Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

by Nilsen, Karen

  I awoke several hours later. Dawn tinged the upper edges of the high arched window and the joints of the vaulted ceiling rosy-hued. I imagined the slow progression of the sunlight as it went from pink to gold to yellow to white, how many hours I could lie here watching its journey across the silent cell. The silence was so deep it buzzed in my ears, the silence of thick walls and quiet lives lived in veils and whispers.

  For several minutes, I absorbed the silence, inhaling it with slow, deep breaths, almost falling asleep again. Blinking, I rolled over and hid my face in the pillow. Then I heard it. A low chant, broken by the soaring song of a powerful soprano. Sleep forgotten, I sat up, my ears straining to catch the words of chant. The walls muffled it, made it distant and haunting. I stood and crept over to the door. Why I crept, I couldn’t say, unless it was from some half-forgotten sense of reverence--it wasn‘t as if anyone could have heard me stir. After a minute’s hesitation, I pulled the door open and found my way down the maze of hallways, following the chant. It echoed around corners and in the vaults of the ceiling, and I lost my way several times chasing an echo.

  I followed it to a set of double doors, carved with a design of the tree from the beginning of the world, the tree from which all the flowers and fruit and birds had come. It was the only decoration I had seen so far in this place, and I ran my fingers over the shape of a leaf, marveling at its lines and smooth finish. The soprano’s voice rose in a prayer then. I caught the Sarns word for dawn. It must be a morning prayer. The growing trills of her voice reminded me of early summer mornings when I had thrown my window open at home and let the joyful sound of a Cormalen forest full of songbirds pour over me. Without realizing it, I pushed the door. It opened silently, revealing a dim chapel, lit only by the pale light from the high windows.

  The walled virgins were all on their knees in lines except for the singer, who stood at the front. No one seemed to notice as I slipped inside and leaned against the back wall. The song flowed on, joined by the quiet chanting of the other women. The chanting and singing moved around each other in a sinuous dance of sound, one rhythmic and one melodic, first low and then high. I closed my eyes and let the prayer envelop me until I heard its rhythm in my heartbeat.

  I had never felt comfortable in church, avoiding chapel as often as I could as a child to escape the sharp gaze of the nuns and priests. Never had I felt worthy to be in a church, remembering always my dark talents and the harsh punishment awaiting me if anyone found out I was an unholy witch. But now I found my muscles slackening, my will surrendered to the rise and fall of the nuns’ song. The air crackled around me with a spirit beyond that of any human. My lips moved in a silent prayer as I asked the listening air for help, for my baby, for Merius, for Dagmar, for all these kind women, for Falken, for Mordric, for the souls of my parents, and finally for myself. The dome of the chapel ceiling became God’s ear pressed to the earth to hear my prayer and the thousands before it.

  Chapter Fifteen--Mordric

  I lunged, and Toscar stood his ground, parrying in a whiplash of silver that dazzled the crowd into applause. I stepped back and circled him in a wide arc, hefting the weight of my metal practice blade. The sweat glistened on his forehead--we had foregone the precaution of mesh masks--as he tracked my movement, his eyes narrow. This match was the queen’s idea, a game of cat’s paw for which only she understood the purpose. She was on the sideline now, clapping her hands with the rest.

  Finally, baited by my lack of engagement, Toscar broke the space between us with a leap. He was something of a performer on the practice floor, his movements dramatic to show his form to the best advantage. I blocked him, then forced him to parry as I thrust my sword forward in a lower feint.

  He attacked, his blade darting in a dizzying display meant to distract me and entertain the watchers. His sword tip nicked my shoulder and ripped a hole in the padding of my jerkin. I shut out the excitement of the crowd, hearing only a low roar in the background as I feinted him again. He blocked me, leaving his left side exposed. I whipped my blade around and dealt him a cut to his abdomen, forceful enough to be a potentially fatal cut if we had used real swords.

