Under her orders, I removed my old tunic and wiggled into the gold-embroidered one, so new it was stiff and itchy at the neck. She fussed over it, clucking as she tugged the shoulders straight. Finally finished, she glanced at my face, her eyes searching mine. “How old are you? Twenty?”
“Twenty-one, my lady.”
“Boys,” she muttered. “Mere boys.” She shot Rankin a glare as if it was all his fault. “He’s younger than our Geoff, do you realize that?”
“Most of the guards are between sixteen and twenty-five, my dear,” he said, unperturbed. “Their joints still work at that age.”
She shook her head, then turned her attention back to me. “You’ve grown into a fine young man, Merius--your mother would be proud of you.”
“You knew my mother?”
“Of course--we were handmaids to the queen at the same time. She was so clever--she could quote all the poets and their verses and argue religion with the archbishop himself.” Narie sighed. “We were all jealous of her, especially after she caught the eye of your father. No one ever saw them speak to each other in public--Mordric was such a quiet young man after he came back from battle--but they danced. My lord, did they dance. Everyone watched them--you couldn’t help it.”
“Father danced?” I murmured, bemused.
“Oh yes. He was one of the most sought-after partners at balls, not that many got the honor after he saw your mother. He only courted her for a few months before she accepted his ring, a scandalously short courtship at that time. It shocked the court when they wed, and the old king almost didn’t bless their union . . .”
“We soon must be on our way to the palace, Narie,” Rankin interrupted gently. “Are you ready?”
She glanced at the mantelpiece clock. “Oh my--you should have said something before. Tirina?” she called for her lady‘s maid as she hurried toward the doorway. “Tirina!” Her voice faded as she pulled the door closed behind her.
“Is our audience with Her Majesty set?” Rankin asked me quietly.
“Eight o’clock in her private chambers.”
It had only taken a word from me to the queen for her to grant the audience Rankin had sought for the last several months now. Frightening, really, the power I wielded simply because I’d hidden my wife. However, mine was a precarious position, so I had requested several favors from the queen for Rankin while she was still in a generous mood. I didn’t know how much longer we could continue with the polite fiction that I knew nothing of Safire’s whereabouts. Queen Jazmene had known my ignorance was a charade from the first day, but she had played along while she hoped to discover Safire’s hiding place on her own. Now, two months had gone by, and her patience was rapidly waning. Soon, she would attempt to negotiate with me in order to gain access to Safire, negotiations that would in all likelihood go badly for our side. I wanted Safire out of Sarneth before that happened--with her safely away and out of the queen’s immediate grasp, I would at least have the assurance that she was all right no matter how things went. I sighed and adjusted my sword belt over my new tunic. This evening would be yet another hellish court labyrinth where one false step could lose everything. God help me.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The palace ballroom teemed with people, courtiers in the rich velvets and satins of formal court dress, artists, fellow guards, and foreign ambassadors and officials. Some of the artists were dressed like the courtiers, but a number still wore paint-spattered smocks, and a few even looked like vagabonds in their thigh-high boots, bright colored doublets, feathered hats, with gold rings in their ears and noses. Their unconventionality became a uniform of sorts, separating them from the others like parrots from peacocks.
Countless voices rose in a yammering wave of conversation that bore down on Rankin, Narie, and me as we entered the room. I fidgeted, reaching under my itchy collar to scratch the back of my neck. It was warm in here, too warm. People pressed too close together, a lot of distractions--it was the perfect opportunity for an assassin to slip through the crowd and do his dirty work. I glanced around, my eyes narrow. After Safire’s and my experiences with the Numerian rebels, it wouldn’t surprise me if there were several here tonight, waiting to attack Rankin or me or both. The queen was half a rebel herself, if one believed everything Falken said.
