As they lifted me, I distracted myself as best I could from the pain by trying to summon the silver fire that had come earlier tonight when I’d seized Safire from that lecherous watchman. But nothing came but more pain. Probably the silver fire was Safire’s doing somehow. Just as well--it made me uncomfortable to think that I could burn people with naught but the power of my mind. I was no warlock.
Toscar paused as they laid me across the seat of the coach. He leaned down, his smell the smell of a kept man, too much cologne and expensive tobacco.
“Merius, where’s Safire?” he whispered. “Where‘s that pretty little witch of yours? We‘ll find her ourselves, you know, and then you‘ll wish that you’d been more obliging.”
I laughed, then choked because laughing hurt so bad. “The day you find her is the day I kill you.”
“I look forward to a turn with you on the practice floor, young hothead. Your lesson has been a long time coming.”
“You need lessons, my lord? They’ll come with a heavy price, I promise you.”
“Merius, I know she’s in the city close to here. It’s only a matter of time. I’ll find her, and then I’ll make her really disappear so that only the queen and I know where she is. Now, enjoy the ride.” He left me then without waiting for my response--likely he thought he was leaving me to fester, an interrogation tactic that annoyed me. Did he think me so hasty and inept, to fall for such a cheap trick? He put me in mind of a stag kept protected on a lord’s preserve, fattened for the hunt and far too self-satisfied. Wouldn’t he be surprised? The coach lurched forward then, and I lost all capacity for rational thought, each bump a bolt of lightning through my back and side.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The storm of pain peaked and then abated somewhat when the palace physician and his guards had their way with me. They poked my side and turned me over, scarlet explosions in my head. I punched and swore at them. They restrained me, and then someone stuck a piece of wood wrapped in cloth in my mouth. I bit down on it, unpleasant cottony dryness against my tongue as they pressed cold cloths against my ribcage. Safire had spoiled me with her witch hands. She had a skill no earthly healer could match, and although the physician was far from rough, he made me remember my limitations as a warrior. I certainly wouldn’t be picking up my sword tomorrow. Without her to heal me, I was an ordinary man.
They took away the wood wrapped in cloth and tried to pour something hot and bitter in my mouth then. I spat out the little bit that made it through my gritted teeth, my lips clamping closed.
“It’s for pain, sir,” the physician explained, so patient I wanted to hit him.
“I don’t need it,” I said, my jaw clenched.
“With all due respect, sir, you appear to have several bruised ribs.”
“You think I want something that’s going to dull my wits? You tell Her Majesty . . .”
“Tell me what, Merius?” Jazmene’s voice rose over the babble around the bed and silenced all other tongues. Everyone turned and bowed as she swept into the chamber, Toscar trailing her like the trained cur I‘d called him.
“To go to hell,” I said. “Perhaps the devil will sell you the Numerian crown for your soul, though I fear you don’t have much to bargain with.”
Her laughter pealed. “But I already have a crown. Leave us,” she ordered, and the physician and guards filed out.
“Perhaps he’ll sell you a soul for your crown instead, then.”
“You think it wise to show your rage, pet?”
“It may not be wise, your Majesty, but it’s satisfying.”
She laughed again. “Radik, you need to teach him a lesson in our manners. His rough Cormalen edges are showing.”
“Anytime you say the word, my queen,” Toscar replied, his gaze speculative as if he were deciding which of his several cat-o‘-nine-tails would break me the quickest.
“So, why all the cold cloths and medicine powders if you plan to torture me?”
“We wouldn’t torture you without Safire here to witness it, Merius. We don’t want her to miss anything,” Toscar explained.
“Radik,” the queen purred. “That wasn’t very nice.” She ran her hand over my jaw, and I jerked my head away. Her skin felt like silk that had been washed too many times, the texture of my mother’s mourning gown. I remembered touching the sleeve of that gown as Mother lay in her coffin, her arms clasped around my stillborn brother.
“You would risk torturing a Cormalen nobleman who’s committed no crime--that’s diplomatic suicide."