  The salon grew quiet, the air tense as I used the surprise of the sudden cut to continue my attack, beating him back with a rain of blows that left him at the edge of the floor. He raised his blade like a shield to block me, the opportunity I waited for. I brought the flat of my blade down hard on his exposed wrist, near the base of his thumb so he reflexively opened his hand and dropped his sword with a clatter. There were some gasps from the crowd, and then, slowly, almost reluctantly, the few claps swelled to applause. They were mostly Sarneth courtiers and didn’t like seeing their man beaten, but they had to be polite. The master-at-arms called the match mine, and Toscar and I bowed stiffly and saluted each other with our swords.

  “You’ve learned a few new tricks since last we had a match,” he said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

  I handed the practice sword to the master-at-arms. “You always have cut a fine form.”

  “Evidently form isn’t everything.”

  I refrained from comment as Queen Jazmene approached, her hands clasped behind her back. “That’s the best contest we’ve seen since you were here last, Mordric. Radik has few other masters who can match him.”

  “I should have made Merius’s release part of the wager.”

  She laughed, the false mirth of diplomacy. “Your tongue is as quick as your sword.”

  “We could always have another contest,” Toscar said.

  “Anytime.” I started to unlace my jerkin.

  “The stakes would have to be higher, of course, if the wager is a ransom. Real swords, for instance.”

  I met his gaze, unblinking. “As I said, anytime.”

  The queen laughed again, touched Toscar’s shoulder as if to restrain him, her favorite pet viper. “Merius is hardly being held for ransom.”

  “But he is being held against his will,” I pressed.

  “Only because his will is so unreasonable. He’s an honored guest here.”

  “He’ll not tell you what you want to know, Your Majesty. I’ve never seen him so implacable.”

  “Perhaps you need to talk with him again.”

  “I will, but I can’t promise anything. I’m afraid he inherited my temper.”

  Toscar cleared his throat. “If he were my son, I’d make him be sensible.”

  “And just how would you do that, Radik?”

  “Withhold his inheritance, for one.”

  “I’ve already done that, to little avail. I didn’t rear Merius to be easily bent, even to my will.”

  “If he inherited your temper, he also inherited your intelligence,” Jazmene said. “What I suggest is the best course for all concerned, especially Safire. Surely he can appreciate that.”

  “They’re newly married, and both are young, almost too young. Good sense comes with years. It may take awhile.”

  “Having a daughter their age, I can understand your frustration.” Jazmene sighed. “It’s only that I fear for Safire, returning to Cormalen. Most of your countrymen would want her dead if they knew of her particular talents.”

  “There are some here who would want her dead. No matter how much your people deny it, witch burnings are still more part of the present than the past here.”

  She flinched at the word witch, and Toscar said sharply, “The last burning at the stake was over a hundred years ago.”

  “In this city, yes. But not in all of Sarneth.”

  “We’d protect her at this court, better than any could protect her in Cormalen.”

  “I’m certain you would, but with her painting for you, her secret would soon be public knowledge.”

  “Nonsense.” The queen dismissed this with a wave of her bejeweled hand. “No one would know the origin of the paintings save a privileged few.”

  “And so Merius is to resign himself to losing his wife?”

  “As you said yourself, he
’s young, she’s young--there’ll be others for them. Besides, if he’s to resume his duties as your heir, he needs a wife with connections at your court. With her lack of family and dangerous talents that have to be kept secret, Safire is hardly a suitable wife for a high Cormalen nobleman.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Her phrasing ‘resume his duties as your heir’ and ‘dangerous talents,’ so close to what I had actually said last night, proved what Merius and I had both suspected--someone had been listening to our exchange, perhaps Jazmene herself. “What you say he’s already heard from me--more than once. Those are arguments to sway an older man like myself, not a young man with his hot blood.”

  “I realize that it may be an impossible task to convince him, even for you. But if you could find out where he’s hidden her, then we could proceed without convincing him. He’ll thank you later for it.”

  “I’ll see him this afternoon.”

  “Good.” Jazmene’s smile was dagger-edged. “If anyone at the Cormalen court found out about Safire, the Landers would be in a difficult position.”

