Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

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Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 57

by Nilsen, Karen


  “Sweetheart, have you ever had pineapple?” I yelled.

  She appeared at the doorway of the privy chamber, her shift floating around her in a shimmering cloud. “Pineapple? I didn’t know pines had apples.”

  “They don’t--I don’t know why they call it that. It doesn’t grow on pines. Some other kind of tree, I think, in the tropics. Here, have some.” I popped a piece in her mouth and watched her eyes widen.

  “That’s good,” she said after she swallowed. I poured us wine and handed her a napkin. Then we both picked up plates and wandered around the chamber, reveling in the novelty of not sitting at a table to eat. I paused before her painting finally. My mouth slowed and then stopped altogether as I stared at the living canvas. Reds and golds and oranges swirled before me in an ever-changing play of fire and shadow as the phoenix rose from a pile of ashes and took flight, only to burst into flame and start the whole scene over again. The colors glowed and shimmered like moving jewels, somehow producing their own light. I could hear the whoosh of wind as the phoenix spread its wings, smell the cedar burning as its feathers flared, warmth bursting in my heart as the phoenix cried its single wild note in the midst of the flames.

  I started to speak, then realized I’d forgotten to swallow. Rapidly I choked down the food before I said, my voice hoarse. “You did all this today?”

  Safire came up beside me, munching on another chunk of pineapple. “You told me to paint fast, Merius.”

  “I know but . . . this seems impossible. I mean, it took you weeks to paint the queen and Toscar dancing.”

  She swallowed. “That’s true, but I had uninterrupted time with Korigann to instruct me today. Besides, that portrait was much more complicated than this--several figures, subtle colors, the illusion of vast space to convey, and very exact edges. Remember those damned tiles--those alone took me a week to finish and get right. This--this was easy.”

  “Easy?” I said. With nimble fingers, she reached out and took the last piece of meat from my plate. “Little thief!” I exclaimed. She swallowed rapidly as if she thought I would demand it back, then grinned.

  “Besides, this painting--I felt driven to do this painting, as if some primal force in me had the brush hostage and wouldn’t let go until it was done.” Yesterday flashed through her mind, the wildfire of our joining. My cheeks heated, and I slowly grinned back at her. “You’ve felt such a primal force before, I know you have,” she continued, “the desire, urge, drive, what have you, to finish what you start, to create. I know because your primal force has been my joy.”

  “You’re wicked, to paint this. Does Korigann know what inspired it?”

  “Lord no.” She daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin. “No one but us will ever know. This will hang in the palace here, and art scholars may debate over what it represents, feel disturbed by its excesses. The queen can look at it till she’s blue in the face, but it will never really be hers because she will never really understand it. It will always be ours and ours alone.”

  I gripped her shoulder and kissed her temple as I inhaled the sharpness of turpentine still clinging to her hair, underneath the soft rose of fine soap, and finally the mysterious burning cedar that was pure Safire. My arm still around her, we sauntered back over to the food.

  “I thought this was rice, but it’s not,” I said, stirring the stuff with a spoon. I tried a tiny bit--small, soft grains, with a hint of curry and lemon. Whatever it was, it was perfectly seasoned. I took a much larger bite, then another.

  Safire stared at it, then poked it with a fork as if it still might be alive.

  “Try some, it’s good,” I mumbled around the spoon.

  “Right now I just want some mashed Cormalen turnips slathered with butter and salt and pepper. You think they‘d bring me some?”

  “Turnips?” I exclaimed. “You won’t get any turnips here. No court or noble table anywhere serves turnips.”

  “My father was a nobleman and he ate turnips. What’s wrong with turnips, Merius?”

  “Nothing. It’s just . . .”

  “Just what?”

  “Well, just that there’s no point in asking for something they won’t have.”

  “Oh.” She fiddled with the edge of the plate, not looking at me. “I suppose it is rather a provincial taste.”

  “I never said that.”

  “I know.” Her words, her thoughts seemed as if they were encased in brittle glass bottles, as if my very breath could break them. We had suddenly stumbled into some uncharted wilderness between us. I touched her cheek. She jerked back, and the plate went flying.

