woods after a snowfall--my footprints would be everywhere on this canvas, and there was no return to the pristine white.

  “I keep telling you--it’s just like your paper and charcoal, Safire,” Korigann said gently.

  I glanced at him. “No, it’s not. Paper can be had for coppers, but this . . .”

  His lined face relaxed into a smile. “Don’t you worry about that. The royal coffers go deep enough for you to make as many mistakes as you like. Now, get a bit more paint on the brush--you never want the bristles to touch the canvas directly.”

  My hand trembling a little, I slowly swept the brush across the canvas, leaving a long trail of brown wash. Then I stepped back for an instant, gazing at that brown streak against the white. I dabbed the brush in the paint again and quickly filled in the rest of the canvas. Korigann stayed beside me with his arms crossed, a silent observer. At some point, I forgot he was there, so intent was I on the gleams on the edges of the folds in the velvet, the shapes of the apples and pears. I heard his voice in my head, a constant stream of instructions and admonitions. Paint the light, he had said. There are no lines in a painting, just shadows and light and color. Just like drawing, really, except for the bit about the color.

  We were there for hours. Occasionally, he would remind me of something he had said before or help me mix a color, but otherwise, he let me work. The queen’s handmaids brought us food and drink at some point. Some kind of crusty bread and butter and tea. There were other, fancier things to eat, more befitting the queen‘s table, but they remained untouched and unremembered by me. I didn’t even really taste the bread, I was so excited at the painting emerging at the tip of my brush. This was a miracle, these colors gliding on this canvas in a replica of the reality before me.

  The sunlight slanted in the long, pale beams of late afternoon before I started to come back to myself. The baby shifted inside, kicking me, a sharp reminder I had more than myself and the canvas to consider. I swallowed, only then realizing how thirsty I was. I paused and set the brush down. “Is there any water?” I asked, my voice hoarse from disuse.

  “Of course.” Korigann snapped his fingers, and the maid who waited in the corner brought a glass. “Here, perhaps you should rest a moment. You look a little pale . . .”

  “I’m fine.” I leaned against the table edge and sipped the water, not able to take my eyes from the painting.

  “What do you think of it?” Korigann asked.

  “The painting itself is rough, obviously the work of a novice. But the colors . . . I love the colors. I think I could paint forever.”

  He chuckled. “You sound drunk from the turpentine fumes, but I understand. I remember when I picked up a brush as an apprentice. As for the painting, it’s not so rough as you think, certainly better than the first one you did. You’ve a talent for it--I’ve rarely seen a beginner do so well.”

  He snapped his fingers again, and one of the apprentices appeared and began to clean the palette with kerosene.

  I half rose. “But I was going to finish . . .”

  “Not today, my dear. It’s almost six,” he said.

  I glanced at the large mullioned windows that ran the length of the studio--they glowed a rosy gray, the light of evening. “Merius will be here soon.”

  “He’ll not forgive me for keeping you on your feet all day, so sit.”

  I glanced at him, my hand over my belly. His eyes, usually dark gleams, were bland and shuttered with secret knowledge. I had thought the queen, maybe one of her ladies in waiting, would be the first to suspect. Not him. “My skirts are still loose. How did you know?” I asked quietly.

  “Merius hovers over you like you’re about to break, just like I was with my Mariah.”

  “You’re observant.”

  “I’m the court portrait painter. I’m paid to be observant.”

  “Mariah isn’t your wife’s name.”

  “No.” He sighed. “After I left my master, I had a hard time of it like all young painters. Mariah was my first model, a street girl I could barely afford to pay. You
can imagine what happened--it‘s an old story, the poor painter falling in love with his model. I promised her I would marry her when I had a patron.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “She died before I found a patron, but not before she gave me a daughter. Rosemary. She’s in the Marennese court as an attendant, a fine lady with no memory of her mother save the few portraits I made.”

  “Do you see her?”

  “Not often.” He sighed again and straightened. “I haven’t thought of Mariah in awhile, not until I saw Merius with you the other day. She was a long time ago.”

