Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)
Page 16
He eyed me with a shrewd sharpness that belied many people’s impression of him as a scholar buried in his dusty books. “Let me ponder your situation further. In the meantime, your position may be vulnerable, Merius, but it could also be useful. If you're willing, I could use a good spy at court."
“Is the promise of Esme’s hand so difficult to obtain?”
He didn’t blink at my knowledge of his private correspondence. “If it was just her hand, that would be one thing. But the whole princess--that’s another matter.” He absently pulled the would-be assassin’s Numerian throwing star out of his pocket. He held it up with a rueful laugh. “I carry this with me now, as a reminder. No, King Rainier wants the marriage alliance with our court, has always wanted that alliance since Esme was born. The queen, however, is playing coy.”
I snorted. “The queen is not interested in political alliances--she wants coin. And lots of it. Double the bride price, and she’ll be more amenable to Prince Segar’s courtship.”
Rankin leaned against the table, his arms crossed. “Continue.”
“She and Toscar must be bleeding the court treasury dry. You should see the lavish table they set. Flowers I’ve never even seen before. Her private art collection--a shipload of smuggled SerVerin ivory. Royalty must keep a fine court, but this--this isn‘t for the benefit of anyone but her.”
“How interesting. I had no idea she had such expensive habits.”
“Safire and I have perhaps seen a side of her that most don’t.”
“This betrothal may not be so advantageous as it first appears.” Rankin sat on the edge of the table, deep in thought. “I trust your judgment in this, Merius--let me know any developments. Otherwise, carry on as usual.”
“All right, my lord.” I inclined my head in acknowledgement.
“You may go, lad.”
I left. Merius of Landers, embassy guardsman, court spy, unwilling intrigue expert, and assassin’s target. Thank you, Father.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At the gate, the court guards nodded to me as I walked toward the corridor Safire had followed this morning. Three of the guards silently joined me, and we proceeded into the palace, a tense parade. In one way, it should have flattered me--they evidently thought me dangerous to give me such an escort. Mostly, though, these quiet, skulking shadows irritated me. They lurked so close I could hear their breathing. If I stopped suddenly and turned fast, they would likely trip all over each other like overgrown pups. What would they do if I whipped out my blade? Kill me? I wondered sometimes.
Our footsteps echoed in the corridors. There were few courtiers about--most were either dressing for the evening’s amusements or still at council. I glanced around at all the marble glowing in the wake of the wall sconces. There was no smoke from the candles--the queen required only the best beeswax, the wicks kept trimmed by an army of footmen in silver threaded livery. This court is a bloated serpent feeding on the weak doves of its nobles. It needs a few more hawks. The Cormalen court was full of hawks, all bickering amongst themselves and watching the royal family with intent eyes for the first signs of weakness. I never thought I would miss it, but Rankin’s questions today had brought back memories of council. And Father. Father, damn him. Safire had said once that I didn’t hate him, I only thought I did, and I had told her she didn’t know anything about it. That had been our second big argument, and it had ended in our narrow berth on the ship we had sailed to Sarneth. If we could end every fight so pleasantly, I would gladly provoke her as often as possible.
King Rainier, Esme, and Prince Vergil emerged from a doorway, followed by two ladies-in-waiting and several guards. My guard halted until they passed us. Esme looked the same as always--perfection personified. Poor Prince Vergil was in the gangly, pock-marked stage of adolescence--no wonder he was almost as rarely sighted as his father.
Esme and Vergil, who apparently had inherited their height from Queen Jazmene, stood a good half-head taller than their father. I had seen King Rainier once before, years ago when I had accompanied Father to Sarneth on my first sea voyage. I remembered fidgeting beside Randel while Father played chess with King Rainier. It was a three hour match, torturous for a ten-year-old boy with an itchy collar to watch. The only reason I remembered it at all was because King Rainier beat my father, one of the few times Father lost at anything. So I had marveled at this ugly king, with his spindly legs and arms and bulging middle. His head was too large for his body, his broad brow, glittering black eyes, and sour expression concealing one of the most labyrinthine minds in Sarneth.
