~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Far from being in the dungeons, my “cell” was a comfortable, well-appointed chamber befitting my noble status. There were even several narrow windows with bars between me and the glass, a reminder of my imprisoned state. As the guards shut and bolted the heavy oaken door behind me, I crossed to one of the windows, shoving aside the drapes. This chamber was on the northern side of the palace, the side that faced away from the rest of the city, and little could be seen outside now under the night sky. During the day, I would be able to see the Sebond River glimmering darkly against the snow-shrouded fields as it stretched across the Midmarch plain, its far end disappearing in the distant hills from whence sprang its source. I sighed, my forehead against the cold iron bars.
After several minutes, I turned away from the window and made use of the pitcher and wash basin, dunking my head in the hot water several times in an effort to cure my headache. They must have just prepared this chamber, for the water still to be so warm. The heat eased the muscles in my temples somewhat, and the headache faded to a dull pounding. I lay back on the bed with a sigh, closing my eyes against any light. Even candlelight was painful to see when I was in this state. It had been so long since I had had a headache like this--Safire could always take them away with her hands, and even when she wasn’t with me, just thinking about her, imagining the cool, healing touch of her fingers against my temples, could make the pain vanish in a matter of minutes. However, thinking about her now just made the pounding worse. Worry knotted my muscles, and I swore, hitting the headboard with my fist. If that bitch of a queen threatened her or arrested her . . . I jumped up suddenly. I had to get out of here. I had to help her. There had to be some way out of here.
I prowled the chamber, examining every crevice. All the window bars looked secure, damn it. Then I poked my head under the edge of the fireplace. A few embers still glowed in the grate, and my eyes watered from the smoke as I glanced up the hot chimney. Too narrow for me to climb. Perhaps I could start a fire with the bed hangings as a diversion . . . no, the door was too heavy. The guards might not realize there was a fire and open the door until after I had passed out from the smoke fumes. I drummed the mantel with my fingers as I leaned against it, thinking hard. The iron grate looked heavy enough to do some damage in a surprise attack; it was mortared into the fireplace, likely as a defense against that very thought, but I wondered if I could work it loose somehow. There was plenty of heavy furniture that could perhaps be demolished and made into weapons . . .
My gaze lighted upon the ornate mirror hanging over the washstand, an oval, gilt-edged affair. Had they really been stupid enough to leave a mirror in the same chamber with me? The possibilities . . . I leaned over the washstand and grabbed the mirror. No matter how hard I tried to lift it from the wall however, it remained fast, as if someone had mortared it there. No matter. I took off my tunic and wrapped my fist in it. Then I shut my eyes as I punched the mirror, awaiting the inevitable shatter of the glass. A mirror this size, there would likely be several large shards, my choice of blades . . . after a moment of silence, I opened my eyes. The smooth surface of the mirror reflected my surprised expression. Unbroken. How was that possible? I punched it again, then pummeled it. Then I cursed, for nothing happened. The surface of the mirror remained imperturbable. Infernal thing. It must be made of metal. Odd, though--all my antics had left no dents, not even the smallest scratch.
The bolt creaked then, and I started and turned away from the mirror hastily as the guards escorted Father into the chamber.
“Leave us,” he told them, and I immediately felt thirteen again at the sound of his voice. Thirteen and due for a thrashing.
“But, sir,” the older guard protested. “Her Majesty’s orders are not to leave him alone with anyone.”
“Her Majesty didn’t mean me, knothead.”
“But . . .” he trailed off as the younger guard whispered something to him. “You’re his father?”
“Yes, and I’m also King Arian’s head advisor. Now leave before this becomes a diplomatic incident.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll be back in a half hour.” They saluted him--Father’s reputation as a commander crossed international borders--and marched out of the chamber.
Father and I watched each other warily for a moment in silence after they left, two masters picking up a long-running duel after several months‘ forced peace. We’d ended on a draw, and now I was having trouble feeling out my first move, my defenses rusty and my blade even rustier.
