“All right.” I allowed him to lead me to a large mural of several male peacocks with their tails fanned, marching across the well-tended lawn of a large manor house. I wondered how the artist had managed to capture the colorful iridescence of the tail feathers. Had to be some kind of special compound in the paint. For a brief instant, my terror departed, replaced by a familiar tingle in my fingers, the urge to get my hands on some of that iridescent paint so I could try it myself. Certainly, I wouldn’t waste it on the elegant, but ultimately empty, artifice of some peacocks on a lawn. Now if the spots at the ends of the peacock feathers that reminded me eerily of eyes were actual eyes instead of just spots, that would add some interest to the artifice. Maybe they were the eyes of an imprisoned sorceress, spying on our world with the longing to join in the fray. Maybe they were the eyes of a mad queen, spying on her courtiers. I repressed a shudder and quickly shifted to another vision. A phoenix taking flight just as the sun broke the horizon at dawn, the shadow of the fiery bird against the fiery sun, the painfully lovely shimmer of fire across the crimson tail, the edge of one wing . . .
*You have the strangest, most beautiful fancies--where are you?
Oh damn, Merius again. I took a deep breath and blocked him. He’d know soon enough where I was, and I didn’t need him in my head right now, perhaps ordering me to run or calling me a crazy fool or protesting the decision I had made without his knowledge or consent. Poor man--he’d be upset with me, but there was nothing else to be done. I couldn’t stand by and let him throw himself to the wolves without doing what I could to stop him. After all, he’d made a major decision without my knowledge or consent, so it was my turn. This thought steeled me, and I stepped forward, ready to do battle with the peacocks and the queen’s eyes staring from their tails.
Feodras cleared his throat, reached past me to push the latch hidden in one of the eyes. I shook myself back to the nearly unbearable pressure of the present, the terror returning with a chilling gust that nearly swept me off my feet. My head swirled, and I leaned against Feodras’s arm.
“Here, my lady.” He propelled me into the tiny chamber. My feet sank into the thick carpet, an ornate gilded mirror before me. I expected to see my face, wan with dark circles under my eyes. Instead I saw Merius’s face. I let loose a stifled screech and jerked back, covering my eyes as I leaned against the wall.
“My lady, forgive me, but you seem . . . agitated. Perhaps you should sit for a moment?” Feodras suggested.
I gave an unsteady laugh and lowered my hands from my eyes. “I’m fine,” I said. “Didn’t the queen mention I was an artist? We’re all a bit mad, you know.”
“My lady?”
I ignored him and stepped forward to brave the mirror again. Merius was still there, his face pale and worn and covered with a straggled beard, his eyes burning. Perhaps he was standing before the mirror in his chamber? Had they allowed him a mirror in his chamber? It seemed a bit dangerous to me--he might break it and use the glass shards as weapons.
*I tried to break it the first night I was here. He was too upset to care that he was seeing me instead of his reflection in his mirror. *If you’re where I think you are, then everything I’ve sacrificed has been for naught.
I plunged my face in the water of the basin before me. The bracing cold startled me. Merius’s voice in my head, his image in the mirror, vanished. I felt refreshed and able to face a dozen Queen Jazmenes if need be. I smoothed my hair back and dried my face and hands on the velvet soft towels.
“Thank you--I needed that,” I said to Feodras as he escorted me to the queen’s private reception chamber. He nodded and lifted the now-familiar tapestry of the sleeping lioness in the garden, the lioness with the blood dripping down her jaw.
The reception chamber was exactly as I remembered, the multitude of oil and water paintings, the flashes of mother-of-pearl inlaid in the furniture, the thick blue carpet that tempted me to slide off my slippers so I could feel it under my bare feet. What was the use of having such a comfortable carpet in a reception room where no one could walk barefoot on it? It should be in a bedchamber, leading to a fragrant steaming bathtub. These meaningless fancies distracted me from the icicle of terror stabbing me to the quick, so painful I hardly dared breathe. I forced the air in my lungs, though, despite the pain--if I fainted now, God knew where I’d wake up.
