Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

by Nilsen, Karen

  “I understand, Your Majesty.” Rankin bowed.

  “Who is her betrothed?” I asked.

  Toscar’s eyes glittered, and the queen started. “That’s a bold question, Mordric,” she said finally.

  “King Arian and Prince Segar will want some explanation. Diplomatically speaking, you’re sending us away empty-handed with what you‘ve told us so far,” Rankin said.

  “Give Arian my deepest apologies.” She began to rise.

  “The alliance between our two nations is long and deep, but even the closest friendships can be broken by petty offenses,” I said.

  King Rainier shifted and looked at his wife. I could almost feel her gritting her teeth before she graced us with a dazzling smile. “I’ve been remiss. In protecting my daughter‘s interests, I’ve forgotten that others have a stake in this betrothal. Our councilors will draft an official explanation which you can take to your court, good sirs.”

  “You’ve been most gracious, Your Majesties.” I bowed with Rankin, and then we both began to back away from dais.

  “Mordric.” Jazmene’s voice stopped me. “Before you leave, I have some things for you to take to Merius.”

  I nodded to Rankin, and he nodded in return before he continued to the double doors. I headed back toward the dais, where one of the queen’s attendants waited with a silver studded black leather bag. Someone had painstakingly tooled a design of a howling wolf on the leather. Likely it was from northern Sarneth--they were known for their leatherwork--and their wolves. Inside were several volumes from the queen’s library, including two volumes of Keller’s History of the Sarneth Kings. Reaching farther inside, I found a pouch of tobacco, which I sniffed. Not bad, not bad at all. The last item was a finely carved ivory pipe. Ivory was rare in Cormalen.

  “How do you know Keller is his favorite historian?” I asked, making certain everything was securely back in the bag before I slung it over my shoulder.

  She shrugged. “Something he said at dinner one night. He has discriminating tastes.”

  “At least my training had some effect.”

  Even Toscar smiled at that one, a small, tight smile that likely cracked his jaw. “Those should help him pass the time,” Jazmene said.

  “Pass the time until what, Your Majesty?”

  “He can use the books as long as he needs them,” she went on as if she hadn’t heard me. “The pipe and bag are his to keep.”

  “They’re both of fine workmanship. I thank you for him.”

  “You’re welcome. Tell him if the books are in tatters by the time he returns them, I won‘t mind. They weren’t made to last forever.”

  “Unlike his will. But I’ll pass along your message.”

  Her smile tightened. “It’s best you do that. Join us later--let me know if there’s any progress.”

  “It would be an honor, Your Majesty.” I gave a quick bow, turned, and strode from the chamber.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Merius was doing a handstand near the wall between the windows when the guards escorted me through the doorway. “Good afternoon,” he managed.

  I shook my head--at least he was doing something. Of course, I never had to worry about Merius keeping himself occupied. It was what occupied him that worried me. “Leave us,” I said to the guards.

  Merius lowered his feet, then sprang up. He grabbed a cloth from the washstand and toweled the sweat from his face and neck. “I’ve been doing my exercises. Practice is a bit difficult without a blade and an opponent . . .”

  “I suppose.”

  “One of those blunt practice blades would be nice . . .”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  He paced, restless as always. “That’s not such an unreasonable request. What harm could I possibly do with it?”

  “Her Majesty would never allow it.”

  “I’ll lose all my skills, locked up in here without a proper sword.”

  “You could have your sword back tonight if you’d cooperate,” I said for the benefit of any listeners.

  Merius chuckled. “Cooperate?”

  “Where’s Safire?” I asked--best we get this particular farce over with as soon as possible. At least I could trust Merius to play along and convince any listening ears of our sincerity. As long as his emotions were in check, Merius had an uncanny instinct for such pretense. I conceded grudgingly that his overactive imagination was good for something occasionally. “Where’s Safire, Merius?” I repeated when he didn’t answer immediately.

  “I don’t know, Father.” He paused by the washstand, his back to me.

