“Nothing’s going to happen.”
“I know that.” He kissed the crown of my head. “You’re fearless enough for the two of us--you‘re not even trembling.”
“I was frightened earlier, but now you’re here, I’m fine.”
We sat for several minutes in silence, long enough for another pain to rip through me. I bent into myself, biting the inside of my lip so hard I tasted blood.
“Safire?”
“It’s all right.”
“Should I call the abbess?”
I shook my head. “She’ll be back soon enough.”
“You know what Father told me earlier?” Merius’s hand moved slowly over my head, twisting one curl around his finger over and over again.
“What?” I yawned again, pleasantly drowsy with him touching my hair.
“He said he went for years wondering if he’d sired me or not.”
“What?” I repeated, my voice much shriller.
“I know. He said Mother made him believe she dallied with his brother.”
“Why would he tell you that?”
“I don’t know--evidently he was trying to ‘illustrate a point.’” Merius snorted. “God knows with him.”
“Do you believe him?”
“He said he knows now I’m his natural son, that he has no doubts. As to how he had doubts before, and now those doubts are all gone, I don’t know. He wouldn‘t talk about that.”
I bit my tongue. Arilea's ghost had seeded Mordric's doubts and driven a wedge between him and Merius. With her exorcised and gone, it seemed Mordric had accepted the truth he already knew in his heart. But how could I explain that to Merius? Merius had loved his mother--to know she had haunted Landers Hall for years as a vengeful spirit, the same spirit that had attacked me and left me vulnerable to Whitten, would hurt him for no good reason. Damn Mordric for revealing as much as he had. Why had he? It wasn’t like him to have a loose tongue. Now Merius would stew and worry about a secret twenty years past, and he stewed and worried too much already.
“He’s your father, love," I said firmly. "I'm sure of it. I saved his life and brought his soul back, and you and I are bonded so close we can speak with a touch or look alone now. I know things about you and him that no one else could know, so believe me when I say that God drew from his spirit and body to create yours."
"Why do we fight so much then?"
“Because he represents a part of you that distresses you. I told you that the night we met.”
“All I could think about was kissing you that night.”
“Impossible man,” I murmured. “Mordric raised you anyway--that’s what makes a true father, not blood.”
“Yes, and a hell of a job he did.”
“I think you turned out all right.” I grinned into his shirt and nestled closer to him, letting his silver warmth wash over me like water in a moonlit basin.
“Speaking of all right, was Father decent to you?”
“He was better than decent, even answered some of my questions,” I said.
“He’s been answering my questions too. I don’t know if I like it.”
“Why?”
“It’s not like him. It makes me suspicious.”
“Everything makes you suspicious. Maybe he figures you‘re a man now and he can‘t keep concealing things from you.”
“Maybe.” Merius touched my fingers. “Where’s your wedding ring, sweet?”
“Oh--I hid it from the nuns in case they recognized the Landers insignia.” I reached into my skirt pocket and pulled out the ring, warm from my body. “Put it on me, dear heart--I’ve felt naked without it.”
He slid it back on my finger. “You have the hands of a changeling, you‘re so long-fingered,” he murmured, his lips against my skin. “God, I’ve missed you.”
I clenched him, the pain even sharper this time. “Oh, Merius.”
“I’m calling the abbess.”
“No, not yet. I want to be alone with you--just hold me.”
“I’m calling her after the next one,” he threatened as he lifted me on to his lap. I rested my head on his shoulder, just under his chin, both his arms around me now.
“How are we going to leave after this?”
“Leave?”
“Escape Sarneth--the queen will . . .”
“Shh, shh.” His breath ruffled my hair. “Shh--don’t think about that now. Let me worry about it.”
“But I have an idea . . .” I started to gesture toward my shrouded painting, interrupted by the sound of the door. The abbess came in, followed by two nuns carrying buckets of steaming water, linens, a ball of string, and a pair of small shears.
“You’re not lying down,” she said.
“I’m more comfortable like this.”
