One of the vagabonds noticed Safire. “Fire selkie,” he exclaimed, his white teeth gleaming against his dark face as he reached for her hair.
I stepped in front of her, my hand already on my sword hilt. Completely undisturbed, he laughed and clapped me on the shoulder like an old friend. Only then did I smell the whiskey on his breath. He said something rude to his companions that made them roar with laughter. Then he looked back at me. “How much you want for her?” he demanded, trying to peer around me at Safire. The vagabonds traded their women like cattle.
“Your life.”
“One night would be worth it, if she’s a true fire selkie.”
“She’s a free woman. Her days and nights are her own to give, and she’s chosen to give them all to me. I‘m her husband.”
“He says he’s her husband,” he exclaimed to his companions. Then he turned back to me. “We have no husbands or wives among us--only masters and slaves.”
“Come, Zavier, you big lout,” one of his comrades yelled then, grabbing his arm. “Quit gaping at women. There’s another one of these blue boys to capture and make pretty for Her Majesty.” He sneered the queen’s title, exquisite acid dripping from his voice. Sparing one last look at Safire, Zaviar laughed and stumbled after the rest as they paraded out of the common room with the hapless guard.
I took a deep breath and glanced back at Safire. Sometimes it seemed as if life was constantly one crisis averted, another threatening to engulf us.
“What is it with these southern men and fire selkies? Falken kept mentioning it too. So any woman with red hair is a fire selkie, whatever that is? Seems silly to me,” Safire said.
“I met him today.” I stared after the vagabonds, thinking hard. If the guards were gone, that meant . . .
“Falken? How?”
“He was following me,” I replied absently. “Listen, sweet, we should get out of here. Right now.”
“Without the guards?” she asked, as if such were a completely foreign concept. “Without the guards,” she repeated after a long moment, her tone suddenly slanting upwards with desperate hope as she realized what I had realized. “Merius . . .”
“Shh . . . I’ve a plan, or half a one at any rate. First, let’s get out of here.” Safire nodded and grasped the canaries’ cage. Hand in hand, we fled into the night, quickly disappearing in the pools of shadows between the street lamps.
Chapter Nine--Eden
“You must find diamonds dull, you have so many of them,” Prince Segar said idly, lounging against the tasseled bed bolster.
I preened for his three way folding mirror, by far the largest in the palace. A velvet choker ringed my neck, a single huge diamond dangling from the middle, cheap looking in its very hugeness. I grinned--I did like gaudy baubles. And all I had to do to get them was wear them for the whole court and drop hints as to their origins. Being the pretend mistress of a future sovereign had its moments.
“Anything that can bring me a pouch of gold could never be dull.”
“That could bring you several pouches, you avaricious cat.”
“Except it belongs to your betrothed Princess Esme.”
“My almost betrothed. And she has enough jewels already.”
I glanced at him in the mirror. “I hear she’s beautiful.”
He shrugged. “Most men think so.”
“Not you?”
“Oh, I think she’s beautiful, beautiful like that sculpture.” He pointed to the ebony mermaid riding a fish that graced his washstand. “A sculpture--that would be the perfect wife for me.”
Still wearing the choker, I went over and sat on the bed beside him. It was huge, twice the size of a regular bed with a twelve foot high canopy, and I found myself sinking into the extra feather tick he ordered aired every Saturday. The scent of verbena rose around me from his bedclothes. No hardened warrior, this prince. I ran my hand over his jaw and down his neck. Touching him was like touching a brother--we had long since given up the pretense of tumbling.
“Royal marriages are nothing more than formalities anyway, Your Highness. You know that.”
“If that’s true, why can’t I marry you?”
“Because my father isn’t the king of Sarneth. Because the Landers don’t have ten thousand troops to send if we go to war with the SerVerin Empire.”
He waved his hand as if to dismiss me. “That’s my father’s war, not mine. He thinks he can face down the SerVerin Empire and awe them till they pray to his God instead of their own.”