  “Difficult position is an understatement,” I said. Only my second week here, and already she resorted to veiled coercion.

  “It’s almost time for our meeting with Rankin, and I’m certain both you and Radik would like to wash up and change. Forgive me for keeping you so long.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” Both of us bowed as she swept out of the salon.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  I had just finished changing into fresh clothing when there came a knock at the door of the wash chamber. “What is it?”

  The manservant assigned to me this afternoon poked his head in the chamber. “Visitor for you, sir.”

  “Who?”

  “Lord Rankin.”

  I tightened my shirt laces, taking a rare look at myself in the mirror. I should have shaved earlier, but considering I had finally made it to bed at three this morning after getting Safire to the convent, I had only had time for the bare necessities of grooming before my match with Toscar. “Send him in.”

  A moment later, Rankin strode into the chamber, shutting the door behind him with a bang. His rumpled doublet had a cobweb on the shoulder, and he was breathing hard--likely he’d lost track of the time amidst his ancient parchments and had rushed over here without a thought to making himself presentable. I shook my head. Fine pair of Cormalen courtiers we made--I was scruffy and carried enough weapons to assassinate half the court, and he looked like an absent-minded scholar.

  “Good afternoon, Mordric.”

  “Good afternoon, Artemious.”

  “I wanted to catch you before our council with the king and queen.” He leaned against the doorjamb.

  I glanced around the shadowy chamber. I’d much rather we were at the embassy. Rankin followed my wandering gaze and gave a quick nod. Likely he was thinking the same thing I was--too many listening ears. We both moved over to the narrow window and spoke the rest of our conversation in whispers.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He swallowed. “First of all, I wanted to apologize about Merius. If I had known he was in that much trouble, I would have written you long ago or said something when you arrived.”

  “It wasn’t your responsibility. He’s a grown man now--he could have written himself.”

  “But I used this situation to my advantage. I had him arrange my meeting with Queen Jazmene last night, little realizing what it would cost.”

  “She would have found some other excuse to arrest him.”

  “Will she release him?”

  I shrugged. “He’s put her in foul humor. Likely even my negotiations will come to naught.”

  “But how dare she keep him? He’s committed no real crime, and he’s a highborn subject of the Cormalen crown, not to mention your son. This is a serious blunder of Sarneth diplomacy.”

  I drew a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. Rankin was far too clever and fascinated by puzzles for me to mislead him with a lie about Jazmene’s interest in Merius and Safire, at least for long. Best to change the subject before I said too much. “I agree,” I said, “but Queen Jazmene apparently cares little for the reputation of Sarneth diplomacy.”

  “And King Rainier apparently cares little for it as well, since he allowed her to arrest Merius in such a fashion.”

  “That’s one way to look at it.” I leaned closer, lowering my whisper to the slightest hiss. “Another way to look at it would be that Rainier cares little for Jazmene’s reputation and would encourage her to act in a way that would make her seem imprudent. You remember our conversation with him, the way he talked about her?”

  Rankin nodded. “I think you have the crux of it.”

  “Let’s not delude ourselves--we won’t get the answer we seek today. In order to embarrass Jazmene and cause her to lose her influence with foreign powers, Rainier will likely let any false betrothal stand as long as possible, even to the day of Esme‘s wedding if he can manage it.”

  “What are we to tell King Arian in the meantime? You should have read his missive to me this morning--full of religious vitriol. The man’s frothing at the mouth with fervor. He’ll not stand waiting much longer, especially when he hears that Esme has been betrothed to anyone besides Prince Segar.” Rankin stroked his beard, silent for a moment. “I know we can’t ask Esme to commit actual bigamy, but could she be betrothed to two at once? Other young ladies play such duplicities on their suitors. Then Segar and Tivon could have a duel for her.”

  I snorted, unable to help myself. “Dear God, Artemious, don’t suggest that--Jazmene loves to watch men duel. She might actually take us up on it, and you can bet Segar would lose. He‘s not much with a blade.”

