Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

by Nilsen, Karen

  I looked back. Toscar still loomed, close on my heels. I bent forward and ran faster. My feet slid on the icy puddles under the snow. Going around a corner, I slipped and caught myself on a window ledge. I charged ahead. I glanced behind as Toscar came around the corner, his feet flying out from under him. He hit the cobbles with a nasty thump, his curses fading behind me as I turned another corner and then another, always heading down towards the locks.

  After getting thoroughly lost at least twice, I finally paused, my breath coming in harsh pants, my lungs afire. I was in a dark alley on the locks, neither Toscar nor the queen’s guard anywhere in sight. I had escaped. No more locked doors. For the moment at least, I was free. I bent forward, my arm against the wall of what appeared to be an old warehouse as I sucked in frigid air, coughing. I had been running for so long that my lungs felt inadequate to the task of getting enough air to quench the burning in my muscles. After several minutes, I straightened. I had to find Father. Even though it was cold, I pulled off the guard tunic and threw it down. Safer not to be seen in the queen's colors where I was going. Still coughing, I left the alley and hurried through the shadows.

  The chamber where Falken had hidden Safire was nearby. However, there were so many narrow streets and alleys that it took me over an hour to locate the right alley. I hid in a vaulted doorway to wait for a group of cloaked rebels to clear out. When they finally departed, striding en masse down the main street towards the locks, I left my sanctuary and raced for the back entrance Falken had shown me. The door was unlocked, hopefully Father’s doing. Locking the door behind me, I ran up the stairs to the third floor landing. All was deserted; a single oil lamp still burned on the mantel. I gripped the edge of the bookshelf, opening it just enough to slip behind it into the concealed hallway beyond.

  Father was sitting by the fire in Safire’s old room, his spectacles perched on his nose as he perused a stack of correspondence. He cut a glance at me as I entered the room. He looked oddly ordinary--there was even an ink spot on the side of his hand. It jarred me to see him like this, as a fellow man, with weaknesses and limitations. He was the terrifying father-god of my childhood and adolescence, the standard I always measured myself against. But now the god had aged; he needed spectacles for reading, a fire for warmth. It seemed even he had moments of normalcy. I wondered if this had always been the case, and I had merely been too young to notice. I sighed and stepped closer to the hearth, the snow on my boots slowly puddling on the stones.

  He spoke first, parchment rattling as he set his letters aside. “You’re earlier than I expected.”

  “Were you followed?” I shivered as the warmth began to creep back in my numb hands.

  “The queen’s spies followed me to the embassy this afternoon, but that’s as far as they could track me. Rankin told everyone we had important court business to attend late into the night, not to interrupt us. Then he let me out through the cellars.”

  I had forgotten about the embassy cellar entrance. It had been used for smuggling when the embassy had been the house of a dishonest Midmarch captain of the city guard. Most thought it had been closed up years ago, an assumption Rankin had let stand.

  “So you went through the gutters then?”

  “Partway.” He watched me, expectant.

  “Toscar almost caught me,” I said in answer to his unspoken question.

  “Did you have to fight him?”

  “No.” I told him of my escape. When I had finished, he sat, quiet.

  He was quiet for so long that I began to pace. “I suppose it was cowardly, running from a challenge like that . . .” I said.

  “There was nothing cowardly about it, Merius. It surprises me you showed such good sense.”

  “You’ve never avoided a fight.”

  “When fighting was my objective, no. Your objective tonight was escape. If you had fought Radik tonight, you would either be dead or captured again.”

  “I wanted to fight him. He’s a son of a bitch. You should have seen the way he towed Safire around like she was royal property . . .”

  “You can’t fight everyone who looks wrong at your witch.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In a convent near here.”

  “Is there any way to get her out of Sarneth?”

  “Not while she’s big with child.”

  I flinched, then realized he was still watching me. “I meant after she’s delivered.”

  “Surely if Peregrine can smuggle cannon powder out of Cormalen, we can smuggle your witch out of Sarneth. But even if we get her out, the queen’s reach is long. Getting back to Cormalen is the least of our worries.”

  “It would be best to leave freely with Jazmene’s good will,” I said.

  “At this point, an impossibility.”

  “Father, I’ll not abandon Safire at this court.”

  “No one’s asking you to abandon her here. I’m just informing you of the stakes involved.”

  “I’m aware of the stakes.”

  “Good. Perhaps awaiting the babe’s birth will give us time to plan.” He paused. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do after Safire’s delivered?”

  “Isn’t that what we were just talking about?”

  “No.” He paused again. “Here, the walled virgins often take such children and raise them as foundlings.”

  “What--leave the babe here?” My voice rose--if I had been a few years younger, it might have cracked.

  “If it’s a son, yes. I’ll not leave my lands and offices to you only to be passed on to Whitten’s get.”

  Every muscle in my body tensed--I felt made of wire. “And whose fault is that?”

  “Merius, we need to discuss this.”

  “What is there to discuss?”

  He sighed and removed his spectacles with an impatient gesture. “Do you want to raise another man’s son as your own? If you keep the child, he will be considered your firstborn and could make a claim with the crown for your lands and titles if you tried to change the writ of precedence to favor your alleged second born. There would be no shame in leaving such a child here, the product of a rape . . .”

