Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3)

by Nilsen, Karen

  I was so lost in my musings it was almost a shock when the sharp heat of the first tear slid from under my eyelid and down my cheek. Then another, and then another. I couldn’t cry, not here, not now. If I cried about Sewell, I would never stop. I frantically tried to dam up my tears but the leaking continued, growing to a stream that stung my skin with its salt. Poor Flavian’s eyes flew open as the tears dripped on his forehead. I blindly handed him off to a startled Dagmar before I stumbled over to the window seat. I pulled out my handkerchief and blew my nose and dried my eyes, but all that seemed to do was encourage more sobs.

  Dimly, I felt Dagmar and Elsa around me, their hands on my shoulders, their soft voices urging me to tell them what was wrong. I couldn’t find the words. How could I describe this sensation that I’d left my heart in Sarneth, in its place a dark well over flowing with tears that rose in my throat and threatened to choke me every time I remembered my heart‘s absence?

  “Safire?” Dagmar’s fingers dug into my shoulders as she shook me a little, the slight pain cutting through the haze around me. “Safire, stop before you make yourself sick. Now, tell me what’s wrong. Did that ass Merius do something to you?”

  My head snapped up as I clutched the edge of the cushion, my handkerchief crumpled in a knot as I glowered at her, my eyes raw and burning. “No--how could you think such a thing?”

  “I knew that would get your attention,” she said complacently, stepping back a little as she gazed at me. “You’re ridiculous where that man is concerned.”

  I sniffed and blew my nose again in an attempt to regain some semblance of dignity. Elsa might not want to come with me if she thought I wailed like a banshee at seemingly no provocation. Elsa stood near the hearth, holding Flavian as she watched me and Dagmar. With her furrowed brow and soft eyes, she didn’t look like she thought I was a banshee. She looked concerned, worried for me, even.

  “Now that you’re calmer, you tell me what’s wrong. I know you’ve been hiding something, and I’ll not take no for an answer this time,” Dagmar said, her narrow jaw and chin jutting forward.

  My head, stuffy and aching from too many tears and too much brooding, suddenly drooped, this immense weight. I stared down as my fingers twined around the damp handkerchief, knotting it. “I had a baby in Sarneth. He only lived a few days,” I heard myself say dully, still not the truth but far too close to it for comfort. What was wrong with me?

  “Oh Safire,” Dagmar breathed, her smooth, dry fingers suddenly warm and tight around mine. “Oh sweet, why didn’t you say something before? You never even wrote to me that you were with child . . . I wrote to you when I found about Flavian. Why didn‘t you write to me about it?” Her voice rose.

  “I couldn’t. We had to hide it from everyone.”

  “Hide it? Even from me? But why?” She glanced sideways at Elsa then, as if on the verge of dismissing her.

  “She can stay,” I said. I would soon have to entrust Elsa with far more than this half lie, so I might as well start now. “We hid it because . . .” I paused, suddenly finding myself at a loss to say what I needed to say. My throat closed around Whitten’s name so I couldn’t utter it or say what he had done, at least not directly. “The babe was most likely conceived in early April--that’s why we couldn’t tell anyone.”

  “April?” Dagmar repeated, her brows knitting together. She counted the months on her fingers. “But Merius was on campaign last April, and you were in your witch fit . . .” she trailed off, staring at me. “Oh,” she continued, her tone subdued as if she spoke of someone who had just died, someone whose spirit might still linger to hear her words. “That’s why Merius took you away like that, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Not one man in a hundred, in a thousand, would have done what he did to protect me, so don’t you dare claim again he’s a bad influence on me.”

  “I didn’t know, Safire.”

  “You do now.”

  Her face reddened like Father‘s face did when he was indignant, and how could I blame her? She didn’t understand me in the way that Merius did, but she loved me just as I loved her, and that was a rare find in this world. I stood and threw my arms around her. “I’m so glad to be home again, sister. I’ve missed you--speaking of influences, you’re the best I could ask for.”

