"Eden, he knows you suspect his unnatural lusts. No matter how friendly he may seem to you, the last thing he wants is for anyone else to find out what he really gets up to in the bedchamber. It could be the end not only of his reign before it's even begun, but his life as well. Don't you think that would make him desperate enough to ensure you never talk again?"
"He's not ruthless like King Rainier. You don't know him like I do. He has a soft spot for me, and he knows I won't talk."
"How can you be so obtuse about this?" I demanded.
"He's my friend, sir, and I will not jeopardize that with pointless threats. Your jealousy has made you the obtuse one."
"Friend," I spat. "He could order you roasted alive if he wanted."
"So could you--does that mean we're not friends?" she asked coolly. "Does that mean I should threaten to write out all your secrets and hide it in a safe place in case you decide to dispose of me?"
I breathed a sigh and shut my eyes. I wanted to argue with her, make her see reason, but my mind was tired. Best to let it wait until we were back at court. It had been a long week.
"I think we're more than friends, Eden," I muttered.
My eyes still closed, I heard the rustle of her gown as she came closer, then felt the heat of her body as she leaned in for a kiss. Her lips were cool, a noticeable contrast to the afternoon sunlight flooding the chamber. I opened my eyes then. She looked different by daylight, her skin golden in the sun, and I wanted to see her that way again. Now her lips were warm and open under mine. She tasted of fermented honey, so good that I pushed her back against the wall, my hands straying from her shoulders to her laces and then to her breasts. She moaned, her arms tight against my back. Then we froze, our breathing a ragged rhythm as we both heard the same sound: muffled laughter from the hall.
“We had better return to our chambers . . .” She made a move toward the door.
I grabbed her wrist. “Not yet.”
She met my gaze, her eyes unreadable. “Mordric, what if someone walks in?”
“The door‘s locked. Hell, I could die in here, and they wouldn‘t dare enter for a week for fear of disturbing me.”
A shadow of her grin returned. “What‘s gotten into you?” she asked.
I took her hand and pulled her down with me to the huge bear hide rug that lay in front of the fireplace. I had speared the bear that had once worn this hide after a day’s journey into the hills with King Arian’s hunting party.
“It feels rougher than I thought it would,” Eden said, running her bare arm over the fur.
“It had its winter growth of fur when I killed it.” I stripped away the rest of her frock, and she shivered.
“You won’t notice the drafts for long.” I kissed my way down her neck, over her collar bone, to her breasts, where I nibbled tight circles around both her nipples without touching either--yet. She arched against me, already warming to the task at hand.
“Sir?” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“How long do we keep this a secret?”
“For as long as it lasts.”
“What if it lasts a long-g . . .” her words trailed off in a moan as I lightly bit one nipple, my hand already tracing the curve of her hip.
“It can’t last, Eden.”
“Why not?” Her voice was a throaty murmur as she brought her foot up, her toes touching me in places her hands couldn’t reach at the moment.
“You’ll find a young man--stop that, it makes me want you now, and it’s too soon . . .”
“Too soon for what?” She pulled me down and into her.
“You’re too impatient sometimes, my dear. There’s an art to this--you can’t rush it.” I savored the oiled velvet feel of her a moment before I began to move.
“I don’t want a younger man,” she gasped.
“You will soon enough. Now be quiet.”
“I’d let you weld me into that chastity belt before I’d go to another man.”
“You tell pretty lies. And I told you to be quiet.”
“Mordric . . .”
“Shh.“ I clapped my hand over her mouth and hastened my rhythm, not removing my hand until neither of us was capable of thinking in words anymore, much less of speaking them coherently.
Chapter Fourteen--Safire
House of Long Marsh, Silmer Province, Eastern Cormalen
August, 3 years ago
"Lady Safire?" Elsa said, her hand on my shoulder. We stood beside a woodland path, the trees creaking and swaying all around us in the wind. The full moon shone high overhead, the light so intense that black shadows scampered through a world of dark blue and silver.
"Shh," I whispered. The wind loosened my hair, and tendrils blew in my eyes. I tucked it back in my hood, a futile gesture as the wind grabbed it again, giggling as she tickled my nose with the ends. "Stop it." I stamped my foot and held the curls back as my eyes strained through the moving maze of shadows.