  I flinched again. “This is none of your affair. It’s between Safire and me.”

  “I can make all the arrangements.”

  “No, Father.”

  “It would be better for Safire--the child will be a reminder . . .”

  “She’ll never agree to giving her baby away. She loves it already, despite the circumstances.”

  “Merius, it’s not her decision. It’s yours as her husband--you have to be sensible about this. Safire is too impractical and tender-hearted for her own good.”

  “That’s for damned sure--she saved your life.”

  Father never blinked. “My point exactly. She’s the kind of woman who would sacrifice herself for another and not consider the consequences. As her husband, it’s your duty to protect her and yourself from this.”

  “It would break her heart to lose her baby. She’d never forgive me.”

  “Merius, you can’t let Whitten’s son inherit all we’ve worked for while your own son is left the lot of the second born.”

  “Father, you made this mess. How dare you lecture me about how to fix it?”

  “Because I know how you’ll feel when Safire bears you a son, and this interloper child is a hindrance.” He grimaced and touched his chest as if the scar there still hurt. “Merius, I went for years wondering if you were my get or not. You’ll never have to wonder that with the children Safire bears you--you both deserve better than this cuckoo’s child as your firstborn. For God’s sake, leave the babe with the nuns . . .”

  “What? What?” I repeated, my voice growing louder as what he said had its full impact. “You wondered if I was your son or not? But how could you . . .”

  He shook his head, his fingertips still on his scar. “It was a quarrel between Arilea and me, none of your concern. Forget I said it. You have to think about yourself and Safire now
.”

  I clenched my arms together over my chest, pacing between the door and the hearth. “How can I forget something like that? You just said my mother committed adultery and that another man might have sired me . . .”

  “I never said that. I said I wondered if that had happened. I know now it didn’t. You’re my natural son, Merius. I only said what I did to illustrate a point--I shouldn’t have. It’s hard for me to remember sometimes what you know and don’t know about your upbringing. . .”

  “That’s a pile of horseshit, Father. You never say anything without a plot behind it, and you know I’ve never even suspected you might not have sired me.”

  He rose, his hands fisted in his pockets. “I never knew anything for certain as far as you and your mother were concerned. God knows what she told you when I was at court.”

  “Evidently not enough.” I braced myself against the mantel, feeling dizzy and unsteady on my feet. “But everyone says we resemble each other in so many ways--how could you think someone else sired me?”

  “Uncles and nephews often resemble each other. Your mother made me believe she had dallied with my brother.”

  “She would only have done that to get back at you for keeping mistresses at court.”

  “I didn’t keep mistresses, not then, but perhaps she had other reasons to get back at me.” He sighed heavily. “Merius, forget what I said. I never meant for you to know. I have no doubts now that I sired you.”

  “But how can you be certain? Mother’s long dead, and so is your brother . . .”

  “Never mind how I know. We don’t have much time.”

  “Father, I want the truth. All of it.”

  “What you just heard--that wasn’t the truth.” He chuckled mirthlessly, shoving his chair back to its place. “That was only a lie your mother told me. I was a fool to believe her, and you would be a fool to waste your time worrying about it.”

  I stared at him, watched all of his movements closely, as if I expected him to spring a hidden weapon on me. He gathered up his letters and slipped them into the inner pocket of his cloak before he threw the black expanse over his shoulders and busied himself with the silver fastenings. Then he slid his sword into the scabbard hanging on his belt, the hilt ringing against the metal top of the sheath. There had been a time I had hated him. There had been a time not long ago I could have killed him. Nevertheless, I couldn’t imagine having any other man as my father. And he had believed Mother had cheated on him, with his own brother no less--no wonder they had fought so much . . . but no, my mother wouldn’t have done that and enraged him. She had been afraid of him. She wouldn’t have told him if I had truly been his brother’s get. He would have killed her. But why would he tell me now if it wasn’t true? Was it one of his manipulations? He had lied to me before. And why was he so certain now that she had been lying, when he hadn’t been before? What had changed his mind? My thoughts whirled, clouds in a storm of confusion.

  “Merius.” Father touched my arm, and I jumped. “We have to get going. I have your sword here and a few other things.”

  “My sword? The queen confiscated that.”

  “It’s an ancestral blade. She dared not withhold it from me--it would have been a petty gesture, considering the circumstances.”

  I tossed the guard’s sword I had stolen to the floor; it clattered with a cheap clang, an inferior weapon. Father gave me my sword. I unsheathed it and hefted its weight, a weight so familiar it felt like an extension of my hand. It had been my great grandsire’s sword, modified into a rapier with a basket hilt so I could use it.

  “Thank you.” I buckled the scabbard to my belt, then took the leather bag of clothes he handed me.

  Father stopped me at the door as we prepared to leave. “There’s only one more thing I have to say that can’t be said in front of others. There will soon come a point where you won’t be able to change your mind--you’ll have to claim this babe as yours if you keep it.”

  “Whitten‘s crime was against Safire, not me, and it‘s her decision what happens to the baby. I won‘t interfere, and I won‘t use my power as her husband to force her hand. She‘s been forced enough by others already.”