My gaze soon returned to Esme, who was more fun to look at than either her father or brother. I watched her--pretty girl in a civilized sort of way. She had a surface flirtatiousness that hinted at an inner heat, but I wagered this illusion of heat would vanish if one crossed her. Every hair in place, every frog fastened, every curve perfectly defined in ladylike line. A true princess. A man might take a turn with her on the ballroom floor, but he wouldn’t dare take her for a tumble in the hay. He might rumple her. Now, my witch was another matter.
“Why, Merius,” Esme exclaimed. I started, visions of Safire laughing in the hay scattering around me.
“Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, Your Highness.” I bowed.
King Rainier regarded me with the detached interest of one who was used to playing with his courtiers like they were chess pieces. Did he see me as a knight or a bishop or perhaps a lowly pawn? I felt the dangerous urge to ask and bit my tongue as the king said, his voice like the wind through a jagged reed, “You must come to the solarium and play a game of chess with me, young Landers.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I have not my father’s skill for that particular game.”
“If you can navigate a battlefield or court and strategize, you can do the same on a chess board.”
“I’ve always thought of it as just a game, Your Majesty--I didn’t realize it had deeper implications,” I lied with bland diplomacy. I was loath to don a courtier’s mask, but I didn‘t dare do otherwise until I could observe him a bit more.
Rainier smirked, probably amused by my poor attempt at flattery. “Chess is an elegant exercise in thinking, Landers. Whatever your skill at it, I urge you to join me for a game sometime, for practice if nothing else. You may want to study a particular scroll in our library first, though. It’s called A Hundred Paths to Checkmate. Keller wrote it. A brilliant analysis of the game.”
“Keller the historian?” I exclaimed. “He‘s one of my favorite writers.”
“He was a master chessman as well as a writer of histories.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“Have you seen the palace libraries?”
“Not since I was a boy, though I intend to remedy that. Lord Rankin tells me you’ve acquired a fine collection of SerVerinese maps, drawn after TaZarinae’s western voyages.”
“Yes, most fascinating. TaZarinae discovered several inhabited islands far west of the Sud Islands. I wonder how the inhabitants came there, if they were always on the islands or if they voyaged there thousands of years ago. Either way, his discovery challenges our long held theories about the known world.”
“I’m supposed to study those maps,” Esme said suddenly.
“Study maps? You?” Prince Vergil piped up. “Do you use them to hunt for husbands?”
Esme shot him a venomous look, then turned her dazzling smile on me. “Let me know if you want to look at the maps, Merius. My tutor has them at the moment--he wants me to study them.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” I inclined my head.
“Come, Vergil, Esme,” King Rainier said then, “We have a state dinner to preside over. Good evening, Landers. Don‘t forget you owe me a chess match.”
“Good evening, Your Majesty.” I bowed.
“Papa, I’ll join you in a moment,” Esme said. “I just realized I forgot my fan.” She gestured to one of her ladies-in-waiting, who scurried off in search of the conveniently missing fan.
Esme reached out and touched my arm as soon as her father and brother disappeared around the corner. “I’m not my mother,” she said softly. “I want you to be honest with me.”
“About what?”
“About what you think of me.” She moved closer, her hand a weight on my arm.
Was she serious? Or was this some new ploy of Toscar’s? Either way, I was in trouble. “I think you’re the flower of the Sarneth court, the heart’s desire of many princes,” I repeated this inanity from a book of court etiquette, sweating under my tunic. Trying not to be obvious, I pretended to adjust my sleeve, in the process removing my arm from her grasp. One of the guards cleared his throat behind me.
“I don’t want a prince.” Her eyelids fluttered, her eyes suddenly coy as a doe’s.
Oh hell--how did one refuse a princess without ending up in a dungeon somewhere? I stalled. “Duty has little to do with what we want, unfortunately.”
“My duty is to marry a prince, but I can love who I wish.”
“Marriage doesn’t have to be a duty. I married for love.”
