Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

by Nilsen, Karen

  “I understand how such a marriage could be dangerous for the Landers, for any high-ranking Cormalen family,” Falken said after a moment, so glib that I wanted to punch him just to see what it would take to rattle him. That’s a thought more befitting Merius the hothead I chided myself as Falken continued, “Sir, we’re men of the world, and I think, as such, we can help each other.”

  “Perhaps.” I refused to commit myself--best to draw him out until he made an absolute ass of himself. I set the lantern down and lowered my blade in a seeming show of good faith, though my muscles in my arm and hand remained taut in case he decided to try anything. “What do you have in mind?”

  “The last thing I want to do is waste your time, so I’ll be blunt.” He held up three fingers. “Merius needs a dull, well-connected wife, I need Selkie to regain my throne, and you need to conceal from Merius that you had anything to do with this little plot. All I need from you is some time alone with Selkie to seduce her. It shouldn’t take long--she likes me. Merius, unable to bear the sight of a false wife, will cast her aside when he finds out.”

  “You’re quite the bold vagabond peddler, aren’t you?”

  He smiled, uncertain whether to take my words as an insult or jest. “What do you say, sir?”

  “I say you bring me the hand of Princess Esme, and I’ll help you.”

  “What?” Falken drew to his full height, his uncertainty complete now. “That’s impossible,” he said flatly, playing right into my trap. Why did everyone always believe me to be so serious?

  I chuckled to myself. “I disagree. It shouldn’t take much for a man of the world like yourself to convince Esme that she should marry Prince Segar instead of you.”

  Falken grinned. “Do you always lay all your false cards with such a straight face?”

  “Yes.” I offered a thin smile. “One bit of advice, Falken. Stay away from Safire. You’re sly but not sly enough to extricate yourself from that mare’s nest before Merius kills you.” I had a sudden memory of Merius when he was still a toddler, racing from one side of the second story hallway to the other as he chased some off kilter whirligig toy. A top--I think that’s what Arilea called it. The thing had gotten away from Merius and went spinning down the main staircase as if it had a life of its own, picking up so much speed that it splintered into pieces when it hit the wall across from the bottom step. Merius kicked and punched the floor and ruptured everyone‘s eardrums with his enraged scream, his tantrum so bad that I, who had mostly ignored him until he reached the age of reason, grabbed him and dunked him in the rainwater barrel. I hated to think of trying to do the same with him now if Safire hit that proverbial wall.

  “Sir, the queen’s obsessed with those moving drawings,” Falken said after a long moment. “You mean to tell me that an astute courtier such as yourself doesn‘t mean to take advantage of that influence?”

  I braced one hand against the wall. “Have you ever heard the story of Emperor Tetwar the First and the building of the Hezrath temple? Do you remember how Tetwar honored his chief architects and builders for such a masterpiece?” When Falken shook his head, I continued. “He slit their throats.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he didn’t want them building a more beautiful temple for some other ruler.”

  “But Jazmene would never kill Selkie--she wants her alive, wants her making pretty paintings for her . . .”

  “The story of the Hezrath temple speaks for itself--I’ll not argue with you about it. Pray, tell me, what use is a double-dealing dead king’s bastard like yourself to my family and Cormalen?”

  “Jazmene’s ruthless ambition to regain the Numerian throne could well unbalance Sarneth,” he replied smoothly. “If Sarneth falls, Cormalen would be alone in facing the SerVerin Empire. Both Cormalen and Sarneth need friends like me, if you want to defeat the Empire.”

  I nodded--I had expected this answer. Evidently he had expected the question, from the rehearsed way he answered it. “Jazmene may be ruthless to the point of obsession, but she’s hardly so short-sighted not to realize the potential danger you pose. One false step on your part, and she’ll assassinate you without qualm.”

