Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3)

by Nilsen, Karen

  As soon as Bridget and Elsa had set the tea and gathered various breads and delicate cheeses and cakes, I sent them away with instructions to Bridget to show Elsa around the palace. Safire barely noticed, her eyes still drinking in all the statues and my few paintings. My half-grown cat Deliah padded out of the bedchamber and leapt on Safire’s lap, demanding caresses with a loud meow. Safire started, then smiled when she noticed Deliah. She stroked Deliah’s shiny black fur, and the cat scrunched her face up and arched her back, kneading Safire’s lap with blissful abandon.

  “I’ve never seen her take to a stranger like that before. Of course, I’ve only had her a few weeks,” I remarked. I started to shoo Deliah away, but Safire shook her head, her hand tightening in Deliah’s fur. “She’ll ruin your skirt with those claws,” I warned, sitting down in the dainty chair across the table from Safire.

  “No, she’s fine. She’s going to sleep.” And indeed, the cat curled up in Safire’s lap, her eyes closed as her purring grew slower and slower.

  “What’s gotten into her? She’s usually a hellion. She must like you.” I took a sip of tea, relishing the strong flavor, the sweetness followed by the bite of lemon.

  “Most animals do. And babies,” Safire said, a strangely dreamy smile softening her lips as she looked at the mermaids again. I shook my head--the witch did make some odd remarks. Suddenly she met my gaze as if she sensed my thoughts, her large eyes bright and dancing as the dappled sunlight on new leaves. I found myself leaning away, trying to avoid her scrutiny. She looked as if she could see not only through me but through the wall behind me as well--I almost glanced back myself to see what held her interest.

  “You have some beautiful pieces. Wherever did you get them all?” she asked then.

  “Admirers mostly.”

  “Mordric?”

  I set down my tea cup with the faintest of clinks, all my movements slow and deliberate. “The ebony panther, actually--right after he returned from Sarneth. He gave me the ruby and topaz earrings then as well--” I swung my head just a little, enough to show off the sparkles in my ears, “but jewelry can be hard to hide. If I wear it too much, people see it and wonder who gave it to me. Most assume the prince, but some here have sharper eyes and know His Highness’s tastes. Is that what gave us away?”

  Safire bit her lip, staring down at her fingers still moving over Deliah‘s coat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blurted that out. It’s just I’ve been curious since the feast--”

  “Since the feast?” I shook my head, as if trying to shake her words out of my ears. “Since the feast! We were so damned careful--we didn’t even dance together . . .”

  “I’m sorry--I’ve upset you.” Safire stood, unceremoniously dumping a startled Deliah out of her lap.

  “You’re not leaving,” I said evenly, ready to grab her arm if she made a dash for it. “You’re going to tell me how you know, what spying knave told you--I’ll cut their tongue out myself.”

  Her shoulders heaved as she swallowed a deep breath. Then she looked at me with those spooky eyes again. “No one told me. I don’t think anyone else knows besides me.”

  “How do you know then?”

  “I sense things sometimes that other people can’t . . .”

  “So you really are a witch.” Of course I had seen the scar on Mordric’s chest where Safire had healed his self-inflicted stab wound, but somehow having her here, hearing the words from the witch herself--it added teeth to my knowledge of what she could do. There were so many uses for her at court, if we could train her and if Merius would stop watching her so closely.

  “See, you know my secrets,” she said. “When I saw you and Mordric at the feast, I couldn‘t help but know yours.”

  “How?”

  “Your auras together . . .”

  “Auras? Whatever by the seven seas is that?”

  “This light around people--it’s different from person to person. Merius has a silver aura, the only silver one I’ve seen. Sometimes I can’t see an aura at all, only smell it, like Peregrine‘s. There’s no light around him, just this overpowering scent of ambergris.”

  “He does wear a lot of cologne, the ass.”

  “This isn’t his cologne.”

  “I was jesting, Safire,” I said, surprising myself with the gentleness of my own voice. Had the witch put some kind of spell on me like she had on Deliah?

