I had thought Mordric wished me to seek an immediate audience with Peregrine so I could deliver Safire's letter, but when I asked, he bade me to wait. He wanted to see what evidence Cyranea had gathered concerning Peregrine and her father's dealings with the SerVerin Empire first. We had several anxious days wondering about her--she wasn't at court when we arrived, and neither Mordric nor I dared ask after her or send her a message, lest people suspect we were in league with her. It wouldn't do for Peregrine to find out our plotting together--he would surely suspect a trap.
Finally, after a week had passed, Bridget informed me she had heard from the servants in the kitchens that Cyranea had returned. Accompanied by Gerard of Casian, I went to the ball early so that I would be certain to go through the royal receiving line, a formality I usually skipped except for special occasions like masquerades. Gerard had sent me a bouquet of crimson roses when I returned to court, a saucily bold color and flower choice that made Mordric lift his brows when he saw them. "He knows he hasn't a chance, right? A younger son with no inheritance, relegated to the king's guard?" he had said to which I replied with a laugh, "Indeed, sir--so speaks a younger son, relegated to the king's guard yourself at one time." Then I had sent Gerard a gracious little thank-you note with an invitation to escort me to the ball.
We fell in behind some Sarneth couple, a stray remnant of Esme's retinue. The woman possessed the long bones and height that allowed her high-waisted, champagne-colored frock to drape just so over her frame, black lace frothing in tiers of ruffles down the back of the skirt. I made a mental note of the color combination, one I hadn't seen before. Mordric and Merius were worried about Esme's effect on our court because of her seeming similarities to her mother Queen Jazmene, but I couldn't help but think she at least would bring some needed sophistication. Queen Verna had excellent taste, but years of King Arian's religious fervor and condemnations had muted it. Segar would likely encourage Esme to redecorate the whole palace when the time came--I could just hear Mordric railing about the court treasury now.
"What are they doing up there?" Gerard grumbled. "Eating a seven-course dinner?"
I flicked him with my fan. "Are you saying the radiance of my company isn't enough to distract you?"
"Oh, you're radiant, all right." He beamed in my direction. "So radiant I'd smack a gilt crown on your head and put you on the altar with the good saints themselves if I didn't know it would bore you to tears."
"That's probably as close to the altar as I'll ever get."
"Really?" He frowned, running his thumb over the swirled hilt of his sword. "Does Mordric never mean to betroth you then?"
"Well no," I stammered, taken aback. "At least not that I know of."
Gerard shook his head, his mouth still pursed in a frown. "Pity, that. You'd make someone a fine wife."
My heart felt afire, as if I'd eaten too much aspic (horrible stuff) at dinner. My eager ears had instantly jumped on the wild assumption that Gerard meant Mordric and I could be betrothed to each other, when he had clearly meant Mordric betrothing me to some other man. Any sane person would have realized what Gerard meant, but I was no longer sane, apparently. Or at least my ears were no longer sane.
Our place in the line finally reached the royal party. Princess Esme's and Queen Verna's ladies-in-waiting were always arrayed at the beginning. Cyranea's spectacles flashed as she glanced up to meet my gaze. Her face was composed but pale, faint lines creasing the edges as if she'd had too many sleepless nights recently. As we clasped hands and kissed cheeks in the standard greeting, I slid a folded bit of foolscap from my palm to hers. Her fingers curled around it, and she gave a slight jerk of her angular jaw in acknowledgement.
Next was Princess Esme, the first time I had seen her since her arrival. God, I wanted her hair--sleek, smooth coils of nut brown braided in a coronet that had to weigh several pounds once one counted all the sapphires in her tiara and her silver hairpins. No frizz in humid weather for her, no rogue curls, no lack of sheen. When I said my name, she gave the barest start, and her eyes appraised me with a dark glint before she cast them toward Prince Segar.
"Here's one of your court favorites, Segar, the lady Eden you've told me so much about," she trilled in that perfectly modulated voice, so like her wicked mother it was no wonder Mordric and Merius felt nervous about her.