I looked behind me and started, forgetting the rebels for a moment. Father was here, standing in a small group on the queen’s dais in the corner. Although I likely imagined it, I could have sworn he had been watching me before I had seen him. Now he appeared completely absorbed in whatever business he was discussing with the queen, Toscar, the head ambassador from Marenna, and a couple of Sarneth ministers whose names I couldn’t remember. We had passed each other in the hallway near the palace entrance a few days ago, pausing when we saw each other. I had been shocked, so shocked I was at a loss for words--I had had no idea he was in Sarneth. He had appeared on the verge of saying something but then had stopped himself, merely looking me over expressionlessly before he gave a quick, sharp nod of acknowledgement and then continued on his way.
I recalled how he had looked that day at Landers Hall when he stabbed himself. Then he had been pale, clutching his chest at the blade wound, disheveled and unshaven after a week of hard drinking. Now he seemed his regular self again, all military precision and ruthless determination as he stalked around the queen‘s dais and intimidated everyone including Toscar. If the Landers family were a tree, he would be the toughest root, hidden deep beneath the earth and resistant to even the most brutal frosts.
Rankin noticed the direction of my gaze. “Did you know he was here?” he asked, his voice low.
“I saw him a few days ago, but I didn’t know he’d be at the salon.” Father hated any kind of public event, attending only when politically or socially necessary.
“King Arian sent him here.”
“What for?”
Rankin shrugged. “I thought you might have an idea.”
I snorted. “My lord, I’m merely his son, not his confessor.”
“Merius, I don’t often give advice, but you would be wise to end this estrangement. It’s gained you nothing but trouble. One can only escape his position in life for so long.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but it’s none of your affair.”
“I realize that.” He sighed. “I was like you once--the firstborn son who rebelled against his father and his position. I wanted to be a scholar, not a court official.”
“What happened?”
“Geoff was born, and I realized we needed the income from my family's estate and offices." He squeezed Narie's arm.
“So you relented?”
He nodded. “I thought I would always be discontented, but I wasn‘t. I’ve still been able to pursue my studies as well as my duties. When you‘re twenty, you think everything is all or nothing.”
Narie turned then, the elaborate curls and coils of her hair swaying precariously. “How does the tunic fit, Merius?”
“Fine, my lady.”
“Good. It was made for a nobleman, not a mere guard.”
“My dear, he doesn’t need both of us haranguing him,” Rankin said.
“You were haranguing him. I was merely pointing out the obvious.”
“Ah.”
I started as someone behind me grabbed my sleeve. I whirled around, my hand already poised near my blade. It was force of habit, and I swallowed and lowered my hand when I realized the man who had startled me was Korigann.
“Merius, can I speak with you?”
I glanced at Rankin, who nodded his consent. I turned back to Korigann. “For a few minutes, my lord.”
“We’ll meet you in the hall outside the queen’s private receiving chamber, lad,” Rankin said.
For an instant, I wondered if this was an elaborate plot on the rebels’ and queen’s part to assassinate Rankin and take me hostage. That was the first step of most plots: separate the principal targets. Strength in numbers. Divide and conquer. Father’s voice echoed in
my head, running through all the clichés of strategy and intrigue. My eyes flicked toward the dais, but Father had vanished, likely off on some intrigue of his own. The tension inside eased somewhat, and I managed to quell my suspicions with common sense. The rebels would hardly be so stupid to plan an assassination where all could see.
I joined Korigann as he deliberately mingled with a group of boisterous Marennese who apparently didn’t speak a word of Sarns, judging from their loud chattering in their own tongue as they harassed the court servants for more wine. Korigann picked up a goblet, and I followed suit. We toasted to each other’s health.
“Sir, is this all you wanted to see me for?” I asked finally when the silence between us had drawn out to a tense thread.
He ran his finger along the edge of his goblet. “I’d prefer we speak in Corcin,” he said in my native tongue. “Some of these Marennese might understand Sarns, but Corcin is less widely known.”
“Understood.”
He leaned closer. “Merius, both you and Safire are in danger.”
I almost laughed before I remembered myself. When were we not in danger? “What do you mean?”
