Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3)

by Nilsen, Karen

  “Of course. Any chance to see Selena.” A forced politeness if ever there was one. Selena, Peregrine’s younger sister, was an anemic brunette with the lifeless prettiness of a pressed flower. After all besides Peregrine and I and our servants were out of earshot, I asked, “So you’re betrothed now? That was quick.”

  “It hasn’t been formally announced. I just signed the contract yesterday.”

  “Who, Peregrine?”

  He smiled and leaned close, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “Cyranea of the Helles Isles.”

  I covered my startled laugh with my hand. “You jest,” I said finally. “Mordric just broke her betrothal with Whitten last month.”

  His smile broadened. “I know a missed opportunity when I see one.”

  “That opportunity’s been missed several times. It’s gotten a bit long in the tooth, hasn’t it?” The only child of a prominent Cormalen nobleman, Cyranea was twenty-six, an infamous bluestocking with a permanent squint from reading too much close text by candlelight. She likely would have preferred a solitary life with her books and the occasional court gathering of scholars to marriage. However, she stood to inherit the entirety of the Helles Isles with the wealth of her father’s many herds of prize sheep, the source of the finest Cormalen wool. Also, the islands were a perfect launching place for smugglers intent on escaping King Arian’s tariff agents. Cyranea’s father himself had amassed a fortune smuggling wool to Sarneth and selling it without the burden of King Arian’s taxes. It was certain Peregrine had his eye on the islands for such activities.

  “There’s life in the spectacled nag yet,” he said with a rude cheerfulness. “She cursed at me and her father and threatened to burn her trousseau if I touched any of her books. Truly though, she‘d have to be barren and toothless before I‘d refuse the match. It surprises me that Mordric broke Whitten‘s betrothal with her. Surely . . .”

  “And to think, you might have had me if you’d held out but a little bit longer,” I said lightly to distract him from his line of thought.

  “I still intend to have you, wench.” He pinched my rear. Bridget noticed, her eyes going wide. “Now excuse me for a moment--I’ll escort you to my rooms, but first I should go congratulate His Highness on his,” Peregrine paused, “victory.”

  He walked over, the crowd parting around him, and shook Prince Segar’s hand, all deferential show as he and the prince exchanged empty flattery and vague comments on form and the various advantages and disadvantages of different kinds of blades. After a few minutes of this, Peregrine raised his sword hilt in a salute, his timing so perfect he was likely surreptitiously checking his pocket watch.

  “You’re such a skilled courtier,” I said as we left the salon together, hoping to irk him.

  “Don’t jest yourself. Merius, even Mordric, would have done precisely the same,” he retorted. “Speaking of Merius, I’m surprised he doesn’t keep a better eye on his wife. If she were mine, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight.”

  “So I noticed,” I said, my tone dry. “Merius would have attended the match with us, but he had a meeting with Lord Rankin.”

  There was an uncharacteristically long moment of silence--Peregrine was rarely at a loss for words. It was also uncharacteristic that he didn‘t immediately jump on my tidbit and ask why Merius met with Rankin.

  “I hear Safire made quite an impression at the Sarneth court,” he said finally, his tone subdued as if he were speaking in church.

  “They both did.”

  “A man could go far, with a wife like that.”

  “Go far in what direction? She’s a wickedly unmanageable little thing. Remember that mute fit she had before her father died? She didn‘t even know her own sister for two months.”

  “Damn it, Eden.” His grip tightened on my arm. Suddenly I found myself steered into an alcove, the shadows concealing us. Bridget and Peregrine‘s manservant hovered in the hallway. “That rumored fit she had--it’s a dirty lie, and you know it. You can tell Mordric from me that I don’t appreciate his interference. She would have been my wife this past year, but for his and Merius’s maneuverings. She should have been my wife,” he hissed, his eyes glinting coldly in the shadows. “Hell, I offered to pay her dowry, everything, and Mordric kept her like a prisoner until Merius returned. She would have gone with me that night if I‘d just had the chance to make her see reason . . .”

  He had suddenly gone mad--that was the only explanation. “Peregrine, I hate to point this out, but Safire didn’t come with any islands or any world-class wool. All she came with were swampy fields, an old house, and some even older servants. If you think Merius has cheated you out of a great prize, you’re mistaken.”