She sighed, shook her head. “How many pains?” she demanded, glaring at Merius.
“Two since you left, my lady.”
“That was barely ten minutes ago.”
“Eleven minutes by my watch.”
“First ones usually don’t start so fast,” she muttered to herself. She came over and looked down at me critically.
“How long do you think it will take, my lady?” I asked.
“Since this is your first, the whole night at least.”
“Could someone please bring some food then?”
“You can’t have anything, not while you’re in labor.”
“Not for me--for Merius.”
She blinked and shook her head, as if praying for patience. Then she gestured to Helanes, one of the nuns who had accompanied her. “Fetch him some food--bread and cheese, whatever we have that’s fresh.” She turned back to me. “Now, will you listen to me and Verea? We‘ve been midwives together for many births.” She nodded to the remaining nun, a plump, smiling woman of at least fifty winters. I had seen her before but hadn’t known her name.
“Yes, my lady,” I said, feeling sheepish.
“Good--the first thing, before you even lie down, is to strip to your chemise. You’ll be much more comfortable.”
Merius eased me off his lap. The abbess and Verea came forward, prepared to help me undress, but Merius’s fingers were already at my laces, tugging at the topmost knot. He undid them with a well-learned dexterity, cheerfully oblivious to my fierce blush or the nuns‘ exchanged looks. I bit back a giggle and let him finish.
Verea and the abbess fussed around the pallet, letting Merius hold me while they spread layers of linen towels over the sheets. Verea arranged the pillows into a pile, then bade me to lie back down so that the pillows were behind my back and the towels were under me. She plumped the pillows a bit more until I was halfway lying, halfway sitting up.
“How is that, my dear?” she asked, as solicitous as the abbess was brusque.
“Fine, thank you.” I reached for Merius’s hand then, gritting my teeth as another pain hit me.
Instantly, Verea knelt at my side, her work-smoothed palm cool against the rounded bottom of my bare belly. This pain seemed longer than the last, and I worried I would grip Merius’s hand too hard. As soon as it passed, I settled back against the pillow, still trembling.
Verea glanced up at the abbess. “Her pains are strong, too strong to have just started.”
“I think she’s been readying herself for the last few days and not realized it. It starts that way sometimes with first babies--light cramps every few hours or so for several days before the real pangs.”
“No waters yet, though.” Verea rose, shaking her head. “We’ll have to break them.”
“Give her another hour.”
I looked at Merius. “Am I gripping your hand too tight?”
“Of course not, sweet.” He grinned again, all male bravado. “I’ve been in battles before.”
“Battles,” the abbess scoffed. “You can grin about it all you like now, but she’ll grind your fingers to dust before the end.”
“Where’s a spare sheet?” Verea asked as she searched the pile of linens.
“What for?” Merius asked.
“You’ll see.” She found a sheet and tied it around one of the washstand’s heavy legs, giving me the other end. “Hold that when you have a pain--you can twist it all you like.”
Helanes returned with a tray of food for Merius. He thanked her and fell to, inhaling the bread and cheese and fruit like he hadn’t eaten in a year. The nuns watched him, even the abbess, in unblinking fascination.
“Do you have enough?” Helanes asked finally. “I can always get more--I expect you didn‘t have any dinner.”
He smiled at her, wiping his mouth with the napkin. “I’m fine, my lady. Thank you.”
“Would you like any wine? We have ale too . . .” Helanes trailed off when the abbess gripped her arm.
“Sir Merius should stay sharp,” the abbess said through her teeth. “No ale for now, Helanes.”
“Quite right, my lady.” Merius turned his smile on the abbess, the same crinkle-eyed smile that had caught my attention that first night at court. He wore the court mask Mordric had trained him to wear, but his smile was his own--suddenly his stolid features would break into a taut grin, lively mischief and warmth lighting his whole face. “I have to stay sharp for Safire.”
“Perhaps later Helanes can bring the wine. We even have a little whiskey for medicine. Isn’t that how you celebrate a birth in Cormalen--with spirits?”