“The queen knows you and Falken have hidden Safire.”
I straightened, less amused. The mention of Falken was unexpected and troubling from him. “What?”
“One of the city watchmen mentioned he’d seen Falken at the wrong end of your sword one morning, that you thought Falken was trying to rob you.”
“Oh that--Falken was following me. That’s the only time we’ve spoken.”
“Why was Falken following you?”
“Safire had drawn his portrait, and he wanted to find out why the queen was so interested in her.”
“Where is Safire?”
“You think I know?” I spat. “I’ve searched for her every night and have yet to find a trace. How dare you ask me that?”
Korigann sighed. “You’re wise to lie to me, to lie to anyone at this court, but understand I’m only trying to help. I’m an artist the queen happens to favor, not her unquestioning servant. I don’t like the single-minded way she’s hounded Safire. Before now, I’d only seen her generosity and appreciation for art--I had no idea she could be so ruthless.”
“Ruthless?” I repeated evenly.
He put his hand on my arm. “Watch yourself, Merius.” He turned then, starting back through the crowd.
“But . . .” I began, trailing off as he disappeared amidst the Marennese hoards. We had likely spoken too long as it was, but I wondered about his last comment. The way he had said ruthless indicated to me that he had knowledge of some specific action the queen was planning. But what? Something to do with Falken? The huge clock near the main staircase tolled thrice, and I glanced up. Quarter to eight. Rankin and I were meeting with the queen at eight. Damn it.
I made my way to one of the archways leading out of the ballroom. The party had spilled out into the central hallway, and it took me a few minutes to navigate through the various conversations and groups gathered there. Some woman’s laugh rose above the steady roar of the crowd, and I looked around. Whoever she was, her laugh sounded harsh and raucous, the caw of a drunken peacock. Everyone’s bright court masks seemed to have slipped a little, either from too much drink or too much bragging or too much backstabbing, revealing the sickly skin and shadowed eyes beneath all the gaiety. I shuddered inwardly, having the sudden urge to flee. Hopefully Rankin will want to leave immediately after his meeting with the queen.
Rankin waited with the queen’s guards outside her chamber. “Where is your lady wife?” I asked.
He shrugged as he joined me. “None of this is her affair, and she wanted to mingle.”
“None of it is really my affair, if it comes to that.”
“Your eyes and ears were trained in the Cormalen council chamber. Besides, the queen requested your presence in her summons.”
By this point we were in the chamber. The doors closed behind us, and the warrior inside me tensed at the sound like a trapped wolf with its hackles raised. The guards fell in behind us as we approached the queen’s throne.
“Lord Rankin, Merius,” Queen Jazmene acknowledged our bows with a warm laugh. “Welcome.” If possible, her voice seemed even more honeyed and richer than usual, as if having all these artists and intellectuals gathered here tonight had invigorated her.
“Your Majesty.” Rankin bowed again. “Your hospitality is overwhelming. Thank you.”
“Lord Rankin, your reputation as a scholar in languages is well known here. I’m certain my other guests would be grateful for an introduction.”
“Perhaps after our discussion, Your Majesty. My apologies for my lady wife--she is representing the embassy for me while we meet.”
“I’ll see her later. I believe she was Queen Verna’s attendant here when Rainier and I were newly married.”
“Indeed.”
“And your mother,” she turned to me, her eyes glittering, “was Queen Verna’s attendant that time as well, if my memory serves me right.”
“How odd--Narie mentioned that very thing earlier tonight.”
“Old friends stir old memories. That reminds me--your father is here, Merius.” Ah, the pounce--I knew she couldn’t go for long with her claws sheathed.
“I saw him.” I straightened, trying to ignore the sudden itching under the collar of my new tunic.
“He spoke at length about you.”
“My father never speaks at length about anything, Your Majesty, least of all his private affairs.” I lightened my words with a chuckle, though inside I was seething.
“He’s concerned about Safire.”
“As he should be.”