Queen Jazmene sat near the curtained archway at the far side of the room. Leaping porpoises formed the armrests of her delicately carved, cream-colored chair, the most feminine throne imaginable. She rose as I approached, smoothed back her rustling blue skirts, studded with swirling patterns of tiny diamonds that blinded me. I blinked, then raised my head to meet her gaze. Her brown eyes glittered like the diamonds on her dress, reflecting the cold glitter of her triumphant aura.
“My dear, this is most unexpected,” she said in her smoothest, warmest voice, tempting me forward like the false spring breeze that hid an impending blizzard.
I curtsied. “I'm here to make you an offer, Your Majesty.”
“Some refreshment first. I must say, you do look tired--some spiced wine will do you good.” Without a word, several of the attendants disappeared through the curtained archway. They reappeared moments later, one bearing a tray with a decanter of wine, slices of soft white bread with a hard buttery crust and various creamy cheeses. The others bore a small table and a chair, which they set beside Jazmene’s throne. Feodras led me forward until I had no choice but to perch on the chair, my hands clenched together over my knees.
With a blinding swirl of skirts, Jazmene sat down on her throne, her gaze fixed on me. When I made no move to partake of the refreshments, she gestured toward them. “Come, I insist.”
“You first.”
She smiled. “Do you honestly believe I would try to poison you?”
“Of course not, Your Majesty. It’s just that, despite my poor Cormalen upbringing, I do know that it’s rude to serve oneself before royalty.”
“As you wish, then.” She snapped her fingers, and one of the attendants poured the wine and divided the cheese and bread between two plates. I waited until Jazmene had taken a bite of both the bread and cheese and sipped the wine before I dared try either. The chilled wine was sweet, with an aftertaste of cinnamon. I felt a slight loosening of the tension inside, just enough so that I settled back in the chair.
“Now that we’re both a bit more at our ease, I'd like to ask you a question,” she said. "Has Merius ever told you about his mother?”
“A little,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. There was no way Jazmene could know about Arilea, about what Arilea had done to me, about what I had done to Arilea at the end. Yes, I knew great deal about Merius’s mother, and most of it I’d rather forget. “I understand she was very beautiful.”
“She was far more than that--she’d have to be, to hold the interest of a man like Mordric. Intelligent, graceful, determined--she far outshone Queen Verna, when she traveled here as one of the queen’s handmaidens. Arilea, the brightest jewel of the Cormalen court. I see a lot of her in Merius, his ability with languages, his wit, his artistic sensitivity, and love of learning. Fortunately for him, he’s male and can put those talents to use as he sees fit. Arilea couldn’t, even as a handmaiden to the queen. The roles of daughter and wife and woman shackled her.”
She had me listening, despite myself. I had only known Arilea’s ghost, tormented and warped after years of being in a trap of her own making between the earthly and spiritual planes. I had never known the woman she was, and Jazmene’s words made me speculate how much of the trap had actually been of Arilea’s own making.
“Merius may be male, but he’s still trapped,” I countered after a long moment. “He has obligations to the Landers to fulfill--he’s not free to pursue any destiny he chooses.”
“He married you without his family‘s consent. With enough ability and will, he can do as he wishes. He can buck the roles of son and husband and courtier and head off in a new direc
tion and still make a success of his life. Imagine if you tried to do the same.”
“I have done the same--I defied my family and the Landers for him. I defied my family to sell my sketches on the docks. It can be done.”
“I’m certain Arilea thought she was the exception to the rule when she married Mordric, and you know what happened to her. Buried in the tomb of Landers Hall, dead in childbirth before she’d even tasted the life her talents could have brought her. She’s dust in her grave now--she didn’t even live long enough to see her son to manhood.” Jazmene leaned forward and set her plate aside before she grasped my hand. I didn’t flinch away, but instead gazed at her steadily. “Now, Safire,” Jazmene continued softly, “if Arilea had your particular talents, she likely would have ended burned at the stake before she’d even borne a child.”
I swallowed. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
“You’re young, and you haven’t yet seen all the ways this world can be cruel to women . . .”