  Chapter Three -- Merius

  House of Long Marsh, Silmer Province, Eastern Cormalen

  March, 3 years ago

  Safire snapped Strawberry’s reins, and the little chestnut mare broke into a gallop, leaping in front of me and Shadowfoot. “Wench,” I yelled and urged Shadowfoot forward in pursuit.

  Safire laughed, her curls red and gold and wild in the sunlight as they bounced across her shoulders and back. Mud and turf flew up from Strawberry’s hooves. She took the hedgerow at the end of the pasture, clearing it easily. The mare didn’t look like a jumper, but she could hold her own. I bent low over Shadowfoot and followed over the hedgerow. We raced through the orchard beyond, now beside Safire and Strawberry. Shadowfoot, who had won contests against many a stallion, let Strawberry take the lead as we jumped the ditch and landed on the lane heading to the house. Safire tugged on the reins, forcing Strawberry to a reluctant canter, and Shadowfoot fell into step beside her, hooves crunching on the gravel.

  “I told you she could jump that hedgerow," Safire remarked.

  “I never doubted it.”

  “Liar--you said yesterday she’d throw me.”

  “I only said that to see what you would do.”

  “Did I fulfill your expectations?”

  “Admirably.” I looked her up and down. She rode astride, in defiance of the traditional sidesaddle, and I could see the outline of her thigh where her skirt had bunched under her leg. Her shoulders straight, her head thrown back as she tasted the day with closed eyes, her slender form had the posture of a lily, upright color reaching for the sun. She wore dainty kid boots with pointed toes and a simple green frock of some light material, laced up the front. I pictured my fingers on those laces tonight, a familiar heat prickling near the base of my spine.

  I grinned, my hands loosening on the reins. Shadowfoot slowed to a walk, Strawberry matching his easy pace. The trees swayed above us, new leaves unfurling.

  Safire glanced over at me. “Will you pose for me today?” she asked. “There should be good light this afternoon.”

  “I need to finish my letters, sweet.” I gritted my teeth--as part of re-claiming my offices and inheritance, I was compelled to write to all my connections at court, officially announcing my return to Cormalen and my political intentions. It was a tiresome business--so far I had finished about three-quarters of the letters, and that had taken the last iota of patience I possessed.

  Distant hooves thundered behind us like an afternoon storm brewing. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the three horsemen just coming into sight around the bend. "That middle one's a bit large to be an assassin, methinks."

  "Merius," Safire hissed. "What if they hear you?"

  “At this distance--no way they can hear me."

  "But they're assassins," she said simply, as if that one word granted them extraordinary powers like hearing a pin drop in King Rainier's palace across the sea.

  "Yes, and they're already irritating me." I flicked my reins at a fly that had landed on Shadowfoot's neck. "That big one especially. He looks like a frothing mastiff always on the verge of biting someone." Our last week in Sarneth, King Rainier had summoned us to the palace and presented us with these three men to guard us. Some of Toscar's supporters continued to make threats against me for killing him, and King Rainier was worried about my safety. That was his sham of a story anyway. After the first day, I'd guessed they were no ordinary guards but assassins. And even though they irritated me, their presence had already saved my life once.

  I shuddered at the memory. Most in Sarneth who had recognized me as Toscar’s killer and the bringer of Queen Jazmene’s downfall expressed their undying gratitude to me and my children for seven ge
nerations. A few, however, had spat curses at me, and one had dared shoot arrows at me. The first arrow had missed my neck by a yard or less, the next had glanced off the lintel of the doorway where I had shoved Safire. Then my would-be killer had fallen from a third story window across the street. Someone with perfect aim had buried a Numerian throwing star in his throat. It was then I had guessed these were no ordinary guards--Numerian stars were an assassin's weapon. It was only when I had confronted Father about it, though, that I knew the protection was because Rainier was interested in Safire's witch talents, not because he suffered from the same undying gratitude as his people did for Toscar's demise.

  "I bet Undene cast witch glamours on them," Safire said, pretending to be absorbed with picking a burr out of Strawberry’s mane. "Glamours seem like a skill she would possess, with all her sneaking and spying."

  "Glamours?"