Far away, amidst the trees, I could have sworn I saw a small yellow glow, then another, then yet another, the lanterns of a large caravan bobbing like fireflies. "See, Elsa?" I yelled, pointing and laughing in wild delight as I inhaled the sharp scent of pine needles trampled under my dancing feet. "See, the fey company approaches. I knew it would be tonight. I knew it. Perhaps he'll come to me tonight . . ."
"Lady Safire?" Elsa shook my shoulder.
I glanced at her. "You know, him. The tall king clothed in moonlight, a crown of holly leaves and silver bells, my lover . . ." Merry bells jingled faintly, the sound of the wind's laughter.
"Lady Safire, honestly. Tall king in moonlight, my foot. Now wake up." Elsa sounded harassed, and I felt a vague misgiving. Perhaps I was the only one who could see his raiment of moonlight. Perhaps I shouldn't speak of him with such abandon. "Wake up." She shook me again.
I blinked, then started. The night woods vanished in a warm, golden spill of midmorning sunlight through the mullioned windows of the sitting room. I heard a clatter, then realized the charcoal stick in my hand had slipped to the floor. I yawned and stretched. My sketch board dipped on my lap, a rendering of a vagabond caravan emerging from Underhill, the ancient realm of the fey ones. "Merius here yet?" I murmured as I leaned against the window and looked out at a high summer day in full flower.
"Not yet." Elsa combed her hand through my hair. "I should have braided your hair this morning. I don't know how you did it, but it's already all in tangles."
"The wind did it--in my dream."
She sniffed. "Apparently a lot of things happened in your dream. Fey companies and some wild man clothed in holly and bells and naught else but moonlight . . . better hope Sir Merius never finds out about him."
I glanced over my shoulder at her. "That was Merius."
"Good thing, since you're a married woman."
I giggled and swatted at her, and a smile lit her face for an instant before she sighed, lines suddenly creasing shadows in the skin around her eyes and mouth. Her aura, usually bright autumn colors in sunlight, looked dull, dying leaves on a cloudy day. "What is it?" I asked, clasping her hand.
"My little nephew--the apothecary thinks he has lung fever."
"In the summer?"
"He's always been weak, a seven month's child. They had to keep him in a box on the hearth for weeks after he was born."
"What's his name?" I asked softly.
"Jerimy." Elsa choked then, a tear sliding down her face. "Mother said this morning that Nevina's just beside herself. She has other babes, but Jerimy, being the weakest one--he brings out her tender side the most, you know?"
I set the sketch board aside so I could stand and put my arms around her. She wept, her tears soaking my bodice. Dominic stirred then, and I wondered with a pang how I would feel if he had lung fever. Or Sewell. He could have lung fever right now, and I was five hundred leagues away. I reached out with my mind, and had a brief, fleeting sense of him, his taut weight against my shoulder, his scream in my ear as he cut a tooth, his sc
alded milk scent all around. Then it was gone, leaving me feeling as if someone had shoved me hard in the gut.
I choked out a sob of my own, my arms tight around Elsa. My fingers suddenly itched to return to my charcoals, my paints, my best way of distracting myself from thoughts of Sewell. But Elsa and her family needed my help first.
"Elsa, could you take me to Jerimy? Perhaps . . ." I trailed off as she lifted her tear-blotched face.
"You mean, heal him?" Her voice rose.
"I can try," I said, not wanting to get her hopes up too much. "I don't know how it will work--I can't help everyone. I could only ease my parents' pain, not heal them. Mordric, Merius, now--I've been able to heal them both, but only under certain circumstances. I don't understand how it works myself, honestly. But I'd be willing to try."
"Oh, Lady Safire, any help you could offer," she breathed. "I'd be eternally grateful."
"Let's go now then," I said, my voice sounding brisk as Dagmar's when there was work to be done.
The assassin with the yellow-green aura lurked outside the door. Elsa gasped when she saw him. Then she stepped in front of me and lifted her chin as she stared at him.
When he reached for my arm, I backed away and brandished the dagger I kept in a scabbard on my sash now at all times. "Don't you dare touch us. I killed a man with this once. I'll do it again."