“I’ve seen quite a few of the ways, despite my age,” I broke in.
Rather than reprimanding me, she seemed pleased that I had interrupted her, probably because she thought it meant that what she said bothered me enough for me to consider it. I hated to think that she was likely right.
“I’m sure you have, my dear, but you’re still young,” she said in her gentlest, most honeyed tone. “What I’m offering you here is a gift. Of course there’s a benefit to me if you choose to stay at this court and pursue your art--it’s a benefit to all. What benefit is there in you returning to Cormalen as a courtier’s wife? How dare you be at court in Cormalen, lest your talents be exposed and all in the House are burned as witches? You can’t display your paintings there for the same reason. Did you hear about Rhianan of Norland? Those barbarians burned her at the stake only scant months ago, yet you want to return there? You must be mad.”
“How is Cormalen ever to change for the better, if all those who have my talents stay in exile or hiding forever?”
She dropped my hand suddenly, as if my skin burned her. “Foolish girl.”
"Your Majesty, your arguments have swayed me, even if my question just now indicated otherwise." The chamber suddenly seemed to close in on me, and I gulped air before I continued, "If you let Merius go free, I swear to stay at this court and paint. I'll paint whatever you want. Just let him go."
She gazed at me for a long moment, her aura sparkling as if she stood in sunlight. Then she smiled. "Ah, young love," she murmured. "Is this what you came here for, Safire--to offer yourself for him?"
"Please, Your Majesty--it's me you want, not him. That's why you poisoned him--to break the mind bond between us so I wouldn't be distracted from my work. As long you keep Merius captive, I swear I won't paint for you, at least not willingly."
"But I could hardly separate you two, not after witnessing such devotion. I would be a hard-hearted woman indeed."
My stomach dropped like an anchor. "What are you saying, Your Majesty?"
She smiled. "That you'll join him in the tower, my dear."
From a great distance, I heard myself say, “You'll regret this, Your Majesty. You should have agreed to my terms and let him go. Now are we finished, because this foolish girl is pining for her husband.”
The queen ignored my anger, her way of trying to make my feelings insignificant when they displeased her. “This way, then.” She summoned me to follow her with an impatient flick of her hand. I trailed her through the diaphanous curtains of the archway behind her throne, Feodras and her attendants on my heels.
I had the vague impression of a small but elegant anteroom with piles of satiny cushions, a shelf of leather bound books with tooled covers, a wall of paintings, and a cut glass decanter with a silver spout on a pedestal, something I had never seen before. I gazed at it, at the way the light from the arched window glanced through the cut glass to make a hundred tiny suns on the wall behind it. The decanter had what appeared to be white wine in the bottom, likely the same wine we’d just drank, and the tiny suns refracted through the wine were bright smears rather than the neat-edged lights on the wall above them. Drunken suns, I thought, and gave a nervous giggle.
Jazmene glanced back, and I covered my mouth. I looked at my feet, all the while thinking of those drunken suns, whirling on wobbly axes. This mad queen turned on a wobbly axis. She did make some good points, you know Dagmar’s reproachful voice spoke in my head, my sensible self tramping to the surface. You’ve always known how unwise it was to remain in Cormalen. Why would you return there, especially with such a generous offer in your lap?
That offer comes with heavy chains attached.
You’re so dramatic. Life isn’t all dark and light, you know. Most of it comes in shades of gray.
It’s rather gray right now, as a matter of fact. It was gray, stretches of dark shadow between the golden glow of intermittent lanterns. A long hallway, then a spiral staircase, then another hallway, then another staircase, always up, never down. Where were we going? I glanced behind me and saw Feodras. Before me was the queen. It was too narrow for me to push past either one of them and escape. It reminded me of Merius’s nightmare, the one where he marched up the mountain path to his doom, blocked in both directions and able only to step forward with the rest of the men. Each breath was more shallow in my chest than the last, until finally I gasped.
The queen whirled around, examined me in the torchlight. “What is it?” she demanded. “You look pale as a spirit. Do you fear narrow places?” she asked.
