Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

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Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 36

by Nilsen, Karen


  “Dear heart, why don‘t you go to the convent library for a few minutes?” Safire said as she wiped the babe’s face with a wash cloth.

  Merius stiffened. “What for?”

  Cradling the babe with one arm, she reached over to knead Merius’s shoulder with her free hand, gazing up at him steadily. “Because you have one of your headaches, and I think it would help you to leave here until I can see to it. You could take a spare shirt and change into it—there aren’t any nuns in the library this time of day.”

  The abbess shifted beside me, and I wondered if she found this as spooky as I did. And I should be used to the witch’s antics by now. Merius hadn’t said anything about a headache, hadn’t even touched his temples. But still the witch knew, as she knew a lot of things she shouldn’t. Things about the Landers. Things about me. I cleared my throat, clasping my hands behind my back.

  Merius shook his head. “I’m not leaving you alone with the baby.” What he wanted to say is that he didn’t want to leave her alone with me. I knew how he thought. What was wrong with the ass now? He had trusted me a week ago.

  “The abbess is here.” Her voice was the cooing of a dove to her mate, low and melodic. The hairs tingled on my arms at the sound. “Why don’t you go, love? I’ll join you in a few minutes, after I get Sewell to sleep. Then I can fix your headache.”

  I expected him to protest, make more excuses. Or, if he left, insist that I go with him. He did none of these things. Instead, he gazed down at her a long moment before he nodded, his hands sliding from her as he turned, pulled a shirt from the pile on the chair, and left the chamber. He didn’t even take his sword. This slip of a witch could make my insufferably stubborn son do her bidding, and she didn’t even have to swear at him. I had never seen them interact together before, and it changed my opinion of their marriage, seeing them together now. She might be a more valuable ally at court than I had imagined.

  Safire cuddled the baby for several moments until he was quiet, then slid him into his basket. He sighed once as she kissed his cheek. “Sleep now, sweetling,” she murmured, her hand on his head, and he seemed to do her witch bidding as well, nodding off to sleep so quickly I could hardly believe it.

  “You do have a way with that child, my dear,” the abbess said.

  Safire smiled. “It’s instinct, my lady.”

  “I’d say it was more than instinct, watching you and Merius. You have him under a spell, Safire,” I said.

  She turned her gaze on me, her eyes suddenly flashing. “Merius is not bewitched. He listens to me because he knows I love him.”

  “Merius is always upset--sometimes I think he thrives on it. I just meant whatever it was you did to calm him down was a good thing.”

  “I don’t care what you meant, sir.” She stood and crossed her arms, glaring at me. “Why did you tell Merius of your suspicions about his mother and your drunkard brother? It‘s not even true.”

  I shook my head—I had told Merius about Arilea and Gaven because I hoped such a painful example to both of us would make him seriously reconsider his position in regards to the baby. But I couldn’t tell Safire that, so I said, “I don’t know why. It just slipped out. I wish I hadn’t.”

  “I wish you hadn’t too. Do you have any inkling of how much pain you’ve caused him?”

  “There’s no reason for him to be upset. I told him it wasn’t true.”

  “He doesn’t believe you, Mordric. You’ve lied to him too many times, and now he’s torturing himself trying to figure out what your motivation was.”

  “That’s stupid. I don’t even know what my motivation was.”

  “Don’t you understand? He loved his mother--he only remembers the good things she did, the stories she read to him, how she tucked him into bed, the times she took him and the other children out for picnics in the woods. Now you’ve sullied all of that, right as he was on the verge of trusting you again. It‘s cruel, what you did, and you don‘t even seem to realize it. Of course, why should that surprise me?” She was so angry that she had to dab away tears from her eyes with a handkerchief, her movements jerky.

  “You need to leave,” the abbess said. “You’re upsetting her, and she’s barely recovered from childbed.”

  “I’m fine, my lady,” Safire insisted. “It would upset me more not to finish what I have to say.”

  “I’d believe that,” I muttered. “Sharp-tongued minx.”