  “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  “I’ll not play sly. Rankin and I, even Sir Cyril of Somners--are you familiar with that name?” At Falken’s nod, I continued, “All three of us would benefit from someone in your position. King Arian will be none too pleased we failed to secure Esme’s hand for Prince Segar. He’ll want some alternate means of influencing Sarneth and the queen. That said, we have little patience for spies who talk more than they listen. If we find you’ve exaggerated your influence with Jazmene in order to gain our good will or use us, we won’t hesitate to expose you. You will be tested, so don‘t agree to something you can‘t fulfill.”

  He nodded again. “Understood.”

  I sheathed my sword and held out my hand to seal our agreement. When he grasped my hand, I twisted his arm. He instinctively jerked away, and I used his movement to yank his arm behind his back. He struggled, catching me in the stomach with his elbow.

  “Gutter rat bastard,” I gasped over the pain in my middle and grabbed for his dagger hilt with my free hand. As soon as I had it, I whipped it out and held it against his neck. He froze. It took a bit of doing and a lot of cursing, but I was finally able to tie his arms behind his back with the drawstring from my shirt collar. Then I shoved him down and bound his calves with his own belt.

  “You’ll be sorry when I tell Toscar and Her Majesty about this.” His eyes held a hint of Jazmene’s cold glitter, and I could suddenly see the family resemblance.

  “By all means, tell Jazmene how you aimed to use Safire to gain influence over Her Majesty and plotted with me to spy on Her Majesty for Cormalen,” I grunted as I tightened the belt and buckled it. “I‘m certain she‘ll be proud of your growing skill with intrigue.”

  “Barbarian witch monger . . .”

  I cuffed him, and he shut up for an instant. “I can’t have you following me,“ I said, straightening as I surveyed my handiwork. “If you’re still here when I come back, I’ll free you.” With that, I strode off to regain the correct tunnel, the echo of his curses slowly fading behind me.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The tall, brown-faced nun who answered the convent front door bowed stiffly as I entered. “We’ve been expecting you, sir. Sister Helanes at your service.”

  “Thank you.” I returned the bow without thinking, then felt idiotic for doing so. At least I had thought to wear two cloaks--the outer one, stained from the gutters, I had left in the alley where I had emerged topside. I had never been in a convent or monastery before and wasn‘t quite sure what was expected, a rare state for me. They better damn well not ask me to pray.

  “If you could wait here, I’ll find the abbess. She’ll want to greet you herself.” With another awkward little bow, she turned and trotted around a corner, disappearing so quickly that I almost doubted I’d seen her.

  I glanced around, one hand resting on my sword hilt. Quiet place. I wished my study at Landers Hall was this quiet. I hated noise when I was trying to concentrate.

  At the whisk of footfalls, I raised my head. A nun strode around the corner, the single gold stripe adorning the edge of her wimple the only indication she was the abbess. She halted in front of me, her hands behind her back as she graced me with a curt nod of acknowledgement. I would have recognized the harsh lines of her hawk-like features anyway, regardless of the wimple. Radik’s tomboy cousin.

  “Sir Landers.” Her accent was cultured, her tone cold.

  “My Lady Abbess of Toscar.” I bowed.

  “Most of my charges don’t know that, so you need to address me as my lady or the abbess while you‘re here. As far as the House of Toscar is concerned, I’m dead. I took the veil against their wishes, and the world of the powerful has long since forgotten me. It needs to remain that way. Understood?”

  “As long as you understand that Merius and Sa
fire were never here, and you don’t know who they are.”

  Her flinty eyes flared. “You sink to new lows, blackmailing a nun.”

  “I’d blackmail God himself in defense of my son. I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

  “I imagine that you offend everyone--why apologize to me?”

  “The spirit moved me, I suppose.”

  “None of your profane comments here. I only tolerate you because of Merius and Safire.”

  “Yes, my lady.” I bowed my head, gritting my teeth. “I am grateful for your help.”

  “I’ve been remiss and forgotten my vows. I shouldn’t have insulted you, no matter what evil you uttered.” She sounded as if she were gritting her teeth as well. “Merius is a fine young man, very devoted to his wife. You’ve done some good in this world with him.”

  “Can I see him now?”

