I exhaled with a sharp chuckle. "Safire . . ."
"You know what I wonder about the fire selkie? If she had the power to hold Mahalalel in her thrall, why didn’t she use it? She just let him take her from the mountain. Why did she let him do that? Why didn’t she use her power to keep him there with her?"
"You don’t need selkie wiles to keep me enthralled, sweetheart."
“Is that so?” she purred. “I suppose I’ll let you loose then.”
One by one, the vines released their hold on me, a tortuously slow process compared to how quickly they had ensnared me. With equal deliberation, Safire leisurely unbuckled my belt, her cunning fingers straying with every movement until I thought I would bite my tongue in two with impatience. I shut my eyes and gulped air. I heard the hiss of my belt as she whipped it loose, the clatter of the buckle as she tossed it on the floor. My eyes flew open just in time for me to see Safire jump off the bed, her aura leaving shimmery purple and golden trails in her wake. I tried to follow but found myself still trapped. The vines had retreated from my arms, but not yet from my legs. Safire giggled, her hand over her mouth as she watched me fight with the remaining vines.
The last vines uncurled from my ankles. Hot blood surged through all my limbs, a wild joy that made me feel ready for anything. I bounded off the bed after Safire. She darted out of reach, laughing. I lunged after her, and she dodged past me, her aura brushing mine with a rain of sparks. I caught my breath as my stomach dropped, exactly how I would feel if I stood on the deck of a ship that had just sailed over the edge of a huge wave. Safire dashed around to the far side of the bed, her slippers flying off her feet.
I gave chase. We raced all over the chamber before I finally cornered her between the washstand and the bed. I braced my hands on the wall beside her shoulders, and we gazed at each other for a long moment, both breathless as the air around us sparked and crackled. She chortled, and I caught her mouth under mine. An explosion of silver and purple flashes blinded me. Burgundy smoke with the scent of charred cedar thickened the air in the wake of the flashes, so sweet and heavy I felt drunk.
We kissed, then tumbled off the edge and into the darkness. I could taste the midnight sea of honeyed wine all around us, lit only by lightning. We plunged so fast that we clutched each other as the wind whipped at our clothes and hair. My stomach fell faster than the rest of me, reaching for the bottom of this wave that had no bottom. My breath shuddered through my body, and I buried my face against Safire’s neck, inhaled her burned cedar scent. She ran her hand through my hair, her fingertips taut against my scalp as I nibbled the tender spot between her neck and shoulders.
Silver and purple fireworks exploded before my eyes, blinding me. It took me an instant to realize that the fireworks were in Safire’s mind, that I could sense what she sensed. My touch roused her as the sunlight roused a flower to bloom, and she opened herself fully, unable to block me in her current state. My frantic fingers tangled in her hair, then the laces of her bodice.
We both froze when the door latch rattled. Neither she nor I drew breath as someone twisted a key in the lock. Without moving my head, I flicked my gaze in the direction of the door. The latch lifted halfway, then remained there for a tortuous moment. There came the muffled mumble of conversation on the other side of the thick door. Then the latch dropped, the key turned again, the fading echo of boot steps in retreat.
I finally exhaled and noticed my fingers still clutched Safire’s laces. My hand rose with her chest as she took a deep, shaky breath. “What was that?” she whispered.
I shrugged, tried to seem unconcerned as if we weren’t in prison. “Who knows? Maybe one of the guards coming on shift didn’t realize that I already had lunch. That’s what it was one time when they did that.”
“And the other times? Oh Merius.” Her hands clutched against my back. “If anything happens to you . . . I don’t know if I can bear any more after . . ." She trailed off, and I had a blurry vision of Sewell, asleep in a basket.
*What about Sewell? I hesitated, tripping into the one vast abyss still between us.