  “If you tell me,” I continued, “I could help you.”

  “How?” He glanced over his shoulder.

  “I could hide her from the guards if you tell me where she is." Clammy sweat gathered under my collar as I said this--we had to skate close to the truth in order to convince any eavesdroppers of our sincerity, but that admission was almost too close for my liking. "They’re still searching for her, and you’re no longer there to help her.”

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I wish I did know--I sure as hell don’t want the guards to find her.”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  “I’d trust the devil if he’d help me protect her. For the final time, I don’t know where she is.”

  “The way you talked last night, it sounded like you did know.”

  “I was hiding her for awhile--Jazmene was right about that. But where she is now--all I can say is I hope she’s far from here.”

  “I let you loose for a few months, and you misplace your wife?”

  He snapped the towel down. “If that’s a jest, it’s a poor one.”

  “It wasn’t a jest.”

  “You no longer command me, Father.”

  “Yet you want my help?”

  “Your help is too costly for me if you expect the blind obedience of a boy.” He leaned against the washstand, his stance guarded.

  “Merius, I don’t expect obedience.” Here Merius snorted, a sound I pointedly ignored. “The most I hope for from you is occasional good sense.” The very marrow of my bones ached, an exhaustion that was part age and part Merius. With the high-strung nature of a pureblood stallion and the stubbornness of a bull, he was a creature only the devil could control. Blind obedience of a boy? He had never been obedient. Never. He had been impossible. I had thought the worst incident was the day he broke his arm against the river wall trying to fly a glider he had built. He had been fourteen at the time, and I had hoped that age, the academy, and my resolute guidance would calm his high spirits and force him to behave according to his position. Now he was twenty-one and locked away by the queen of Sarneth for defiance in the matter of his witch-wife, and all of my hopes had been long dashed. No wonder he and Safire had found each other--a pair of changelings, the two of them. I shook my head, my arms crossed.

  He glanced down at his feet, kicked the tiles with his toe. “Father, what you did--you have to understand it’s going to take awhile for me to trust you enough to obey you blindly again.”

  “You have little choice.” I gestured toward the windows. “You have more than yourself and our quarrel to consider now. Your wife, whom you swore to protect, is alone and friendless with you locked away in here, yet you persist in lying about where she is to the one man who could actually help her. Summon me back when you’re over this fit of childish arrogance.” I turned and started for the door.

  My hand was poised to knock, my signal to summon the guards, when Merius sighed, a sigh so heavy that I almost believed him myself. “Father, wait.”

  I pivoted on my heel to face him. “At last, some sense.”

  “Talk to Falken. Safire might have gone to him for aid,” he said.

  “That vagabond who claims to be Urtzi’s bastard? Why would she trust him?” I asked.

  “She drew his portrait on the street one day and said he had a merry aura. You know how Safire is about such things.”

  I nodded, inwardl
y exalting at Merius’s stroke of genius. He had simultaneously diverted Jazmene’s attention from him to Falken and given Falken new power in Jazmene’s eyes. Instead of directly betraying Falken, which would have angered him and perhaps caused him to reveal secrets to Jazmene, Merius had left the details just vague enough for Falken and I to manipulate them as we pleased. If Jazmene suspected that Falken had special persuasive ability with Safire and might even have hidden Safire himself, that could only give Falken the power he craved, while taking her attention off Merius and me for the moment.

  I measured Merius with my gaze. Perhaps he had matured more than I had realized. As it was, I apparently couldn’t command or manipulate him, at least not to the extent I had before. He was his own man now, and we had to establish some equal footing if I expected him to return. “I’ll do as you suggest. And don’t look so glum, Merius. This can only help your witch.”

  “Good.” He took a deep breath, then gestured at the black leather bag and the books I carried. “What’s this?”

  “The things you wanted from your rooms. Also, Her Majesty sent some gifts.”

  “Why?”

  I handed him the bag. “Privilege of your rank, I suppose. Common prisoners get gruel and straw, and you get books and fine linen.”