  “Don’t goad her,” the abbess bellowed, startling both me and Safire. “She just delivered your grandson.”

  I shook my head and let that one go. We didn’t need any more messes at this point. “He resents me for what he thinks I did to Arilea . . .”

  “You mean, you didn’t slap her around, keep mistresses, threaten her with a knife, tell Merius a hundred times over that she was a bitch? That‘s all in his imagination?” Safire’s eyes were almost all pupil, dark, glinting wells in her white face. She was so angry that she didn’t look quite human, the changeling. Maybe Falken was right--maybe she was a fire selkie. She looked like one now, with those burning dark eyes.

  “My dear,” the abbess murmured futilely.

  I gripped the edge of the washstand. “It wasn’t anything that scheming harpy didn’t do to me first. I gave her everything I had, and she spat in my face and told me it wasn’t good enough. Damn it, what was a man supposed to do, faced with that?”

  “Protect his son from it.”

  “She goaded me, damn it. I didn’t even know he was in the chamber when we fought . . .” The sudden pain in my hand made me glance down. I had just jammed my fingertips into the rough wood of the washstand, splinters driving under my nails as the scar on my chest burned, my witch brand.

  “You and Arilea were at war, and Merius was the spoils.”

  “That’s not . . .”

  She stamped her foot, and the abbess touched her arm as if to restrain her. “Don’t you dare lie to me--I saw you to death’s door and back. It doesn’t matter what kind of man you were then. Merius’s memories are flawed perhaps, but they’re all he has of his mother, and he’ll cling to them no matter what you say. You’ll only estrange him further if you try to convince him you were in the right. What matters is the kind of man you are now.”

  “And what kind of man is that in your gracious estimation?” I asked, speaking despite my clenched jaw.

  “The kind of man Merius could trust with both our lives. As I already do."

  “And what would you suggest I do to gain his trust?”

  She drew closer to me. “Look on him as the man he is, not the son you fear to lose.”

  Her unblinking gaze intent on my face, she reached for my shoulder, her fingers gentle as she started to knead my aching sinews. The warmth of her witch touch spread through my veins like the best whiskey, my ribs releasing their clutch on my heart as the pain of the scar faded.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Your son owes me a fight, Mordric,” Radik said.

  I had just lit my pipe and couldn‘t retort immediately. It was after dinner in the queen’s private chambers. As soon as I had my pipe stoked, I took it from my mouth and said, “You sound rankled.”

  Radik offered a thin smile. “He’s brave, but I wouldn’t dream of holding him to his challenge.”

  “You’d best watch it if he holds himself to it.” I kept my tone light.

  “He’s still green--t’would be an unfair fight,” Radik said.

  “He’s ripened in the heat of battle, not in peace time drills. He’s green in theory, not in practice.”

  “Swordplay in battle is different than on the salon floor.”

  “There is no play for swords in battle.” I tried to keep the strain out of my voice. Sarneth had not gone to war since my grandsire’s time--it had remained a spectator in the Gilgin War with the Marennese pirates a quarter century ago. Radik had little, if any, real battle experience. Experience in backstabbing and assassinating sleeping men, perhaps, but not in fighting awake ones.

&
nbsp; “You men and your swords." The queen yawned.

  “We don’t mean to weary you, Your Majesty,” Radik said. He was such a toady.

  “I must admit, I enjoy watching men in a duel, but I’m too much a woman to enjoy talking about it. It’s a purely wordless art to me.” She shot a look at Radik which made my skin crawl.

  “Some kings think it’s the only art,” I said.

  “More than an art for some. For some, it’s a religion.” The queen sniffed.

  I exhaled smoke, a tart warmth on my tongue. “Unfortunately, war is a necessity of the times in which we live.”

  “A necessity, perhaps, but there are other concerns. Culture, for one.”

  “You have done much for Sarneth in that regard, Your Majesty. Your painters and sculptors are reckoned the most refined on the western seas," Toscar said as if her ego were a lioness he had to stroke with every breath.

