“I only said that when I thought I could handle this myself. But . . .”
“So she has them both captive now? But why?”
I shrugged, staring at the board but not seeing any of the pieces. “She’s a madwoman. She thinks she sees something in Safire’s sketches that’s not really there.”
Rankin shook his head. “Mordric, forgive me, but I don’t believe you any more than I believed Merius when he dissembled about Safire‘s drawings. You know very well that Jazmene’s not a lunatic who sees things. I wish she were mad--it would be easier to depose her. No, she’s not mad. She just doesn’t have a conscience.”
I took a deep breath before I answered. “You’re right.”
“So what’s really at the bottom of this? Why is Jazmene so interested in the untutored artistic talent of a young Cormalen woman?”
“You’d have to see Safire’s drawings to understand.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Merius said almost exactly the same thing. Then I witnessed Queen Jazmene arrest him and threaten him for no reason other than he’d concealed Safire’s whereabouts from her. Have you forgotten I’m a scholar? My curiosity knows no bounds.”
Rankin was a scholar, perhaps even a philosopher and inventor, too intelligent to fool for long. I sighed. “Artemious, I know you have few political ambitions despite your position, and for that reason alone, I trust you. But . . .”
He shifted one of his pawns, more fidgeting than an actual move. “If I’m going to help you, I want to know what I’m getting into. I already have several, I suppose you could call them theories, about Queen Jazmene’s interest in Safire. At first I thought it was her indirect way to influence Merius because he’s your son. Then Merius hid Safire for two months and lied about it, which seemed an extreme measure for him. Then Jazmene arrested him, which seemed an extreme measure for her. Now you tell me she’s torturing him to gain control of Safire. Why would she do that? It seems insane, indeed, to torture the son of a high-ranking Cormalen nobleman when he’s committed no crime. It seems insane unless Jazmene knows something about Safire, about the Landers, that would keep King Arian from denouncing her and rushing to Merius’s aid. It seems insane of you not to have told King Arian yourself and requested his aid unless you have some secret about it you dare not reveal to him. So what is it, Mordric?”
“Why don’t you guess, since you seem to know so much already,” I retorted as I loosened my doublet collar. The cool air rushed down my neck and iced the sweat on my back.
“I apologize,” Rankin said suddenly. “I shouldn’t have backed you into a corner like that, not when Merius’s life could be at stake. I’ve just been curious about this for a long time, and I have a hard time keeping myself from speculating out loud. Say no more--I’ll help you. I don’t need to know.”
I thought for a moment, toying with my remaining bishop. Rankin was intelligent. Rankin was too intelligent to swallow King Arian’s religious fervor without question. Rankin was obviously fond of Merius, or he wouldn’t have tried to help Merius when Jazmene arrested him. Rankin was also high in King Arian’s favor. Rankin could be a valuable ally when Merius and Safire returned to Cormalen. I moved my bishop finally, exposing my queen to Rankin‘s queen.
“You’re an honorable man,” I said, “and Safire is a powerful witch. Her drawings are alive, moving pictures. That’s why Jazmene wants control of her.”
“But that’s wonderful!” Rankin exclaimed, his sudden enthusiasm jarring. “Do you know what this means?”
When I shook my head, he continued, “Mordric, I had no idea the old ones’ talents had survived the purge of all the burnings. Oh, I know, there’s been some scrying here, and some minor healing there, enough for that fanatical fool Arian to hold a few executions, but I had no idea that the old blood was still powerful enough to produce a witch who could make moving pictures! That’s wonderful.” He clasped his hands together and then cracked his knuckles, his eyes bright. “Could I see some of her work? Could I talk to her when this is over? I have some questions I’ve always wanted to ask a genuine witch or warlock, some theories about how the transfer of energies works . . .”
