I gritted my teeth. "I'm sorry, sir. That was rude of me. It's just . . ."
"It's just what?"
I met his gaze. "I miss my wife. I'm not used to," I fumbled over my words, realizing suddenly that I was admitting this to another man, "being apart from her. I didn't realize how much she did to make things easier for me until she was gone."
"Well, that didn't sound in the least like your father." Cyril seemed oddly mollified. "Where is she?"
"In the country. She's with child, and even though there hasn't been a plague here this summer, we didn't want to take any chances."
Cyril awkwardly patted my shoulder. "Maybe you can visit her soon, Merius. Now when's your father coming back?"
"I don't know exactly." I lowered my voice. "There's something I need to tell you, but not here."
He nodded. "Come to my chambers later," he muttered as he turned and plucked a goblet of chilled wine from the side table. His ink-stained fingers left smears in the condensation misting the sides of the glass.
"What news from Eamon?" I asked, deliberately picking a topic that likely held no intrigue. Cyril's son Eamon had joined the king's guard and was now serving the ambassador to the Sud Islands.
"He'll be glad when his year of service is done. The heat there bothers him, and he misses his family."
"His wife didn't accompany him?"
"She was close to giving birth when he was summoned, so she stayed here."
"Hmm." I took a sip from one of the wine goblets, relishing the cool sweetness in my mouth. It made the heat and the headache go away for an instant. I glanced around the room, seeing several people I should probably speak to, if only to say good afternoon and make some idle small talk. I girded myself for the effort of being outwardly polite while inwardly plotting my escape. Then I spotted Peregrine. He stood in a small group of fellow merchants near the doors, the sunlight glancing off the jewels on his sword hilt. Only an arrogant dandy like him would put on such an ostentatious display, like a man draping his mistress in gaudy clothes. Did he honestly think all those diamonds would help him fight better? Maybe that would be his last thought before I killed him. I felt my mouth curl up in a sneer. As if sensing my gaze, Peregrine looked over his shoulder and turned sideways then. We stared at each other for a long moment before he offered a nasty grin. He drew his forefinger across his throat and pointed at me as he pretended to adjust his cravat. Then he turned back to his cronies.
"Did he just do what I think he did?" Cyril asked.
"Yes." I drained the wine goblet, my unblinking gaze still focused on Peregrine as if I aimed an arrow at a target.
"That's bold, even for him."
"Let him make bold gestures." I set the goblet down with a clink. "Gestures only intimidate fools and superstitious old women. I respond to actions, not gestures."
"Court is a society built on gestures, Merius."
"Perhaps, but that doesn't compel me to give credence to some blackguard's toothless challenge."
The trumpets blared with a wheezy trill of humid air, announcing the arrival of Princess Esme. Cyril and I turned with the rest of the court to face the double doors leading outside, the press of people stifling as everyone backed away from the center of the room to give Esme and her retinue a clear path. A hush, heavy with expectation, fell over the party. King Arian, Queen Verna, and Prince Segar arrayed themselves on the dais as the chamber musicians began playing the traditional rise and fall of the royal processional march, the dense air muffling the rumble of the drums, the sharper notes of the horns, the piercing song of the violins.
The doors opened, and Esme glided through, followed by a gorgeous gaggle of ladies-in-waiting dressed in rustling silks. We bowed en masse as they processed through the courtly gauntlet to greet the king and queen and Segar.
"She is lovely," Cyril whispered. Her large dark eyes, the gleaming wings of her brown hair braided under a sapphire-encrusted coronet, her slender height--even he, the peevish old prude, wasn't immune.
"She looks too much like her mother for my taste," I retorted as I grabbed another goblet of wine, my hand shaking. Damn it. God forbid Peregrine witness me trembling like some old woman. I willed myself to take a deep breath, imagined the fresh air coursing into my blood, slowing the quick rhythm of my heart. I hadn't expected to be so affected, or I could have prepared myself better. She resembled Jazmene more than I had allowed myself to remember. I saw Jazmene's face through the press of men holding me down before the poisoned dart entered my neck, felt Jazmene's fingers against my jaw, caressing me as if I were some prized pet, Jazmene clapping as the sweat dripped in my eyes during my deadly duel with her lover Toscar, Jazmene breathless with anticipation as Toscar brought his boot heel down on my exposed arm, Jazmene's howl of rage as the king's guard hauled her away, the last time I had seen her. A twinge of pain shot up my arm.