  “Yes.” She turned and started down the hallway. “I can’t believe you dared bring your sword,” she threw over her shoulder. “This is a house of prayer, not war.”

  “This house wouldn’t be here but for well-fought wars. If God exists, he exists everywhere, even on the battlefield. You’d carry your prayer beads to the battlefield--I‘ll carry my sword here.”

  “Ill-mannered heathen,” she hissed, her cheeks scarlet as she wheeled on her heel and stalked towards the bend in the hall.

  I followed and watched her shoulders, still jerky with righteous indignation. Moody battleaxe. These nuns were even more prickly than Merius’s witch. I had thought they would be simple, meek creatures who did good deeds and spent their days murmuring to an unseen God. But this one had remained a lioness.

  After a journey along several shadowy passages, the abbess stopped beside a narrow doorway. She rapped once, then opened the door. A babe’s wail and the chirping of canaries greeted our entrance, followed by a muffled “damn” from Merius.

  For being a nun’s cell with no real furniture or adornment, the chamber seemed oppressively full. It was too small for five people, especially when one of those people was a bawling babe and one was Merius. At least Safire was neat--her belongings were in a trunk, her easel and artist supplies stacked in a corner near the canaries’ cage. Merius, on the other hand, had strewn himself everywhere, his sword in one corner, his clothes draped on the only chair, his journal lying open on the foot of the bed. Only he could arrive with nothing but the clothes on his back and still manage to make an unholy mess. Then there were the babe’s things: a basket to sleep in, a stack of clean rags, a pot with a lid to stow the dirty rags, blankets . . . my eyes ached with the mess.

  Merius stood in the corner clutching the struggling baby in the crook of his arm. The baby grabbed Merius’s finger then and tried to gnaw on it with tiny toothless gums. Merius snatched his finger away with a muttered curse. He met my gaze--he had aged ten years since I had last seen him a week ago. One would think he held a rabid skunk from his expression. Safire sat on the pallet, jabbing at a scrap of cloth with a needle and thread, her face pale, her eyes shadowed from lack of sleep--she looked even wilder than Merius.

  “I thought you had already made clothes for the baby,” the abbess exclaimed.

  Safire glanced up, then returned to her sewing. “I did make things before he was born, but they’re all far too large. He swims in them.”

  “My dear, that garment is covered in blood spots. Aren’t you using a thimble?”

  “We couldn’t find one,” Merius answered.

  “In here? Imagine that,” I said.

  “Father, we don’t need your wit.” Merius’s voice was as even as a knife edge. His clutch tightened, and the babe’s cry grew to a yell. The abbess and I reached to cover our ears. In this narrow space, the sound was almost unbearable.

  Safire dropped her sewing. “Dear heart--you’re not holding him right.”

  “What?”

  “Here.” She took the babe from Merius, rocking from side to side as she soothed him. The cry vanished instantly.

  “How do you do that?”

  She took hold of his arm and placed the baby there, patiently using her hands to guide him. “He won’t bite, you know--you don’t have to be so tense.”

  “I might drop him. He’s wiggly.”

  Safire giggled. “If you can ride a horse and hold a bow and shoot an arrow all at the same time, you can hold a baby.”

  Merius smiled down at her and brushed her loose hair with his free hand. The abbess and I glanced at each other as if to assure ourselves that we were still in the chamber. Somewhere in the Landers journals, one writer mentioned something called a mind bond. Watching Merius and Safire shut the world out and speak to each other without talking made me understand what the writer had meant. This witch had snared my mad son with a mind bond, just what he needed. I shook my head, then cleared my throat, and both of them jumped, the baby breaking into a soft wail and punching the air with tiny fists.

  “We haven’t much time--I need to speak to you.”

  Merius, still smiling, glanced at me. “So speak, Father.”

  “I will, as soon as we’re alone.” I shot the abbess a sideways look.

  “Sir Mordric, this is my convent."

  “My most gracious and estimable lady,” I forced through my teeth, “the less you know of this matter, the safer you and your sisters will be.”

