“Lord Rankin and I just happened to be here this afternoon to meet with His Majesty about the betrothal between Princess Esme and Prince Segar,” Mordric said shortly, his aura constricted to a band of sparkling smoke so thick it resembled volcanic glass. His gaze strayed to the king, and I knew that he said far less than he could have.
“You and Lord Rankin should head back to the embassy, Landers. I’m certain you two have much to mull over.”
“I prefer to wait for Merius and Safire, Your Majesty. It shouldn‘t take your physician much longer to set his arm, should it?”
“Not much longer.” That faint smirk flashed across Rainier’s mouth again. “Very well then--I hope to see you again soon, Landers, for a chess match. And don’t forget about your lessons with Korigann, Lady Landers. Now I have other affairs to attend to, so good day.”
“Good day, Your Majesty.” Mordric acknowledged him with a bow and I with a curtsy as he turned and left the chamber with his guards. I glanced around--at some point, someone had removed Toscar‘s and the guard‘s bodies, and now a couple maids were busy at work, the scratch of their scrub brushes loud against the bloodied marble. I heard Merius‘s muffled curse from the antechamber, felt the physician’s warm, dry grip on my arm, the jarring crunch of bone as he set the pieces back together. My stomach knotted, and I cupped my hand over my mouth as I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Will you be all right?” Mordric asked, his hand on my shoulder now.
“I can feel his arm like it’s mine, and it hurts.”
“They’ll be done soon.” The edges of his aura softened, the color a diffused slate with burgundy sparks in the depths. The acrid smoke dissolved. I inhaled deeply as I drew strength from the wake of the storm that surrounded him, used his bracing spirit to ease the pain in my arm, and in doing so, hopefully ease Merius’s pain as well. I desperately wanted to ask him about King Rainier, but my curiosity would have to wait until we were safe at the embassy. Would he answer my questions or be secretive? Most likely secretive. I sighed.
“What is it now, witch?” he asked.
“Just wondering what kind of mood you’re in, if you’ll answer our questions or not.”
“Whether I answer questions or not has nothing to do with my mood. It has to do with the question, and since your questions are generally silly, no, I won’t answer anything you ask me.” He offered a grim phantom of a smile. “Does that answer your question?”
“Sir, you’re mocking me, and I just helped save your life.”
“Which wouldn’t have been in jeopardy but for you and Scapegrace,” he nodded toward the antechamber where Merius uttered another curse. He glanced at me, then away, then back again before he finally asked, his voice low, “If you can make a sword hot from across the chamber, why didn’t you do it at the beginning of the fight and save us all this trouble?”
“Because I couldn’t--the queen gave me a dose of the Ursula’s Bane, and it took almost the whole fight for the effects to wear off and me be able to use my talents fully again. Talk about silly questions . . .” I hid my grin.
“Minx.” He let go of my shoulder. I responded by throwing my arms around him in an awkward embrace made no less awkward by all his muscles turning to stone at my touch. It was like embracing a statue. “What are you about?” he demanded.
I merely tightened my hold. “Damn you--what are you? A witch bur?” he rumbled, but he didn’t try to extricate himself. Instead I felt him slowly raise his arms and put them stiffly around me. I sent warmth through my fingers and into the sinews of his back, and finally his body loosened as he relaxed. He needed it, after the alarm the king had caused him. “Little witch,” he muttered then. “Whatever are we to do with you?”
Chapter Thirty-Three - Merius
I sat at the claw-footed table in the embassy library, the surface so polished red fires danced where the candle flames reflected in the depths of the grain. I stared at these ghost fires, then at my own blurred reflection, and wondered if Undene could see me through her mirror. Any surface that reflected should work, I would think--glass, still water, polished tabletops. It would be an interesting theory to test. Now I was starting to sound like Rankin. A very suspicious Rankin. Besides any image Undene could see from such a reflection would likely be too blurry to be of any use. I shook myself and turned back to the page in my journal, only to find I had dripped a huge blot of ink on it.