  I bit my lip. Could Merius ever be a long time ago for me? Or I for him? It was unimaginable, yet we had known each other only eight months, less time than Korigann had known Mariah. He was a good man, Korigann. I didn’t mind him knowing about the baby, except for the fact he was Queen Jazmene’s favorite painter. What if he told her? A bird of panic fluttered through my chest, and my ribs suddenly felt too small for my lungs. She couldn’t find out, not yet. Not until Merius and I had thought of a suitable lie to explain how a baby had been growing inside me for over five months while we had only been married for three.

  “You haven’t--haven’t spoken to anyone, have you?” I asked.

  “About what?” Korigann demanded. I patted my belly. “Oh, that,” he continued. “No, my dear. Why would I?”

  “The queen . . .” I started.

  “I’m the queen’s servant, not her slave. If I told tales to her of all I knew, half this court would be headless come morning. Those with great power should be kept in great ignorance--that’s my thought.”

  “It’s a good one.”

  He touched my arm, and I looked up at him. “Whatever worries you about this, don’t be so frightened. Her Majesty values you and your talent, values her connection to your husband’s family. She’ll not jeopardize that, not without good reason--unlike many rulers, she’s neither capricious nor cruel. I wouldn’t be at this court otherwise.”

  I nodded, my eyes caught by movement outside the shadowed archway that led to the main hall, my ears hearing the tramp of footfalls. An instant later, Merius came into the studio, escorted by three royal guardsmen. I hurried to him, and we embraced, the fresh, warm scent of him enveloping me with his silver aura. The knot inside loosened at his touch, and I forgot my fear momentarily. “How was your day?” I asked.

  “Fine. Uneventful. And yours?”

  Our hands entwined, I led him over to the painting. “You did all this today?” he asked, his gaze slowly traveling over the canvas.

  I nodded. “What do you think?” He had that look of intense concentration that I still found too stolid to read some of the time.

  He gave me a half smile, his eyes crinkled up at the corners, and I knew then he liked it. I pretended to pick a bit of lint off his shoulder just so I could brush his jaw with the edge of my hand. He had shaved this morning, but he might as well not have bothered--the lower part of his face was all stubble. I imagined the wonderful, tingling scratch of it against my bare skin as he kissed me all over . . . my cheeks suddenly flared, so hot I felt branded.

  You’re blushing he mouthed, his smile widening. He knew what I was thinking about, the ass. My own lips curled up in a smile as I felt his fingers tighten around mine, an unspoken promise of all that lay between us. We spoke without words as long as anyone else was close, at least about the important things. We slipped into this silent language easily, hardly aware we were doing it. It was one of our many defenses against the guards, the constant watching. A knot of fear inside began to tighten again as I thought of the guards, but I forced it loose, lifting my chin.

  Korigann approached then. “Good evening, Merius.”

  “Good evening, sir. I’ve envied you the past month, spending all day with Safire.” His thumb caressed my palm in a slow circle, comforting me as he gestured to the canvas with his free hand. “Envy, though, is a small price to pay for this. I’m impressed, with both teacher and pupil.”

  Korigann bowed his head--the formality seemed as awkward for him as it was for me. Merius, on the other hand, reveled in it--he had said the other night it was our best defense against the prying of Toscar and Queen Jazmene. I had little realized before this how private Merius was under his congenial exterior. He was suspicious of everyone at court, even Korigann, suspicions he concealed well under a mask of witty formality that he only took off when we were safe at home. His father’s training had developed this natural ability to hobnob with royalty and move with ease through what he called the morass of court society. I let him do most of the talking, especially with Toscar and the queen.

  “Your wife has a great talent. I merely guide her,” Korigann said.

  “Thank you. You‘re too modest . . .” I began, interrupted by the entrance of Queen Jazmene and her entourage, Toscar lurking in the background. Princess Esme accompanied them, flouncing forward in cranberry satin and gold lace and immediately making me conscious of the paint spattered smock I wore. She shot a look in Merius’s direction, her eyelids fluttering. My fingernails dug into the palm of my free hand. I wished I could dig them into her eyes instead. Stop it I upbraided myself. You’re being ridiculous. Merius is oblivious to her. After all, other women looked at him all the time, even flirted with him. Of course, none of those other women could have our necks on the block. I squeezed his hand.