"Yes, my crown jewel?" he said, his gaze lighting on me as he turned from Gerard. "It is indeed the Lady Eden." We traded ironic smiles, his right eyebrow pointed in its customary sardonic arch.
"My crown jewel--is that really what you plan to call me?" Esme demanded.
"It seems a worthy endearment for all your fine attributes, my dear Esme: royalty, beauty, eternity after we're wed," Segar murmured, his eyebrow still arched.
"What endearment would you want to be called, Lady Eden?" Esme's look held dark laughter.
"My bonbon, Your Highness."
"But bonbons are such a fleeting pleasure, so quickly consumed."
"All pleasures are fleeting, Your Highness. Their ephemeral nature is what makes them pleasures."
"Ah, I see we have a philosopher in our midst. I shouldn't be surprised, given your kinship to Sir Merius. How is he?" Her careful enunciation became less pronounced when she spoke Merius's name, her tone softened.
I caught Segar's expression--an impish grin that showed his crooked teeth. "Yes, how is Merius? When can we expect him back at court?"
"He should be here within a fortnight. And he's recovering quite quickly--I think the country air invigorates him."
Gerard guffawed, completely oblivious to the subtleties of our exchange. "I bet he's invigorated, being back home. He sure missed that spitfire wife of his when she had to go home for awhile without him--I've never seen a man laid so low by a woman."
"Indeed." The gleam in Esme's eyes turned frosty, glass in winter. "Laid low in what way, Sir Gerard?"
Gerard suddenly seemed to have a dim realization that his tongue had gotten away from him. "Well, you know, Your Highness, he felt ill," he said vaguely, scratching his jaw.
"Despondent I think is the word Sir Gerard means, Your Highness. Morose. But Merius is much improved now, especially given the recent success with Sir Sullay's case and the peasants. Come, Sir Gerard, we should let Their Highnesses greet their other guests." I patted Gerard's hand where he held my arm, just in case my obvious hint hadn't been obvious enough for him.
Esme and Segar exchanged a glance, his eyes sparkling, hers sharp. Then he smiled, which coaxed an answering smile from her own lips, and suddenly her eyes flickered with that dusky merriment again. They were in cahoots, two young lions batting the idea of Merius back and forth between them like a prized toy. I had always known that King Arian, with his religious strictures and witch burnings, could be dangerous to the House of Landers. But I realized now there were other kinds of danger lurking in the shadows behind the throne. Thank God Cormalen didn't believe in royal absolutism the same way Sarneth did. More than ever, I could see the value of a strong nobility and merchant class to curtail the royal appetite. All the lectures Mordric had given me and Merius over the years, all those boring government treatises he had made us read, suddenly took on new meaning. I went through greeting Queen Verna and King Arian by rote. Exhaustive training had its uses--my mind was often occupied elsewhere while I carried out the basic court rituals.
Gerard jerked me loose from my reverie as soon as we were safely out of royal earshot. "What's your pleasure, my lady?" he roared as if we were in a tavern.
"Dancing, of course." I laughed as he pulled me into a lively reel, all the intrigue and subtle power plays forgotten. For the moment.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mordric stalked from one end of my bedchamber to the other, his hands clutched together behind his back. "If you don't stop, I'm going to start calling you Merius," I said finally as I turned from my vanity mirror. "You're wearing a bare spot in the rug." Then I turned back to the mirror and bit my lips to redden them. I looked much be
tter by candlelight than daylight, I decided, the yellow flames giving rise to the subtle honey tone in my skin. In the sun, that same honey tone would have looked sallow. "I'm a creature of the night," I murmured.
"You're a creature of vanity," Mordric barked, stopping briefly to peer in the mirror over my shoulder before resuming his pacing again. "I never seen a woman look in the mirror so much."
I smirked at my reflection. "And I've never seen a man who enjoyed watching a woman so much--criticize all you like, but you've certainly been the beneficiary of my vanity."
He muttered something unintelligible, then cursed as my mantel clock chimed. "Where the devil is she? It's half past ten."
"Likely she's still at the ball--sometimes the ladies-in-waiting have to stay till midnight."