“That’s how we celebrate everything, my lady.”
“Heathens,” she muttered, but she returned his smile. I gulped back laughter, choking into the sheet.
“Your sword,” Verea said then. “The hilt shines so--do you polish it?”
“Every chance I get. Would you like to see it?”
“Oh, I couldn’t . . .” she shot a nervous glance at the abbess. “It’s just I’ve never seen a fine weapon so close . . .”
“Here--let me show you. See the scrollwork at the top of the blade . . .” Merius pulled his sword from its scabbard, letting them gather around as he explained the significance of the ruby on the pommel (his great-grandfather’s addition, a prize from some enemy’s stash and symbolic of blood in battle), the yellowing ivory handle (it was the original handle his great-grandfather had used), the Landers insignia worked into the twines and curves of the basket hilt, how the “basket” protected his hand from cuts, how the blade had been re-forged and was wider than traditional rapiers so it could be more effective in battle, how the whole sword had been re-worked to suit his particular fighting style (he was left-handed) . . . by the end of it, the abbess had the sword in her hand.
“It weighs more than I thought it would,” she said, handing it around to the other sisters. “Is that why you wear that strap around your shoulder?”
“It’s called a baldric.“ He touched the tooled leather strap. “It makes it so I’m not carrying all the weight of the weapon on my hip.”
“Women here and in Marenna use sideways slings like that for their babies,” Verea remarked.
I giggled. Merius and the abbess looked at me expectantly. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine, dear heart . . .” My laugh faded as another pain started, far more intense than the last. I swallowed and grabbed the sheet. Merius’s hand closed over mine. He was saying something, but he was saying it too slowly for me to understand him. Everything had slowed, the pain bringing the moment into sharp relief. The edges of the spare furniture, the nuns’ white coifs, Merius’s face--all gleamed in shining detail, caught in the exquisite sharpness of my first real birth pang. A primeval force beyond me gripped my body, crushing the muscles of my belly in an ancient embrace. Liquid, warm as bath water, gushed between my legs, and a salty smell filled the air, not unlike the smell of the air near the seashore. I cried out, a cry both of pain and joy as my waters broke. My baby would soon be in the world.
Chapter Eighteen--Mordric
I paused at the foot of the embassy cellar stairs and glanced around before I went to the left. One could never be too careful. Once I had stumbled on a serving wench and a stable boy having a tryst--they had been too preoccupied to notice me slip past them, but next time I might not be so lucky. This was servant’s territory, and my presence here would raise questions that neither Rankin nor I needed.
The door was locked--Rankin stored the embassy’s best wines here, and only the head steward and Rankin had keys. Rankin had lent me his key as long as I was a guest at the embassy. I went to the last rack of wine bottles, lantern held high. This rack concealed the door to the gutters. The bottles sloshed under their coats of dust as I twisted the key in the lock, fumbled for the bolt, and swung the rack toward me. I slipped through the narrow passage and pulled the door closed. The damp stench of the gutters assaulted my nostrils, reminding me of the afternoon I had first arrived here and my several journeys since under the Midmarch streets. I would be glad when all this sneaking around and hiding was at an end.
The wet stones flared at my lantern. Any light down here, especially the yellow of candlelight, glowed a lurid green from the algae and moss on the walls. I strode through puddles of fetid water, inches deep in some places. When I reached the juncture of several tunnels, I paused. Was it the far left tunnel that led to the convent? I pondered for a moment, then realized I smelled something odd. A thick sweetness, like the smell of damp apple tree wood smoldering. A pipe--someone had been smoking a pipe down here. And not long ago either, for the smell to still be strong enough for me to pick it out from the familiar, overpowering stench of the gutter.
I pretended to glance around at all the entrances again as if I were still pondering, even though I was certain now which one I wanted to take. The far left tunnel would take me to the convent, but first I had to confuse my pursuit. I started down the middle tunnel, my lantern high and my ears pricked for any sound besides my footsteps and the constant drip of water.