I met her stare with one of my own. “I’m fine. Just caught a draft, is all.”
“We’re almost there.” She continued on, the rustle of her skirt amplified in the stairwell. It sounded like whispering, wicked ladies gossiping and ruining reputations with a calculated slip of the tongue. I drew as deep a breath as I could.
Finally the stairway ended with a narrow wooden door. A hallway, as plain as any in the convent, curved before us. The only adornments were dragon-headed torches and doors at irregular intervals along the wall, grim doors of stout wood crisscrossed with heavy iron bars. Several of the doors had two locks, the keyhole under the latch as well as a padlock above.
Jazmene paused outside the only door with guards, three men who immediately stood to attention and then bowed. “I wish to see the prisoner,” she said.
The guards glanced at each other. “Yes, Your Majesty.” They reached to draw their swords with admirably concurrent movements, almost precise reflections of each other. Merius would have called them well-drilled.
“Here, what’s this? I ordered you to unlock the door, not draw your weapons.”
“Your Majesty, forgive me,” the guard on the right began, his hand still resting on his sword hilt, “but he’s in a dreadful state. We’ve heard thumps and yells the last quarter hour or more--it sounds like he’s broken half the furniture. We tried to go in there once already, and he threatened us with worse than what he did to Piert.”
Jazmene glanced at me, one brow lifted in a sardonic arch. “Well, my dear, it sounds like you should add tiger tamer to your long list of talents. Is this noisy welcome on your account? If so, perhaps you should have kept your arrival a surprise. Guards, unlock the door--no matter his wild humor, he’ll not hurt her. At least not in any of the usual ways.”
I was unable to form any words beyond an insult at that point, so I held my tongue. I sailed forward through the doorway, my head high as the door clanged shut behind me.
The chamber swirled with silvery light, like a whirlwind of lightning bolts, and I shut my eyes against the storm, still seeing blinding flashes on the insides of my eyelids. I heard his quick, sure footfall before he grabbed me in his arms, his aura enveloping me. I sighed at the half pain, half pleasure of a thousand hot needles tickling my skin at once. He trembled as I ran my hands over his shoulder blades and back, as vulnerable to my touch as I was to his. His lips pressed down on my eyelids, my hair, my cheeks, a mad flurry of rough
kisses before he caught my mouth. I inhaled his silver fire, a searing liquor in my lungs and veins. He kept me on the verge of fainting as we devoured each other, the desperate kisses of those who had tasted death together. All the death in our shared nightmares whetted my appetite for him, for life. After all, who knew how much more life we had? It could be a scant precious days or even hours, for all we knew.
“Damn it, Safire,” he groaned. “Don’t start thinking like me. You’re supposed to play the idealist to my realist, keep up my spirits and all that.”
My eyes still shut tight, I found his mouth again, my kiss softer, more subtle this time. “There, are your spirits better?” I asked after an impossibly long moment.
“Witch.” He rested his chin on my head, his arms tight around me, his voice rumbling through my bones. “God, I’ve missed you, but you shouldn’t have come. Why did you come?”
I ran my hands up and down the lines of the lean muscles in his back, drew away what pain and tension I could from his bruised ribs. His breath ruffled my hair as I comforted him without words, without thoughts even, just my touch. With our minds open to each other, I could feel my hands kneading his back, how I felt to him. Peace settled on us like a shower of soft feathers brushing our skin.
“Is this why you came?” he whispered.
I laughed softly. “Silly man, why do you think I came?”
“Don’t tease, Safire, not about this. I’m so angry with you right now, you have no idea . . .”
“You’ve an odd way of showing your anger.” I kissed him, then dared to open my eyes. The light in the chamber no longer blinded me. His rage calmed, his aura settled to a bright cloud around him, Merius looked much the same as ever, aside from the haggard lines of his face, his straggly beard, and the dark circles under his eyes. He had seen hellfire--it was in his eyes, and his torment made him look more dangerously erotic than ever.
"Erotic?" He grinned, pleased with himself.
I was careful not to speak of the convent in case of listening ears. *The nuns have missed you terribly.
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 47