“Not quite. You see, no one aside from a privileged few knows you’re our reluctant guest.” She smoothed my hair, her touch so gentle my stomach knotted around a tangle of thorns.
“You think my father and Lord Rankin are fools?”
“No, which is why I know they won’t accuse us of anything without evidence. And there is no evidence, Merius. You wandered off in the Midmarch night and vanished, an all too common occurrence near the gutter chambers, I fear. There’ll be suspicions, of course, but no proof.”
“Safire will know--she doesn‘t need proof to know the truth.”
“We’re counting on that.”
The inside of my mouth felt coated with ash. They planned for me to be the bait to lure Safire here. And then they planned to torture me in front of her so she would do whatever they wanted. I pictured her, one of the canaries perched on her hand as she whistled a song to it and ran a gentle finger down its back. I had never seen anyone who could calm birds like she could. They would use her love, her compassion, her uncanny ability to sense and heal others’ pain, to break her. I would rather die than be the pawn in such a foul undertaking.
*Safire I silently called out to her. *Safire, please hear me. Hear me like you did before.
Her reply startled me, not only in its quickness but in its very existence--our exchange of thoughts a scant few hours ago still seemed a dream. *Bruised ribs? she thought, and it almost felt like gentle hands, light as feathers, touched my side.
I sucked in air--each breath hurt. *How do you know?
*Feel your pain like it's mine. Why did you block me? I might have been able to help you before.
*Block you? I didn’t . . . I trailed off--I had blocked her, though I hadn’t realized I was doing it. When I had left her and the abbess, I had pictured her in our cell at the convent, the thick walls protecting her from the guard, so safe that she was able to drift off to sleep. My mind, preoccupied with my own survival, hadn’t allowed me any thoughts of her safety being jeopardized too. That would have been too much of a distraction when I was running from the guard.
*I got caught by the guard and Toscar. I was an idiot. They ambushed me.
*Bet Toscar needed a lot of guards to catch you. Her admiration warmed me, the ache fading from my sides a little.
I felt someone shake my arm, and the pain returned with a jab. I jerked back to the bed, the queen and Toscar. I yanked my arm from Toscar’s grip with a curse.
Jazmene’s gaze was narrow. “You didn’t bump your head, did you?”
“Your damned guards kicked me when I was on the ground, cowards that they are. Maybe they kicked my head. Why?”
“You went into a trance, just for a moment. Do you do that often?”
"Only to escape the present company."
"Present company?" Her gaze bore into mine. There was no way she could know that Safire and I could now communicate in our thoughts, right?
“How else do you think I bear pain so well, save going into a trance? It’s an ancient Numerian practice--surely you know of it, Your Majesty?”
She didn‘t rise to my barbed words, her expression far too intent for my liking. “If you’re in so much pain, you should have taken the poppy seed potion my physician offered you.”
Falken, dressed no more in peddler’s clothes but in a black woolen tunic with the Numerian star and dragon embroidered in gold thread across the front, sauntered into the chamber then. He bowed easily to Jazmene, the jeweled cour
t scimitar in its tooled scabbard bobbing at his side. The vagabond with his sharp merriment had vanished, replaced by a cool courtier with the hooded eyes of a snake about to shed its skin.
“Good evening, Merius,” he said.
“Good evening,” I said, unclenching my jaw only long enough to bite out the words. “What are you doing here, Falken? Pretending to the throne?”
“No.” His eyes sparked their old merriment, and I trusted him again--for an instant. “I’m playing toady to her Majesty.”
Jazmene laughed, a sound that was rapidly becoming the most irritating thing I’d ever heard. “Come, my lord,” she said, reaching out her hand to Toscar. “It seems these two have some private confidence to share.” Ha--as if anything could be private in this place.
“Is Sel--Safire safe?” Falken stammered as soon as the door closed.
I fixed him with a glare. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Merius, you need all the friends you can get right now.”
“Forgive me, friend--pain has put me in a wicked temper. If you call her Selkie again, keep it to yourself or risk losing your tongue.”
