Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

by Nilsen, Karen

  “Yes.” Eden swallowed, the firelight glowing against the long line of her throat. “I think she’s interested in Safire’s drawings.”

  “But why? I mean, the witch is good, but she hasn’t had any proper training. She and her work are too ingenuous for the elegance of the Sarneth court.” A vague uneasiness followed these words, as if I was missing something small but important. Some unremembered detail that dug itself like a splinter into my brain, working its way in and frustrating me until I could retrieve it.

  “I gleaned from one of Rankin’s men that before Safire went missing, Korigann instructed her in painting.”

  “Korigann--one of Jazmene’s favorite courtiers, a fine battlefield artist. I remember him--we had a chess match one day in the solarium.” I ran my tongue over my teeth, thinking hard.

  “Sir, I’m not sure, but . . .” Eden hesitated.

  It was so rare for her to hesitate that I immediately jumped on it. “What? What is it?”

  “Those charcoal drawings I saw, I could have sworn one of the figures,” she paused, licked her lips, “Well, I could have sworn that the figure--it was a sailor chasing a monkey, I remember it distinctly--I could have sworn that sailor . . . moved,” she finished hastily, as if confessing that she had lost her mind.

  The flash of memory shocked me like a fist in the gut. “No.” I shook my head and shut my eyes against the pictures flooding my mind. “No, that can’t be.”

  “Mordric?” I heard the whisper of her slippers as she approached the desk.

  I didn’t answer her, my mind far away. Last May, before Safire’s father had died--she had come out of her fit and run away, and I found her in Calcors and forced her to return to Landers Hall. During our struggle, she dropped her portfolio in the street, her drawings scattering, and I seized one of them and crumpled it in my pocket. Later, when I had smoothed it out and looked at it, it seemed the figures in the drawing were moving. At the time, there were plenty of other distractions, so I completely forgot about the drawing, believing that my eyes had been mistaken and the movement I had seen was part of my imagination. But now I wasn’t so sure. The witch had healed me from a lethal wound--could she not also draw pictures that moved? At the thought, the scar on my chest suddenly flared. It had been small and pale and cool now for several days, so much so I had almost forgotten it, but now it was burning again. My witch brand. I grimaced and put my hand over my heart.

  Eden grasped my arm across the desk. “Mordric?”

  I shook her hand away--the cool tingle of her touch was too welcome to be safe. “It will pass,” I said with difficulty.

  “Why does it do that?”

  “Do you think I know?” I snapped, the pain radiating around the curve of my ribs. “That witch is the one who did it. God knows what she was thinking. That damned witch. She’ll bring about the downfall of this House with her healing hands and her moving pictures . . .”

  “So you believe me?”

  I met her gaze. “You don’t look off kilter, though I’ve heard that often the most insane among us hides their lack behind a cunning mask.”

  Eden laughed and walked around the desk, trailing her fingers across the back of my chair. Even her breath, the air stirring in her wake, felt cool on my neck, blessedly cool, and the burning eased a bit, enough so that I couldn‘t bring myself to order her out of the chamber.

  “So Safire’s drawings move, and Queen Jazmene knows it and wants the witch at her court. If that’s the case, this could be a catastrophe for our House--or its greatest stroke of luck.” Her eyes gleamed, suddenly predatory.

  “It’s a dangerous bit of luck, like knowing the secret recipe for cannon powder. We could just as easily be blackmailed with it as use it ourselves.” I fisted my hands under my chin.

  “Our lives are dangerous, sir. I’ve never heard you defend the side of caution, except to Merius.”

  “Need I remind you that witchcraft is still a burning offense in this country?”

  “But it’s not in Sarneth. Why stop at our borders? You already have influence across the sea--you already have influence in Queen Jazmene‘s court. Why not increase it?”

  “You ruthless hussy.”

  She leaned over the desk, her hands braced on the edge. “Come, sir, who trained me?” she asked, that husky lilt in her voice.

  I reached in my desk drawer. “Now,” I continued, a small carved box in my hand as I rose, “enough intrigue.”

