The bishop’s gaze roved over our pew with an icy resolve that made me shiver and huddle in Merius‘s aura. My hand fisted, crumpling my skirt. It was early July, two months since the assassins had given me the Ursula’s Bane, and all seemed well. My belly had suddenly rounded in June, seemingly overnight. I could have sworn I had felt the first flutters of movement the other evening, though Elsa said that was impossible this early, that it must have been all the cheese and smoked fish I ate at dinner upsetting my stomach. For never having borne a baby herself, she certainly knew a lot about it. I leaned forward so I could see around Mordric and smiled in her direction. She didn’t notice--both she and Bridget, their necks craned stiffly, stared up at the bishop, as if they expected him to point his long, elegant finger at them and call them out as sinners. Mordric’s steward Randel was a stolid presence past them at the end of the pew--the poor man looked pale and careworn, as if he‘d been riding like a highwayman all night. I imagined being Mordric’s steward was a demanding post.
I settled back in the pew, Merius’s hand closing over mine. We weren’t supposed to hold hands in chapel, but with my voluminous skirts, we could get away with it until we had to stand or kneel. With him on my left and Mordric on my right, I felt dwarfed--and protected even from the bishop’s hellfire eyes. A movement fluttered under my fist then with a tingling thrill, so sudden I almost gasped aloud. The baby’s aura--I could feel it, the rich burgundy brushing against the underside of my skin like velvet. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time--I remembered Sewell’s candle flame of an aura, how it had sparked to life deep inside me one quiet morning.
Sewell--he was over six months old, the same age as Dagmar’s Flavian. In my mind, Sewell burbled and cooed as he knocked a wooden rattle against the sides of his rough cradle, his fine dark hair sticking out in wispy curls. He gave a toothless smile when he saw me. I gazed down at him, the slanted sunlight through the high convent window warming my skin, the stones hard under my knees. He kept smiling, babbling “Oga, oga-la,” the rattle falling from his dimpled hand as his eyes widened. They were a deep blue-green, the color of the sea on a sunny April day. He definitely had my father’s and my snub nose. I didn’t realize how far I leaned over his cradle until he reached up and grabbed one of my curls, tugging on it. “La, la, la, la, la!“ he yelled, then chortled. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I touched my lips to his forehead. His skin had the texture of warm silk, and I inhaled his scalded milk scent. He blinked as my tears dropped on his head. Suddenly there came the sound of a door, and I looked over to see the abbess’s hawkish features and gleaming dark eyes, the gold line glinting around the edge of her otherwise plain wimple. She started and stopped, her hand sliding from the door latch. “Safire?” she murmured. “But what in the world . . . how . . .” Her voice faded as the chamber around us did. I had one last vision of Sewell, his face screwing up as he started to wail.
Merius’s fingers tightened over mine, wrenching me back to the present. I swallowed and looked at him, to find his eyes boring into mine. *I saw him, Merius. Just for an instant, I saw him. I was there somehow . . .
*I know. He patted my hand. *Someday, somehow, we’ll get him back.
More tears welled up, my cheeks feeling hot and tender like they did when my face went all blotchy. I found my handkerchief clutched in my hand, already saturated. I realized with a dawning sense of mortification that I had been crying in actuality, not just in my vision. Both Eden and Merius's steward Jared glanced over at me, Jared’s round, whiskered face furrowed in puzzlement and Eden’s brows raised. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and then poked Merius’s arm. He started as if a bee had stung him, then hastily passed me the scalloped square of crimson fabric, embroidered with a bold E of L in black across one corner. I hunkered down in the pew and worried the kohl had smeared into streaks under my eyes. Now that I didn’t dare let myself get distracted again, I actually began to hear what the bishop was saying.