"Why? Queen Verna never stays so late." He sat on the painted trunk at the foot of my bed, his shoulders appearing so stiff that I rose from my stool and knelt behind him so I could knead his muscles. He made a half-hearted effort to shrug me away, but I ignored it, thrilling at the feel of him growing pliant at my touch. "We'll be here all night," he said finally, only a hint of his former irascibility hardening his tone.
"Is that so?" I whispered in his ear.
He rewarded me with a quick glance back, a faint smile as he reached up and caught my hand under his. "You really are as wicked as Cyril says."
"He'd have apoplexy if he knew the truth," I said with deliberate lightness, testing us both with the idea.
"Then I could become head of council," Mordric replied, so deadpan that it was an instant or two before I let loose a startled laugh.
There came a timid knock at the door. "That'll be her." I rose from the trunk. I had given Bridget the evening off so we could have complete privacy.
I had instructed Cyranea in the note that I would leave the outer door to my front chamber unlocked so she could proceed through directly to my bedchamber door. This lessened the likelihood of her attracting anyone's notice in the main hallway. "We are alone?" she murmured as she entered the chamber and I secured the door behind her.
"Except for Sir Mordric."
She nodded and lowered the hood of her cloak. In the dimness of my chamber, she appeared even more pallid than she had earlier in the well-lit ballroom, the dark circles under her eyes like purplish bruises in the guttering candlelight.
"Here, have a seat." I gripped her elbow and led her to the only chair, a low-slung, cushioned affair I sometimes used for reading. She slumped back, the plump pillows enveloping her skinny body, her eyes slipping closed for a moment. I claimed the vanity stool. Mordric, still sitting on the trunk, leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees, his hands clasped together as he watched her, steady and silent as a wolf patiently trailing its prey.
"Forgive me." She opened her eyes. "This is the first time I've sat down today, except for being in the coach this morning. And that was hardly a rest--Mother and I kept starting at every little noise. We expected Father might follow us."
"Did he?" Mordric asked.
"Perhaps. I don't know. We told him we headed south to see my mother's sister, but once he discovers what I've done, he's sure to know we went to court instead." When silence followed this cryptic remark, I started to rise.
"Would you like some tea?"
She nodded, and I went out to the front chamber where Bridget and I kept a kettle simmering over the banked embers of the fireplace. I made the tea strong and then added several large dollops of honey and a swig of whiskey. I had never seen Cyranea, usually so cool and self-possessed, in such a state.
She slurped down the tea with unladylike haste. Setting aside the cup, she straightened and looked at us directly, now at least restored to a shadow of her usual self. "Before I begin, I want a pledge from you, sir."
Mordric met my glance before he looked back at her. "Of course. What is it?"
"I cast myself and my mother on your mercy and beg your protection. As a high-ranking member of the council and a royal advisor, only a man like you has the clout to help us, and I know you also possess the honor to follow through on your commitments."
He reached out and clasped her hands under his large palm. "I swear on the good name of my family and House of Landers that you and your mother have my protection."
With a quick nod, she exhaled. "Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you. You see, when my father discovers what I've done, he's sure to forsake me, perhaps try to kill me. Even with the pledge His Majesty and His Highness signed putting my father's estate to my name if I found evidence of his duplicity with Peregrine, I feared not having a sure ally on the council."
"Well, you have one now. Three actually," Mordric said, his dry tone concealing the depth of his concern. "Myself and Merius, of course, and I vouch for Sir Cyril as well--he's not privy to our plans yet, but he will be. Even if he didn't detest Peregrine, he'd never suffer innocents to be harmed under his watch."
"To my father, I'm far from innocent." She removed her spectacles with an impatient gesture.
"And what good deed have you done, Cyranea, to earn an evil-doer's enmity?" I prompted.
"I purloined a letter." She gave a short, mirthless laugh, the sound so sudden I jumped. "Father doesn't even know what purloined means. If he did, perhaps he wouldn't have left the letter where I could find it. Or perhaps I underestimate him. Perhaps he left it intact as a test, to see if I would try to take it. To see if I would betray him." She rocked back and forth a little and swiped her handkerchief across her watering eyes before she blew her nose.