"When can we leave and it not be considered rude, do you think? I don't want to be riding half the night," I said.
"Where are you going?"
"Landers Hall, by way of Torana Province," I said in a low voice, glancing around to make certain no one lurked close enough to eavesdrop.
Cyril's gaze narrowed. "Does Mordric know you're going there?"
"Of course." I offered him my blandest expression.
Cyril shook his head. "Merius . . ."
I ignored his warning tone. Good God, did he and Father think I was still thirteen? "Let's discuss this later," I said shortly as a crowd descended on the wine table.
The next half hour or so passed in a blur of seemingly idle chatter as I complimented this or that lady on her ravishing new gown or had a verbal duel of wits with this or that lord. Several remarked on Safire's absence. After about the third such exchange, my smile began to feel pasted on as I explained, that no, she felt fine, and yes, she would be back when plague season was over. No matter that Corcin hadn't had a serious outbreak of fever in a decade. After what my mother had endured with her pregnancies, it only seemed right to take precautions. Thank God everyone was either too ignorant or too polite to mention that my mother had stayed at Landers Hall when she was with child. Why was it no one asked Cyril where his wife was?
Then Princess Esme and Prince Segar stood before me. No warning, just the crowd parting like the curtains on a stage, and there they were. Cyril and I bowed. My bow lasted longer than court protocol demanded--I had no idea what to say to either one of them. Prince Segar had acted so odd this morning--I'd have to ask Father if he was always that peculiar outside the council chamber--and Princess Esme . . . what could I say to her? I'd killed her mother's lover Toscar during a duel, then witnessed her father dip his toe in Toscar's blood and have her mother arrested for treason. And Esme suspected Safire was a witch . . . oh hell. Oh hell. I raised my head, only to start and step back involuntarily. Esme stood a mere couple feet from me, her wide doe eyes gazing into mine. Queen Jazmene had given me exactly the same vulnerable look the instant before she ordered her guards to jab my neck with a dart dipped in Ursula's Bane. I swallowed over the suddenly parched spot in my throat and wished for more wine.
"I never thought you were going to look up, Merius. So formal still, even in your own court," she purred. "It is good to see you again, a familiar face in this sea of strangers. Where's Safire?" She clasped my hand, her fingers tight as clinging vines.
Her kiss had tasted of oranges, I remembered, oranges on the verge of being overripe. I shook myself and managed a tight smile. "Safire's at our house in the country," I croaked for what felt like the hundredth time. "She's with child," I added, wondering how I could free my hand from Esme's.
"Really? What glad tidings." Esme lowered her chin as she stared up at me.
"I didn't realize you two knew each other so well," Segar said, his brows lifted in sardonic arches. "See, my dear Esme, this foreign court can offer succor after your many recent trials."
She finally broke eye contact with me for an instant to bestow one of her dazzling smiles upon
him. "I can see that."
"Your Highness, forgive me for being blunt, but I would have thought you'd be angry with me," I said. Cyril shifted beside me, and I knew he wanted to clap his hand over my mouth before any more dangerous words could spill out.
"Angry with you? Why, Merius?" Those big doe eyes swiveled my way, limpid with apparent surprise.
I watched her closely, trying to gauge her reaction. "Well, I did play an unwitting part in your queen mother's banishment." Not a flicker in those brown depths. No rage, no irritation even that I could discern. Had she not loved her mother at all? Problems aplenty Father and I had, but I couldn't imagine being so blasé if he had been banished and imprisoned for treason. I would want revenge. I would want justice. I would want him free. Was she really that good an actress? Maybe all this was a ploy to lure me into her web, where she could then exact her revenge and dispose of me.
She actually smiled then as if she could hear my thoughts. "Merius, I know what my mother and Lord Toscar did to you, to my father," she said with just the right touch of softness in her tone. "I appreciate men like you who have the strength to stand against such seemingly overwhelming power--and win."
