A distant thud echoed up the steps from the hall below, and both Rankin and I started. I rose. A whiff of charred cedar, a flash of deep purple across the backs of my eyes . . . “Safire’s back,” I said. I strode over to the door and then out into the hallway, Rankin behind me as I clambered down the steps.
Father was with her, his hand curled around her arm. I paused on the next to last step down, wondering why he was here. Safire met my eyes, then quickly looked away, swallowing, her mind closed to me. Still angry, then. Damn witch.
“Narie didn’t come back with you?” Rankin asked as he stepped past me toward the door.
“She went straight home from the ball,” Father said. “You should take her out yourself sometimes, Artemious--shame such an accomplished dancer should languish so often at home. She‘s no wallflower.”
Rankin offered one of his mild smiles. “Ah, but I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should return home before she leaves me for a vagabond with a likely violin. Mordric, Merius, I’ll see you on Monday at council. As for you, my dear,” he said with an unreadable look at Safire, “you owe us some help with those journals. I have some questions for you, and I’m sure Merius does too.” He glanced at me, that same unreadable look veiling his meaning.
“So you trust the ravings of a charming lunatic? Apparently that‘s what I am, according to Merius,” she said tartly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. Good evening, my lord, sir,” she said, nodding to both Rankin and Father, who inclined their heads in return. She swept past me up the stairs, her eyes meeting mine in a flash too intense and quick for us to exchange thoughts, only emotions. I had expected to feel the heat of her anger course through my veins along with the sparks of my own growing irritation. Instead I felt a chill, the hairs on my arms raising with an unpleasant tingle, shame and terror heavy as a cauldron full of inky ice in my belly. She quickly looked away, so quickly I almost doubted what I felt. But the heaviness persisted. I reached for her sleeve in a vain attempt to get her to meet my eyes again, but she was too quick, the patter of her slippers already echoing like skittering mice in the upstairs corridor. I turned back to Father and Rankin, only to find Father’s unblinking gaze fixed on me.
“Good night, my lord,” I said to Rankin. “It was a most interesting session tonight--thank you.”
“I only wish we had more time. Be sure to have Safire read that passage you translated--I‘d like to hear what she thinks, even if she won‘t deign to answer any questions.” Rankin‘s mouth twitched. “Well, good night.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, I turned on Father. “What happened to Safire?” I demanded. “She seems scared out of her wits. Did you say something to her? Father, I warned you to leave her out of your plots.”
Father’s eyes narrowed, his face even more impassive than usual, a sign that he gathered his thoughts because something I said had caught him off guard. “The assassins gave Safire a dose of the Ursula’s Bane tonight,” he said finally.
“What! Why?” I gaped at him--he seemed the only solid presence nearby. Everything else grew small and then large and then small again. Even the railing under my fingers and the step under my feet suddenly felt faraway and insubstantial as if I floated on a cloud of smoke.
“His Majesty Rainier’s orders.” Father paused, his gaze locked on me. “He thinks the Ursula’s Bane will enhance any unnatural abilities your child may possess.”
“How do they know about that?” My voice didn’t sound mine but a ghost of some younger Merius, years distant.
“They heard you and Safire talking about it, of course.”
“But that was just this morning. Those bastards.” I lifted my hand to cover my eyes for a moment--the candlelight suddenly seemed too bright--then I ran my hand down until it covered my mouth, again focusing on Father. “I’ll kill them--how dare they do that to her?”
Father stepped closer, rested his hand on my arm. His strong grip yanked me back to the painfully blinding present, and I blinked. “She’ll be all right, methinks--her and the babe,” he said gently. “She’s far tougher than you realize, Merius--she was conscious again and insulting me before even an hour passed. How many men do you know would take a dose of the Ursula’s Bane in stride like that?”
I barked a bitter laugh. “Not me, for certain--the stuff puts me out for hours.” I ran my hand around the back of my head, my fingers so taut I felt every lump and depression of my skull. "Father, we have to get rid of them before they do something else."