  “How clumsy of me.” She started to bend down to pick up the plate.

  “The servants will get it,” I said.

  “Merius, I realize the Landers have servants for everything, but in the house where I grew up . . .” she stopped. “Here--what’s this?” There was a folded bit of foolscap where the plate had been. I had actually noticed the corner of it sticking out before but had assumed it was a napkin in my hungry haste.

  I grabbed up the foolscap, glad for some distraction. Safire’s moods would drown me. I felt as if I floated in a wild sea that was being pulled this way and that by a confused moon, sometimes exhilarated and sometimes nauseous.

  “You’re moody too, you know,” Safire muttered. “They should have called you Mercury, always darting here and there and everywhere.”

  “If I wanted you to hear my thoughts, I would have said them out loud. Quit prying if you don‘t want to find out upsetting things.” I snapped open the foolscap, but all I saw on the page was a huge blotch of scarlet.

  “Prying?” she scoffed. “I wish I had to pry. Do you realize how distracting your presence is? You fill up the whole chamber with yourself. Why do you think I got so worried earlier when I couldn’t sense your thoughts? It’s because I’m always hearing you, Merius. And I wish you’d learn to snuff your aura--it’s so blinding sometimes it could drive me to lunacy.”

  “It already has, apparently.” I scanned the page, but still all I saw was scarlet.

  “Ass!” she screeched and flung herself on the bed. She hid her face in her arms. I forced my eyes to focus on the foolscap. At least the scarlet blotch no longer obscured the words, but now the letters jerked up and down. After a minute or two of complete silence from Safire, not one angry sob or huff of breath, I glanced at the bed. She’d turned her face up just a bit so that one wide open green eye peeked above the crook of her arm.

  “So, what does it say, Merius?” She propped her elbow on a pillow, her head cradled in her hand as she regarded me.

  “It says my witch wife is impossible sometimes,” I sighed.

  “An impossible knot you want to spending the rest of your life untying,” she echoed, repeating what I’d said to her the first night we made love. “Come over here.”

  I sat on the bed, and she knelt behind me, her arms draped over my shoulders, her hands clasped together over my heart as we read the note.

  HER main weakness is she sees the world around her as a mirror. She assumes others (like him) share her motivations when they actually have their own. Continue using this to split her and him apart.

  His main weakness in battle is his need to put on a show for HER. He aims low when least expected, at times out of bounds. Keep him dancing long enough, and his endurance will give out.

  *His? He? Lord Toscar? Safire guessed.

  I nodded absently. I recognized the neat efficiency of the script, each letter formed precisely the same as its brothers, the heavy strokes which used copious amounts of ink and wore out pen nibs but somehow never blotched or stained, and the distinctive sharp downward slashes of the Fs, Ps, and Gs, the same slashes our tutor had spent hours trying to train out of her. Finally the poor man had said in despair that he couldn’t teach penmanship and had given up trying to get her to write the graceful lower loops that indicated a lady‘s hand. She would never be a lady, despite her high birth, and her writing would give her away every time.<
br />
  *Eden wrote this. I thought. *But I don’t understand--she left Sarneth months ago.

  *Maybe she came back.

  *Father would never allow that. It’s too dangerous.

  *Maybe she’s here without his permission.

  *But he had to have told her these things--only he or some other man who’d faced Toscar would know this, and only he would phrase it so sparsely. I read over the words again and committed them to memory before I got up and tossed the foolscap in the grate. I watched as orange sparks blossomed at the edges, then raced inward to consume the writing itself, the paper shriveling into a black crumpled mass.

  Safire came up beside me, her eyes on the fire. *No matter how Eden and Mordric got us the message, it gives me hope, just like seeing Korigann gives me hope. We’re not alone in this.