  “Are you telling me if you had that drunken bastard in a dark corner you wouldn’t run him through with your sword? I’m certain Safire doesn’t want you to do that--you might get caught and hung. But would her wishes stop you, if you had the opportunity to avenge her? Come, Merius--you aren’t convincing me. I saw you that day on the steps. You would have killed him, but for me stopping you. Yet now you‘re going to raise his child?”

  “I told you this was none of your affair.”

  “What about blackmail? Have you thought about that? If someone in Cormalen gets wind that your oldest child was sired by Whitten, it could invalidate your marriage and make your other children bastards.”

  “Why do you think I brought her here for the birthing?”

  “I know that. So finish the job and leave the babe on a convent doorstep. No one will ever know, save us.”

  “Let’s go, Father.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Stubborn, completely impractical,” I heard him mutter behind me as we started down the steps. “Damn it, how did I raise such an honorable fool?”

  Chapter Seventeen--Safire

  I sluiced clean water over the dishes with a battered pewter pitcher, my fingertips crinkled from the damp. The walled virgins around me stood silently, doing their work. Idle conversation wasn’t permitted except for the hour of rest after lunch--the sisterhood believed that one should put all energy and focus into the task at hand, even if it was something as mundane as washing dishes. Work for the benefit of all was as sacred as prayer.

  While I appreciated the sentiment, my heathen eyes still wandered from the dishes to the window. Birds made their winter nests in the ivy outside, and they fluttered back and forth in front of the mullioned glass, hopping on the sill and watching me with tilted heads and bright black eyes. I would sneak them some crumbs later, when the abbess’s back was turned.

  She had told me sternly that God provided for all his creatures, and the bread crumbs were to be saved to be made into pottage, not wasted on birds. She had even sniffed at my canaries and told me I should release them to God’s care. I had tartly replied that God had chosen me as the vessel to care for them and that I dared not go against his will. She had turned in a huff and left my chamber after that, reminding me eerily of my sister Dagmar. I smiled at the memory and then sighed. I missed Dagmar--her lectures kept me in line. I wondered how she was doing, if she had had her baby yet. I dared not send her any letters, lest the queen intercept them somehow and discover my hiding place. Maybe when this waiting was over . . . It seemed I had been waiting forever, waiting for my baby to be born, waiting for the queen to give her ultimatum, waiting for Merius to visit me, waiting for some word of his release and our return to Cormalen. I prayed for patience in chapel every morning, but waiting for God to grant me patience only made me more impatient.

  Taking a deep breath, I caught the gaze of the nun beside me. She was watching the birds as well, and we grinned guiltily at each other. Then she started and returned to the dough she kneaded. Her face was young and unlined, her darting dark eyes not unlike bird eyes. Pretty girl. I wondered about her, how she had ended up here. Had she been orphaned and raised in a convent? Did her family send her here? I would never know. The past was a mystery here, lost in the rhythm of days passed in the same quiet routine. Those who came here soon lost their individual stories to the great common story of the convent, its founding and mission of charity to the poor.

  I had caught a few rebellious flickers in the nuns’ auras, but most seemed content to devote their lives to this quiet work, the colors swirling around them a uniform collection of soothing blues and greens and lavenders, not unlike the clean smells of handmade soap and lemon water. The abbess was so clean her aura had a faint vinegary scent at times, especially when she was lecturing the younger s
isters.

  My admiration for the women here was only equaled by my desire to leave. Although I worked and prayed with them, I could never be one of them--I felt like a lovebird dropped in a coop full of doves, brightly colored and foreign and too boisterous for their calm sensibilities. None of them understood my need to paint, my love for animals and dancing, my pining for Merius--Merius in particular mystified them. Every time I talked about him, I could see their eyes glaze, their puzzlement concealed by kind smiles. A few of the older ones remarked that he sounded rather bold, hinting gently that perhaps he was too wild to be a good husband and father. After several of these veiled comments, I had grown irritated and quit talking almost altogether, staying in my chamber during the hour of rest and working on my painting of Toscar and the queen.

  Shaking myself, I returned to the present. The abbess was watching me, her brows raised. I quickly rinsed the dishes before I set them on the towels I had laid out earlier across the work table. My middle bumped against the table edge several times, and I finally paused, my hands folded over my belly as I regained my sense of balance.

  “Perhaps you should lie down,” the abbess said.

  “I feel fine.” Actually, I felt rather restless, my legs itching for a long walk. But I dared not leave the sanctuary of the high convent walls, not with half the watch in Midmarch looking for me. Besides, the sisters would likely stop me--it was both unseemly and unwise for a woman in my state to go wandering the streets alone.

  “You look flushed.”

  “I‘ve been standing over the steaming wash tub.”

  “Still . . .” Businesslike, she ran her hand over my forehead and down my cheek. Then she glanced at my middle. “Have you felt anything different?”

  There had been a dull ache in my lower back the last couple of days, but nothing bad enough to complain about. It came and went with no regularity--I thought it due to my top heavy state. I told the abbess this, hesitant. “It’s really nothing,” I concluded lamely.