Father shook his head. "How? Outright attack would likely get us both dosed with the Ursula's Bane ourselves. And even if we managed to incapacitate them somehow, King Rainier would just send others. Don't forget, they did save your life in Sarneth--they're not here to harm you or Safire but protect you."
“Perhaps, but I’ll never let her go alone like that again. If I’d been there, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Merius, you can’t foresee or control every outcome--they would have found some other way to give her the Ursula’s Bane if you had gone with her tonight.” Father sighed then and lowered his gaze to his hand resting on the balustrade. “If you want a happy marriage to that witch, you should heed my mistakes with your mother.”
“What?”
“Safire needs your protection, not your smothering. You underestimate her.” Before I could protest, he gave a slight wave and turned to the door. “Good night, then. Go see to your wife.” He slipped out the door so fast that I only registered his departure when the latch clicked back into place. I shook myself, then took the stairs two at a time. I went from the studio to the bedchamber, shadows racing in a wild shapes across the floor and walls as I grabbed the candlestick from the hall table before I checked the library. No Safire. I paused in the middle of the hall and stilled myself inside as I tried to feel her presence. In my head, I heard her voice echoing up the back stairs, and I knew then where she had gone. I pounded down the steep servant’s staircase and burst through the door into the kitchen.
“Sir Merius, really,” Elsa screeched, clutching a folded sheet to her heaving bosom. She was in the process of rigging up a screen between two chairs set in front of the fireplace, steam rising behind her from the hip bath sitting on the hearth. Safire stood facing the darkest corner, her elbows bobbing up and down as she undid her laces. She glanced over her shoulder, her shadowed eyes locking with mine. Her aura had shrunk in on itself like a withered flower, the purple of a nasty bruise.
“Thank you for filling the tub, Elsa--that’ll be all for now,” Safire murmured.
“But my lady . . .” Elsa looked from Safire to me and then back to Safire again. “Forgive me, but you don’t seem yourself.”
“Dear one, go to bed.” Safire’s quiet tone was implacable--her voice reminded me of a strand of silk, soft to the touch yet surprisingly tough when one tried to pull it apart.
Elsa sighed, then inclined her head. “Yes, my lady. Good night to you both,” she said, sweeping past me and opening the door to the servant staircase.
As soon as I heard her footfalls fade, I shut the door before I turned back to Safire. She stood next to the bath, loosening her gown and petticoats. With a little shrug of her shoulders, her clothes slithered down and pooled at her feet. She flicked one foot gracefully free of a stubborn petticoat and then stepped toward the bath, the firelight moving like liquid gold over the pearly sheen of her bare skin.
I swallowed over the suddenly parched patch in my throat, then strode forward. “Here, sweetheart.” I held my hand toward her. She looked up at me, her eyes glistening, but didn’t lift her hand to mine. “What is it? Let me help you.”
“Oh, Merius,” she said, her voice trembling. I grasped her shoulder, our auras mingling together, hers slowly brightening from the bruised color to a shimmering deep purple. I knew why she hesitated to touch me. Her pain went through me like a lightning bolt. Rain in the palace gardens, strong hands gripping her like manacles, the sweet odor and acid taste of th
e Ursula’s Bane, floating in a warm sea, waves rocking a cradle, a silent toddler who watched and saw everything that happened, the slow return to conscious awareness, the inability to move as if ropes bound her to the bed--I remembered that intense weakness from when they’d forced the Ursula’s Bane on me . . .
“The assassins took you to Eden’s chamber?” I broke in. “Why?”
“No, Mordric carried me there.”
“Father carried you? I would think the assassins would have brought you back here . . .” I trailed off, staring at her.
“He found me with the assassins in the garden--he was watching when I left the ballroom, I suppose.”
“Why was he watching you? Lady Rankin was your chaperone.”
“I’m a married woman--I don’t need a chaperone,” she said with a touch of asperity.
“Apparently you do--why would you go out to the garden alone on a rainy night, especially in your condition?”