  “What is it?” she demanded, staring at the box for a long moment before she took it. I ignored the cool smoothness of her hand as it brushed mine.

  “A small reward for a task well done.”

  She removed the lid from the box and ran her fingers over the topazes. “A task well done? So I’m to assume that you gave Randel a pair of jewel-studded combs as well?”

  “Insolent ingrate.”

  She colored, a rare occurrence. “I apologize. That was rude of me.”

  “I’ve come to expect rudeness from you.” My hands clasped behind my back, I paced around the desk, hesitating at the corner between Eden and the window. Eden was closer, but the window was safer, so I veered toward it, an instinctive act of self preservation.

  “It’s only that you startled me.”

  “How?” I asked. The black night outside transformed the window glass into a mirror. In one of the panes, I could see her standing at the desk, watching my back. I glanced over my shoulder. “I do follow the tradition of offering gifts to my loyal retainers--surely you know that.”

  “Is that my position? Loyal retainer?” She approached slowly, taking up three panes, then five as she came closer.

  I turned on her suddenly--any woman but Eden would have jumped. She merely paused, perfectly still save for the rise and fall of her breath and the knowing glimmer of her eyes as her gaze met mine. “What you want--it’s impossible,” I said, clearing my throat.

  “You wouldn’t say that with such apparent certainty if you hadn’t entertained the possibility yourself.”

  “What if I have? I entertain a lot of possibilities--that doesn’t make them actualities.”

  “Ah yes--actualities can be quite alarming.” Her mouth quirked in a grin as she stepped closer.

  I stood my ground. “It‘s past your bedtime, my dear, so run along. I believe the nursery’s upstairs.”

  Her grin widened. “Is it the scandal?”

  “I told you to go to bed.”

  “Is it my past?”

  “All that’ll be left of you is your past if you don’t leave. Now.”

  “Is it your past, then?”

  I mulled over that one. “My past is not a fit bedtime story,” I said finally, my voice quiet.

  “Neither is mine, sir.”

  “You’re not old enough to have a past. That’s the problem.”

  “How philosophical,” she said, her tone dry. “To be blunt, Mordric, there’s little time for you to hesitate. Whether or not Merius returns, you need an heir or at least the possibility of an heir to hold your place for him at court. And heirs come from young wives, not old mistresses.”

  Because she was right, I was cruel. “Even if I wanted a wife, what makes you think I’d want you? You talk too much, you flirt with other men, you have no modesty, and you’re rude.”

  “Yet again, who trained me?” Her voice was a throaty whisper.

  I turned away from her, toward the window again. “Go to bed, Eden.” My hands gripped the sill as if it were a rope in a storm.

  “Let me try on my combs first, since I was so rude about it.”

  “There are no mirrors here.”

  “The window will do.”

  I stepped aside, fisting my hands in my pockets now that I had no sill to grip. She tugged the pins from her hair and shook the heavy mass loose over her shoulders. It looked black in the glow from the fire, not the shiny black of a raven’s wing the idiot poets were always scribbling about, but the dense black of the shadows in the night forest. I had the sudd
en urge to touch it. Merius had speculated in one of his fool poems that if one could touch shadows, they would feel like velvet, soft and suffocating. Odd how his claptrap came back to me sometimes. I stepped back.

  She fiddled with the combs, fussy as any other woman about her grooming. “There,” she said after what seemed like an eternity.

  The topazes glinted like lines of fire in her hair. One comb was slightly lower than the other, and before I realized it, my hand was out of my pocket and tugging down the higher one so that they were even with each other. “They’re straight now,” I said as an afterthought, realizing uncomfortably that she stared at me.

  “Is that so? Why is your hand still on my hair then?”

  Because it feels like velvet, just like I thought it would. What the hell was wrong with me? I snatched my hand away and was rewarded with an insolent grin from Eden. “Good night, sir,” she said, dipping in a slight, mocking curtsy before she turned and left the room.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  It required much maneuvering to gain a secret audience with King Rainier. Of course, there was the trip to Sarneth itself, a weeklong (if one was lucky and the weather held) voyage in a cramped, second-rate cabin for a first-rate price. I had never enjoyed sailing--one couldn’t very well challenge a gale to a duel to subdue it. I liked battling human enemies, not natural ones.