This chapel had been designed to carry sound to every corner (Merius and Jared had had a long, confusing conversation one day about something called acoustics), and the bishop had the kind of rich, booming voice that flowed smoothly into every nook and cranny. I couldn’t believe I had missed most of his homily, his voice was so loud. His arms swept wide as he thundered, “We plot battle with our enemies abroad. But what about our enemies within? His Majesty Arian has been most serious in his efforts to weed out evil in our midst. But without his subjects’ aid, we may miss the one festering seed that will pass its iniquity to all the rest. We are at war!” He pounded the altar, and all of us, except Mordric and his poor sleepy steward, jumped. “Not war with our enemies abroad--not yet. We first must make war on the pestilence within if we expect to have God’s aid against these foreign powers. I speak of foul succubi and incubi and their sons and daughters, the warlocks and witches and heretics who walk among us every day! They wear the fair faces of believers but beware the fine mask that conceals a rotting soul. To save them and ourselves from the fires of hell, we must find these evil-doers and burn their flesh now, before they die a natural death and end in hell. We must save their souls to save our own!” He thumped the altar again. This time Mordric shifted, his steady gaze never leaving the bishop. His warm hand found mine, still fisted tight around my ruined handkerchief, and rested there a moment before he covered his eyes with his hands as if deep in contemplation. Likely he was contemplating assassination so he could silence the bishop--he hated windbags.
Soon the service ended, and the bishop strode out with his hands clasped in prayer, his robes swirling behind him, the light flashing on the gold threads. We shuffled out of the pew, Merius’s hand a firm presence against the small of my back. The crowd babbled all around, their auras mingling in such dizzy patterns that I glanced up at the ceiling, at the herringbone pattern of the tiles, the bright mosaic of the tree of life, bursting with birds and flowers. It reminded me of the carved doors leading to the chapel in the convent where Sewell was. I shut my eyes for a moment and tried in vain to recapture the vision of Sewell and the abbess. The sides of my head ached with the strain of my concentration. Finally I gave up in frustration and rubbed my temples. I didn’t understand--my mind had been flitting amongst this and that idle thought when the vision had come to me. I hadn’t been concentrating at all. Maybe that was the secret. Maybe having a vision of my son was so instinctive that if I thought too hard about it, it didn’t work.
“Lady Landers,” the bishop intoned.
I started as he took my hand in his. His palm was so dry and cool I thought his skin would crinkle at my touch. We gazed at each other for what seemed like an eternity, his eerie silver eyes searching my face with a chilling intensity.
“Your Grace,” I murmured finally. I longed to jerk my hand from his but didn’t dare.
“I noticed you crying during the service earlier. What grieves you?”
“Nothing, Your Grace. They were tears of joy.” I felt Merius’s hand tighten the fabric against my back.
His eyes narrowed. “You find yourself so stirred by spiritual exercise, then?”
“Yes. I almost took holy vows.”
“You have the look of a pure soul--it would have been better for you, perhaps, to take holy orders. I fear your corruption in the world-wise House of Landers.”
“Perhaps you should hope rather than fear, Your Grace. Perhaps my presence in the House will elevate it rather than be corrupted by it.”
A knife blade of a smile creased those thin lips. “Perhaps, my lady. Your words indicate a strong will.”
“My biggest fault, I’m afraid. Thank you for the service, Your Grace.” I inclined my head.
“I’ll be watching, Lady Landers,” he called after me. “To engender true elevation in those surrounding you is a sign of purity indeed.”
As soon as we were free of the crowd, I began to tremble uncontrollably. Merius waved the others ahead before he pulled me into a window alcove and into his arms.
&
nbsp; *Why do you think he talked to you? Do you think he suspects you a witch? Merius thought, gently running his hand from the crown of my head to the ends of my hair, over and over again.
I shook my head. *I don’t think so. Not yet, at any rate. I rubbed my face against the comforting warmth of Merius’s doublet, the scents of sandalwood and leather, the searing liquor taste of his aura.
*Why did he talk to you then, if it wasn‘t because he suspected you?