  The queen and Toscar examined the painting thoroughly, the queen whispering to him about this and that while he nodded. Then she turned to face us. Merius and Korigann bowed while I curtsied, and for a moment, I missed the bracing presence of Merius’s hand. Then he slipped his arm around my shoulders, a gesture that was not lost on Esme. Or the queen.

  Her Majesty smiled warmly. “I planned to assign an extra guard to you in the evenings, Safire, but I should have known there would be no need. Your husband watches you enough for ten guards, and I‘m certain he‘s better trained than any I could assign you.”

  Toscar raised his brows at the mention of Merius's arms training. Horrid man--during the day, he often escorted me around the palace, his hand tight around my upper arm as if I were an errant child.

  “Your progress is quite impressive, my dear,” Queen Jazmene said. “Soon you’ll have her painting people, Korigann?”

  “When she finishes this one,” he inclined his head toward the still life, “we’ll start with portraits, then scenes with movement. You have to master the fundamentals of still life paintings and portraits before adding movement.”

  “Very sound methods, I’m sure. So in a month, she’ll be painting scenes with movement?” The eagerness underlying the queen’s words made everyone start, even Esme who didn‘t know about my secret talent. There was more than eagerness though, at least to me. Queen Jazmene’s diamond hard aura had a momentary tawdry flash that put me in mind of an old miser cackling and rubbing his withered hands over a gleaming jewel. Greed, greed for my talent and what I could do with it. A red tide of anger rose inside.

  “’Perhaps in a month or so, I’ll be painting movement. It’s difficult to squeeze years of training into a month’s time, even for a genius like Korigann.”

  The queen’s brows raised at my tone. “Nonsense, my dear,” she said swiftly. “With a talent like yours . . .”

  “Perhaps this is beginner’s luck.” I gestured to the canvas.

  “But you’re hardly a beginner. Look at all your drawing.”

  “This is painting. It’s different.”

  “I’m aware that it’s different.” Her voice held a trace of frostiness. She neither knew how to draw nor paint herself, and my words had rankled her into casting aside her false warmth, if only for an instant. Merius tightened his grip on my shoulder, and Korigann cleared his throat beside me, both uncomfortable. “You sound discouraged and tired, my dear,” Queen Jazmene continued, the charm returned with full force, “You and Merius and Korigann must join me for dinner.”

  “I’m not dressed for a meal at court,” I said.


  “It’s a private dinner in my chambers. Take off your smock, and you’ll be presentable enough--you always wear such pretty frocks.” Somehow, she managed to make the word pretty sound condescending. “Now come--I have a matter to discuss with you.” And with that, she settled it--invitations were commands when issued by sovereigns.

  Merius and I risked a glance at each other. Absurdly enough, like so many other things these days, it made me want to cry. I had been looking forward to eating dinner with him in our rented rooms, and now she had ruined it.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Dinner with a queen, although informal and “private,” was still dinner with a queen. Her ladies in waiting led us to a wide mahogany table inlaid with mother-of-pearl. There were flowers everywhere, all colors and shapes--the scent was so overpowering and sweet I felt lightheaded. The only kind I recognized were the orchids, the rarest and most expensive flower in my limited knowledge of botany. I wouldn’t even have recognized the orchids if Merius hadn’t bought me a purple one during our absurdly brief courtship, my first tangible indication of how serious his intentions toward me were. It lived in a small pot on the window sill in our rented rooms--it had survived the trip all the way from Cormalen, and now I was coaxing it to bloom again.

  The intricately carved chairs around the table had leaping dolphins for arm rests, something I didn‘t notice until Merius pulled my chair out for me. I sank on to the cream-colored leather cushion, touching the fins of the dolphins with wonder.

  “Do you see these?” I whispered to Merius. “How beautiful . . .”

  He nodded and claimed the seat beside mine. “They remind me of the stair railing in the Cormalen court library--it’s carved like a snake.”

  “I remember.” I glanced over the table at the sea of china and crystal. There were three kinds of forks at every place, as well as an assortment of other cutlery, all gold. I had a butter knife, a boning knife, a paring knife, and a serrated knife for cutting meat. “I thought this was supposed to be informal,” I continued in a whisper. “There are enough knives here to fillet all the fish in the river. The only thing they skimped on was the spoons.” I only had two spoons.