Her eyes flew open, all coyness vanished. “It’s rare to hear a man admit that.”
“It’s true. Our families, especially my father, were opposed from the start.”
Her eyes grew even wider. “You went against your father?”
“I’d do it again. Now, Your Highness, if you‘ll excuse me, I must see my wife.” It was a rude way for me to end an interview with royalty--she was the one who was supposed to dismiss me--but she was more disconcerting than a dozen assassins. At least I could pull my sword on them.
“Of course.” Her voice had gone frosty. “We’ll speak on this matter again sometime, I hope.”
“Certainly.” I could feel her eyes follow us. My ego was flattered--she was a princess and beautiful in her way--but she was not attractive to me. She reminded me of the dozens of perfect, vapid girls I had danced with at forgotten court balls, their dancing gracefully wooden and their tongues more so. Their claws were the only sharp things about them.
The part of me that wasn’t flattered was frightened. I rarely admitted fear to myself, but I could taste it now, the bitter acid in my mouth, burning a trail down to my stomach. If these people did anything to Safire, I’d . . . what the hell could I do? I couldn’t fight the entire court guard. The only way open to me was intrigue and plotting, playing the part of the spider in the shadows like King Rainier.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Safire’s fingers gripped mine, her bones white against the inside of her skin. She always gripped my hand like that when the guards were with us, so tense that I could have plucked her like a bowstring. Dusk had started to fall, and I relished the coolness of the long blue shadows. At least I could walk beside her without turning sideways and shouldering my way through the press of people that crowded this street during the day. The guards dogged our steps, and we got more than a few curious looks from passersby.
“Merius?” Safire said suddenly.
“What, sweet?”
“Let’s go to a tavern before we go home.”
“Where? The Spyglass?” The Spyglass was close to our rooms.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Somewhere different. We’ve hardly seen the other side of the city since we came here.” She looked up at me, her brows arched and her green eyes snapping. Let’s make these lazy queen’s curs walk a ways her gaze said.
I grinned. “How does Cirsir’s market sound?”
“Perfect.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guards glance at each other. Cirsir’s market was near the locks, one of the untamed parts of this mostly tamed city. A lot of foreigners lived there, and not all cared for the queen’s colors. Sometimes, the guard would sweep through Cirsir’s market and clean out the “undesirables,” poor vagabonds and ragtag rebels and beggars who ruined the look of the city--these sweeps made the guard even less popular. Queen’s guards only went there in bands, not in pairs, and I could sense our two getting more and more edgy as we headed down to the locks. I chuckled to myself and swung Safire’s hand in mine.
The streets of Cirsir’s market were narrow with huckster’s stalls. Safire exclaimed in delight, her hand leaving mine as she raced like a child from stall to stall. I caught up with her at a Marennese trader’s tent. He had a colorful spill of striped silk scarves, and Safire was up to her elbows in them, a green and gold one already draped over her hair. She was laughing and teasing the trader, a dark, sleek man with a waxed mustache. He leaned on the edge of his stall, his chin cupped in his palm as he gazed at her.
My eyes traveled over her. I rarely saw her like this, when she was completely unaware of me. She was ripening sweetly. Every day, her figure grew softer and her skin glowed brighter, as if she carried a flame inside. Her belly seemed to have rounded over night, and I wondered if anyone else besides Korigann had noticed. I reached out and ran my hand over her shoulder and down her arm. She looked at me, smiling as my fingers lightly encircled her wrist. The scarf framed her face and made her eyes seem even larger than they already were.
“How much?” I asked the trader.
“Two suters.”
I tossed him the coins, and we went on to the next stall. Already the guards had garnered a few baleful stares and one hissed curse. Safire paused by a cage of canaries. She whistled at the birds, who chirped in reply.
“Oh, Merius . . .”
“What is it?”
“That one . . .” she pointed at one of the birds fluttering around the cage. “It chirped at me.”
I squinted at the cage--the canaries were an indistinguishable golden blur to me. “They’re all chirping at you.”