“If that’s how you truly feel, then why did you send all those men on campaign last spring? That campaign was nothing more than an excuse for our men to flex their brute strength at the SerVerinese and show off.”
He ignored me. “Besides, Sarneth will always come to Cormalen’s aid, whether I marry Esme or not.”
“Is that so? I’ve heard Queen Jazmene likes Numer better than Cormalen. I’d hate to see the ten thousand troops go to Numer’s aid instead of ours if a real war comes.”
“So, what else does Mordric have to say about my betrothal to Esme?” Segar‘s eyes sharpened from hazel to green as he looked at me, and I knew then for certain he played a game with his words so that I would let something slip about Mordric and his plots.
I grinned. “Mordric says that you should forget Esme and marry me.”
Segar fell back on the bed with a guffaw. “Eden, I need a princess like you, someone who understands me.”
“You know, as long as you sire a legitimate heir, you can dally in the dark with anyone you like.”
“So I can still have you.”
“I suppose, but it’s not me you really want.” I trod carefully here--I had my suspicions, but he was a prince and a man and had his pride.
“And who do I want?” he purred, a royal lion on the verge of a pounce.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” I said as I stood and returned to the mirror. “Besides, I don’t know who you want. I just know you don’t want me, at least not in the way we‘ve led everyone to believe.”
He rose and glided up behind me; according to practice salon whispers, years of swordsman training had given him more grace than skill. “Your earrings are crooked,” he remarked, tugging them straight and leaving my ear lobes tingling. “What do you mean, I don’t want you? I’ve given you enough jewels, haven’t I?”
“No,” I said lightly, winking at him in the mirror. “You know me--I’m always angling for more.”
“Of course you are.” He smiled and rang the bell for his manservant. The dangerous moment had passed. He knew that I knew his secret--how could I not? He dropped hints like crumbs, and he stared more at the footmen in their tight livery than I did. But as long as I pretended ignorance and wore his jewels, he could keep his royal distance and I could keep my head. After all, if he sired one or two legitimate heirs, who cared whom he looked at? Not I, not yet--at the moment, I had more interesting prey than a prince.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I emerged from the servants’ secret door to the prince’s chambers, Mordric’s steward Randel awaited me.
“What is it now?” I demanded.
He inclined his head slightly. “Sir Mordric wishes to see you, my lady.”
“Well, I know that--otherwise you wouldn’t be skulking around here.”
The faintest crease marked his forehead, but he kept his expression politely detached as he took my arm and began to lead me down the back staircase. “Skulking, my lady?”
“Yes, like a rat. With its belly to the ground and its ear at every door.”
“Speaking of doors, ladies don’t use the servants’ entrance.”
“Impertinence!” I exclaimed, genuinely surprised. Randel was loyal, dogmatic, and intelligent, but rarely witty--he must be in high form today. Mordric had charged the poor man to watch me when I had first come to court, and since then, I had teased him mercilessly.
Mordric leaned against his wardrobe, pulling on some high riding boots when Randel escorted me in
to the chamber. He didn’t look up--since the incident in the coach, he avoided looking at me. If I was ignorant about men, this would have upset me. As it was, it amused me greatly. Like a hot coal, I must have made an impression to now be avoided so thoroughly. He would pick me up again soon enough--he had a weakness for clever women, I decided. Arilea had been clever, and despite all his nasty names for her, he still talked about her like she had died yesterday. The closer a woman got to him, the more he insulted her.
“I hear you had an audience with His Highness today,” Mordric said, his voice strained as he jerked his left boot on. “These damned boots--still too tight.” He straightened, finally gracing me with one baleful look as if I were the offending cobbler. Lampooned by that infamous gaze that had set so many fools babbling all their sins, I instantly forgot my amused conceit. He was in a fine rage, and it wasn’t only at his boots.
Randel excused himself, ducking out the door as I put my hands behind my back, no better than a nervous schoolgirl about to recite a verse she only half remembered. “He summoned me, yes.”
“And you went, like a bitch in heat.”