  "Remember Lhigat's verse about the fey queen disguising herself as a mortal, how she cast a spell so that everyone's gaze would slip over her as if she were invisible, so no one would recognize her? That was a glamour." She glanced over her shoulder at our distant protectors. "You ever notice how forgettable their faces are? Every time I try to paint their features in my mind, my memory goes blank. I can't tell you what color eyes or hair they have, what kind of noses, foreheads, much less anything about their auras, save a few greenish flickers from the shortest one--for a witch artist who thinks in pictures, that's pretty scary. And the way they appear and vanish without a sound--no one is that quiet, except perhaps your father."

  I snorted despite my growing unease. "I think you're on to something, sweet. When did you start to suspect this?"

  "During the feast at Landers Hall."

  The back of my neck prickled. "Did they approach you without me around?" They better not have approached her--I didn't want them or their glamours anywhere near her unless it was to save her life.

  She shrugged and avoided my eyes. I looked at her without blinking, tried to probe her thoughts with my gaze, but she had me blocked. I knew she had a little trunk somewhere in her mind where she kept things from me, which was fine to a point. The problem was that Safire liked to keep certain things secret because she knew they would upset me, and by the time I found out about these certain things, all hell broke loose. For instance, we never would have ended up in such a tangle with Queen Jazmene and her lover Lord Toscar in Sarneth if Safire had been honest with me about selling her drawings down on the locks. She hadn’t lied exactly, just not told the whole truth until it was too late for me to protect us from Jazmene and the Sarneth court.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked then. “Your aura’s gone all dark.”

  I sighed. She couldn’t help being a witch, apparently, no more than a bird could keep from flying. "You--I'm thinking about you and what a wicked creature you are sometimes."

  She smiled, a flirty little grin that showed the barest glimpse of her teeth, the same teeth that had nipped my ear lobes last night until I thought she would drive me mad. “What did you marry me for, then, if I'm so wicked?”

  “To please myself.”

  Her smile broadened, her skin lit with a pearly glow. “You please me, husband. I wish we had more time here--aside from wondering about the assassins, it‘s been so peaceful the last few days.”

  “I know.” I touched my right arm above my wrist, the bone suddenly aching as I thought about resuming my duties at court.

  “How’s your arm?” Safire demanded. “We shouldn’t have ridden so long.”

  “A twinge is all, sweet.” I reached out and patted her rear. “See, it works just fine.”

  “Ass.” She giggled and urged Strawberry forward, out of my grasp.

  “So it’s to be a chase?”

  “Isn’t it always?” she tossed over her shoulder, Strawberry already starting to gallop.

  We raced into the courtyard at breakneck speed, both of us breathless and laughing. The laughter died in my throat with a choke when I noticed Father waiting by the side door to the house, his arms crossed. He came over and offered Safire his hand as she dismounted.

  “You ride like a hellion, my dear. I’m surprised Merius allows it.”

  “Good afternoon, Father,” I said, jumping down from the saddle. “Have you waited long?”

  “A good three-quarters of an hour. I’d almost given up on you.”

  Safire glanced at me, one brow arched. *He looks unusually well.

  I took a second look at him--less gray around the edges than I remembered. Also, he seemed almost . . . relaxed, perhaps even in a good mood, whatever that meant for him. Likely he‘d snapped less at the servants today than usual. “You look well, Father.”

  “Thank you.”

  The assassins rode into the courtyard and headed for the far end, near the stable. They dismounted with eerily simultaneous motions--probably all of them had served in King Rainier's cavalry or guard at some point before becoming assassins. I noticed even the hulking one moved with unnatural silence. The other two were thin and small, more the kind of build I had imagined for successful assassins. Now that Safire had mentioned the glamours, I realized that all I knew about their physical appearances were their basic shapes and heights. Every time I tried to focus on their faces or memorize any details about them, my mind went blank for a brief instant, then moved on to other thoughts. How strange.