  “Oh--so you’re not upset with me?”

  “Have some tea before it gets cold,” I said. After a moment’s hesitation, she perched on the edge of the lounge like a nervous bird, her darting movements defined with haphazard grace. I watched her, relief rippling from my middle and settling my nerves as it lapped just under my skin. This surprised me--I hadn’t expected to feel relieved that my biggest secret was now known by this little witch. Another woman, no less--I never trusted other women . . . maybe Merius had sent her to put some kind of truth spell on me.

  “You haven’t said anything to Merius, have you?” I demanded.

  “Oh no, oh no never.” She seemed shocked at the mere idea of such a thing.

  “I thought you two were thick as thieves.”

  “We are, but I certainly don’t tell him everything.” She took a dainty bite of bread and cheese.

  My estimation of her intelligence climbed several rungs. “So what does my aura look like?”

  “Velvety dark shot through with crimson and gold fire,” she said without hesitation, sipping her tea.

  “Sounds like a gown I would buy. What about Mordric?”

  “Pewter and burgundy. His aura looks much better than it did a year ago--clearer,” she added mysteriously. “He‘s lived through a lot.”

  “That he has.” I leaned back in my chair, more relaxed than I had felt in a long time. I enjoyed court, but I always had to be on guard here. It was a pleasant novelty to have a conversation with someone who wasn’t plotting or calculating. Here was someone who I could trust not to reveal my secrets just as I would not reveal hers--we were in the same House and both understood the power of our secrets to bring down everyone in said House, not just ourselves.

  “How long,” she hesitated, “how long have you . . .”

  “Have we been lovers?” I finished for her, grinning. “Not long. I kept throwing myself at him, and he pretended not to notice. Then he finally admitted to noticing but refused to act on it. So I followed him to Sarneth, stole an embassy maid’s uniform, and snuck into his chamber. I caught him off his guard so completely he still doesn‘t quite know what happened to him. Now he keeps saying he’s going to marry me off to some fool who would be ‘a good match for me’ and that it’s our last time together every time we‘re together. His actions rarely match his words when it comes to women.”

  “That must be how you snuck us that letter when Queen Jazmene had us locked away, by disguising yourself in a maid’s uniform. Merius and I wondered about that. That took guts.”

  “Thanks--anything after seducing Mordric seemed like child’s play, honestly.”

  She looked on the verge of asking another question about me and Mordric, then seemed to think the better of it, for she took an abrupt bite of bread followed by a hasty slurp of tea.

  “So, Safire, what advice can I give you?”

  She swallowed quickly. “I’m sure you’ve guessed it’s about Peregrine. Mordric wants me to dance with him . . .”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I can read Peregrine’s thoughts when he’s touching me, so if I dance with him and lead him into a conversation about the SerVerin Empire, I might be able to find out his secret deals with Emperor Tetwar.”

  “I take it Peregrine doesn’t know you have this special . . . gift.”

  She grimaced. “No. And I would call it a curse, not a gift. His thoughts are ugly, scary when he’s thinking about me. The things he wants to do to me . . . if Merius finds out, I worry how he might react. His temper . . .” She shook her head, her hand over her eyes. “His temper makes him lose all re
ason sometimes. And he and Peregrine had a nasty fistfight just before we left for Sarneth. I fear he would challenge Peregrine to a duel, and Peregrine’s such a dishonorable cheat--he would never fight fair, especially if his life was at stake.” She paused, crumpled her skirt between her tense fingers. “When Mordric first asked me, I thought I might be able to do it as long as Peregrine and I were in a crowded ballroom, and Mordric was close by. But now, after seeing how Peregrine looked at me in the salon today, I’m really frightened. I just don‘t know what to do . . .”

  “If you help Mordric, there’s a chance he can cast Peregrine off the council, maybe even have him charged and arrested if there’s enough evidence. If you don’t help Mordric, Merius will probably find out about Peregrine anyway. Which sounds better to you?”