“I was taught to answer royal summons,” I answered. “If I had ignored him, you would be lecturing me about that.”
He began to pace, all those well-trained muscles in perfect control. Fear and desire played up my spine with icy needle points, and all I could do was stare at him. He paused in front of me, only an arms-length away, his eyes hooded and unreadable as he looked me up and down. With a lightning movement, he grabbed the diamond at my throat, ripping the choker away. Velvet can burn. A hysterical giggle echoed in my mind as I rubbed my neck.
“I was supposed to wear that to the ball tonight,” I murmured, my voice not my own.
“Only dogs wear collars, my dear,” he said, pocketing the choker. “Now, I have an assignment for you.”
“You can’t send me back to Landers Hall again. I won’t go.”
“Don’t sulk yet. You haven’t heard what it is.”
“You may not be sending me to the Hall, but you are sending me away from court again.”
“Yes, to Sarneth.”
“Sarneth?”
“It’s a simple enough task. Cyril saw Safire in the palace with Queen Jazmene and Lord Toscar. I want you to spy a bit, find out what she was doing there and if Merius is in any trouble.”
“Why bother? Mordric, even if he is in trouble, he won’t take your help.”
He paced over to the window, looked out. “It’s sir to you. You presume too much,” he said distantly. “Merius is my son--I know his limits better than anyone. I’ve tested him a thousand times in a thousand different ways, and he’s stubborn. But not so stubborn he won’t yield for the sake of that witch.”
“Forgive me, sir,” I deliberately drawled the sir, “but you’re as stubborn as he is.”
He rested his palms on the sill, his back a straight, immovable line. “I’m sending Randel with you.”
“What for?” I exclaimed.
“As protection.”
“From what? Myself or marauders?”
“A bit of both.” He half turned, measuring me with his eyes. “Randel’s a good man--he can help you.”
“Why not just send him?”
“You’ve been to the Sarneth court before as a lady in waiting to Queen Verna. You know how it works, how it’s different from this court.”
Yes, I do, but that’s not why you’re sending me. You want me like you wanted Arilea, and it scares the hell out of you. So you’re sending me away with your watchdog steward to keep me out of other men’s beds. You jealous son of a bitch. I desperately wanted to say this, but I didn’t dare. Not yet.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was so nice, the freedom to breathe. For my visit to Sarneth, Mordric had given me coin to purchase some new gowns in the high-waisted style favored by Queen Jazmene’s court, gowns which required no lacing in order to be worn. No wonder women in Sarneth seemed cleverer than in Cormalen--they weren’t perpetually on the verge of fainting.
I lifted my skirts, my slippers whisking over the marble floors of the endless halls of the Sarneth palace. The slippers were a deep golden embossed satin, made especially to match the frock, which was deep gold as well, with a split overskirt of brown and burgundy tulle and thousands of gold beads. Autumn colors--my colors.
A glorious new frock, yet still I felt a trifle shabby. And I had never felt shabby in my life--Mordric hated seeing women in ugly or old gowns and always provided a generous budget for our trimmings and clothes, one of his few extravagances. It was all the marble--that was why I felt shabby. This palace put the stony warren of the Cormalen court to shame.
“You’ve been quiet, my lady,” Randel remarked, trailing me like a loyal hound. Ever since we had embarked from the Corcin docks two weeks before, he had been my shadow. At first it irritated me, but now he had been there so long I scarcely noticed him unless he spoke. And then he generally amused me--he was so serious, the poor man. I often wondered how he took Mordric’s sardonic wit.
“I’m afraid to speak--my words will echo all over this place.” I glanced up at the soaring arched ceilings, slightly hazy with sunlight and dust motes and distance.
“Are you anxious?”