*He’s safe, safer than he would be with me. I had to leave him--every moment I cuddled him, fed him at my breast, sang him to sleep--every moment was another moment the queen’s men could find us together. I couldn’t let that happen, after seeing what she did to you. I had to leave him, I had to leave him, Merius . . . her thought died with a soul-wrenching wail, a wail that grew until it rattled the magical glass in the mirror under its cover. It took me a moment to realize that she uttered the wail aloud, not just in her mind. I clapped my hand over her mouth and brushed her ear with my lips.
“Shh, shh, sweet. Shh, shh, not here, not where they can hear us,” I whispered.
*I had to leave the convent anyway--it was too dangerous for everyone there. If the queen finds out those innocent women harbored us . . . her thought ended in visions of the abbess being arrested.
“I know, I know,” I continued in a whisper. *They’re safe now--your sacrifice protects them and Sewell. You did a very brave thing.
Slowly she opened herself to me again. My silvery heat surrounded her, the sharp edges of my desire softened to a soothing tingle. It felt like the wings of a thousand moths fluttering against her skin all at once, the compelling flame of our auras together drawing more and more moths until we could hardly bear it. My breath warmed her ear as I started to kiss her.
“You make me forget where we are,” I muttered, my lips branding her jaw, her temple. “That could be dangerous in a place like this.”
“That could be necessary in a place like this,” she retorted. "Merius, love, make me forget again. Please, if only for a moment."
I picked up her laces where I left off and freed her from her clothes. As soon as her shift drifted to the floor, I stopped for a moment. It had been so long since I had the luxury of gazing at her. Her skin glowed as if she bathed in moonlit water every night. Her pearly sheen reminded me of an odd fancy I often had. I had always wondered if pearls could hatch like eggs, what marvelous creature would emerge? As a boy, I had figured baby dragons or griffins. Now I realized a pearl shell hid something far more precious for me--a phoenix, the heart of a fire selkie.
She swallowed. Her shoulders rose and fell as her breath quickened. "Merius, your eyes are touching me."
“What else are my wicked eyes doing?” I whispered, leaning so close that my words caressed her ear.
Shining wings unfurled from her back, iridescent feathers that caught the wind in mother-of-pearl flashes. She arched her neck and gave a cry deep in her throat, the phoenix suddenly taking flight. I gripped her. “Take me with you, sweet,” I muttered.
She responded with a moan, curving against me. We rose together, her fire around us both as we burned through the sky and bedded on a cloud. Her legs parted with little persuasion--the scratch of my stubble as I kissed and nibbled her in the right places roused her easily. I touched her loins with an impatient caress, just enough to feel she was ready for me, then sheathed myself in her with a swift plunge that left us both gasping. A madness seized me--her body, her breath, her very being glowed hot as a forge fire, and I had steel to be shaped in her inferno. I drove into her again and again. She was soft and warm, so warm, the soft warmth of a flame licking my skin the instant before it burned me.
“Merius,” she moaned. “Oh, Merius.” Her nails raked my back, the salt of my sweat in the scratches, streaks of unbearable heat amidst unbearable pleasure. The flame burned me, consumed me, and I wanted more and yet more as she yielded to me, my name a cry on her lips. The fire around us burned away the cloud that served as our bed, but it didn‘t matter anymore. We could mate in flight. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her arms tight against my back, as we flew together over a bottomless chasm. The sun shone so bright that the sky shimmered and became a mirror reflecting the conflagration of our joining, refracting it a thousand times and then a thousand times again until the whole world burst into flame.
“Here, let me show you how to set the tray for morning.” The silver tray banged on the worktable as Della dropped it. Della was comfortably plump with middle age and a long, steady marriage to a terse palace guard named Ladon. I’d learned a good bit of servants’ gossip during the last week, so even though I had never spoken to Della directly, I knew her whole history. The maid beside Della, dewy and wide-eyed and far too pretty with youth, stiffened at the tray hitting the table and glanced around as if she worried others would think she was the clumsy one.
“You‘d think I‘d buttered my hands instead of the bread,” Della said, giggling.
The maid glanced at the tray, her eyes even wider than usual. “That’s a big tray.”