I cursed and flipped the page, then flipped back to the blot, examining it. It looked vaguely like a peacock in flight--I had never seen a peacock that could fly, but this one had its wings extended, its long neck and scalloped tail stretched out. Hmm . . . I started to sketch on the next page. A few quick lines, and I had the shape of my glider wings, slightly arched so that wind flowed more slowly over the top than the bottom, which would . . .what was I thinking? Man couldn’t fly like the birds. No, Rankin’s talk about the canopy filled with hot air--that was the only way man could fly. Float rather. I couldn’t imagine a big canopy really flying. I sighed and turned to a blank page. Best to return to verse--I knew how to do that.
The only sounds were the tap of my boot toe against the floorboards and the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and the scratch of my nib. I had to drag each word out of the tip of my pen, and they weren’t even good words. Phoenix on the wing, a fire in the air . . . Deathless verse. Deathless, hell. No one would survive reading it.
I tossed down the pen and crossed my arms as I rocked in the chair. It protested with a loud creak, then a shrill screech as the joints loosened. Swearing, I shredded my pathetic attempt at verse. I hadn’t written one decent line since Safire and I had consummated the mind bond. Ridiculous, trying to capture an experience in words that was beyond words to describe. I had known before the mind bond that life was too vast for me to ever express even one particle of it adequately with my small skill. However, before the mind bond, I had at least been content with the vague shadows I wrote on the page. Now, though . . . now, I would never be content with shadows again.
Letting the scraps of verse flutter to the floor, I glanced at the ink blot peacock and the hastily sketched diagram of a glider wing. These were ideas akin to verse but not verse. Verse could never be solid reality that I touched with my hands. These glider wings, though, I could build these with my hands. I could touch them, as sure as I could touch Safire and know her to be real. I examined the diagram. If one were to steer this contraption, it would need a rudder of some kind, like a boat. A boat for the air--it would behest me to think of it that way. After all, water and air shared many of the same properties . . .
The door opened then with a faint whoosh. Father glanced around the edge, saw me, and then entered, Falken close on his heels. I rose at the sight of Falken, only realizing I had reached for my sword when my fingers brushed the cool metal of the swirled hilt. I swallowed and fisted my hands in my pockets.
"What's he doing here?" I demanded.
"He said he has something to tell you."
"What? More lies?"
Falken ignored my tone, his bright eyes roving all over the chamber before they stopped on me. "I thought Toscar broke your arm."
I touched my forearm absently--a brief, sharp pain sawed at the bone when Falken mentioned it, then subsided. Safire had healed it before anyone at the embassy saw that it had been broken. "I heal quickly. So where's your crown, pretender? I see you at least found a decent blade."
Falken drew straight and rested his hand on the pommel of his cutlass. "His Majesty Rainier said that bastards need to conquer their thrones to establish legitimacy. So he's given me an army. The crown will soon follow."
"Father, do you hear this? We have a gilded king in our presence." I gave a mock bow.
"Merius, stop baiting him," Father snapped. "And you, Falken, get to the point."
"Selkie . . ." he began.
"Her name is Safire," I barked. I hated it when he called her Selkie. If he had called her a witch, I wouldn't have minded so much. Bu
t Selkie--that seemed like something only I should call her in the privacy of my thoughts, in the intimacy of our mind bond. He had no right to our myth.
"All right, Safire," he amended glibly. "I heard in the palace kitchens earlier that she tried to flee her guards this morning. They had to restrain her."
"Those blackguards put their hands on her?" I demanded at the same time Father exclaimed, "She did what?" He and I looked at each other, both at a loss.
"I knew I should have gone with her," I said. Then I quieted my breath for a moment as I reached out my thoughts to her. Nothing but mist, then a stone wall. She still had me blocked--we had blocked each other this morning when the guards had arrived to escort her to the palace for her painting lesson with Korigann. I stepped toward the door, brought to a halt as both Father and Falken reached out to restrain me. "Damn you, let go of me--"
"Merius, I forbid you to go out," Father said, his voice even. "Remember what Rankin and I told you this morning? You're a prime target for Toscar's remaining supporters--they would assassinate you without any qualms."