My damned scar gave a twinge, like someone drawing a hot needle across the skin of my chest, and I grimaced, not hearing the rest of Rankin‘s wild conjectures. He reminded me of a boy witnessing his first joust, so excited he could barely contain himself. He always had been mad for experiments and discoveries and impractical knowledge. His reaction shouldn’t have surprised me, really. At least he didn’t want to burn her. And, if Merius and Safire survived this, he would be a valuable ally. His mastery of ancient Corcin was legendary, and he could help Merius decipher more of the Landers journals, which would in turn perhaps help me find some use for that insane witch at court. Had to find some use for her since it now appeared I was stuck with her for a daughter-in-law. She owed me assistance at court, after all the hell she had put me through, her and Merius. I could throttle both of them this very instant.
“Mordric?” Rankin asked suddenly.
“Just wondering about King Rainier and how best to influence him. I’m certain he knows about Safire and Merius. Even if Jazmene concealed it, I doubt there’s little she could keep secret from Rainier in the confines of the palace. Merius caused quite a stir the night he escaped.”
“Do you really think we should involve Rainier? I‘d hate to be at his mercy almost as much as I‘d hate to be at Jazmene‘s.”
“If he knows about Safire, we don’t have a choice. I have some ideas on how to keep him amenable. Check.”
Rankin examined the board and cursed softly. “You clever wretch,” he said, capturing my queen with his. He didn’t have a choice. I had maneuvered my knight, bishop, and queen around so that he had to use his queen to capture one. Whichever he decided, it left his king defenseless.
“Checkmate,” I said, sweeping my bishop forward to his king’s space.
“You know,” Rankin said after a thoughtful silence, “Rainier reminds me of a king on a chessboard. He only moves one space at time while Jazmene races around the whole board with her plots, so everyone thinks she‘s the important one. However, we could lose Jazmene and still win the game. If we lose Rainier, though, it’s checkmate, game over.”
“I think that’s an analogy Rainier himself would appreciate, Artemious. Now if we can just make it look like some vagabonds or rebels assassinated Jazmene, we’ll be all right.”
“What about this Falken? Where does he come in?”
I grinned. “I don‘t know yet. Another game?”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The gutters near the embassy stank even worse than I remembered from the last time Falken and I met down here. Rankin whipped out his handkerchief and covered his nose, the flap of his cloak casting shadows like black wings against the glistening green walls.
“There shouldn’t be anything green growing here,” he said, touching one slimy tendril. “There’s no source of light save for the gutter gratings. How strange.”
“Ah, here’s Falken,” I said to distract Rankin from the fascinating algae--otherwise we‘d waste precious minutes, maybe even quarter-hours, discussing it. I shook my head. Impracticality, an unfortunately all too common affliction of those blessed with too many brains for their own good. I wagered he and Merius would get along like sparks and tinder when I loosed them on those witch journals.
Falken straightened at our approach. In the lantern light, I could see that he had traded his usual vagabond tinker garments for a fine brass studded black tunic, high boots with fancy turned down tops, even a jeweled scimitar.
“Well, well. High in the queen’s favor this week, I see,” I said. “Falken, allow me to introduce Lord Rankin.”
Falken inclined his head politely, but when he raised his face, I noticed his easy smile had the curl of a nasty sneer. “It’s Sir Falken now, Sir Landers.”
“Indeed--so that’s why we’re meeting in a gutter.”
Falken’s teeth flashe
d in a sudden laugh, and suddenly he wore the mask of the merry lust-gotten vagabond again. “The gutter seems the best place to conduct Queen Jazmene’s business.”
“Is that what we came for? Queen’s business?”
“It better be, if you want to see your son again,” the jackass responded glibly.
I reached out and grabbed him at the throat, pinning him and his new cloak against the filthy, algae-dripping wall. It was an enterprise that required both hands, as he tried to draw his sword.
“Don’t bother--I bet it’s not even sharpened, you lately minted coxcomb.”
He spat at me. Before he had the chance to get in a nasty hit or kick, I lifted up a bit, straining to raise him off the floor. He choked as I succeeded, his face turning red under his olive complexion.
“Mordric,” Rankin said in his mild way. “I think the lad wants to breathe.”
“I think the lad wants to learn some manners first. Am I right?” I grunted.
Falken managed the barest nod, and I let him drop to the pathway, afterwards rubbing my arms. I was glad he had nodded--I wasn’t as strong as I used to be.