  “Common or highborn, I’m still on the wrong side of a locked door.” He tossed the bag on the bed.

  “Don’t dismiss the gesture so quickly. She seems fond of you, despite the fact she’s rather irritated at the moment.”

  He didn’t answer, instead grabbing for his journal from the pile of books I had gathered in his rooms earlier this morning. The corners were bent, the leather cover beaten soft and shiny by long usage. I had almost overlooked it this morning, glancing through it when I had finally glimpsed it under a stack of Safire’s drawing paper. To my disappointment, there had been little of interest, only a few entries devoted to Rankin‘s activities at court. Mostly drafts of poems, including love sop to his witch which I had skipped over as quickly as possible. Now I watched him as he flipped through the entries. When he came to the end papers, he fingered something pressed between the pages, then brought the whole journal to his nose so he could inhale the smell of it. When he lowered his hand, I caught a distinctive coppery flash against the page before he snapped the journal closed. A lock of Safire’s hair--that was what had held his interest so long. He glanced up, caught my gaze. I felt like an intruder suddenly.

  Still clutching the journal, he started to pace around the chamber in circles. Back and forth, back and forth--it was enough to make the tiles beneath us nervous. “I can’t do anything here but read and write and pretend to practice. And waiting--I’ve been doing a lot of that.”

  “It’s only your first day as a prisoner. You make it sound like you’ve been here for five months.”

  “Well, that’s how it feels, damn it.”

  Aside from some harm coming to his witch, Merius was essentially fearless. Jazmene could have subjected him to many different challenges or even tortures, and he would have faced them and likely kept his sanity. Somehow, though, she had discovered the one thing that could easily drive him mad: confinement. I shook my head as he continued to pace. Perhaps a few months of this would be good for him, teach him some much needed patience.

  “I’ll return tomorrow," I said. "This mare‘s nest will likely take me quite a while longer to sort out.”

  He stopped and looked at me. “Don’t you need to return to Cormalen soon? What about court?”

  “Eden’s there. Randel’s helping her.”

  He barked a laugh. “You should have given all my offices to her. She’s more skilled at intrigue.”

  “I wouldn’t say she was more skilled than you. More interested, perhaps. And her sex gives her an advantage gaining access to certain places . . .”

  “The prince’s bedchamber?”

  I drew up short. I could have shaken him. “Mind your tongue,” I spat.

  His brow wrinkled--my reprimand had not upset him so much as confused him. “Father?” he asked, stepping towards me.

  I glanced down and realized my hands had coiled into fists. I hadn’t been that angry in a while. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to be still. What the hell was wrong with me? Merius had often provoked me with his insolence, enough that I should be accustomed to it by now. “Eden had a few indiscretions when she was younger, but she knows better now. You’ll not mention it again, Merius.”

  “All right, Father,” he murmured, watching me as if he didn’t know what to expect next. His blank look was too much for me, and I turned away in order to escape it.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I threw over my shoulder, not waiting for his response as I hammered on the door. At the summons, the lock rattled, and the guards let me out. I strode down the hall. I didn’t know which was worse--his utter confusion at my sudden rage over a comment I would have let pass a year ago, or my own confusion over the maelstrom of ambivalence inside. I needed my hip flask.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  When I returned to the embassy, the guard at the door greeted me. “Sir Mordric, the boy delivered a message for you. One of the Landers sent it.”

  I took the parchment from him and noticed Eden’s upright, angular script on the outside. “Thank you, Jasper.”

  I waited until I was in my chamber to slit the seal and open the letter.