  She waved her hand, an impatient thank you. “They say it’s because I’m a woman and care about the finer things, but I don’t see where such is merely a woman’s concern. A country’s culture defines it. Do men really want to be defined as backward in order to win a few battles?”

  “Most of us, yes,” I retorted.

  "Merius doesn't seem to think like that. He should be the Cormalen ambassador," Jazmene said, her tone so veiled it was impossible to tell if she was serious or being ironic.

  I assumed she was serious and played it straight. “Cormalen already has Rankin for the ambassador here.”

  “Rankin’s in love with his books and scrolls. From what he’s said, I doubt he’ll keep the post till the end of next year. I’ve always wondered why you haven’t taken it.”

  “Because I was the only Landers at court, and as such, had other duties.”

  “Regrettable. It‘ll be years before you retire, and Merius may grow restive as your second. He’d make a fine ambassador, with a little experience. He could use further practice in diplomacy. Surely King Arian has enough political savvy to appreciate Cormalen’s particular advantage in this.”

  I leaned forward, my elbows on the table--sometimes I enjoyed playing the fool, just to observe other people scrambling to explain themselves. “Enlighten me.”

  Toscar and the queen looked at each other for a moment before he spoke, his voice quiet, “The influence the Landers could have through Safire is considerable. King Arian would be hard-pressed to deny Merius the office.”

  “So in the space of a month, you go from arresting my son for no good reason to offering me influence through him and his wife. Which is it?”

  Silence fell, and I took a sip of my brandy to wash away the pipe taste, looking from one to the other. Finally, Jazmene broke. “It was a mistake, arresting him. I realized it the next day, but Merius needed a lesson in controlling his temper. He’s rather volatile, though I suspect that will pass with time. Meanwhile, I’m surprised at your bluntness."

  “He’s my only son.”

  “But it was our understanding that you two had quarreled, that you had in fact disowned him,” Toscar said.

  “I never disowned him. We did quarrel, but it would take far more than his petty offenses for me to disown him.”

  “You can’t have been happy when he married Safire, though . . .”

  “Would any father be happy with his son marrying below his position? It’s taken me awhile, but I’ve learned to appreciate her particular,“ I paused, “gifts.”

  “Those ‘gifts,’ as you call them, must be difficult to conceal in Cormalen.”

  “Safire’s managed. The Landers have managed. It’s only since she came to Sarneth that she’s had any trouble because of her talents.”

  “That trouble was in her and Merius’s heads. I would never let harm come to either one of them,” Jazmene said, her gaze limpid as a girl’s. Her large, brown eyes had been the toast of seven courts, but I had never trusted them. Emotion flashed across them too easily, emotion I suspected was a mere curtain concealing her true intent. She was the vilest kind of liar, the kind that created not just false words but false feelings in order to deceive others. And herself.

  “I’m sure of that, Your Majesty.” I caressed the sides of my empty brandy glass, and a silent maid appeared at my elbow to refill it. “I know you mean only the best. But even if we do as you say, and Safire stays here while Merius plays ambassador, she still won’t be safe. And neither will the Landers. In fact, such an arrangement could cause more talk than if she merely lived quietly on our country estate, as a proper wife ought. And idle talk is the first step to the stake.”

  “She takes a step to the stake by returning to Cormalen. There’ll always be talk, Mordric, no matter where she lives.”

  “Perhaps. It’s a thorny situation, and whatever Safire’s decision, she’ll face trouble for it. And now Your Majesty, My Lord,” I continued with a nod first to the queen and then to Toscar, “I must return to the embassy before they lock the gates.”

  “Before you leave, I wanted to ask--has Merius sought you out yet?” Jazmene demanded.

  I rose, using the act of pushing my chair back and standing to give myself a little time. I had dreaded this question, but when dinner had proceeded and then the brandy and pipe weed had appeared, I had let myself relax a little. I should have known she would twist this particular screw near the end, just to surprise me. “You’ll have the answer you seek soon enough,” I said.

  “That’s a cryptic response, more befitting a sphinx than a man.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have asked me.”