Falken took several deep breaths, then sprang to his feet, his eyes absurdly bright gleams. “Well, sir, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a Numerian assassin--no wonder Merius has such quick instincts,” he said hoarsely, grinning. It raised him in my estimation, that he was able to shake off humiliation with a quip.
“Harsh land, Numer,” Rankin remarked. “They let their young teethe on the bones of their enemies.”
“Not many know that proverb,” Falken said, looking at Rankin with new respect.
Rankin smiled. “I’m something of a language scholar--it’s not a common proverb, true, but it’s been in a couple of the Numerian texts I’ve studied.”
“Now, Falken, what were you saying about Merius when I interrupted you?”
“Toscar and the queen are using some poison--Ursula’s Bane, I think they called it--on him--it makes him have these horrible hallucinations and be weak as a newborn babe for hours afterwards. They want him to summon Safire, but I fear he is too stubborn, and they’ll kill him before he succumbs.”
I nodded. All he said confirmed Safire’s fears. It also confirmed the strength of the mind bond between Safire and Merius, that she knew all of what Falken reported and more, even though she was hidden away in a convent. Had been hidden away in a convent. I gritted my teeth. God, I hated to think of what Jazmene might do with both Safire and Merius in her clutches. Of course, Jazmene wanted Safire relatively intact, so perhaps the witch had done the best thing after all. Jazmene could hardly continue to harm Merius and expect Safire to produce any painting of value.
I returned in time to hear Rankin exclaim, “Merius summon Safire? They must not know him well, if they expect him to write a message begging his wife to join him for captivity and torture.” He shot me a look, the severe-owl look that Merius had drawn in his notes, a look that said he realized I hadn’t told him everything.
“Jazmene said that Merius and Safire have a mind bond, that he would summon her without meaning to,” Falken continued, so glib I wanted to pin him by the throat again. “Do they really have a mind bond, sir?”
“Do they, Mordric?” Rankin’s owl eyes glittered suddenly with intense speculation. Oh no, the mad scholar was loose again.
I shook my head. “Perhaps it’s some effect of the poison . . .”
“Ursula’s Bane doesn’t have that effect, even if they added something to cause the hallucinations Falken describes,” Rankin said shortly, as if correcting a pupil. “A mind bond is a mind bond, Mordric, and you know it.”
“All right, so they have a mind bond. It won’t matter if Jazmene manages to kill them both. All this speculation is getting us nowhere.” I turned to Falken. “Be blunt--how can you help us?”
“Don’t you want to know my terms first?”
“What terms? You never mentioned terms before,” I said sharply.
“Both you and Lord Rankin have influence in the Cormalen court. I want you to officially withdraw Cormalen’s offer for Princess Esme‘s hand.”
“Why? The queen and King Rainier betrothed Esme to you on a gamble for the Numerian throne. Why should it matter if our offer still stands?”
“Because while it stands, King Rainier may still use it in a plot against Queen Jazmene.”
“That’s a valuable tidbit--thank you, King Falken,” I said, my tongue so sharp it seemed to cut my mouth.
He turned red as he realized he may have said too much. Good--I wanted him to think I wasn’t as desperate for his help as he had assumed. Arrogant young ferret. Trainable, though. He could be very useful with the proper training. I could see why Jazmene and Toscar included him in their plots.
“If we withdraw Cormalen’s offer, what will you do for us?” Rankin asked.
“Queen Jazmene needs me. I have a great deal of influence, and I can persuade her to release Merius.”
“Really? Just how would you do that?”
“It would require Selkie, sir.”
Just as Eden had told me, Falken didn’t know that Safire had surrendered. Interesting--I gave Rankin a narrow glance, a hint to stay silent, and he responded by looking down at his clasped hands as if deep in thought. I turned back to Falken.
“Safire in exchange for Merius? I could negotiate that myself,” I said.
“Well, if you don’t need my help, then I’d best be on my way,” Falken said dismissively. “Today’s the official announcement of my betrothal to Esme. I’m already late as it is. I should return to the palace--there’s a banquet and ball there tonight to celebrate.”