"What about her? She's in danger too . . ."
"Yes, as long as you're with her, attracting their notice. Now, sit down. Your witch will be fine--the guards will protect her, even from herself if need be, like they apparently did this morning."
I sat down on the nearest chair and reached out to Safire again. This time my mind rammed into the wall. I settled back with a sigh. That witch--she really would be the death of me. "Why are you here, telling us this?" I looked at Falken.
For once, there was no sign of merriment on his face. He looked years older, and for an instant, I could see him as a king fighting wars, making laws, and meting out judgments. "I'm here to warn you. Don't let her take such a foolish risk again. The queen may no longer be a threat, but that doesn't mean King Rainier isn't watching."
"Watching what exactly?"
His voice lowered to a furious hiss as he leaned closer. "Merius, if he finds out she was with child . . ."
"The babe was stillborn," I lied without hesitation. "Safire has been under so much strain, it's no wonder." I heaved a deep sigh. "We need to get back to Cormalen--it will be better for her to be home, away from this place."
He straightened, a slight frown furrowing his face. "Poor Selkie," he muttered, and for once, I didn't mind him calling her that. "I'm sorry--I didn't know. I could think of no other reason for her to bolt except that she wanted her babe."
"Thank you for the warning anyway. I should heed her better than I have." I reached out and shook his hand. "Good luck conquering your throne. I'll not forget how you helped us--let me know if we can return the favor."
Falken nodded and turned on his heel, suddenly smooth as any soldier with years of experience marching in battles. The bastard of many guises--perhaps the guise of king would fit him best. After he and Father had left, I leaned far back in the chair, my hands braced behind my head as my eyes traced the pattern of vines carved around the beams of the ceiling. My leg muscles were tensed, poised for me to spring to my feet. If I wore a hooded cloak and went through the gutters, I could likely avoid the detection of any would-be assassins. Once I was at the palace and revealed myself to the guards, they would take me straight to Safire. The guards liked me now, despite the fact I had killed one of their own during my escape--apparently the one I killed had been Toscar's toady, and many of the guards had loathed Toscar. He had risked their lives countless times in service of the queen's whims. Who would have fathomed that me killing their commander would gain their good will? I straightened and started to rise just as Father returned. I sank back on the chair, cursing inwardly. I wanted to find Safire now, but not if it meant fighting with Father.
I heard the scuffle of chair legs sliding across the floor as he sat down across from me. A dark silence drew out long between us before he spoke. "Merius, we should talk."
"About what?"
"About the babe." When I didn't answer right away, he continued, his voice louder, "Merius, we have to talk. I need to tell you something before Safire returns . . ."
"What about me?" Safire breezed into the library then on a cool cloud of fresh air, the clean empty scent of new snow clinging to her, her aura sparkling like the sun through heavy frost on violet-tinged glass. She halted when she saw Father and me. "You two look ready for a funeral," she observed. I watched her without blinking. How dare she risk herself and then act as if nothing had happened?
She seemed to sense my irritation even though I still had her blocked, for she planted a kiss on my jaw, her breath tasting of warm mulled wine. “That’s from Undene, by the way. She misses her Quicksilver terribly. Now let me see your arm.”
I held it away from her, tight against my middle. “My arm’s fine. It‘s been fine since you healed it.”
“No, it’s not. It aches. Let me see it, Merius.” When I continued to hold the arm, she sighed and turned away, her hair brushing my shoulder with tingly sparks that crackled like hazelnuts popping on a fire. “All right then, stubborn fool--see if I’ll do anything for it when you can’t sleep tonight because it hurts.”
“Good afternoon, my dear,” Father said, so smoothly I started, then stared at him when Safire pecked him on the cheek. He didn’t even flinch or grimace but tolerated it like a cunning old wolf, hoping to catch a rabbit as long as he didn‘t show his teeth.