She lowered her head and covered her eyes as if the fire burned too bright. “I don’t know, Merius--the ballroom was crowded, I just wanted some air. For God’s sake, I’ve been through enough tonight without your badgering.”
“Here, get in the bath.” I lifted her and set her gently in the water before she could protest. She leaned back with a sigh, her eyes closed, her hair a mass of copper fire and shadows. Her breasts were above the waterline so I reached up and uncorked the copper pipe that jutted out from under the mantel. Hot water streamed out into the bath. I had lined a large iron tank with copper and then rigged it inside the chimney under the mantel. Water flowed into it from the rain water barrel outside. To fill it in dry weather, one climbed up on a chair, lifted the mantel, and then others passed up buckets until the tank was full. The servants had grumbled about this at first, saying that it wouldn’t work, it would leak and douse the fire, and that it would be a lot of bucket lifting during a drought. However, the grumbling had magically stopped the first time they didn’t have to heat water to carry upstairs.
“You’re so clever,” Safire murmured, her fingers lacing through mine as she caressed my hand.
“Who was that spooky child watching everything?”
She smiled, her eyes still closed. “Our son.”
“What?” I peered at the water in the general vicinity of her navel. “He’s not even close to being born yet.”
“The Ursula’s Bane allowed me to connect with his spirit.”
“So it didn’t hurt him?”
She bit her lip and finally turned her head to meet my gaze, her hand rippling through the water to cover her middle. “No, I think he’ll be fine. So you believe now?” I felt her heart lurch and knew what she meant, that this was a continuation of the argument about faith versus reason. My answer meant so much to her--I didn’t understand, just as I didn‘t understand Rankin‘s bemusement earlier. Why couldn’t I be a skeptic if I wished?
I sighed as I knelt at the head of the tub and began to run my fingers through her hair. “Isn’t it enough that I love you, regardless of what I believe?”
“Merius, if you had been a skeptic when we met, it wouldn’t matter. But you weren’t a skeptic--you accepted me, witch talents and all. But now, ever since you discovered you inherited warlock blood from your ancestors, you’ve been strangely inconsistent. You apparently accept that I connected with our unborn son’s spirit, since you just asked me if the Ursula’s Bane hurt him or not. Yet tomorrow you’ll likely say I conjured his spirit from my imagination, that it was a hallucination brought on by the Ursula‘s Bane. I never know from day to day if you‘re going to believe me or pat my head and cluck over me.” She lowered her head, and even though I couldn’t see her face, I could feel the heat rising in my own eyes as she started to shed tears.
Using a dipper, I poured water over her head and rubbed soap over the gleaming ribbons of her wet hair. Then I kneaded her scalp until a crackling cloud of lather surrounded her head. My hands worked quickly, image after image of this evening whirring through my mind. I thought about the weir folk, the weir elements, the hopefully nonexistent dragons that plagued me, that spooky toddler in his floating cradle, and found I had no answer for Safire, just as I had no answer for Rankin earlier.
“You can’t be detached about this,” Safire remarked then, reading my mind.
“No, I can’t, and I don’t know why. Rankin told me that I didn’t have to believe, that I could keep a scholarly detachment when I study the journals, but I can’t, Safire. The more I read, the more upset I become. It’s not that I don’t believe in dragons or weirfolk--even if I didn’t believe in them, I could still study them as an intriguing myth. It’s that I do believe in them, but I don’t want them to have ever existed, and that confuses me. Why should it matter so much if they existed or not?” My hand slipped then, and the dipper fell in the water with a loud splash.
“Oh dear heart, you never do things half-measure, do you?” Safire turned around then so she faced me, her hands gripping the edge of the tub, her eyes wild gleams in the fire glow. Her skin glistened like wet pearls, her hair a long, dripping curtain around her shoulders and back. With the bottom half of her body concealed in the water, she could have been Talus’s weirfish, here to capture me with a siren call. As our mouths met, I heard a faint, high-pitched singing, so high it almost went beyond the range of human ears. There were no words in the song I could discern, just a beautiful wail that undulated into a dove’s coo and then back to the eerie keening again. It seemed to come from the moonlit air above mist-shrouded hills, a haunting song that I longed to follow. It was a sound I had heard sometimes before when Safire and I were alone together, but it had never stabbed me before with such clarity, a stiletto of sound, deadly in its intense beauty. I realized it sounded less like the human voice I imagined would emanate from a siren’s vocal cords and more like some unearthly flute or bird song.