  Dear Sir,

  As promised, here is my report. Selwyn and Whitten have yet to collect all the rents, but that shouldn’t surprise you. Randel is at Landers Hall helping Whitten collect from the Declans, who are, as usual, the furthest arrears. I have found a few likely candidates for my hand in marriage and anxiously await your return to help me decide among them. I am too easily swayed by fine jewels and need wiser guidance than Selwyn’s lady mother Talia can offer. As for court, I’ve barely had time to catch my breath. It has been a whirlwind gaiety of winter dances and skates on the river, though I suppose you’re far too preoccupied to care about such things. I saw Prince Segar last night--he had a private gathering in the royal box at the theater. I can’t remember much about the play, some insipid romance about a nobleman of mature years who ends up happily seduced by a ripe young vixen. The Prince kept me so preoccupied with his witty commentary about the play that I barely saw the play itself. He sends his royal greetings and hopes you return soon. The council has been rather lopsided without you.

  Sincerest Regards,

  Eden, Lady of Landers

  I crumpled the parchment. That hussy. That wicked hussy. Likely she kept her news vague to make me wonder what exactly was happening at home and perhaps lure me back early. The maids had kindled a fire earlier, and now embers glowed, lighting the hearthstones a lurid hue. I made a motion to throw Eden’s letter in the grate. After all, I was through with it--I had absorbed what little actual news it contained, and it was no more practical use to me. However, I found myself hesitating. I smoothed out the wrinkled page and refolded it. Then I slipped it into my pocket. It nagged me that Randel had left her alone at court against my orders--he knew better . . .

  Chapter Sixteen - Merius

  Swearing, I lobbed my journal across the chamber. The inkwell tumbled to the floor as I jerked my chair back. Ink spattered the tiles. I stared at the black specks and drops, a few dribbling down the leg of the desk. It was the best writing I’d done all day. Illegible specks, the purest expression of my absolute and growing rage.

  I went over to the corner to retrieve my journal. I flipped to the pages I’d filled today. Spring comes on green feet was all I could stand to read. Claptrap, all of it. I ripped out the pages and tossed them in the grate, full of grim satisfaction. My journal was clean once again, a fitting place for my best verse and my treasured lock of Safire’s hair. Still holding the journal, I flopped down across the foot of the bed and gazed at the carved slats supporting the underside of the velvet canopy. I had thought about dismantling the canopy and using one of the slats or bedposts as a club. Howeve
r, that seemed like a final resort, not an actual plan. With four men guarding me, I needed a solid plan that had the element of surprise and the assurance I could take out at least one of them and get his sword before the others could lock the door or come after me. So far I hadn’t thought of anything, and I felt a dunce indeed. Father wouldn’t appreciate me making a botched escape attempt and perhaps ruining whatever negotiations he had managed to make thus far for my release.

  Three weeks had passed since the guards had brought me here, a short confinement compared to other prisoners. Few of them were quartered as well as I. How did they bear the endless monotony of the hours and then the days piling together? How had Safire borne it? How was she bearing it now, wherever she was? My sweet witch wife. My soul was withering without her. I gritted my teeth. Father had given no indication of her whereabouts. I assumed he had hidden her somewhere, but I had long ago learned that assuming anything about Father was unwise. I could only hope that she was safe and that he was being honest about wanting to earn back my trust. He was my only way to help her while I was locked up in here. So I heaved a deep breath and touched the lock of her hair in my journal, the silky strands burning under my fingers, and tried not to think of Father and the blood price he would try to extract when we returned to Cormalen.

  My gaze wandered around the chamber. The insides of my eyes ached from the unrelenting sameness of it all. I hadn’t resorted to counting the stones in the wall yet, but the day was not far off. I exercised for entire mornings, wrote and read as much as I could stand, drew out my meals, and still the drops of empty moments flowed into the trickle of empty hours, a trickle that was slowly eroding my sanity.

  A fly suddenly buzzed near my ear. I swatted at it, then watched as it flew away and landed on the chandelier. The chandelier hung from a hook over the table at the foot of the bed, a heavy iron affair with eight holders spaced evenly along its circumference. Too bad it wasn’t on a pulley--most chandeliers that size would have been hung on a pulley for cleaning and lighting. It looked heavy enough to take out one guard if it fell, maybe two if they were standing close together and in the right spot . . .