  “Mordric would never have let his only son marry so low if her dowry was the only thing of value about her.”

  “Mordric had little say-so. She bewitched Merius the same way she apparently bewitched you. Merius would do anything for her, including putting you in your coffin, so I suggest you show a little more discretion than you did today.”

  “Merius?” he scoffed. “Merius can’t offer her what I can, and she knows it.”

  “I don’t know about that. Merius can offer her quite a lot, now that he and Mordric are back on speaking terms.” And now that Whitten is gone I added silently. Whitten’s mysterious departure was still but a whisper among the Landers servants and tenants. After all, he might just be off somewhere drinking and return when his coin ran out. It had happened before. However, I doubted it. Mordric had broken Whitten’s betrothal with Cyranea of the Helles Isles just before Whitten’s departure, a strange coincidence. Mordric had wanted that match for the House of Landers, for many of the same reasons Peregrine wanted it for himself. Evidently Mordric’s desire to see Whitten gone had exceeded his desire to make such an advantageous marriage alliance for the Landers. And why did he suddenly want Whitten gone? Whitten had been a lackwit sot for years--why banish him now? Although Mordric wouldn’t say, I knew it must have something to do with Merius. Whitten’s hangdog expression at dinner when Mordric announced Merius and Safire’s return had attested to that. Likely Whitten had dallied with the witch during her fit, and now Merius wanted vengeance. I wondered with an anticipatory shiver what Mordric would do if I casually mentioned this the next time we were alone together.

  “Eden, it’s obvious my presence excites you,” Peregrine said with a mocking leer as he towed me out of the alcove, “perhaps too much. You’re already shivering, and I don’t want to make you faint. Should I have my steward escort you instead?”

  “Arrogant ass.” I laughed, especially when I noticed Bridget‘s stiff expression. “I hate to disappoint you, Peregrine, but fond as I am of you, my thoughts drifted to another man just then.”

  “Another man?” Peregrine leaned down and continued in a whisper, “Does he happen to wear a crown to bed? I imagine that would excite any woman, especially a calculating one like you.”

  “A crown to bed?” I grinned. “From my experience, that holds more prickles than thrills.”

  “So you admit to having experience with crowns? Shameless hussy--you‘re not even blushing.”

  “I haven’t the complexion for blushing.”

  He chuckled, his hand warm against my back as we headed down to the palace entrance. My heart felt out of rhythm, my insides trembled with an odd excitement--it was the first time I had publicly admitted my supposed affair with Prince Segar, albeit in a roundabout way. The whole court suspected--there had been servants’ whispers, long looks and suggestive banter between me and prince at balls, and I seemed to have an endless supply of extravagant jewelry that only royalty could have afforded. But all of this had been speculation, nothing more. Now Peregrine knew for certain, which would add only more fuel to the rumors.

  We passed through the main entrance hall, hung with green and gold silken banners, the marble floor shiny as holly leaves under our feet. Aside from the ballroom, this was my favorite room in the palace. Cormalen architecture t
ended to be more practical than elegant. This room was the exception to the rule, with its polished brass rails, echoing marble steps, and lancet-shaped archways. The finest Cormalen stonemasons and glaziers had been summoned to court to build this room and the ballroom and had outdone themselves showing that they were as sophisticated with their chosen materials as anyone in Sarneth. We passed through a pool of burgundy light from the stained glass windows. I imagined bathing in a marble pool filled with wine, a shiver prickling over my skin.

  “What is it now?” Peregrine asked.

  “Nothing.” I rubbed my arms, and the gooseflesh disappeared. “I just like this room.”

  “Oh,” Peregrine acknowledged, not sounding particularly interested. “Good day, Sullay,” he said, his sudden greeting catching me off my guard.