Our auras twisted around each other with a shower of purple and silver sparks that hissed in the water. Steam scented of cedar smoke rose around us as I lifted Safire from the bath, my last conscious awareness of the kitchen. Our hands ran down each others’ bodies, our fingers lacing together as our auras tangled into knots of light. We flew side by side over a winding river canyon. The moon shone overhead, silver-tipping the jutting edges of the dark chasm, shimmering like a moving fishnet over the river far below. The eerie singing still pierced my heart, echoing over the rocks and water, tingling over my skin, thrumming through my very sinews. The cold air rushed by us. Ice flecks numbed my body and burned my lungs. I glanced over at Safire, who flew in a fiery cloud, her hair streaming out behind her like flames, her skin the white hot center of a blaze. Her light warmed even the cold silver of the distant moon and stars. She gazed into my eyes, and I realized then she was the one singing, my fire selkie. I shivered and grabbed her, and her flames surrounded me, consumed me. Our mouths and bodies twined together, our auras roped around each other, silver and crimson, purple and golden sparks like fireworks wheeling across the sky. Her singing pierced me over and over, the exquisite pain bringing tears to my eyes as we mated in midair. It may have been hours or an instant that we were joined--time seemed of no importance here, as if we’d slipped together into some parallel eternity.
“Red sky at morning, sailor’s warning. Red sky at night, sailor's delight,” I heard myself murmur, then realized that the red dawn I saw were the embers on the grate. Safire and I lay on the narrow kitchen settle, her bare skin glowing orange in the dying firelight. I ran my hand down the curve of her back as she kissed me softly. “We’re still in the kitchen?” I said, my eyes sliding closed as I tried to recapture the freedom of flight.
“In a manner of speaking.” She gave a throaty chortle, and I grinned, pulling her down for another kiss. For an instant, it seemed we flew again, but then I felt the hard settle digging into my shoulder blades, and I sighed. We stayed there for several quiet minutes, my hand tangled in her damp hair as rain lashed the window outside.
Her brea
th warm against my chest, she said finally, “So what do you think, love? What just happened between us, mating in flight in the moonlight--was that real or just intense fantasy? And what has it been all the other times?”
“Well, as we’re still in the kitchen,” I said, my voice dry, “I would have to say intense fantasy.”
“Our bodies are still in the kitchen, but our souls traveled together to another plane. How else do you explain us sharing the same vision with not a word spoken between us? How else do you . . .”
I put my finger to her lips, and she trailed off. “Safire, sweet, I just want to be still here with you for a minute and not think. And then I want to go to bed and dream of flying and not think about what it means or how to explain it. I have to think so much, at council, about those damned journals--I don‘t want to think for awhile.”
Her hand tightened on my shoulder. “My believer in skeptic‘s clothing. If you didn’t believe in your heart of hearts, there’s no way we could fly together like that. Flight requires faith and instinct, and you have that, even though you don’t know it. I love you, Merius,” she said, her voice shaking as if she were on the verge of tears. “I could never love another man like I do you. Never lose faith in that.”
I looked at her through narrowed eyes, the way the firelight sparked over the drier strands of her hair. “What’s wrong?”
“What?” She crossed her arms on my chest and gazed at me. “The assassins forced Ursula’s Bane on me, and you ask what’s wrong?”
“Not that--I know about that. What else is wrong?” I prodded her mind, but all I sensed was that locked trunk where she hid things from me. The trunk seemed bigger than before--probably because she had more to hide. “Safire, what are you and Father plotting? You tell me right now, or I’ll . . .”
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 18