“No bigger than any others you‘ve carried, Katrina. You’ll do fine.”
“I’ve heard . . .” Katrina glanced around again, and I quickly looked down at the napkin in my hands, pretending to be preoccupied with folding it just so. “I‘ve heard he‘s violent sometimes,” she continued in a low voice.
“Just with the guards, dear. He’s been no trouble with any of the women, an absolute lamb in fact. Trained well, I suspect--these Cormalen noblemen seem to know how to treat women, even if they are barbarians. Now you want to make certain you set the tray only with metal plates and cups, metal flasks for the water and wine . . . we don‘t want him getting any clever ideas about broken glass or crockery and sharp edges.”
“But won’t metal ruin the flavor of the wine?”
“Not in the space of an hour or two or however long it takes him to drink it. Now, you want to be sure to count everything. If you bring two forks up, you better bring two forks back down. And nothing sharper than a butter knife, ever.”
“I take it he’s good with a blade?” Della nodded, and Katrina continued, “I don’t know if I’m the right one to do this, Della. I don’t have any experience with prisoners.”
“Hush, you’ll be fine. Her Majesty especially requested you for this task--do you know what an honor that is? Besides, you don’t want to miss waiting on this one, believe me. He’s quite young and handsome. Honestly, I wouldn‘t mind seeing him in one of his barbarian rages with his shirt off.”
The back of Katrina’s neck reddened. “Della, the things you say sometimes . . .”
Della laughed and swatted her arm. “You’ll grow up someday, and then you’ll understand.”
“I swear you didn’t use such a big tray this morning.” Katrina looked at it doubtfully. “How far do I have to carry it?”
“Just up the steps of the north tower--Ladon will help you, and that young guard--I can never remember his name . . .”
“Ettore,” Katrina supplied. “Why are you putting two plates down? How much does this barbarian eat?”
Della’s hands paused at the cupboard door. “I didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Della glanced around this time, and I quickly finished folding the napkin and started arranging silverware. I was at a good angle from them, my hands hidden from their view by the corner of a large cabinet containing palace china, but I didn’t want to seem suspiciously idle.
Della said, after a long moment. “Her Majesty brought someone up to join him today. A girl with red hair, Ladon said. Rumor is she’s his wife, the one Her Majesty really wants.”
“Wants for what?”
“No one knows for sure, but the men say she’s a sketcher and a,” Della paused for effect, “a witch.”
“A witch?”
“So much more exciting than serving port to fat old men in that nasty smoking room, wouldn’t you say?”
Katrina didn’t seem convinced. “The men tip me well.”
Della erupted in several long snorts of repressed laughter, almost knocking over the two champagne flutes she’d set on the tray. “I bet they do, dear. Now listen, as soon as you’re done with this in the morning, you can go right back to the smoking room if it pleases you.”
“I thought you said he couldn’t have glass.” Katrina eyed the champagne flutes.
“He can’t, but these are small and thin, and Her Majesty thought his wife’s arrival called for a celebration of sorts.”
“Celebration?”
Della waved her hand, dismissive. “It’s best not to ask sometimes. These kings and queens--they have whims beyond our simple understanding. I just do what I’m told.”
Ha--I wondered if she’d been told to be a shameless gossip. I glanced in the cabinet but saw no teapots, only china. I went over to the cupboard beside Della, noticing the gray streaks striping her black hair. I glanced up in the cupboard, aware that both Della and Katrina watched me.
I gave them a slight smile. “Pardon me, could you tell me where the teapots are?”
Della bent down and reached far back on a shelf, exhaling a rueful sigh as she straightened. “Not as young as I used to be,” she said, handing me a round little teapot, glazed light blue and silver. What a lot of pretense--they even put the Sarneth colors on their crockery.
“Thank you. I’m still learning where things are.”
“I noticed you the last couple days. Who are you here with?”
“Lady Gardner--we just arrived late last week.”
“They say she brought ten maids with her!” Katrina exclaimed. “I’ve never heard of such.”