  Sullay had just entered through the regular-sized door to the left of the huge main doors, which were opened only for events such as coronations or feast days. Sullay glanced around at Peregrine’s greeting, then tramped towards us. Typical merchant, coin aplenty but no refinement. I curled my lip in distaste before I remembered my manners and composed my face. The wretch should be sequestered at home in disgrace awaiting the magistrate‘s summons, not parading about at court as if nothing had happened. It had been a couple months since Sullay’s men had killed Feyril Styles on the common road, and Sullay should have long since have faced the magistrate and heard the charges against him. He had abandoned his men, who were only acting on his orders, and let them languish in the magistrate’s cells while he used the privilege of rank and coin to avoid the same fate. Evidently Sullay had bargained on everyone being as dishonorable and cowardly as he was, since he seemed to think Mordric would turn a blind eye to the charges against him.

  Sullay was now close enough to take good gander at, not that one would want to. Merius, always restless, had a penchant for sketching his fellow council members as animals on his notes during long-winded speeches. He had drawn Sullay as a vulture several times, and the comparison was almost too apt. Sullay had a long hook nose, beady eyes, and straggles of graying hair that grew around the expanding circle of his bald spot. He stood tall enough to loom over most women, his thin, bony frame resembling a gangly bird. Even though he hired the most expensive tailors, nothing seemed to fit him, and his cloak hung unevenly off his shoulders, flapping behind him like black wings.

  “Good day, Peregrine, my lady Eden,” he said, his nasal voice already grating on my ears.

  I managed a stiff nod as Peregrine said, “If I’d known you were back, Sullay, I’d have made other plans this afternoon. We need to discuss the council--there are several key debates and votes next week.” Peregrine and Sullay were allies on the council, not because they were friends particularly but because, aside from Ronceval Devons, they were the two most powerful merchants on the council. Also, they were both scoundrels, though Peregrine at least was clever enough to keep his skullduggery far from the halls of court. The same could not be said for Sullay.

  “I’m free this afternoon,” Sullay said.

  “But I’m not. Come to my rooms tomorrow, sometime around ten.”

  Sullay looked indignant at Peregrine’s imperious tone, and there was a tense moment of silence before he answered, his voice short, “You’re fortunate I’m free then, young Bara.”

  Apparently realizing he had pressed his luck, Peregrine lowered his voice to a conspiratorial volume, “We have much to discuss concerning your recent troubles. I have some ideas . . ."

  "Troubles?" Sullay exclaimed. "It's a travesty. What have we come to in this land when common thieves and poachers become martyrs and innocent men are hounded to the hills?"

  “Which is why I think you should only accept the summons from a noble born hand. Your position is far too high for a mere lackey like magistrate Ragnar to deliver a royal summons to you." Peregrine's tone became even silkier, and I wondered what he plotted, prodding Sullay into a frothing rage over the Styles affair and then puffing him up with flattery.

  Sullay nodded emphatically. "That's right--they can't send some lowborn jackanapes to summon the likes of me."

  "The council needs you," Peregrine added. "We merchants have had an easy time the last several months, with both Mordric and Merius absent from council. Now the nobles are no longer short of votes, and we need to plan accordingly.”

  “Merius is returning to council?” Sullay exclaimed. “I thought he’d joined the king’s guard permanently.”

  “You thought wrong, sir,” I said, adding the sir as a deliberate afterthought, a slight he couldn’t help but notice.

  He turned those beady eyes my way. “Forgive me, my lady, but your kinsmen are pad foots. Mordric used his clout to hold that council seat for Merius. It should have gone to someone else six months ago.”

  “I agree, sir. It should have gone to me,” I said sweetly.

  Peregrine chuckled. “I would have far preferred looking at you during council than looking at Merius, hell, looking at any of them.”

  “Women can’t sit on council,” Sullay sputtered.

  “Why not?”

  “If women sat on the council, they’d have the court treasury spent in a year on ribbons and bows and new tapestries.”

  “But Sir Sullay, I would think you’d want women on council, if their votes can be bought with naught but a few ribbons and trinkets. I take it from your remarks that men are not so easily swayed?”

  “Perhaps some of your kinsmen buy votes, my lady, but I can assure you I don’t.”

  “Indeed,” I said with my nastiest smile.

  “What would I have to do for your vote, Eden?” Peregrine asked.

  “Be charming and bring me jewels. Many jewels.”

  He lowered his voice to a suggestive undertone. “And what would you do in return for my vote?”