He sighed heavily. "Lady Safire, we don't want to use the Ursula's Bane."
"So don't." I sheathed the dagger, then grabbed Elsa's arm and towed her down the hall past the assassin. He fell into step behind us, muttering in Sarns to himself.
"We can't let you keep putting yourself in danger," he said aloud. I thought of him as the emissary, the diplomatic one the other assassins sent to deal with me. He had a soothing manner, the same assassin who had held me that night in the garden while his bullish companion forced me to inhale the Ursula's Bane. I glanced back at him and caught a flash of yellow-green.
"I'm not putting myself in danger," I said, my tone tart in my mouth. "Elsa and I are just going out. Seems to me that you and your comrades would appreciate an assignment like this where you get to go out and have adventures. I could be one of those really dull ladies who just sits around and embroiders all day, you know."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Silmer Province, Eastern Cormalen
August, 3 years ago
I had Boltan take us to Nevina's cottage in the pony cart. It was a long way to walk, and I didn't like to waste any time, given Elsa's report of the gravity of Jerimy's condition. Two of the assassins followed on horseback. The cottage was tucked in a copse of oak and beech trees, the only evidence of its presence a worn footpath through the field beside the road and spicy smoke from a fragrant fire in the air.
"Mother burns pine needles and knots when she has them--she likes the smell," Elsa explained when she noticed me inhaling the scent.
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I glanced up at Boltan. "Will you be all right here? We shouldn't be long."
He fanned himself with his hat, the few remaining strands of his white hair waving in the breeze. "Me--why are you asking me? I'm just baggage, according to your horse. Would you look at her," he exclaimed as he jerked on the reins. Strawberry gave a low snort and shook her mane as if a fly had niggled her. Then she returned to the task at hand, namely eating the whole meadow. She had already pulled the cart at an angle so she could reach the clover on the side of the road. The quiet snuffling chomp of her busy mouth made me grin.
"I hope she doesn't founder--you'd think we never fed her." I ran my hand over Strawberry's mane and rubbed her nose when she angled her head toward me, the transition from rough mane to smooth velvety nose tingling through my fingertips. When she discovered I had no carrots, she turned back to the clover. "Silly creature." I patted her neck. Then I straightened, waved at Boltan, and started to follow Elsa on the footpath through the field.
I soon glimpsed the reddish stone and gray mortar of the cottage amidst the tree trunks, its windows winking in the sunlight. The hills rose behind it, cradling it at their base, and I realized with a pang that Landers Hall was on the other side of them. The emissary assassin had informed me they would dose Merius with the Ursula's Bane if I attempted to return to Landers Hall, that Merius would be allowed to join me when the assassins determined all was calm. Damn them. I had wanted to keep an eye on his shoulder to make certain it healed right. Too much internal scarring from a wound like his could cause him to lose the full use of his right arm. Of course, that might mean he could no longer lift a shield or use a bow. Perhaps that would keep him out of battle when the time came, as armies relied on bows more than swords. Guilt soured my insides for even the thought that his injury might be a good thing in the long run. But I couldn't help it. I was his wife and bore his child. The last thing I wanted was for him to go away to war. Thank God we had each other blocked at the moment.
The sun was high overhead, flooding the glade and glancing against the glazed windows of the cottage. Geese stretched their long necks over the edge of a wood-framed pen beside the cottage, their webbed feet slapping in the packed dirt as they hissed at each other and craned for corn from the hand of a small, freckled boy. He held his hand out, then chortled as he snatched it back from the geese.
"Dempsy, stop teasing those geese right now," Elsa yelled.
He dropped the corn in the dirt, his bare feet flying as he took off for the woods. "He knows better than that--these geese are bound for market tomorrow," Elsa muttered as she picked up the corn and threw it in the pen. The geese were a seething gray sea as they struggled to snatch up the precious golden kernels.
Wiping her hands on her pinafore, she walked over to the front door. Constructed of pale wood with scrolled iron hinges and an arched top, it had a small round window in the middle, just how I would imagine a fairy godmother cottage door to look. All the windows of the cottage had diamond panes, like a noble manor, the walls at least a foot thick to keep out the bitter winter. This was no peasant hovel, but a wealthy tenant's home or a lord's hunting lodge.