Finally, I cleared my throat. “They’ll be back before the half hour.”
“They better not be. Your arrest was far from proper, and Queen Jazmene knows it. She’ll not stir the hornet’s nest anymore, not tonight.”
“Did Rankin tell you?”
“No--Jazmene told me a few minutes before she did it.”
“Why?”
“As a courtesy, I suppose.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the back of a chair.
“Some courtesy.”
“She wanted my help in convincing you to be sensible.”
“She doesn’t know us very well then, does she?” I found myself tracing the edge of the hearth with my toe, the herringbone pattern of the tiles capturing my attention suddenly.
“Apparently not. Even I can’t convince someone to value a trait he’s never possessed.”
My head shot up. “So it was senseless of me to remove myself and my wife from the vicinity of the Landers after what you and Whitten did?” Even enraged, I was careful in my choice of words--one never knew who could be eavesdropping in this place.
He blinked, one of the few expressions of feeling he allowed himself. “Merius, that’s a worthy quarrel, but you have more pressing problems at the moment.”
I took a deep breath. “All right.”
“I can help you-”
“At what cost?” I interrupted.
“Cost? You presume to jibe me about cost? Your reckless stubbornness will cost us all our lives,” he retorted. “If King Arian hears of this latest with the moving paintings, Safire will be branded a witch and the Landers with her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, I can help you, but I have a few conditions.”
“Of course you do.” It slipped out before I could stop it, and I groaned inwardly.
“Quit being an ass, lest you want to rot here. Now, I'll admit you have good reason to be bitter,” he said, a surprising acknowledgement from him. “Please understand the conditions I require are only to help you and Safire, Merius.”
“What are they?”
“When your term of service is finished here, you are to return home and reclaim your inheritance and your offices and resume your duties as my son.”
I shook my head. “Not as long as Whitten is in that House.”
He crossed his arms. “What do you suggest I do?”
“Banish him. Otherwise I’ll kill him.”
“I can’t banish him. Banishing is a public act that happens at court. I would have to reveal what he did.”
“Then lie. Contrive some false charge. That shouldn’t be too difficult.”
He pondered this a moment before he spoke. “If I do this, will you return?”
Silence followed. He watched me, intent as a hawk closing on its prey. I shut my eyes in an effort to forget his presence so I could think clearly. I had known this was coming--though mere months had passed since our arrival in Sarneth, my and Safire’s desire to be free of our positions and live as commoners seemed the naïve desire of two people far younger than we were now. Now the best we could hope for was peace and some measure of protection. I alone could no longer protect us. We needed the Landers name. We needed my father’s help. Gall burned my throat, my swallowed pride a bitter feast. Finally, I opened my eyes and met his gaze. “How did you know about the moving pictures?”
He coughed, his voice hoarse. “I saw one.”
“When?”
“Last spring, before you came
back from Marenna.”
“She showed you one of her drawings?”
A shadow of a smile flickered across his face. “Not willingly.”
“Ah.” I considered this. “If you saw it last spring, why did you say nothing for so long?”
“I thought I was seeing things. Then I forgot about it. It didn’t seem pertinent until recently.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing--that’s the best way of safeguarding such a secret.”
“It’s not a secret anymore. The queen of Sarneth knows.”
“As long as Jazmene gets what she wants, she’ll be prudent. She wants Safire alive and painting, not dead at the stake.”
I closed my eyes again. “Her talent should be hers to use freely, not beholden to anyone’s caprices, even a queen’s.”
“Her talent is dangerous, and she hasn’t the sense to use it wisely.”
Still fearing the queen‘s spies, I lowered my voice to a furious whisper. “Her talent saved your life.”
“That’s why I call it dangerous--if that witch‘s true nature were revealed, half the world would want to kill her, and the other half would want to kill each other to have her. At least they don’t burn witches here.” He turned away from the window.