“Anxious?” I scoffed. “Randel, I am never anxious. She’s only a queen, after all. I‘ve been around them before.” I glanced back at him--still no embarrassed snort nor even the hint of a smile. The man was priceless. Bridget, my lady’s maid, glanced up from her feet and grinned shyly--this place had evidently overwhelmed her so much she dare not look at anything but the floor. These two formed my hastily assembled entourage for my audience with the queen. We had only arrived yesterday, and already Her Majesty wanted to see me. Most peculiar--I had spoken with people at the ball last night who had been trying to get an audience with her for weeks, yet all I had to do was appear to get mine. And I hadn’t even wanted an audience, at least not yet, not till I had some time to seek out Merius and speak to him. I had known the Landers name to open many a door, but never this quickly. Such haste was far outside the bounds of regular court society. Monarchs made everyone wait, even their consorts--such deliberation was part of being royal.
We soon came to the entrance of the queen’s receiving chamber, a tall archway of salmon-colored marble. The liveried guards by the door immediately crossed it with their swords, barring the way.
I stopped and curtsied. “I have an audience with the queen. I’m the lady Eden of Landers.”
They glanced at each other. “The queen will see you in her private chambers. Follow us.”
What? I followed their blue and silver backs, my mind whirling. Mordric would know what this meant, but I hadn’t a clue. It was outside my knowledge of Sarneth court protocol. Most kings and queens led public lives, Queen Jazmene more than most. I would have thought any bit of private space she had would be jealously guarded from all but the highest ranking Sarneth nobles and close friends, yet here she was summoning me, a practical stranger, to her inner sanctum. Was all this because of Merius’s witch? If so, Mordric should have come himself. It was past my depth to fathom.
After a series of long corridors and turns, we stopped beside a large tapestry of the demon lioness Asidar in her garden maze, some hapless knight’s blood on her paws and mouth. It was a story I had heard and seen many times, but never rendered with such craftsmanship. I had been so occupied looking at all the marble, I hadn’t paid attention to the tapestries until this one. Were they all as beautiful? The artists must have used the finest silken thread available in order to embroider this amount of gleaming detail.
I was still staring at the tapestry when the guards ushered us into the unbelievably grand chamber beyond. I tried to conceal my gawking behind a mask of bored nobility. These people must pluck diamonds like apples to afford all this mother-of-pearl and ivory. I thought of Segar’s choker and wished he were here. The dandy would love this, so different from his father’s austere cou
rt. Perhaps he would be more enthused about Esme as a bride after he saw her mother’s extravagance, so like his own.
So caught up was I in the wealth around me that I barely noticed the queen among the statues and paintings. Then I curtsied hastily lest she think me rude. Following protocol, the guard announced me as I curtsied, and she came forward, her tastefully bejeweled hands extended. She wore her signet ring and a large deep blue sapphire ring (presumably King Rainier's wedding stone), a pair of sapphire earrings, and a filigree crown. Her gown was a whispery silk affair, peacock blues and greens, and it only gave her the slightest sallow cast, barely noticeable in this light. It was heartening to see that other women besides me couldn’t wear that particular shade of brilliant turquoise. Quickly, I dropped my eyes.
“Your Majesty,” I said, my head still bowed.
“Eden,” she said. “Please rise. Why, my dear, you’re just as striking as you were when you were here with Queen Verna. How many years ago was that?”
“Six. I was only seventeen, Your Majesty.”
“Still, you left quite an impression on this court.”
I imagined that I had. I had flirted with the ambassador from the Sud Islands and nearly caused a diplomatic incident when his fiery, wasp-tongued wife lambasted me at some formal dinner. Mordric almost had apoplexy. Then there was the lithe, brown-skinned vagabond who almost was caught in my bed one night--he claimed to be the queen’s brother’s bastard. Such excitement for a lot of almosts.
“Oh, Your Majesty. You jest. No one noticed me--I was yet a gangly girl.”
“Nonsense, my dear.” Her gaze was sharp, measuring me. “Those amber eyes and dark brows alone are enough to draw a man’s attention. How is it Mordric hasn’t married you off yet?”
“He’s waiting for the right match.”
“As he should.” She gestured to some pale carved chairs with powder blue cushions. “Come, sit. It’s almost time for spiced wine and cakes.”
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 17