She sauntered over to the table beside me. She flipped open my journal before I could grab it and examined the sketch of the glider, her brow crinkling. Her fingertips traced over the few rough lines of ink with a reverent caress, as gentle as her hands when she healed me. She was the only woman I knew who touched my journals, my ideas, with the same care that she touched my body. My irritation faded, overwhelmed by her nearness. I reached out and captured her fingers in mine, and she glanced at me. *Are you building this? she asked, touching the lines of the glider again.
*Maybe. My insides pricked with tiny needles of ice near the base of my spine, the same edgy excitement I remembered feeling when Safire had first come to my bed. It was as if my entire life rested on this moment, my decision in this moment, my ability to act or not act in this moment. A moment in which my thin thread of fate twined with the great rope of fate that guided the heavens and earth. And it seemed like a small moment, absurd really, my vast enthusiasm--my witch wife had stumbled on a half-finished sketch of a glider that I hadn’t built yet, and I wanted to dive off parapet and swoop over the mountains and valleys and cities with her in that instant.
Father cleared his throat then. Safire and I both started, and I noticed the velvety ropes of light twining her and my auras together dissipate for an instant before reappearing again.
"So, Safire, Falken told us you had an adventure this morning with the guards," Father said.
She stiffened and glanced at me. "That's why you were upset when I came in, wasn't it?"
"How could you be so foolhardy? You could have been hurt. What did you expect them to do, just let you go?"
She bit her lip and looked away from me toward the bookshelves. Her aura shrank to a shimmery purple-black line around her. "They seemed distracted, laughing and talking with each other, and I saw a gap, just what I've been waiting for. I thought I could run for it."
"Run for what?" I demanded.
"What do you think?" She met my gaze, her eyes wide and glistening with tears.
"Sewell?" I grasped her arm as if I thought she would try to bolt again. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why would I tell you? All you would do is try to soothe me, tell me that he's safer where he is, when what you really mean is you don't want him." She jerked her arm from my grip.
"Safire, just because we have a mind bond doesn't mean you know everything about me or how I'm going to respond. You should have told me."
"But you never mention him, never think about him--it's like he was never born." She choked.
"What? I block you when I think about him. You think I want to stir up somet
hing that will cause you pain?" My voice rose.
"You think your mere words could make the pain any worse than it already is?" She started to cry in earnest. I rose and gently put my arm around her shaking shoulders. She yielded after a long moment, hiding her face against my doublet. Her heart still bled, a slow trickle of grief that I felt sometimes when I lay beside her in the quiet darkness and heard her sob in her sleep. Last night, I had jerked awake to the sound of a babe’s cry, only to realize after a befuddled instant that Safire dreamed of Sewell, that the sound of his cry in her dream was what I heard.
"Safire," Father said, rising from his seat. "Safire, don't risk yourself like that again. It's pointless."
"Father, let me handle this."
"What do you mean, it's pointless?" Safire turned her face toward him, wiping her eyes. "How would you feel if you'd been forced to abandon Merius as a baby? Would you think any attempt to get him back is pointless?"
"It's pointless because Sewell isn't in this city."
"What! Where is he?"
Father sighed, his hands clasped behind him. "I told the abbess to send him away--it seemed the best way to protect him and the convent in case Falken told the queen you were with child."
"Where is he?" Safire repeated, her voice shrill. She broke away from me and went around the table toward Father, halting a few feet from him, her white-knuckled hands fisted at her sides.
Father met her gaze, his face unreadable. "I don't know. Last I heard, the wet nurse had vanished with him at an inn on the plains of Tesin." He had the taut set of a man on the verge of battle, as if he expected her to start pummeling him with her fists.
Instead, she glared at him, her eyes narrow. Copper sparks crackled over the surface of her smoky purple aura. Then her mouth turned up in an odd little smile. "Sir, you should know better than to lie to me, especially about this," she said, a deadly edge to her soft voice.
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 64