“I know how this must look to you,” he said, his voice a hiss as he leaned closer, “but it was the only way Jazmene would let me see you. I’ve gained her trust--she dangles Esme in front of me, and she thinks that will keep me loyal.”
“Dangles? I thought the betrothal between you and Esme came with a signed contract. Don‘t tell me the rebels depend on your word alone to secure such a prize.”
“My word?” He grinned. “Of course not, but Jazmene is a far better politician than the rebels. She could weasel out of her twenty-five year marriage to King Rainier on a made-up trifle if the winds shifted. A mere betrothal contract presents little challenge to such a woman.”
“Esme will have wrinkles and bastard grandchildren by the time Jazmene settles on a suitable marriage alliance for her.”
“Perhaps, but for now I’m the prime contender for her hand, which puts me in an ideal position to help you.”
“Help me? Falken, you want to bed my wife. I can‘t trust you.”
He drew up straight, his posture suddenly as serious as Toscar‘s. “You insult my honor.”
“You insult my intelligence, coming here like this.”
“Merius, she’s a fire selkie. If you distrust all who might desire her, might envy her talents, you’ll have no friends. And I never laid a hand on her, though I’ll admit I tried--she rebuffed me.”
I shrugged--and immediately winced. I kept forgetting my ribs. “Why are you here?"
“If you love Safire as much as you say you do, wouldn’t you rather she spend her life safe at this court than return to a land that would demand her death at the stake?”
I started to chuckle, unable to stop myself even though it hurt. “You know how I’d rather Safire spent her life? I’d rather she spend it free, not as some greedy queen’s prisoner.”
“You deny she’d be safer here?”
“What? She’s no safer here than she is in Cormalen--if she remained at this court, her fate would depend on Jazmene’s whim and position.”
“I’ve trusted my life to Jazmene’s position.”
“If you truly have, which I doubt, you’re a fool. Jazmene’s position rests on sand, not granite. Safire would rather take her chances in Cormalen.”
“You’re ready to answer for her, aren’t you?”
“How presumptuous of me,” I said, my voice dry. “I’m only her husband, after all. And you’ve become the queen’s dandy. Who are you, to lecture me?”
He turned without another word and strode out of the chamber, the jewels in his useless ceremonial scimitar winking with every step he took. Though the jewels were likely real enough, I wagered the blade wasn’t sharpened. He had traded the hidden power of his true parentage and his status as an outsider for the surface trappings of the queen’s favor, a poor exchange in my opinion.
*Playing a part with all his new finery. Safire’s thought broke into my reverie.
*How can you see his clothes? I thought.
*Your thoughts--images, words, smells, pain--I feel it all right now.
*All I hear are your words, and then not all the time.
*Lot more to distract you there. Images of the simple cell flashed through my mind, a single candle flame guttering and throwing shadows on the plain walls. *See? All alone here. She added.
*Where's Sewell? I asked.
*Abbess.
The thought of her and the nuns defenseless made me grit my teeth. *Falken will tell Jazmene you were pregnant.
*No. Falken hates Jazmene. She killed his father.
*A father he never met. I retorted. If Falken’s father had lived, he would have sired more legitimate heirs, and Falken would have had no chance at the Numerian throne. Jazmene’s plotting had given him an opportunity he never would have had. *He'll betray anyone.
*You think like your father. Her words held affectionate exasperation.
“Insane witch,” I muttered.
*Maybe Mordric can still find use for Falken.
*No--too dangerous now that he‘s shown his new stripes. Protect yourself. Protect Sewell.
There was a long pause. *What about you?
*Father can secure my release.
*Mordric won’t be able to secure anything without exchanging me for you. Her mental voice pierced my mind with its sharpness. *Jazmene will make no other bargain, dear heart.
*Wish we could assassinate her. I meant it half in jest but Toscar’s earlier threats of torture made assassination suddenly seem like a good idea. That wretched queen.