  “You’ve seen him, haven’t you?”

  “No.”

  Jazmene‘s smile was brittle. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Your beliefs are your own affair, Your Majesty.”

  She laughed, motioning Toscar to rise. “Good evening, Mordric,” she said, as if she had never asked me about Merius.

  “Thank you. Good evening, Your Majesty.” I nodded to Radik. “Good evening.” Radish, I added in my mind. I hadn’t thought of that name in over thirty years--it was what Herrod had called Radik when he first appeared at the Cormalen court as a page to King Rainier’s father. He had been arrogant ass then, bossing all the younger boys around and playing toady to anyone he thought had influence. He only played toady to Jazmene now, an unwise move. He should spread his obsequiousness around in order to get full benefit out of it. Fool.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  My pen flew over the page, leaving lines of dense script behind it. I had written so many of these letters that I only paused to refill the quill with ink. Judgments in minor legal matters of the province, various decisions about tenants, deals with stable masters peddling the services of stallions or seeking the services of ours--I had learned long ago all these matters and many others could be carried out by letter. I would have left the tenants to Selwyn, but he sometimes balked at novel situations, leaving the more difficult judgments to me. Likely he was afraid of my wrath if he made the wrong decision. Timid soul. Sometimes it seemed as if I were surrounded by timid souls who hesitated at my every growl. Fools. It would be good to have Merius back again--at least no one could ever have accused him of being timid. I snorted and returned to my letters.

  When there came a knock at the door, I barely glanced up. “What?” I demanded. Damn it, I had told these fools to leave me alone. I didn’t need hot water yet, I had enough towels, and no, I didn’t take tea at night. I took Cormalen whiskey, but they didn’t have any of that. How our own embassy could run out of Cormalen whiskey was beyond me. All they had been able to find was some horrible Sarneth firewater that tasted of fermented rat piss. Idiots. And my hip flask was almost empty.

  A chambermaid in the green and golden gown and cap of embassy female help entered. I glanced back at my letters. “I told you at six no more interruptions. I told the steward at seven no more interruptions. Now it’s eight, and you’re back. Has someone deprived you of your ears, my dear?”

  “No, sir,” she said, her tone insolent, he
r voice husky as if she had a throat full of pipe smoke. “All of my limbs and appendages are perfectly intact. See for yourself.”

  The muscles rippled up the back of my neck. “What are you doing here?” I said, staring at the letter before me.

  “I brought you some whiskey.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I spat, suddenly turning around in my seat. “I told you to send Randel if you had to get me a message.”

  “I know you did.” She tossed the servant’s cap on the bed, her dark hair slipping loose from the pins that held it. Her hair was too heavy and silky for pins--it was like using tacks to nail up quicksilver.

  I shook the ink out of my pen, my hand so tense I snapped the quill in two. “Eden, this disobedience has to stop. Do you want me to throttle you?”

  “I can think of better punishments.”

  “You fool. You brazen fool,” I muttered. I stood and faced her, my hands clenched in my pockets. “What if someone sees you?”

  “No one’s seen me. No one has any inkling I’m here.”

  “What about Randel?”

  She shrugged. “He thinks I’m at Landers Hall. The family thinks I’m at court.”

  “I ordered him not to leave your side, damn it.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not for you to question me.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “Why should I? You disobey orders.”

  “Selwyn obeys orders, and you don‘t trust him. You don’t trust anyone, do you?”

  “I’ll not keep a false woman in the House, Eden.”

  “You kept Arilea, and she was false, more false than I would ever be.”

  “She was my wife. I had to keep her.”

  “No, you didn’t. You kept her because she was false, and it drove you half mad trying to control her. You enjoy driving yourself mad. Merius drives you mad--that’s why you keep provoking him and then trying to regain his good will.”

  “Eden,” I said evenly. “Eden, you need to leave. Now. For your own good.”

  She ignored me. “You work like a fiend, you drink like a fish, you bully everyone . . .”

  “I’ll drag you from this chamber.”

 

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