*There’s a fine line between holy mystics and witches sometimes. He seems to think I‘m the former. He also seems to have a warlock‘s eye, just enough to recognize something different about me.
*He’s used his own dark talents to persecute other witches and warlocks? Merius’s inner voice rose with indignation.
*Not consciously. He probably thinks God guides him in some special way because he’s a high holy man. If he ever detected his own abilities, he’d likely slay himself. He’s that pure in his purpose. He truly thinks he’s doing the right thing, burning witches and warlocks, and that‘s what scares me. I found the rigid muscles in my belly clutched around my womb as if that would somehow shield the babe there. What kind of world would this be for him? I’d had to relinquish Sewell to protect him, and he hadn’t even inherited my dark talents, at least not that I could tell yet. This son was a different matter. He would be a warlock, I was already certain of it, as certain as I was of the fresh coolness of the spring rain, as certain as I was of the songbirds returning to my windowsill every April to eat seed and quarrel amongst themselves. He and I had already met in my visions. Merius had even held him the other night during one of our shared dreams. Merius sensed my thoughts, his arms tightening around me. His own mind remained silent, a sign that he was scared too and not able to conceal it aside from blocking me completely. I hid my face against his chest and pondered the future with a trembling heart.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Corcin, Eastern Cormalen
July, 3 years ago
Three floor-to-ceiling windows with pointed arches and diamond-shaped panes lined the wall of the Rankins’ main receiving chamber. The thick golden summer light poured through them, flowing like honey over the polished floorboards. I drifted from Merius’s side as soon as we entered the already crowded chamber and went toward that magical light. I stood for a moment before the window, basking in the warmth.
“You can go out on the balcony, you know,” Lady Rankin said, sauntering up beside me. I glanced at her as she reached for the brass latch, with its elegantly arched dragon-shaped handle. “Isn’t it fierce?” she said fondly, fingering one of the dragon’s horns. “I’ve always told Artemious it guards us from intruders.”
“You’re going to miss this house,” I said, noticing some of the sparkle leave her bright teal aura.
She sighed. “Come see the balcony, my dear.”
“But don’t you need to mingle with your guests?” I glanced back at the chamber, rollicking with the laughter and chatter of the crowd gathered there. The Rankins sailed back to Sarneth in a week, so they had invited their many friends for an informal afternoon party.
She laughed, her aura sparkling again like the deepest part of the ocean on a sunny day. “You’re a guest, aren‘t you?”
I followed her out on to the balcony. She grasped the curved iron railing and leaned her head back. A strong breeze blew from Corcin’s harbor, loosening my hair so that tendrils tickled my ears and neck. The distant frothy crests of waves burst like bubbles on the surface of the molten azure glass sea. The July heat made the sky so pale that it and the sea almost blended into one at the barely discernible horizon. Ships’ masts and sails bobbed along the waves, so small that it seemed every billow would topple them. I touched the railing, warm as a living thing, and shut my eyes. The light shone so brightly it turned the insides of my eyelids rosy.
“We’ll be back in November,” Lady Rankin said suddenly, and I opened my eyes.
I smiled. “That’s when the baby will arrive.”
“It’s not that far away, really.”
“No, it’s not. You hate to leave here, don’t you?” I turned my back to the harbor and leaned against the railing, watching her sideways.
“I enjoy Sarneth, the sophistication of the culture and people there, but this is home.”
I thought of her grandchildren Margara and Tomas, born in February, with their chubby cheeks, gurgling laughs, and dimpled knuckles on tiny, grasping fingers. “The twins are adorable--it must be hard to leave them, knowing how much they’ll grow and change in the months before you return.”
Narie sniffed and whipped out her handkerchief. “You’re evil, my dear,” she said, managing to blow her nose with a dainty elegance that I would never manage.
“Merius and I will miss you both terribly--if there are any other evil words I can use to keep you here, please tell me what.”