“Your Majesty, we only have a few minutes to speak . . .” Rankin began.
She raised her hand. “I know why you’re here, Lord Rankin, and you will have my and Rainier’s answer after we’ve considered this matter further.”
Rankin inclined his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I’ll meet with you and Mordric tomorrow,” she continued graciously. “I believe he has some insight into the answer you seek.” Then her gaze, sharp as daggers, impaled me again. “In the meantime, your chief guard owes me an explanation.”
“An explanation?”
“You should have told me you knew Falken, Merius. It was a gross oversight on your part.”
My mouth felt coated with ashes. “I only met him once, Your Majesty. I didn’t see the point.”
“I told you once that if you lied to my face a second time, I’d have you escorted out of this chamber under armed guard, and you’ve lied every time you‘ve come here the last two months.”
“You have no proof of that,” I said. Rankin touched my arm, a warning gesture, but I was past warnings.
She stood up, her heavy skirts whispering over the tiles. “I’m the queen. I don’t need proof, only a suspicion. You’ve hidden her from me for over two months, and you’ve plotted with Falken and his rebel ilk. If you were a native, that would be treason.”
"Your Majesty, I have no idea what you're talking about. I've been searching for her practically every night, and you dare accuse me of hiding her?" My voice rose.
“Guards, arrest him,” she said calmly.
“Your Majesty, forgive me, but you’ve made no charge,” Rankin murmured, apparently in shock as four guards strode forward and grabbed for my arms and shoulders.
“He’s lied to me--that‘s charge enough. Reach for your sword, Merius, and Safire will suffer when she hears of your death.”
I blinked, the muscles in my hand so taut they trembled. She likely was bluffing, but I dared not call her on it. She seemed reckless tonight, too reckless to depend on her usual political savvy.
“Your Majesty, he’s the son of a high-ranking Cormalen official, one who sits so near the throne he’s practically on it. An official who happens to be here tonight.” Rankin sounded determined--evidently he had recovered from his shock somewhat and was thinking about ho
w best to extricate me.
“I appreciate your attempt, Lord Rankin, but this is a private matter. You’ll have your guard back when he comes to his senses and cooperates.” Queen Jazmene sauntered around her throne with the whisk of heavy brocade skirts, her hands clasped behind her straight back, her haughty gaze never leaving me. She put me in mind of a commander surveying the battlefield where he had witnessed his first triumph, detached from all the death and destruction, only exalting in his successful strategy.
I bit back the words that sprang to my tongue. Hasty retorts were my downfall, and it was difficult to restrain myself as the guards circled me. My sword and dagger vanished, seized as soon as they had a good hold on my arms. I felt more naked suddenly than a newborn babe, all my defenses stripped. I closed my eyes briefly and pictured Safire. She would be waiting in our rooms for me, more and more worried as each hour passed with no word . . . what if the queen ordered the guards to search our rooms again? They had searched there soon after Safire's disappearance while I was on embassy duty, I was certain of it—papers had been disturbed, not put back exactly as I left them. Untidy I might seem, but I had an uncanny memory for where I put papers, likely due to Father’s rages the rare occasions I had misplaced letters and council notes. So I didn’t expect the guards to search there tonight but maybe sometime tomorrow, when they had daylight to aid them. What if Safire was still there when they came? I couldn’t bear to think of it. Perhaps Falken would hear what happened, would alert her. But even if he somehow managed it, what then?
As I was led from the chamber, I glanced at the queen. Our eyes met. I could feel myself glaring at her. Though her gaze did not falter, she did step back as if struck by the impact of the rage that burned in my gut, a visceral emotion that her position usually spared her. Courtiers never showed their anger to their overlords, instead heaping it on their servants and other underlings, who in turn heaped it on the peasants under them. It was the natural order of things, and I had just broken it. Then she looked away to speak to one of her servants, and the moment passed. I gritted my teeth. After all, what did she care? I was but a weaponless prisoner.
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 25