I shrugged. “More hands make less work.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Della stretched, then rubbed her upper arms vigorously. “Lord Gardner always has been a bit of a show-off, and his wife’s no different, using ten maids when she could have made do with one.”
“Well, it’s an easy position while it lasts, better than my last one, let me tell you. There I was trotting all the time.”
“While it lasts? Is the House of Gardner in debt?” Like an eager sow sniffing for truffles, Della caught every little whiff of gossip.
“Buried up to its rafters,” I said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, her ladyship needs this before she starts dressing for dinner. Good evening.” I set the teapot on the tray and headed toward the swinging doors that led to the main kitchens, their good evenings in the air behind me. Best to leave them with that little tidbit before I said too much. That Della could be a dangerous friend to make, the way she jumped on every little word and shook it for hidden meaning. Too bad we couldn’t take her in the council chamber.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I settled into my shadowy hiding place under the steps that led to the south entrance of the palace. I had fixed the tea strong with sugar and lemon, just the way I liked it, and the seed cakes I’d found had a wonderfully nutty flavor with just a hint of sweetness. I always ate most of what I put on the trays before I took them back--some crumbs and tea dregs made for a more convincing act. Besides, although plenty of coin still clinked in my purse, it never hurt to save as much of it as possible for my comfortable chamber at the inn--God forbid I be forced to sleep in some nasty boarding house near the locks with bedbugs and a leaky roof.
I never actually went any further upstairs in the palace than this. Always I feared running into the queen or Toscar or Mordric. Besides, it didn’t seem necessary to go upstairs. Enough gossip floated through the air of the kitchens to keep me quite busy.
I set the tray aside and drew my knees up to my chin, my thoughts racing as I stared at the pale stone wall before me. It was time to seek Mordric out, while I had some fresh news for him. Bad news, to be certain--it couldn’t be good that now both Safire and Merius were locked away. I suspected Mordric had wanted to use Safire as bait to negotiate for Merius‘s release, but the silly witch had let herself get caught before he’d had the chance apparently. I flicked a crumb off my skirt. She must have appealed to Merius’s need to rescue vulnerable creatures or perhaps she was one hot tumble, because it seemed he hadn’t married her for her brains.
I heaved myself to my feet, then bent down to pick up the tray. At the feel of a warm hand on my rear, I jumped back, d
ropping the tray. It banged on the tiles, the teapot and cup breaking to bits. The sound echoed up the stairwell for the edification of everyone above. I pressed myself against the cool wall beside the stairs and glared at the young man in the fine black and gold tunic who stood doubled over in laughter, the late afternoon sunlight in the stairwell making blue glints in his dark hair.
He straightened, his eyes impish black gleams. The pattern of the gold threads on his tunic became clear--I noted the dragon forever chasing the Numerian star across the front. The weave was fine, far too fine to be servant’s livery, and he carried a jeweled hilt scimitar at his side. A Numerian nobleman? But Numerian noblemen were usually so formal with women, even female servants--they liked their women veiled and silent and locked away in a high-walled seraglio. They certainly didn’t jest with women, particularly in such a rude way as this vagabond turned nobleman . . . vagabond . . . the first time I had come here, when I was seventeen, the lithe, brown-skinned vagabond who had seduced me with thrilling tales of being that dead King Urtzi’s bastard. This was him, the cocky, lanky adolescent filled out to manhood. I stared at him, biting my tongue so I didn’t curse out loud at my ill luck. What if he recognized me?
“I apologize,” he said with a slight, mocking bow. “Your rump was just too tempting, sticking out like that from under the stairs. What were you doing under there? Eating your mistress‘s dinner?”
I swallowed, forced myself to remember the role I now played. “Do you need something, sir?”
He stepped closer, his breath sweet with mint--some of the southern nobles chewed mint after meals--and pipe smoke. “I have a confession. I saw you a few days ago, and when I saw you again today, I followed you and waited till I saw you stand up. I wanted to be sure you weren‘t meeting someone here before I approached you.”
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 49