  A moment of intense silence passed before she looked up. She gulped, her eyes suspiciously bright. “Thank you--I knew you would give sensible advice . . .” she stopped abruptly as there came a loud knock on the door

  “Who is it?” I yelled.

  “Merius--is Safire there?”

  “I knew it,” Safire muttered, though how she knew it, I had no idea. Some other witch power, I supposed. “I’m here,” she called.

  He came in then, closing the door hard behind him. His unkempt hair appeared shiny and dark as a sealskin, his half unlaced shirt clinging to him in damp spots. “You look like something the hounds dragged in after a rainstorm,” I observed.

  “Thank you.” His eyes glinted silvery sharp as a blade. “The wasp who stings indiscriminately soon poisons herself with her own venom.”

  I grinned. “Sirach?”

  “Merius,” he retorted before he leaned over the lounge and planted a kiss on Safire’s temple. She reached up and twined her hand around his neck. He clasped her hand in his, and they looked at each other in a way that made my loins tingle. I shifted in my seat, embarrassed at having such a reaction to my mad kinsman and his even madder wife. The energy between them created chaos in the air, the dust motes gleaming the sunlight suddenly swirling as if caught in a draft.

  “Did you take a bath?” she murmured finally.

  He nodded. “After Rankin and I finished, I went to arms practice, then visited the palace baths. I‘ve been looking for you ever since--I didn‘t expect to find you here.” He shot me another sharp look.

  Safire leaned up and nuzzled his neck. “Oh nice--sandalwood.”

  “How was the match?” he asked.

  “You didn’t hear? Peregrine lost his temper and instead of pretending to concede, he tried to win. Then Prince Segar rallied at the last moment and surprised everyone,” I said.

  “Hmm.” Merius raised his brows. “Good for the prince--Peregrine deserves it if any man ever did, dishonorable cheat that he is. I hope Father and I can figure out a way to get rid of him soon--he should have long since been off the council for his shady dealings. What is it?” he suddenly demanded, his hands curling around Safire’s shoulders.

  She tipped her head back and smiled up at him. “I just felt a draft, is all.”

  He gazed down at her, and I felt that odd tingle in the air again. “Oh. Did Peregrine try to talk to you?”

  Safire shook her head. “I left before he even saw me, I think.”

  “If he talks to you, even so much as a ‘by your leave,’ you tell me.”

  “Of course, dear heart.”

  “He’s dangerous, and I doubt he’s forgotten that he wanted to marry you.”

  “Believe me, the last man I want anything to do with is that swine in lord’s clothing.” Her voice held an edge.

  “That swine is betrothed to Cyranea of the Helles Isles,” I said, just to get Merius thinking along other channels without being obvious about it. Safire glanced at me, her eyes limpid with apparent gratitude.

  Merius straightened, staring at me. “He told you that?”

  “He tells me whatever he thinks I’ll pass along to Mordric or you. He likes to needle you anyway he can.”

  “He’ll be sorry he dropped that tidbit before it was common knowledge. What more incentive do we need to cast him off the council as soon as possible? I‘m not about to let him become the pirate king of the Helles Isles.”

  I laughed. “There’s a limerick waiting to be written, Merius.”

  Safire smiled, her hand toying with his shirt laces. Could these two not keep their hands off each other? I had overheard several remarks at the feast about it, mostly wistful sighs from older ladies who enjoyed seeing a genuine “love match.” Love match, my foot. Romantic fools might enjoy seeing such, but it was dangerous to advertise one’s feelings with such naked earnestness at court. Cormalen society did not tolerate love matches well--a love match was a challenge to the established order. A man in Merius’s position should have married someone of royal blood--that was the established order. Instead he had married a sparrow noblewoman, as close to a peasant as he could get. Such unconventional marriages had been successful at court in the past, but not when the husband and wife were so obviously smitten with each other. Love was a vulnerability, and as such had to be hidden from the vultures who circled constantly.

  “You do have a way with names, dear heart,” Safire was saying as I returned to the conversation. “I’ll never forget when you called Toscar a slipper licker.”