  This trip to Sarneth differed from my previous trips, for the simple reason that Queen Jazmene couldn‘t find out I was in Sarneth for at least a week after I actually arrived there. This allowed me to meet with King Rainier without having to worry about the queen’s prying ears. I had sent Eden to our court to spread a rumor that I had taken ill with a fever and was holed up at Landers Hall. This rumor was for the benefit of Queen Jazmene’s spies in the Cormalen palace. Luckily for us, King Rainier had his own spies in our court. With my steward Randel’s help, I sought out one such spy and passed him a message for King Rainier and a pouch of gold for the man‘s trouble, since he would have to take the fastest ship to Sarneth to insure that my message arrived there before I did. This message simply stated that Lord Rankin and I desired a private meeting with the king, the date I expected to arrive in Midmarch, what name I would be traveling under, and instructions to leave any response at a certain tavern near the Midmarch locks.

  This particular tavern sheltered all sorts of shady happenings. Behind some ale barrels in the tavern’s back cellar, there was even an entrance to the Midmarch gutters, the conduit of the rebels, vagabonds, spies, and other underworld sorts. Many a man who traveled that way never emerged alive from the darkness; bodies popped up and floated out with the effluvia to the Sebond River with frightening regularity. Of course, this was the only way I could sneak into the embassy unseen. So I slapped some gold into the rough paw of the hunchbacked wretch who guarded the cellar door before I proceeded into the slimy darkness of the gutters. For how expensive this trip had proved to be, I could have bought enough slave girls to carry me through the streets in a litter. Instead I paid to risk my life underneath the streets, my only light a grimy lantern I held at the ready to swing at anyone who might accost me.

  The embassy had its own gutter entrance, a left turn, two rights, and another left from the tavern entrance. I remembered the route from some notes I had jotted down in my journal from another trip. I had managed to get a message to Rankin, alerting him of the approximate time of my arrival, and he had left the secret door to the gutter unlocked and unbolted for me. I emerged dripping muck into the pristine plastered whiteness of the embassy wine cellar, with its rows of glistening bottles. I itched to pull the cork and drain the nearest vintage, but I refrained. Best not to show up in Rankin’s study both smelly and drunk, though likely he’d be so caught up in his latest experiment that he wouldn’t notice. His wife would though.

  I had brought several leather bags with my belongings slung over my shoulders, so I was able to change into clean clothing behind a wine rack. I still needed a bath, but at least I reeked less. I sat down on the floor and took a long swig of water, then a long swig of whiskey, then got out my pipe and settled in for a long smoke as I contemplated my boots and thought through all the possible surprises King Rainier might spring on us tonight.

  After a half hour or so had passed, I heard the door open at the top of the stairs. I tensed, ready to go back through the gutter entrance if it was anyone besides Rankin. “It’s all right, lads,” I heard Rankin call then, and I relaxed, “I just want some air.”

  “In the cellar, my lord?” I tensed again, for the voice was Merius’s.

  “Yes, in the cellar, Landers,” Rankin said crossly.

  “Sorry, my lord--it’s just there’s more wine than fresh air down there. But each to his own, I suppose.” All the muffled snorts that followed indicated Merius and his fellow guard Cedric struggled to contain their youthful amusement. I shook my head--my son was still an ass. Should I be surprised?

  “Merius and Cedric, you’re both dismissed until tomorrow.” Rankin’s tone was curt.

  “But the night guard hasn’t arrived for their shift yet . . .” Cedric protested.

  “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m sick of you whelps dogging my heels. Go find some other ambassador to guard.”

  “I apologize if we gave offense,” Merius said quickly. “All jests aside, I’d advise you to let us stay until the other guards arrive to relieve us. There’s been some attacks and other odd happenings on the streets at night . . .”

  “And I’d advise you to go find your wife, Merius,” Rankin retorted. There was a long pause.