She stifled a giggle in her handkerchief. “I wish there were, but Artemious must return to Sarneth to put the finishing touches on the betrothal agreement between Prince Segar and Princess Esme. And where he goes, I go.” She laid her graceful hand on my arm. “You know, I always wanted a daughter, but only our sons survived infancy. You and my daughter-in-law Circe--both your mothers have passed, and you’re both such dear girls to me. I hope you know that you can write to me if you need anything. It’s hard sometimes when you’re first married, especially when you’re as talented as you are. Never lose yourself so far in the roles of wife and mother that you forget yourself. Merius may not always understand, but always be true to yourself anyway, and he’ll love you all the more for it in the long run.” Her eyes, usually limpid, took on a steely cast worthy of Mordric in a snit. “And if the impossible happens and his love fails, then he doesn‘t deserve you and never did.”
“My lady,” I faltered, not knowing what to say next. At that instant, Elsa squeezed through the narrow window out onto the balcony, Eden on her heels.
“There you are, Lady Safire,” Elsa said. “I’ve been looking all over for you--Sir Merius said you just vanished like a puff of smoke.” She huffed an escaped tendril of hair off her forehead as she all but glared at me, her recalcitrant charge.
I couldn’t help an impish grin. “You’ll wear yourself out, running after me. Maybe you wish now you’d stayed with Dagmar, who’s grown roots instead of wings.”
Elsa straightened. “No, my lady, I’ll never regret coming with you to Corcin. I just wish you’d stay in one place for longer than five minutes at a time. Seems the only time you’re still is when you’re at your easel, but even then, you‘re not really there. You’re in some kind of trance where you don’t hear a thing we say, and you look right through us like we wasn‘t there ourselves.”
“Weren’t there ourselves, Elsa, not wasn’t,” Eden remarked absently. She’d been on a campaign to improve Elsa’s grammar. “Safire, could you come with me for a moment? I’d like your help with something.”
“Of course.” I turned to Lady Rankin and embraced her. Her arms were tight against my shoulder blades for a long moment, and she was slow to relinquish her hold on me.
“Remember what I said, my dear,” she murmured and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.
“I’ll never forget it. I’ll miss you more than you know . . .” I trailed off as Eden tugged my arm and towed me back into the receiving chamber.
“Elsa, if you would, go find Bridget for me,” Eden ordered when Elsa started to follow us.
“Yes, my lady.” Elsa vanished in the crowd. Even for this large chamber with its high ceilings, there were too many people packed together for the space available. So many auras, seething and sparkling like colored smoke all around us. I struggled for breath, the air thick in my lungs, and tried in vain to see around all the people. Where was Merius? I could use the shield of his aura to navigate the crowd.
“What is it?” Eden hissed.
“Merius--I need him.”
“He’s in some other part of the house--he, Mordri
c, and Rankin left one right after the other. I tried to follow Rankin, but by the time I reached the doorway, he’d vanished down the hall,” she whispered. She lowered her voice then even further, a mere breath of air in my ear. “Can you sense where Merius is?”
“You want to eavesdrop?”
“Don’t you?” Her eyes had a feral glow, and I could almost imagine her pupils stretching into cat slits. I thought of all the times Merius blocked me, all the things that Mordric concealed from us even as he used us in his plots. Even after all we had been through together, they still treated us sometimes as treasures to be protected, not equals to be trusted. I nodded mutely, and Eden grinned. “All right then, where is he?”
I closed my eyes, the blessed darkness reducing the overwhelming crowd to a dull roar. I pictured the other rooms of this house that I had visited over the last several months, the stately progression of the tall windows and mirrors from room to room, the blond oak paneling with its swirling linen-fold design, the delicate sea shell carvings on the newer furniture, the hundreds of books scattered on the tables around Rankin wherever he went, Lady Rankin’s solarium with the living kaleidoscope of her ever-changing collection of prize orchids . . . where was the frenetic lightning storm of Merius’s aura in all of this? In my mind, I heard a distant crackle over our heads.
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 20