As if on cue, the sudden muffled peal of church bells echoed down the gutter. It seemed as if all the bells in Sarneth were being rung at once, calling everyone to gather at the nearest public square for an announcement.
“Would you like to use the embassy entrance, Sir Falken?” Rankin asked with far more courtesy than I thought Falken warranted at this point. “It’s likely cleaner than the entrance you used, and the embassy is close to court. You’d only have a few minutes walk from the gutter to the palace.”
Falken, caught up as he was in visions of the Numerian crown, hardly seemed to hear the double meaning of Rankin’s words. He gave a quick, curt nod, as if to servants, and followed us toward the doorway to the embassy cellars.
“You know, you surprise me, Falken,” I said as Rankin fumbled with the latch on the cellar door. “All your talk to me and Safire about your burning desire to avenge your father’s death at Jazmene’s hands, yet you seize the first opportunity to be her puppet with a crown.”
“Sir, did it ever occur to you that I may be playing the role of puppet with a crown to seize power and avenge my father in one fell swoop?” Falken sounded truly indignant, a pretty mask of princely outrage.
“Oh, it occurred to me--you’re such a fine actor and wear so many masks and play so many roles that you must lose sight sometimes of your real motivation. The mask of a vengeful bastard is such a fine one that you must have trouble shedding it at times. Except, of course, with Jazmene.” I side-stepped his lunge at me, and he tumbled through the door on to the cellar floor in an untidy heap.
He leapt to his feet, furiously brushing the dust from his cloak and trousers. “Even if you begged for my help, I wouldn’t give it. You’ve insulted me for the last time, sir,” he declared.
“There’s a servant’s door at the other end of the cellar, Sir Falken. Under the circumstances, I’d rather you use that than the main entrance,” Rankin said.
“Fine,” Falken snapped, striding after Rankin and ignoring me. “I must say, Queen Jazmene’s remarks about Cormalen rough edges are proving truer than I expected, if this is how you welcome a foreign dignitary, soon to be prince, to your own embassy.”
“I apologize, Sir Falken, if the welcome is not what you expected. Since crowns seem so important to you, please return when you have yours, and I’ll offer you b
etter hospitality.” Rankin’s tone was so calm, so mild and diplomatic, that it gave no hint of the clear insult in his words. It was a gift I suddenly wished I had, an enviable dryness that would allow one to say anything with a smile.
Falken went through the door and into the alley beyond without so much as a glance behind him. “Young rascal,” Rankin murmured, gazing after him. “Pride comes before a fall, especially when your unofficial aunt is Queen Jazmene. I don’t envy him.”
“What’s that, Artemious?”
“Oh, just a bit of a rumor I heard this morning. Wasn’t sure if it was true or not, though it came from a good source. I’m certain it’s true now--he didn’t even know about Safire, and she’s been at the palace now since when--yesterday?” he mused.
“Yes, yesterday--what’s the rumor?”
“I mean, clearly, if he were as high in Queen Jazmene’s favor as he thinks he is, he would have known before now that Safire had surrendered, wouldn’t you think?”
“Yes--what’s the rumor?” I repeated with all the patience I could muster.
The bells ceased then, and we both stepped out into the alley, just in time to hear the crier yell, “Hear, hear. Her Royal Highness Princess Esme, officially betrothed to Prince Tivon of Numer. Hear, hear. Her Royal Highness Princess Esme, officially betrothed to Prince Tivon of Numer. Hear, hear. Her Royal Highness Princess Esme, officially . . .” his cry grew faint as he moved on to the next street.
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Safire
My eyes fluttered open. Merius breathed quietly beside me, his arm slung loosely over my waist. I listened for a moment, wondering what sound I waited to hear, all my muscles tensed and ready to spring. Sewell, where was Sewell? He should have long since summoned me with a cry to feed him. I started to rise, and Merius muttered a protest, his arm tightening around me.
“Merius,” I whispered. “Let me loose. I have to see to Sewell.”
“Sewell . . . Sewell,” he repeated, as if he didn’t recognize the name. “He’s halfway ‘cross city, sweet.”
“No, no.” I started to shake my head, reality hitting with a sickening thud.
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 52