I glanced at Cyril. His mouth hung slightly open--he never had possessed a good poker face. Then I glanced back at Esme. Some polite response from me was demanded. I squeezed her hand and said, "Thank you, Your Highness. I appreciate your kind words." And ability for adept political maneuvering I added to myself. She really did seem just like Jazmene--she worshipped power and those who wielded it. As long as her mother had been powerful, she had been a dutiful daughter. But when Jazmene lost her position, Esme abandoned her without a backwards glance. Good God.
"Be certain we'll talk more later, Merius," Esme said, squeezing my hand back before she finally released it.
"Yes, be certain we will," Segar added, an oddly mocking smile flitting over his mouth. "In less crowded surroundings, of course. At this court, the name Landers guarantees a private audience."
"It does at that," Esme murmured, holding my gaze for far longer than necessary before turning to the next group of courtiers eager to greet her and offer their congratulations.
"And there goes the future of our great nation," Cyril said in a low voice before he downed yet another goblet of wine in several long gulps.
"Here now, sir." I took the goblet from him. "You're not accustomed to so much--one more will put you in a stupor."
He wiped his mouth, staring at me. "Presumptuous whelp," he growled. "I was thirty years in this world before you even drew your first breath, and you dare upbraid me?"
"We need you at your best, since neither I nor Father will be at council the next several days."
"Well, that's nothing new. I'm used to holding everything together by myself while you two gallivant." Despite his ill humor, I noticed he didn't reach for any more wine.
"Come, sir. I think we've put in the requisite amount of time here, and I have much to discuss with you. Leave first, and I'll follow you in a few minutes," I whispered.
He nodded and departed as I watched Esme and Segar make their rounds. There went the future of Cormalen indeed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Corcin, Eastern Cormalen
July, 3 years ago
The steeple clock of the church in the square boomed four times in its somber voice as I bounded up the steps to the front door after my meeting with Cyril about the peasant unrest. Four o'clock. I should have been on the road two hours ago, if I expected to reach Ragnar's headquarters in Torana Province by midnight. Cursing a steady litany, I started up the stairs to the bedchamber, the outside door banging shut behind me.
"Sir?" Birdley called, and I paused halfway up the steps, panting harshly. She emerged from the back hallway leading to the kitchen, her hand clutched around a roll of parchment. "Urgent message from Landers Hall," she said.
Thinking it a message from Father, I grabbed the scroll from her and unfurled it with a snap of parchment. But it wasn't from Father. The neat handwriting with its fussy little curlicues was unknown to me, until I glanced at the signature. Dagmar. What? What could she possibly have to write to me? Quite a lot, judging from all the dense paragraphs. I scanned her words quickly, torn between laughter and cursing.
Merius,
Loath as I am to put pen to paper about this matter, something must be done, and you’re the only one who can do it. If my father were alive, God rest his soul, he could take my sister in hand, but as it is, the task falls to you as her husband. She only laughs and tells me I worry too much when I try to speak with her, the disrespectful creature. You know how she can be--Father spoiled her, and she’s terribly headstrong, dangerously so sometimes. Perhaps it’s good you married her and not another man--being spoiled and willful yourself, you’re less likely to tolerate willfulness in another and will know better than I how to handle her.
She’s several months gone with child, yet still wanders far afield. I try to go with her but she slips away like some will-o-the-wisp, and later I hear the servants say they’ve seen her in Calcors, near the docks of all places! I questioned her about it, and she said that she likes to go to market and watch the ships sail in and out of the harbor. It’s no place for an unescorted woman. I’m sure she catches rides with unsavory sorts, vagabonds and such, for Ebner would never agree to let the Landers carriage bear her to gad about in her condition.
When she’s not wandering, she's painting those strange fancies of hers like a fiend. The servants here think she’s a bit mad and are quite patient with her, like they would be with a wayward child. I can’t imagine what they say to each other and their families in private about her. Aside from those odd bodyguards you hired, Elsa is the only servant Safire will allow to go with her when she wanders. I’m glad for this, as Elsa is quite sensible and a steadying influence on Safire--Lord knows she needs it.