  Her arms went around me, taut like thick ropes against my back. We stayed like that for a long moment, then let each other go. Humming again, Safire selected several books of verse from the stacks on the table. Then she made herself a nest of pillows on the bed and curled up in it with the books. I retrieved my clothes from the privy chamber, then paced through my fight with Toscar and noted where I’d made errors and what I could have done to correct myself, using Father’s advice to guide me. The queen hadn’t been at our fight today, but she would be at our final fight, which according to Father would change Toscar’s fighting style to my advantage. Suddenly I stopped, my breath harsh in my ears. If the queen was at our fight, then Safire would be there too. I glanced over at her, her burnished head bent over the page, her lips moving silently as she read over any particularly striking line. Apparently she wasn’t as overwhelmed with my noisy thoughts as she claimed, if she could get so lost in a book that she didn’t notice when I was clearly thinking of her. I smiled, then started pacing again. Safire had seen me fight before, but not like this. I’d have to prepare her.

  The servants soon came to clear away dinner. After they finished, we had another few minutes to ourselves before the door opened again. When Queen Jazmene and Undene entered with the ominous rustling of their gowns, followed only by two veiled servant girls, one carrying what appeared to be a draped, freestanding mirror and the other a small trunk, Safire left the bed and drew as close as she could to me. The maids set down the mirror and trunk and then stood on either side of the mirror. Undene clung to Her Majesty’s arm, looking as mild as a sweet grandmother. Even her weird white eyes didn’t glow as they had last night; instead, they appeared rheumy and dull, which made her seem pitiable. My hand tightened on Safire’s shoulder.

  “No Lord Toscar or guards this evening, Your Majesty?” I asked.

  “Lord Toscar has other business this evening,” she said shortly, “and my guards are outside the door. I assume you don’t want me to call them--they’re excellent guards, but they’re still men, and as such, their eyes tend to wander.” Her gaze lit on Safire and lingered, and I shifted, the bottoms of my feet suddenly itching.

  “I understand you made a lasting impression on the servants and guards, Safire,” she continued with a hint of a sneer. “Young Katrina was in tears over your plight, and even Korigann, usually so polished, had harsh words with Radik. Please remember these people have duties to perform as part of their livelihoods--don’t make that harder for them, my dear.”

  “I didn’t do anything except be myself,” Safire flared.

  “Well, whatever it was, don’t waste your considerable talents on it in the future. All you’ll manage to do is stir up trouble for the servant or guard in question.” With that unpleasantness so neatly addressed, Jazmene turned her attention to the easel. Her lips parted as she started to speak, then she stopped, closed her mouth, swallowed, her gaze arrested on the phoenix.

  “Why, that’s beautiful,” she breathed finally, her court mask set aside for once as she continued to stare at it. Safire and I glanced at each other, neither of us quite certain what to think.

  “A fire selkie,” Undene said softly, a faint smile creasing her withered lips. “A self-portrait perhaps, Safire?”

  “But Undene, this painting is of a phoenix. The fire selkie was a woman, not a bird,” Jazmene protested.

  “I can see the painting just fine, Your Majesty--Safire‘s talent is that strong,” Undene retorted. “And the stories you know apparently leave out the most important part. The fire selkie was a woman who could change into a phoenix. How else do you think she came to be called a selkie? Selkies always assume the form of some animal, in this case the phoenix.”

  Jazmene shot Undene a narrow look. “How do you know that?”

  Undene laughed. “I’ve known it for over fifty years, Your Majesty--Cormalen has many secret texts from the time of the old ones that have been passed down for generation upon generation. I stumbled upon one of these texts and haven’t been the same since.”

  Safire straightened beside me. *She just lied to the queen. Her aura--this shadow suddenly descended upon her like a cloak to shield her from the queen’s question.

  *What an odd thing to lie about.

  “So, Safire, what inspired this?” Jazmene asked, turning to us. “It’s such an original idea to paint a mythological creature. None of my other painters would have thought to do such a thing--they‘re strictly realists or religious artists. Korigann, poor man, didn‘t quite know how to describe it to me, in fact--he finally said that he’d leave me to see it for myself and be surprised.”

  “I’ve always drawn odd things, Your Majesty.”

  “Really? All of your drawings that I saw were of animals and people, a few landscapes, nothing as imaginative as this.”