  Rankin wheezed a chuckle. “How do we explain to our sovereign Arian that we’ll eventually win Esme for Segar when she’s officially betrothed to someone else?”

  I shook my head. “We can explain Rainier’s intrigues till we’ve floated away on all the hot air, but King Arian won’t accept it. He doesn’t understand intrigue, not at this level. He’ll just think we’re prevaricating to keep our heads, and he‘ll not be willing to wait a year to see if all our speculations come to pass.”

  “What we really need is some way of hurrying King Rainier. Arian may not be willing to wait a year, but he’ll likely be willing to wait a few more months if we convince him waiting might secure Esme‘s hand for Segar.”

  “Influence over Rainier is not an advantage we have. He‘s the most powerful king in the known world, and we‘re naught but foreign pawns on his chessboard--at least for the moment.”

  “Naught but pawns, Mordric? That’s rating us a bit low. If this is a great chess game, I’m a dusty bishop who‘s sat in one square for the entire time, and you’re a battered knight who‘s been all over the board and back again.”

  I smiled despite myself and pondered the ceiling for a moment--it was hung with billows of green brocaded cloth, some strange new style that looked like a madman had nailed the drapes to the ceiling and done a poor job of it at that. Of course, if such a superfluity of cloth helped dull sound, more to the better if someone really was eavesdropping. Although we’d been whispering, even soft sounds carried sometimes with all these marble walls. I glanced back at Rankin.

  “Let’s discuss this further after we’ve met with them. If we work together, we might discover some angle that currently eludes us.”

  Rankin nodded, and we left the chamber. My palace manservant-for-the-afternoon, who had been waiting a discreet distance from the door, silently fell into step behind us. I hoped that Rankin and I had at least given any possible eavesdroppers some amusement if nothing else. I groaned inwardly as we trooped down the hall to our diplomatic doom.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “His Royal Highness Prince Segar would like to extend a formal offer of marriage to Princess Esme, if such suit is acceptable to you and her at this time,” Rankin said, his voice echoing in the high ceiling of the throne room.

  King Rainier gla
nced at Jazmene, seated on the dais beside him, before he turned back to us. “I’ve considered this matter for some months, when rumor first came to me that Arian would ask for Esme‘s hand for his son. It has been long thought in both courts that a marriage between our two nations would be beneficial and strengthen our already existing alliance against the southern threat . . .” Jazmene leaned over, arresting him with a fierce whisper.

  Rankin shifted, his eyes sliding in my direction. I met his glance but dared not acknowledge him further, as Toscar stood like a watchdog behind Her Majesty’s throne. I would have to ask Rankin later if he had noticed the significance of Toscar’s, Jazmene’s and Rainier’s positions--the apexes of a lopsided triangle. King Rainier had to know of his queen’s infidelity with his highest courtier. Perhaps he winked at it. Perhaps he was biding his time. No one knew, save him. His reaction to this most scandalous of royal triangles was one of the great mysteries of the Sarneth court, one which Eden had discussed at length after her return to Cormalen. I had ignored her chatter for the most part--the wench breathed gossip like it was air--but she had an irritating habit of strewing important tidbits amidst the fluff, forcing me to listen with at least one ear. Sometimes I wondered if Eden did this deliberately to irk me. She seemed to like irking me, though why she liked to do so was beyond me. Damn women and their irrational whims.

  Jazmene and Rainier finally drew apart, their whispered counsel finished. Jazmene smiled. “Lord Rankin, Prince Segar’s offer is a great honor. However, I regret to say that our Esme’s hand has already been promised.”

  Rankin pretended shock well. “But I heard nothing of this.”

  “You wouldn’t. It’s a secret betrothal--we’ll announce it at some point in the next few months when we deem it suitable.”

  King Rainier looked down at his clasped hands. “I apologize, gentlemen,” he said, his reedy voice flat. “Segar would be my first choice for Esme, but we can’t break our oath to her betrothed.”