  “Instead of bootlicker? Of course, Queen Jazmene wears slippers, not boots.” I laughed again. “You know, the court jester can get away with calling anyone anything, even insulting the king. I could see you wearing harlequin and one of those caps with the points and bells, perched on the parapet cawing out insults all day long . . . I don‘t think the Landers have ever produced a royal jester before. It would be a new role for us at court.” I stopped with a grin when I felt Merius’s glare. I loved prodding him. He was so easy to upset, and he always seemed to have dazzling arrays of invective at his disposal, all the things Mordric could have said if he had a looser tongue.

  “What about royal harlot? The Landers haven‘t produced one of those before either. I guess any title, even harlot, is an honor as long as it‘s preceded by the word royal.” Merius’s tone cut sharp as a whip.

  My grin widened. “Royal does have a ring to it, doesn’t it? For instance, you wouldn’t expect the royal chamber pot to be of the ordinary variety, now would you?”

  “So what did you and Lord Rankin discuss?” Safire asked quickly, and I wanted to shake her for interrupting our fun. That was, until I saw Merius’s reaction to her seemingly innocent question.

  His face brightened, and he began to speak more quickly, his hands waving and gesticulating like an orchestra master, the kind of unrestrained demeanor that drove Mordric into fits. “We talked mostly about the kite wings and frame. Rankin suggested that I use waxed linen instead of canvas. I don’t know, though--linen will be fine for the kite, I think, but the glider will require something heavier, like canvas, if it’s to bear my weight . . .” He paused and ran one hand through his hair till it stood on end. He looked eerily like the boy Merius I remembered from long ago, before he went to the court academy, the Merius who was always building strange things and making mischief.

  Safire gripped the edge of his sleeve, as if trying to keep him from floating away. “Bear your weight? You’re not going to fly it yourself, surely? I thought we talked about this.”

  “Sweet, I’m not going to let some other man risk his life on my contraption.” When his soft tone did little to relieve the furrows in her brow or her doubtful frown, he sighed and lifted his hands as if in supplication. “I’ll have help. I’m going to ask Jared Rivers to be my steward. He knows a lot about making things sturdy yet workable, and he . . ."

  Jared as a steward? That was worse than Elsa as a lady's maid. These two really had no sense. I snorted, then grew still as I watched them together, his fast, sweeping gestures, her small caresses as she rubbed his jaw and brushed invisible lint from his sleeve. She really must be a witch, to have peeled away all the layers of Mordric’s car
eful training and laid bare this madcap genius in one short year. The Landers were in for some interesting times.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Prince Segar was unusually quiet tonight. Generally he did most of the talking during our trysts, but tonight I carried the brunt of the clever chatter, and my jaw was starting to hurt. The prince brooded on the sofa, his arms crossed as the firelight flickered across his stony face. I lay on my side on the thick rug in front of the hearth, chin propped in one hand, wine goblet grasped in the other. Already my head felt heavy from too much mulled wine, the words floating ever more slowly to the surface until I broke off in mid-sentence. I had been talking about some new playwright, a pretentious tragedian who was the current toast of the court theater.

  “Waldus thinks he’s the new Sirach, but with a name like that . . .” I trailed off--I was starting to sound obnoxious to myself. “Your Highness, would you like to play a game of chess or cards?” I asked abruptly.

  “No chess, no cards, no games,” he said.

  “Forgive me--it’s just you seem melancholy.”

  He finally looked away from the fire, his hazel eyes narrow. “Tell me, Eden, how many chess games have you let me win because I’ll be your sovereign someday?”

  “Truly, Your Highness, none. I hate losing.” I pulled myself up until I sat facing him. Suddenly my head, which had felt heavy, went light, so light the chamber spun for an instant. I really had drunk far too much wine, waiting for him to talk.

  “Is that the truth?” he demanded.

  Peregrine‘s antics on the practice floor had certainly put him in a bear of a mood. “Since I’ve won well over half of our card games and at least three-quarters of our chess matches, I’d say it’s the truth.”

  Finally, he smiled, a tight little grin that showed only a glimpse of his crooked teeth. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”