“This one looked right at me.”
“If we took in all the animals that looked at you, we’d have no more room for ourselves.”
She stuck her tongue out at me. “Spoilsport.”
I sighed inside, already realizing I had lost this battle in an ongoing war. At least they weren‘t puppies or kittens. I liked animals, but Safire had the urge to nurture every small creature we encountered, and if I let her, she‘d fill up our two rooms with feathers and fur. Maybe if I compromised this time, she would be content with canaries until we returned to Cormalen. “You better get two so they can keep each other company while we’re gone.”
She beamed, rewarding me with a kiss. “Oh thank you, love. You’ll see--they sing so pretty . . .”
“As long as they don’t sing while I’m asleep,” I grumbled.
So by the time we found a tavern, I was carrying a wicker cage with two wild canaries. Safire kept looking at her new charges, even wondering aloud if they laid eggs in captivity. Perfect--in a few weeks we’d probably have ten more of them. Impossible witch.
The guards halted at the door of the tavern. At that moment, several hearty voices burst into a popular Marennese ballad, yells all around. A vagabond, obviously inebriated, was pushed out the open window beside us. He stumbled to the muddy cobbles, cursing as his brass-studded leather bag followed him. The guards’ eyes followed it.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” I asked them.
“No,” the larger one said. “We’ll wait for you.” His gaze shifted from side to side. The street grew darker by the minute, vague figures scuttling along it like crabs in the shadow of a sea hawk. I noticed hard eyes glinting in the direction of the guards. Good.
I followed Safire into the tavern, ducking under the hanging light in the hall. A single candle in a grimy glass box, it barely could be called a lamp. The sour smells of sweat and old ale assaulted our noses, but that did not deter her. I stepped in front of her when we entered the common room, shielding her from the raucous shadows. Candle flames floated in the smoky air, greasy faces glistening and swaying around them like drunken moons. The canaries squawked in thei
r cage as I set it on the first empty table that loomed out of the darkness. I threw my cloak over Safire’s seat, and she perched on it, her hands on her knees.
“It’s as different from court as we can get,” I said, thinking of the golden cutlery and fine orchids on the queen’s private table.
“Good.” She laughed and whistled at the canaries, who whistled back, and I smiled to see her merry. Since the queen’s thumb had descended on us, there had been little room for merriment.
We had settled near a window. Through the glazed glass, the guards seemed faraway blobs of dirty blue and silver under the tavern lamp. I could barely make out their faces as night fell. Happy to forget them for the moment, I turned back to Safire, grasping her hand across the table as the barmaid brought us ale, black bread, cheese, apples, and bacon.
Her hand was taut in mine. “You seem worried,” she said, biting into her bread.
I ignored her comment. “Your painting was beautiful today, the way you caught the sunlight coming in the window.”
“Thank you. Korigann seemed pleased. I have a long ways to go yet, though.”
“I didn’t see that.”
“You didn’t see the six failed attempts before that one perfect sunbeam.”
“You’re still learning.”
“You know, I picked up my drawing skills like a magpie, haphazard and in secret. This--this is going so fast in comparison, with Korigann to guide me--my head‘s like a whirlwind. It‘s good he‘s such a patient and thorough teacher.”
“It‘s good you‘re such a quick pupil.”
“Still . . . what happened today, Merius?” she asked abruptly, fixing me with her gaze, dark in the candlelight. She looked so vulnerable suddenly, her eyes naked, and I wanted nothing so much as to take her in my arms and tell her everything was fine.
At that moment, glass shattered behind me as one of our guards flew through the window. His uniform was stained bright crimson across the shoulder. I leapt to my feet and grabbed Safire, who screamed and clutched my arm. What I had first taken for blood on the guard’s shoulder was actually a rotten tomato someone had thrown at him. My relief vanished as vagabonds in colorful linen robes and boots with pointed toes swarmed into the tavern, shouting in their staccato tongue. Three of them picked up the guard, who groaned, and carted him around the common room on their shoulders as they sang what sounded like a battle march.