  “You shouldn’t encourage her, Peregrine. Her manner is most unladylike,” Sullay said.

  “You presume to remark on my manners, sir?” I said. “You should have saved your opinions for Sir Mordric, so he could properly discipline me for my lapses. I’m appalled at myself, truly. God knows, I’d rather be a sweet nightingale than a ill-mannered mockingbird.”

  “I’m glad you realize your error,” Sullay said stiffly. “You should strive to uphold the title of lady.”

  Was the fool serious? Had he no ear for sarcasm? And he seemed to have completely missed my dig about Mordric, whom he wouldn’t dare face now for any reason. I glanced at Peregrine, who shrugged.

  “Lady Eden, we have an engagement, and I don’t want to be late,” Peregrine said then, abruptly ending the exchange. “Good day, Sullay. Don’t forget--tomorrow at ten.”

  “Presumptuous whelp,” we heard Sullay distinctly mutter as we turned away and headed for the doors.

  “Pompous vulture,” I muttered myself, hoping he heard. But, of course, he was selectively deaf, along with all his other failings. “I thought you would have invited him to your rooms this afternoon to see Selena and meet your betrothed,” I said to Peregrine after we had crossed the threshold and were on the steps outside. “He’s your ally, after all.”

  “An impolitic ally,” Peregrine said.

  “Obviously. Still, he has more than enough coin to make up for a lack of distinction, and you went out of your way to slight him today.”

  “He’ll recover.” Peregrine’s tone was short. “I’ll see the outcome of this latest blunder with the slaughtered poacher, see if he takes my advice before I offer him the boon of my public support again.”

  I smiled to myself. He had given the answer I wanted to hear. If successful, Mordric’s pursuit of justice in the Feyril Styles affair could hammer a wedge between Sullay and Peregrine and ruin the most troublesome alliance on the council. If the head merchants Peregrine, Sullay, and Ronceval Devons were all fighting amongst each other, the lesser merchants would follow suit and give us nobles the advantage at court. I had much to tell Mordric when he arrived tomorrow.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
>
  When Bridget and I arrived back at my chambers later that afternoon, I heard muffled giggles coming from the curtained alcove near my door. I yanked back the curtain to reveal Safire and Elsa, their heads bowed together over a book. At the clatter of the curtain rings, Safire snapped the book shut and raised her face, two bright spots coloring her cheeks like a jester’s. I grinned when I noticed the title, Correspondence with My Lady Mistress by Sirach. She really was an innocent, to blush so at being caught reading a scandalous book. Hell, I’d done most of the things alluded to in that book, not merely read about them, and I wasn’t blushing.

  Safire rose to her full height--she barely cleared my shoulder. Apparently Safire’s shadow now, Elsa clambered to her feet an instant after, her round cheeks flushed as well. What a pair they made, two provincial doves wandering in a palace seething with hawkish courtiers. Merius should have asked me to help her pick a lady’s maid--Elsa was a solid, trustworthy girl, but hardly sophisticated enough to be a good lady’s maid, not without training. Bridget had been unsophisticated too when I had hired her--I had wanted someone unsophisticated but eager to learn, a blank slate I could train to suit my whims. But Safire didn’t even know what whims to have.

  “I was just going to take tea. Would you like to join me?” I asked.

  Safire nodded. “Thank you--I want your advice about something.”

  I had figured as much, given what had transpired this afternoon in the salon with Peregrine. As we entered the front chamber, I motioned for Safire to take a seat on the claw-footed lounge upholstered in velvet the color and rich sheen of port. She sat, silent and wide-eyed as she gazed around the chamber at my collection of statues. I had several male and female figures in various stages of undress, mythological creatures, an assortment of wild cats, and my prize, three mermaids cavorting in the ocean waves, carved entirely of jade. It wasn’t the most valuable--that would have been the male nude carved from ebony--but it was the most important to me, with the deep jade green gradually fading out to the palest sea foam green on at the edges. Safire reached out and ran a gentle finger over the crest of a wave, the curve of one of the mermaid’s tails. She had an expression that put me in mind of a nun caught in some forbidden ecstasy. I had forgotten she was an artist in her own right.