  Father observed them, then shot a narrow look in my direction. I shrugged. We didn't even know their names--the charmless spider King Rainier hadn't bothered with introductions, hadn't even bothered giving them aliases. And the men themselves hadn't spoken to us, only followed us. Even that first day in Sarneth when I had thanked them for protecting me from my would-be killer, they had merely nodded, the big one grunting what sounded like an assent. I was beginning to wonder if they were mute. They never accepted the food or lodging we offered--I suspected they took turns resting at the nearest inn. When Boltan had squinted at them and asked who they were, I responded, "Armed retainers for protection," and left it at that.

  Boltan, his wife Greit, and Elsa came out the side door of the house then, the women’s hair covered with kerchiefs. The house had been mostly closed in our absence, and Safire, Elsa, and Greit had been busy clearing the chambers of dust cloths and the chill of long vacancy. Boltan silently led Shadowfoot and Strawberry to the stable for their brush down.

  “Is there anything you require?” Greit asked.

  “Set a place for Sir Mordric--we‘ll have an early dinner today,” Safire answered.

  “But . . .” both Father and I started, then glanced at each other.

  Safire shot me a sly grin. “Dinner’s in another hour and a half--surely you two can fill the time till then.”

  “There is much to discuss,” Father conceded as the two servant women went back in the house.

  “See?” Safire rose on tiptoe and planted a kiss on my cheek. “I should help Greit and Elsa,” she whispered. Her eyes tilted up in a smile just for me, encouraging me. Then she was gone, running toward the house in a swirl of skirts, her hat flapping against her back. “Greit,” she yelled. “Greit!” The side door banged behind her.

  “You might be able to have her at court yet, Merius. No one would suspect her of any duplicity, for certain.”

  “She’s a wicked creature.” I kicked at the cobblestones, watching out of the corner of my eye as the assassins consulted with each other in whispers. So they weren't mute. Taking the leads of two of the horses in hand, the large assassin finally mounted the third horse and trotted out of the courtyard. It must have been his turn to rest. When I looked around for the other two men, I could see them nowhere. They had melted away with that invisible silence that spooked Safire. And me.

  Father chuckled, diverting me. “Safire only takes the liberties you allow her--you can’t fault her when you’re letting her rule you.”

  “She doesn’t rule me, no more than I rule her.”

  “Indeed,” he said dryly. Then
, before I could protest, he continued, “When do you expect to return to court?”

  “When do you want me there?”

  “Within the week.”

  I inhaled deeply. “All right,” I said finally.

  “Randel hasn‘t been able to find Whitten yet,” he said after a moment’s silence.

  “That gutless worm,” I continued, pacing. “I’ll find him someday, and then he’ll rue his cowardice.”

  “I doubt you‘ll ever find him. If you do, be sure it‘s in a dark alley with no witnesses.”

  “I’m no fool, Father.”

  “No, but lust for vengeance has been the undoing of men far older and more temperate than you.”

  “What affair is that of yours?” I demanded, more in surprise than indignation. He usually never pried into my private feelings--he had never seemed to care how I felt about something, as long as I fulfilled my obligations and gave the proper outward appearance of a high courtier’s son.

  “If you continue nursing your hatred for Whitten, you will come to no small grief. I nursed my hatred for my brother Gaven for years--and then he died. That hatred--all it did was waste my time and vigor. You know, if he hadn’t died childless, I might still only be a commander in the king’s guard, with no holdings or offices to speak of.”

  “You mean, Uncle Gaven would have been at council in your place? Wasn’t he something of a dandy?” I remarked, saying the first words that came to me.

  “He was worse than a dandy, and no, he wouldn’t have been in my place. He would have been several chairs lower, if he would have even made it this far without being cast off the council entirely. Both he and my father were little better than jesters at court.”

  “You didn’t respect your father?”

  “Not a whit. His sword stayed in its scabbard so long one time the blade grew rusty.” Father began to walk around the perimeter of the courtyard, his hands in his pockets, and I fell into step beside him.

  “So he never served in the king’s guard?”

  “Him? No. Neither did Gaven. Fighting might have soiled their linen. My grandsire, now--he was a fine warrior.” He gestured at my sword. “He would be glad to know you’re making good use of his blade.”