  “My lord,” Merius began, sounding oddly subdued. “I . . .”

  “You’re dismissed, lads. The household guards are here, somewhere, probably stuffing their faces in the kitchen. I can yell for them if I run into an assassin in the cellars. Why are you waiting? Go--look for Safire. That’s an order, Landers.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Cedric and Merius’s boot tramps faded down the hall until I couldn‘t hear them anymore. I settled against the wall and waited as Rankin shuffled down the cellar steps.

  So this was how, a few hours later, Lord Artemious of Rankin and I slipped along the street from the embassy to the palace, quiet as two thieves in the Midmarch night. “There’s a hole here where they’ve been repairing the gutter,” he whispered, side-stepping a black shadow in the midst of the variegated gray shadows that comprised the cobbles.

  “Thanks,” I muttered. A dark shape streaked out in front of us, and Rankin stumbled and pitched like a mast in a gale. I grabbed his arm to steady him. “Damn cats,” I said.

  “Isn’t it strange how we need light to see color?” Rankin mused. “Do things have color only when there’s a source of light, or are they the same color in light and darkness, and we just can’t see it?”

  “What?” I shook my head. He hadn’t changed one whit. A bit mad, really. Brilliant but mad.

  “Take that cat for example--it looked dark gray when it ran out in front of us, but perhaps in daylight, it’s ginger-colored.”

  “Isn’t that saying a thing only exists because we sense it? That doesn’t seem right.”

  “But what if it’s true? Maybe all of physical existence is an illusion, only here because we perceive it to be.”

  “So if Merius ignores me long enough, I’ll vanish into thin air?”

  “Deliberately ignoring someone is an indirect way of acknowledging his existence.” Rankin glanced sideways at me, though it was too dark to read his expression. “It’s going to be impossible, you hiding at the embassy. Do you know how difficult it was to evade my own guard and sneak out tonight?”

  “Do you know how difficult it was to get this secret audience with King Rainier without alerting Jazmene’s spies?”

  “I can’t even imagine,” Rankin said with the bald honesty of a man with no worldly ambitions. King Arian was wrong when he said that Rankin feared losing his position as ambassador and that was why he hadn’t secured Esme’s hand for Segar. It wasn’t fe
ar. He hadn’t secured Esme’s hand because he had little interest in it. Now, if she had been a new kind of barometer or a rare manuscript, he would have long since attained her and shipped her back to Cormalen for safe keeping.

  “You know, Artemious, I can find other lodgings.”

  “You being at the embassy has several advantages I don‘t want to lose. I just think keeping your presence a secret from Merius and the other guards is impossible.”

  “I agree. I only require secrecy the first few days while I carry out meetings like the one tonight. After Jazmene finds out, everyone finds out.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We drew the hoods of our cloaks over our heads as we approached the end of the street. The palace loomed ahead. Lanterns ringed the base, yellow patches of lit windows revealing the chambers where revelers still thronged and courtiers still plotted late into the night. I glanced up--far up, in the topmost tower, a lone light still burned. Maybe that was where the spider king Rainier awaited us. Rumor claimed he had a nasty habit of lurking motionless in window alcoves during the day so he could eavesdrop and spy. It wouldn’t surprise me--even though he was a recluse, he still somehow seemed to know everything that happened, a knowledge he had let slip a couple times during our infrequent chess matches, enough for me to gather he knew far more than he let on about his court. He likely wanted Jazmene to think that she was successful at keeping him in the dark. She treated him like her king in a closet, only to be brought out and dusted for the important ceremonial occasions when she needed him to escort her. I shook my head. Arian’s court was strange but nowhere near as bizarre as this place.

  Rankin and I bypassed the monumental steps leading the main entrance, instead walking around to the back of the palace, a walk that took almost ten minutes from the front steps. I turned left into a large alleyway that led to large double doors that glided into slots in the walls on either side. Two giant men stood guard in front of the doors, crossing their spears at our approach.

  “Lord Quxor sent us. He heard you had a shipment of Sud Island pears,” I said. The two guards parted their spears without a word and slid open the doors.