“I thought that when we first arrived, but she’s been in more danger here than she ever was in Cormalen.” I remembered the dead rebel and swallowed. “I’ll rot here before I’ll let the queen lock her away like some prized pet.”
“That’s likely what will happen. I can’t bargain with Her Majesty for your release without the promise of Safire painting at this court.” He reached in his pocket then and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. Glancing around the chamber as if he thought someone might be watching, he slipped the parchment into my hand.
I furtively unfolded it, the edges crinkling, and read Where is she?, written in Father’s dark, jagged script. I looked at him, my brow furrowed. His gaze flicked downward at the paper, then flicked back up at me, his eyes narrow. He was as worried about eavesdroppers and spies as I was. Suddenly our whole conversation took on a different light--he had been acting a role the whole time, a role so subtle and close to his normal demeanor that I had not caught it till now.
“Merius?” he asked finally--anyone listening would think I had lapsed into a long silence, and he was prodding me for my response.
I sighed. “Give me some time to think about what you‘ve said, Father.”
“All right.”
“And would you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Please go to my chambers and get my journals and books--I’ll need something to occupy me while I’m here.” I handed him back the parchment and my key to the rented chambers with a quick nod, and he nodded back, understanding what I meant. I hesitated revealing Safire’s whereabouts to him--after all, this could be an elaborate double hoax on his part--but I had little choice. The queen’s men would inevitably search our chambers soon, and better Father find Safire than them. There was a good chance he would be able to sneak her out of Sarneth, all the while bargaining for my release with his customary poker face. I couldn‘t have asked for a better strategist than Father to help extricate us from this mess. I found myself pacing after he left, my heart hammering in my chest. I went from one window to the next, as if I expected to see Safire, as if I thought I could somehow warn her. Instead I looked out on a snowy night, lanterns bobbing far below on the river and city streets like frosty fireflies. Safire’s fate was now in Father’s hands, the same hands that had married her off to my drunkard cousin when I was away at battle, the same hands that had slapped my mother around. What had I done? I leaned my aching forehead against the cool bars, my breath misting on the glass as I braced my palms on the sill. Damn it, I had to trust him again, I just had to, lest I drive myself mad in this locked chamber that seemed smaller with every moment that passed.
Chapter Fourteen--Safire
I paced between the bedchamber and the main chamber, my arms folded over the swell of the baby. Merius had warned me not to open the drapes while he was gone, lest someone notice the light from the fireplace and candles and decide to investigate. I dutifully avoided going near the windows until about eleven o’clock, a half hour after Merius was supposed to be home. Then I dared a peek outside, only to discover the rain had turned to sleet. It lashed against the glass, the sound of a thousand tiny ice bells tinkling far away. Such beauty would usually be a distraction, but tonight I turned away from the window, my heart thundering in my ears. The clouds that had been looming on my horizon suddenly burst in a downpour of panic, and all I could do to contain the flood was pace. Ten steps to the fireplace from the main door, another fifteen steps to the doorway of our bedchamber. Nine steps to our bed, then a quick turn of my heel, and back to the main door again, another twelve steps. I measured the minutes, then the half-hours in those steps.
Twenty minutes after the clock on the mantel chimed midnight, a key rattled in the lock. I froze halfway between the fireplace and the bedchamber door. It had to be Merius--who else would be unlocking our door after midnight? But if it was Merius, why was my heart fluttering against my ribs like a frantic bird? Sensing my unease, the baby stirred, and I put a hand over my belly as if to calm him. My last thought before the door opened was that the queen had arrested Merius and gotten his key, and now her guards were coming after me. I shrank against the wall, my fingers clenched around Merius’s dagger.
A cloaked figure entered, about Merius‘s height and build. “Damned stuff,” he swore, stomping the snow and sleet from his boots as he shut the door behind him. Even before he spoke, I knew who he was--his pewter gray aura swirled around him like a trapped wind, constrained by taut, black lines of tension and ruthless self discipline.