*Can I do the honors? Safire's thought sounded dry. I snorted at the idea of her as a mad witch assassin. *I could do it. she insisted. A vision of a rebel bleeding and pale on the floor of the chamber where Falken had concealed her flashed across my mind, the dagger I had given Safire buried to the hilt in his middle.
I winced, my ribs aching. *Right now I feel like you stabbed me.
*What you get for laughing at me.
“It’s admirable you can divert yourself in these trying circumstances, Merius,” Jazmene said, and I realized with a painful start that she was in the chamber. Beside the bed in fact, her shadow Toscar behind her. “Would you mind sharing the jest?”
“I’d rather not--it’s at your expense.”
Jazmene smiled, a hard glitter to her eyes. “You’re talking to her, aren’t you?”
“What?"
“Your defiance has ceased amusing me.” She gripped my shoulder, her varnished fingernails digging into the bare skin above my bandage like talons.
“I wonder about the effect on Safire of torturing him if they are truly mind-bonded,” Toscar said, appraising me as if I were an interesting specimen. “I wager she would surrender quickly if he summoned her in such a state.”
“Mind-bonded?” I asked. My ignorance was at least partially genuine--I had an idea that Safire and I were connected in some strange way now that we were able to share our thoughts without speaking, but I had no idea how to define such a connection.
“As much as I dislike such means, if I thought we could easily break him and force him to summon her, I might be tempted to do it,” Jazmene said softly, releasing my shoulder and combing her hand through my hair. “I fear, though, that he is too stubborn. We would have to do him some lasting harm before we broke him, and I won’t risk that. I won‘t let you shoot down all the eagles, Radik.”
“Even if I shoot them down for you, Your Majesty?”
She glanced at him, and the look they exchanged made the skin creep up my back. A look of worship, the same look I gave Safire when we were alone with each other, a locked door between us and the rest of the world. That these two merciless fiends could share a similar moment seemed a perversion.
“What is mind-bonding?” I repeated.
“You’ve experienced it, a pleasure most of us will never share, and you don’t even know what it’
s called," the queen snapped. "You’re supposedly an educated nobleman, a prince among your people, yet you wallow in ignorance of your own gifts. Cormalen should be ashamed. Your father should be ashamed.”
“I dare you to tell him that. Your prejudices are showing, Your Majesty.”
“It’s not a prejudice if it’s the truth. Mind-bonding sometimes happens between a witch and her mate or a warlock and his mate, if the pairing is true and the mate possesses at least a slight talent of his or her own. The pair share thoughts, impressions, sensations . . .”
“That’s impossible. I possess no unnatural talents.”
She smiled. “You produced a lightning bolt out of thin air in the middle of winter and burned one of my watchmen when you were defending Safire. That seems an unnatural talent to me, Merius.”
My fingers curled into fists. Jazmene was even more insufferable than her smug twit of a daughter. “The watchman is mad or drunk. I saw no flash of light.”
“He had a burn on his hand.”
“Did you smell his breath? It reeked. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d spent his watch drinking in a tavern and fell in the fire. If I was a warlock, no cell here would hold me, and your guardsmen would be in cinders,” I said finally.
The queen’s smile broadened, as if she indulged a bright child’s bravado. “I said the mind-bonded mate possessed a slight talent, Merius.” Then she abruptly turned from me. “Radik, summon the physician,” she said. Toscar met her gaze and nodded, a message silently passing between them, a fragment of a previous conversation perhaps, something that I didn’t understand. Of course, there was a lot I didn’t understand about these two. And what I didn’t understand made me uneasy.
“I don’t need the physician again.” I tried to sit up, pain shooting through my chest. Was this what an arrow to the lung or heart felt like? I thought of comrades lost in battle, their last moments agony probably a hundred times worse than this. I gasped, each breath an effort.
*Merius, don't move. Your ribs . . .
I ignored Safire and swung my legs toward the edge of the bed, discovering they had secured my left leg to the bed post with a thick rope.
“Where do you think you’re going, Merius?” the queen said with a startled laugh. “I’ll keep you for my jester yet.”
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 43