Lest you believe all the news is bad, let me assure you that Safire has taken a great interest in readying the baby’s clothes and things. I have very much enjoyed instructing her--Safire can be quite skilled at sewing and knitting when she applies herself, and she is determined your baby shall lack for nothing. She is very attentive to everything I have to tell her as far the baby is concerned, a nice change from her indifference to my greater knowledge in most matters.
I'm quite proud of my husband. Selwyn got the Rivers to pay their harvest debts in full at long last. Old man Rivers complained bitterly about the rents and didn’t understand why he couldn’t pay his portion in half-rotted potatoes! Sir Whitten would have let him pay it in potatoes, apparently, but Selwyn let him know those days are over. Otherwise we are well. I hope to deliver another healthy son in December and eagerly await the day of his arrival. Flavian has been quite peevish with teething, poor little dear--Greit made him a hard kind of biscuit to gnaw on and then gave him an herb to chew, which seemed to help a great deal--these old women can be so wise in such things.
Sir Mordric says for you to return as soon as possible. He has some matters that require your assistance.
Please attend to what I wrote about Safire--I’m so worried for her--
Very Sincerely Your Sister-in-Law,
Lady Dagmar of Landers
"That witch," I muttered under my breath. What was she thinking, going to Calcors like that? Had she learned nothing in Sarneth? I turned to Birdley. "Where's Jared?"
"Here, sir." Jared shambled through the doorway leading to the kitchen, his eyes glinting in the shadowy front hall as he and Birdley looked at me expectantly.
"Jared, go prepare to return to Landers Hall with me. We leave in a quarter hour. The horses are fresh and we're supposed to have clear sky and moonlight, so I intend to ride all night if need be."
"Yes sir." He dodged past me up the stairs, presumably on his way to his chamber on the third floor.
I turned back to Birdley, who stood with her mouth slightly agape. "Is everything all right, sir?" she said after a long moment. "Elsa, Lady Safire?"
"Elsa's fine, and Lady Safire with her," I said softly. "Now, I don't want you here by yourself. Go to court and stay with Lady Eden and Bridget. You'll be safe there."
"What about the house?"
"We'll lock it up. It'll be fine."
"When will you be back?"
"I'm not sure, maybe a week. Now go pack."
She bobbed her head. "Yes sir."
I pounded up the rest of the steps and threw open the door to Safire's and my chamber. Insane witch. Why hadn't Father taken her to task? He or Randel was supposed to be keeping an eye on her. Were they too occupied with estate matters to do so? Were the peasants that restless? If so, he should have summoned me home before this. I stood before the wardrobe, stuffing whatever I could reach in my saddlebags as I seethed.
*Merius? For the first time in a week and a half, Safire's voice was in my head. *I can feel your worry. It was as if she draped an itchy blanket around my shoulders, apparently what my worry felt like to her. *What's wrong?
*You. Wordless, I showed her the contents of Dagmar's letter, all the images of her traipsing around Calcors with vagabonds, not a care in the world.
Safire stopped me finally. *She wrote you all that? Her amused exasperation rose like bubbles in my blood, warring with the anger tightening my muscles. *Does she want us to fight?
*It's no laughing matter, witch.
*She exaggerates--she's my sister and I love her, but she exaggerates. She always has. And I really think there's some deeply buried part of her that wants to provoke a fight between us. This is what happened. I rode into Calcors one day with Ebner. I talked to some vagabonds, but I never rode with them anywhere.
*Why did you talk to them?
*Merius, please--you'll worry yourself sick for nothing. I just wanted to sketch their caravan, that's all. You think I learned nothing in Sarneth?
*Sometimes, yes.
I could feel her shaking her head. Then an image flashed in my mind of that day we trysted on the parapet. Safire had lost her cloak, and I had given her mine so she wouldn't get cold in the drafts gusting off the river below. My cloak was far too large for her and slid off her narrow shoulders in voluminous folds, the wind teasing loose strands of her wild hair like flames. 'To watch over me--is that what you were going to say?' the Safire in the image demanded. 'You're just like my father, my sister. All of you will trip and fall, watching me instead of watching where you're going. Who's going to watch over you, Merius, while you're so far away fighting?'
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 27