"Which estate is this part of?" I wondered as we stepped over the threshold. I immediately noticed the fire crackling on the wide hearth as sweat beaded on my forehead. It was like a furnace in here. Likely Jerimy had the chills.
Elsa glanced at me, as if surprised by my question. "The House of Landers. Now it belongs to Mother."
"Your husband's father granted it to me when Holt died, my lady," said a woman softly, her voice a mellow contralto. I found my hands enclosed in her warm, work-roughened grip. "I'm Celia, Elsa's mother," she said. Now I knew where Elsa got her fine singing voice and her giving, practical nature. If I had been sketching Celia, I would have started with a series of circles and ovals. To say she was stout didn't capture the generosity of her muscular curves, earned from a lifetime of childbearing and nursing and rocking babies to sleep as they rested against the pillow of her breasts. Her aura glowed a verdant green and smelled of sun-dried hay in a loft. I thought of the sketch of the buxom fertility goddess in Talus's journals, and I wanted to paint her in rich earth tones lying in a field, the mounds of her body the very soil from which sprang all life.
"Lady Safire," Elsa prompted, and I returned to reality to find both her and Celia watching me with identical bemused smiles. "You went in another one of your trances."
"I'm sorry. Where's Jerimy?"
"Over here, my lady." Celia gestured toward the shadowy inglenook. Then she glanced at me. "Your expression just now--you look so like your mother, except for the hair. Hers was pale as wheat."
"You knew my mother?"
"Of course. She was a great lady," Celia lowered her voice and glanced around as if spies lurked at the windows, "and a fine healer, like my mother. Rest assured, whatever you can do to help Jerimy, we'll not breathe a word."
I nodded, wondering suddenly about my mother. How did Celia know she was a healer? As far as I knew, Mother had never used or discussed her talents outside the confines
of our home, and even there, she had been cautious, especially around the servants and Father. Father had known she and I were witches, of course, but he had discouraged any mention of it, had even seemed uncomfortable when one of us did something as simple as drawing away the tension from his shoulders. Mother herself hadn't taught me how to use my talents, only how to hide them.
A young woman perhaps a few years older than Elsa emerged from the inglenook, a toddler clutched in her arms. Her face was flushed, her eyes red from weeping. Sweat coiled the tendrils of hair around her forehead. "How can he be so hot and still shiver?" she said as she patted his back. He choked, then coughed, a raspy rattle that made my throat and lungs ache to hear.
"Nevina?" I said. "Can I hold him for a moment?"
She nodded, sniffling, and handed him to me. He was small for his age, his features elfin and delicate under a thick mop of hair the color of brown sugar. His eyes stayed closed when I took him. A thin lavender line barely visible around his body, his aura flickered as I ran my fingers over his back. His fever burned through the flannel of his nightshirt, and he shivered, huddled against my shoulder. A series of racking coughs tore through him. His whole body stiffened at the strain.
"Shh, shh," I murmured.
"My lady, you're with child. Are you sure you should be close to his fever . . ." Nevina's voice faded away as I wrapped Jerimy in my aura and rocked him, my arms aching for Sewell, the son I might never be able to cradle like this again. Maybe by holding Jerimy, healing him, I could hold Sewell too in this witches' realm, if only for a precious instant.
We stood on an island in the midst of a woodland river, purple twilight cool around us. A phoenix sang unseen far overhead, an unearthly soprano keening that told the story of this place, the first forest that ever grew. It seemed perfectly natural that I knew it was a phoenix singing even though I couldn't see her. It seemed perfectly natural that I understood she wanted me to lower Jerimy into the river. Jerimy's eyes opened as his feet touched the water. He started kicking and splashing and babbling, both of us laughing as he paddled about and smacked at bubbles with his tiny palms. He was a fairy child, happy to play in this ancient forest bath. The river flowed around him and drew away his fever. When his skin felt as cool as the water, I pulled him out and sat down with my legs crossed. I put him on my lap and smoothed back his damp hair. He curled on his side, his eyelids fluttering as he slipped toward dreamland, his thumb in his mouth as I began to tell him the story of the phoenix and how she laid the fiery egg that cracked open to become the world, the birth of all living things.
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 32