“Where’s Merius?” I whispered.
Mordric glanced up from his boots and threw his cloak hood back. “Queen Jazmene arrested him.”
“I knew it.” My fingernails bit into my palm. “I knew she would. That she-wolf.”
His steady gaze traveled over me, stopping at my belly. “Saint‘s ill-begotten,” he muttered. “When did that happen?”
“When Whitten raped me.”
He stepped back like I had hit him, yet his face remained stubbornly impassive. “That’s why Merius took the position with Rankin and brought you here. To hide it.”
I nodded, cold and shaky inside. Our secret had just fought its way free, and there was no going back now. “He doesn’t want anyone suspecting the baby isn’t his.”
“He could have told me.”
“He could have told you a lot of things, sir, but chose not to. I can’t really blame him.”
“I know he had his reasons, but damn it . . .” Mordric paused and looked me over again before he shook his head. “Damn it, he could have told me. I would have helped.”
“How?”
“How do you think, witch? Coin . . .”
“He doesn’t want your coin. He thinks you’ve done enough.”
The lines of his face tightened, and for an instant, he looked old. “You need not jibe me--I know my failings. I did marry you off to Whitten, but only as a convenience. You were in a witch fit, half-mad, and you needed the legal protection of a marriage contract. He should never have touched you--it was against my orders.”
“Your motivation was to prevent Merius from marrying me--no matter what you say now, I don’t think you were particularly interested in my welfare.”
“I wasn’t, at the time.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “Safire, we haven’t a minute to spare.”
“I know that.” I took a deep breath before I plunged ahead. “Whether you meant it or not, you set the stage for what Whitten did. He would never have thought of it otherwise. When you did that, you hurt me and betrayed Merius in one stroke.”
“I was trying to protect him.”
“That’s not how he sees it.”
“I r
ealize that.” He shifted his weight to the other foot, his gaze never leaving me. His intent scrutiny was merciless, but I could not falter as so many had done before his iron will. I had to know.
“So why are you here?” I asked.
“Considering your situation, I would think the answer to that obvious.”
“If you came merely to recover your only heir, then take me to the queen right now. Neither Merius nor I need such help.”
A grudging smile briefly touched the edges of his mouth. “You’re even more stubborn than he is, witch.”
“I have to be, married to him. Answer me--why are you here?”
“To help my son,” he said quietly. “And you, Safire.”
His steady aura never even flickered, and I closed my eyes briefly, one prayer answered. I had trusted that he was fundamentally an honorable man, and now he had proven my trust well-placed. My parents and Merius’s mother were dead, and we were both so young--I longed for some guidance, and Merius did to, loath though he was to admit it. Mordric’s brand of wisdom was so practical it was almost brutal, but it was still wisdom, and we needed wisdom right now. Perhaps everything would be all right after all.
“Now get your things together,” he continued. “I lost the guards who tried to follow me here, but we can’t depend on such luck for long.”
I gathered my brushes, pigments, and oils and put them in a small leather bag. Then I rolled up the canvas of the painting I had started of the queen and Toscar and slid it into a wooden cylinder-shaped box. It was quite an ingenious box for carrying paintings and drawings and extra canvas--it was equipped with a strap to sling it over the shoulder like an arrow quiver. Korigann had given it to me when I completed my first portrait.
“Safire, be sensible,” Mordric said. “Your painting is not a necessity at this point.”
I graced him with a glare. “It’s more necessary than anything, if I’m to bargain with the queen.”
“I’ll bargain with Jazmene. You just pack.” He tossed his cloak aside as he left the doorway, and I found myself glancing at his doublet, the left side where he had thrust the dagger. Suddenly there was a charred smell in the air, the sickly sweet smell of cauterized flesh. The wound is still burning . . . but that was months ago . . . He clutched his chest. “Damned witch--what the hell are you doing?”
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 26