  “That’s because when Lord Toscar noticed my work, when I sold sketches down on the locks, I only put out my realistic work for people to see. The odd ones never sold, so I kept them for myself.”

  Jazmene considered her for a moment. “It only makes sense, I suppose, that your witch vision would lend itself to more visionary art. By all means, continue painting these fantastical scenes if it pleases you.”

  *She likes my odd fancies, my dark passion. You’re the only other one who’s liked those pieces.

  *Despite her many faults, she does have good taste.

  Safire lifted her chin and tossed her hair over her shoulders with a flash of copper. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said. “I appreciate your ability to see what others miss, appreciate it more than you can know. Until now, only Merius has enjoyed my odd fancies, as I call them.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jazmene gave a rare genuine smile and then snapped her fingers at the handmaidens. One knelt and opened the trunk, revealing a plethora of bright silks and pastel wools and delicate lace. The other pulled away the drape, revealing a full-length, rectangular mirror.

  “I hope you like the clothes, Safire--some are your gowns and frocks and some are new. Merius's clothes are at the bottom of the trunk,” Jazmene said.

  Safire inclined her head. “Again, thank you, Your Majesty." She patted my hand where it rested on her shoulder. “Though I must admit I’m surprised you’d bring a mirror here after what happened last night.”

  Jazmene’s smile turned ugly. “Why don’t you take a look, see why all the men have been staring? You haven’t had a chance to see yourself in that shift yet,” she said softly. “Look in the mirror with Undene. I don‘t want Merius hurt any more than you do, but if you force my hand again . . .”

  Safire gulped air and then strode forward. She planted herself firmly in front of the mirror and gazed into it, her mind a cipher for which I suddenly did not have the key. Undene joined her with a whisper of skirts and a shuffle of leather-bottomed slippers across the tiles. A thick silence fell, an invisible, heavy fog that left me feeling chilled and cut off from everyone, even my witch.

  “I think Quicksilver should join us,” Undene said abruptly, her high voice startling us all in the silence. Even the queen jumped a little.

  “But . . .” Jazmene began, glancing at me before she looked at Undene. �
�Why?”

  “I want to see if the bond works in the mirror, if I can sense his thoughts like I can sense hers.”

  “I’ll break the mirror if you bring Merius over here,” Safire said, her face so white her freckles looked like the pox. “Leave him out of this.”

  “There are over a thousand mirrors in this palace, Safire,” Jazmene said evenly, “so break this one if you wish. We’ll just bring another one in here and then another . . . in fact, I have a chamber that’s all mirrors--floor, ceiling, walls. I’ll lock you and Merius both in it and see if you’re so quick to shatter mirrors then.”

  Safire bit her lip and remained silent. Jazmene watched her for a moment, a thin smile playing over her mouth. "All right, Merius."

  I walked over to stand behind Safire at the mirror. The light glanced off the glass like daggers, and my head exploded. I cursed and shut my eyes. Safire reached back and grabbed my hand, our fingers entwining. A soothing cool tingle spread through the veins in my arm where she touched me and then through my whole body, and I sighed, able to open my eyes again. At first all I saw was my reflection, standing behind Safire’s and Undene’s reflections. Then the glass began to waver, as if it were a very still lake stirred to ripples by a breeze. I cocked my head, not quite sure if I was seeing it right or if the light was at an odd angle. I reached over Safire’s shoulder and touched the glass. It tingled under my fingertips, much as Safire’s touch tingled when she healed me, and I jerked my hand back.

  Undene cackled in my mind, her eyes aglow again, white orbs shining painfully in the mirror. *I told you it would work, Safire.

  *I don’t care what the queen says. I really will break this mirror unless you get to the point. Safire’s inner voice was curt, almost imperious.

  Undene laughed out loud then. *Feisty bratling.

  *Why did you lie to Jazmene earlier? Safire demanded. *Those ancient Cormalen texts you mentioned--it seems a silly thing to lie about.

  Undene’s eyes narrowed to silvery slits. *You’re shrewder than you look, little one. I lied because I didn’t learn about the fire selkie in Cormalen. I learned about her here.

 

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