  “Those who worry constantly about their own safety are faithless fools. I will face whatever fate God grants me with a clear conscience and a light heart.”

  It was useless--she already knew the worst anyway, had witnessed Safire give birth to Whitten’s child two months too early for any child to be legally born of Safire’s and Merius’s union. And who knew what tricks the witch had been up to before that? She was incapable of concealing her true nature--soon the whole world would likely know my son had married a witch. Why worry about some nuns knowing the truth? Shaking my head again, I started to chuckle. What a godforsaken mess.

  “Father?” Merius took a step forward.

  “The abbess can stay. Hell, why don’t we invite the whole convent, the whole damned city?”

  “We’ll not have your profanity here, sir.” The abbess was seething.

  “You wanted to stay, my lady. If you can’t handle how I speak, then leave.”

  “Wretched man.”

  I ignored her, my eyes on Merius and Safire. “Merius, in the space of a few months, you’ve managed to insult the ruler of a major power, desert your post, get arrested, become a fugitive, and gain the allegiance of that backstabbing bastard Falken. And you, you witch--if we can keep you from the stake, it’ll be a miracle.”

  Merius found his voice first. “I didn’t desert my post. Queen Jazmene removed me from it.”

  “Same difference. You’re not there, are you? You owe Rankin an additional month’s worth of service.”

  “I know that.” He handed the babe to Safire, then started to pace. “If this is to be a lecture, Father, then don‘t waste your breath. We’re full-grown--we know our mistakes, we’ve suffered for them. We wouldn’t even be in Sarneth but for your plotting.”

  “Perhaps, but you need my help now. And I wasn‘t lecturing--I was merely listing the obstacles that stand in your way.”

  Merius drew a deep breath and held it for a moment before he exhaled, likely to gain himself some time before he answered. “Father, I appreciate all you’ve done for us, especially finding this safe place for Safire to give birth. After how we parted in Cormalen, I would never have expected you to help me like this, and I don’t know how I’m going to repay you.”

  “You can start by demonstrating some good sense,” I barked, so surprised by his sudden humility that I let loose the response I had at the ready to counter his usual obstinacy. Safire’s eyes flared as she shot me a look, and I realized I had just lost a valuable opportunity, perhaps something she had attempted to bring about. Quickly, I said, floundering into uncharted territory, “Merius, I didn’t mean . . .”

  “Damn it, Father, I
know what you meant. We can handle this ourselves.”

  I crossed my arms. “How?”

  Safire and he looked at each other, another secret communication passing between them. They had a damned mind bond, I’d swear it, watching them. “We’re grateful for what you’ve done, and as I said, I don’t how I’m going to repay you. As soon as we’re back in Cormalen, I’ll do what you ask of me,” he said, sounding as if he gritted his teeth. “We’re not asking you to help us anymore. You’ve done more than enough already. In fact, I‘m surprised you haven‘t returned to Cormalen yet--I‘m certain you have pressing matters there.” Merius’s pace quickened.

  “Dear heart . . .”

  “Safire, stay out of this.”

  She rose, awkward with the baby. One hand tucked around the fretful infant, she touched Merius’s shoulder with her other hand. He abruptly paused as if her touch was a summons. Her fingers kneading the muscles under his shirt, she stood on tiptoe and whispered something to him.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want you involved, all right?” he said softly.

  “You can’t protect me from your family forever, Merius. I’m a Landers now.”

  He turned to face her. “As long as I‘m here, they’ll not hurt you again.”

  “They don’t mean to hurt me. Not now.”

  “A snake that bit once can bite again.” He had learned that saying from me, a long time ago. Now he used it against me--typical. The baby struggled free, the blanket dropping. Safire shuffled him from one arm to the other, shushing him. At that instant, he turned his head and vomited down the front of Merius’s shirt.

  “God damn it!” Merius stepped back, his hands raised, palms out as if to defend himself.

  “Merius, heed your heathen tongue—I won’t say it again,” the abbess barked.

  “Sorry, my lady, but he always manages to aim it at me, even though I’m not the one feeding him.”