"Where's this letter?" Mordric asked.
She mutely held out a scroll of narrow parchment, the remnants of a blue wax seal marring the edges. Mordric took it and scanned it, then gave a low whistle. "He should have burned this."
"I know--I think he meant to, but I was too quick for him. He didn't realize I was hiding in his study the day he received it." She rubbed her shoulder absently, as if remembering how she had to wait in cramped conditions for her father to leave the room. "After he received the letter, I heard him open the locked drawer of his desk to stow it. Then he went out of the chamber, calling for his steward to let him know that Peregrine would be visiting. That's when I picked the lock and took the letter. I'm sure he meant to burn it after he had a chance to read it again. Whatever else he is, he's no fool."
Mordric handed me the letter--I saw Peregrine's unmistakable heavy script like black slashes across the page, the claws forming the tails of his lowercase Gs. Anyone who had observed him sign his name would recognize that distinctive claw.
"So this outlines the details of a secret meeting with Elcarza. That's the SerVerinese ambassador, right?" I said, handing the letter back to Mordric.
"I doubt he'll be ambassador much longer when this comes before the council," he observed, stowing the letter in the inner pocket of his doublet. "We should take this straight to Prince Segar, Cyranea. Is your mother in your chambers here?" When she nodded, he continued, "Good. I'm going to ask His Highness to put a guard at your door. Eden, I'll be back," he said as he stood, buckled his sword scabbard to his belt, and then donned his summer cloak, making certain the hood concealed his face as much as possible. He helped Cyranea to her feet and waited while she adjusted her own cloak hood. Then, his hand tight around her arm, he escorted her from the chamber, their footfalls quiet as shadows passing in the night.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Peregrine,
My husband has learned of our meeting at the market stall, the incident in the palace garden, and your secret visit during the banquet last spring. I'm sure you can ascertain who told him. He's so upset that he's threatened me with exposure before His Majesty and the council if you seek me out again. I beg you to forget you ever met me and go about your business--surely there is another woman in this world more worthy of your attentions than myself.
Sincerely,
S
Mordric read Safire's letter over my shoulder one last time. I looked back at him, and he nodded with a
quiet sigh. I nodded back and folded the parchment in thirds. I secured it with red wax and a blank seal I kept for correspondence I didn't want marked with the Landers insignia.
"It's a good letter--it mentions just enough details to convince him, but remains vague enough that he'd find it near impossible to use against us." I glanced in the mirror to make certain I was presentable enough to go out.
Mordric whipped off his spectacles and cupped his hand over his eyes as if the light pained him. "Except when he comes after her with the intention of killing Merius and kidnapping her."
"Come, sir--he'll be executed for treason long before he's able to do that. Even if he were to declare her a witch before the council, few would believe him when we have clear evidence of his treason."
"Then why are we risking the gamble of this letter?" he grumbled.
"Because there are always those few who would believe him, and we don't need the risk. This letter isn't a gamble--it's an extra guarantee that he'll remain true to his feelings for her." I parroted back his own words to him. "Are you all right?" I asked softly, hesitating, wondering if I should ask at all. He detested the thought of his weak spots on display.
He brushed his hand over my hair, his lips creased in a thin smile. "I'm fine, my dear." He paused, one corner of his mouth suddenly turning down in a half frown. "It just seems sometimes the more I try to protect our House, the more precarious our position becomes."
"It only seems that way right now because of what you've endured in the last month. In the space of a week, you almost lost your only son to a fool's arrow, averted a peasant uprising, and took the law of the province into your own hands." I rubbed the back of his neck in invisible circles with my fingertips. "We're almost at the end, you know. Sullay's imprisoned, we have evidence of Peregrine's treason . . ."
"It's never at an end, Eden--even when this intrigue is over, there'll always be some threat."
I gripped his neck. "That's why you need a rest. As soon as Merius is back, we'll arrange it."
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 37