I soon heard footsteps that weren’t mine. Whoever he was, he was trying to be careful to walk only when I walked. However, he gave himself away when I pretended to trip and then limped a few steps. His rhythm didn’t match mine at that moment, and I could hear him. Likely the fool hoped that I would think any extra sound was a stray echo.
I turned a corner, my lantern partly hidden under my cloak, and continued to march in place for a moment or two so that there would be no sudden silence to make him suspicious. Then I lunged back around the corner, drawing my sword so fast it flashed like a silver whip. The cloaked figure following me cursed loudly in Numerian. He tried to turn and run, but his foot slipped on the slimy rocks, and he soon found himself against the tunnel wall, my sword against his neck.
I jerked my blade edge from his throat and used the tip to flick back his hood. Falken. His hand twitched in the direction of his cutlass hilt, and I immediately pressed my blade back against his throat.
“You’re quick for your age,” he said in Sarns, his Numerian accent hardening the consonants.
“And you’re slow for yours,” I retorted. He grinned, teeth white against brown skin. He couldn’t have been but a few years older than Merius, if that, his eyes dark gleams in the shadows. “Prince Falken, so nice to see you again. Why are you following me?”
“Toscar knows you’re using the gutter entrance to the embassy. He’s going to ambush you. I came to warn you--”
“Horseshit.” I chuckled and carelessly pressed my sword just a tad deeper into the skin of his neck.
He swallowed. “All right. I came here on my own. I heard Toscar speculating about how you were able to lose your pursuit, and he said something about the gutters. I want to talk to Selkie--I hoped you’d lead me to her.”
“Who the hell is Selkie?”
“Safire--Selkie’s what I call her because of her hair. Sir, I promise I won’t do anything rash--could you please lower your blade? It’s making me jittery.”
“No. When you’re jittery, you’re more honest. Why do you want to talk to Safire?”
“I want to thank her and Merius—now that the qu
een suspects me of knowing Safire’s whereabouts, she’s been most generous. Besides, I looked after Safire for two months, sir. I want to see if she’s all right.”
“She’s well--and very married to my son.”
“Merius--he’s a fine man. He must love Safire a great deal. Has the babe been born yet?”
I slid the blade up until it was right under his chin. We stared at each other for a silent moment before I spat, “You dare threaten me or my family again, gutter rat, and you’ll be fish bait by nightfall. Understand?”
He managed a nod, and I lowered the blade a fraction. “Sir, I didn’t mean . . .”
“We both know what you meant. Now, tell me--why do you want to talk to my daughter-in-law?”
His face hardened, his eyes shifty gleams in the lantern light. Then he grinned with a feral charm--here was a truly cunning courtier, dangerous in his ability to appear simple and unsophisticated. “Sir, forgive me, but your son is an honorable fool with his wife. He has the love of a genuine fire selkie, and what does he do with it? He writes verse, punches other men who look at her too long, and insults a queen who would pay a king’s ransom for one of her magical drawings.”
“You’ve been reading too many myths, boy. Safire’s not a fire selkie. There is no such thing.”
“She is too a fire selkie. Moving drawings, a healing touch, reading men’s minds and hearts, and that‘s just the beginning--only Aesir knows what else she could do, if properly trained.”
“And what would you do, Falken, if you possessed the priceless commodity of a witch’s love?”
“I’d use it to regain my father’s throne,” he said. “I wouldn’t let her return to Cormalen, no matter how much she protested. All your heathen countrymen will do is burn her.”
“That would be a tragic waste,” I agreed. “For the man who could harness her, if such a man exists, she could be quite useful.”
“Merius could control her.”
I couldn‘t help a snort. “If only that were true. You’re right--my son’s a fool when it comes to women, which is why I fear to use Safire’s talents in Cormalen. One false step, and all the Landers will be burned as witches and warlocks.” I let that sink in fully, let him draw his own conclusions.
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 34