"For fidgeting--can't say that I blame him, but it was still a poor way to discipline you, so I sacked him. At least Renfrew kept you from fidgeting, but I have to say his cure was worse than the disease."
"What cure was that, Mordric?" the prince prodded, that toothy smirk sliding across his mouth again. Something we had said amused him apparently, though I certainly didn't understand what. He had some odd humors, this prince.
"Renfrew encouraged me to invent and build things," Merius said, his voice soft as if he spoke of his beloved witch. "A dam, a snare, a lamp that never went out in a draft, the first glider . . ."
"Yes, and what did we end up with: a flooded field, a burnt building, and you with a broken arm. And now you're building another one so you can leave your wife a widow and your son an orphan when you break your neck . . ."
"Father," Merius said tersely, his eyes pinched in a narrow glare. I remembered then we had a royal audience.
"My point is that Renfrew's a madman."
"A madman we don't want to end in the wrong hands," Segar added. "I have a favor to ask. You hid Renfrew once before. I'm asking you to hide him again."
Merius and I exchanged surprised looks. I knew what he was thinking--King Rainier's assassins, Peregrine's threat to kill Merius and seize Safire, Safire's secret identity as a witch. There were so many reasons we shouldn't be burdened with guarding an insane genius, so many reasons it wasn't safe. But we couldn't tell the prince any of them.
"Your Highness, I'm honored you would ask the Landers to assist with this matter, but given our high profile at court, I can't help but worry for Renfrew's safety," I said.
"Your high profile is the perfect shield as far as I'm concerned," Segar said glibly. "There should be many hiding places on the Landers estate . . ."
"That's true enough." I scratched my jaw, thinking. I had retained one of my father's hunting lodges way up in the hills. We could put Renfrew there for awhile. "But how would we avert suspicion from our own people?" I continued. "Wasn't Renfrew's identity betrayed by a peasant overseer with an axe to grind when he hid on the Aquiltine estate?"
"The House of Landers is different from the House of Aquiltine. Your people, your tenants--they're willing to defend you, die for you if need be, because they know you'd do the same for them. We saw that during the situation with Sullay. Sir Aquiltine has nowhere near the same trust with his people, nowhere near the same authority over them--it's no wonder that overseer betrayed him."
"Thank you, Your Highness," I muttered. Damned flatterer--he had gotten more skilled at persuasion.
"So it's settled then." Segar rose. "Thank you both, and I'll see you at the festivities tonight." He left the salon then, the rhythmic tramp of his boots dying away to an echo as he shut the door behind him.
"Damn them," Merius swore softly.
"What is it now?"
He clasped the back of his neck with one hand and stared glumly down at his toes. "Those assassins," he whispered. "I don't dare approach Renfrew lest they realize who he is. King Rainier would like nothing better than to learn the secret of the cannon powder. If not for them, I could ask Renfrew's counsel about the glider. "
"Thank God for them," I growled. "I swear, Merius, if you persist with this madness, I'll settle all my income and offices on your son."
"Father, he's still only an infant."
"So? I'll put Safire in charge of his inheritance if something happens to me before he comes of age. I never thought I'd say this, but she has more sense than you sometimes."
"Fine." Merius waved his hand dismissively. "If you want to settle it on Dominic, that's fine. Whatever makes you feel more at ease so you quit lecturing me."
"I just threatened to disinherit you in favor of your son, and that's all you have to say?" I demanded, stung that my threat had such little impact. I should have known. "I bet if I threatened to take all the books you stole back to the House of Landers, you'd be more upset."
Merius nodded. "Probably. I need those books. And I didn't steal them--I borrowed them."
"Without permission," I spat.
Merius grinned. "I don't suppose now is a good time to mention my idea of getting a tutor for the more promising peasant boys, is it? Hell, if not for King Rainier and Peregrine breathing down our necks, we could maybe use Renfrew for their tutor . . ."
"You're ridiculous. I have to go to the archery range, see to the men." I turned on my heel and strode toward the door. I stalked all the way downstairs and outside, not realizing I had forgotten my cloak until I was halfway across the courtyard and a cold wind knifed through my doublet and shirt. It took another quarter hour for me to retrieve my cloak and finally make my way down to the archery range. Then I marched up and down the line of shivering men and hollered about the importance of practicing in all weathers. This was a particularly good day for learning to account for wind gusts, I yelled. Then I showed them what I meant with my own bow, my irritation at Merius giving me the focus I needed to hit a bulls-eye not once, but twice despite the wind. A tutor for the cleverer peasant boys--it actually wasn't a terrible idea.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"You know, with the right guidance, Segar may make a decent king yet." I pulled open my wardrobe door with a creak and peered at the neat row of my doublets.
Eden gave a rich laugh, and I glanced over at her, the firelight gleaming against the shadowy cloud of her loose hair. She sat at my desk, her elbow swooping gracefully back and forth as she dipped the quill in the inkwell and then resumed composing a letter to Lemara. Since Merius had assumed more responsibilities, he no longer had time to help me with my correspondence, so I had solicited Eden's aid some months ago. She had a gift for it, as she had a gift for many skills unnatural for a woman to possess. She shook her head and laughed again.
"What is it?" I asked.
"You. You're so pragmatic sometimes it amuses me."
"I don't see how being practical is a jest." I glowered at the muted colors of my clothes. I hated dressing for balls.
"It's just that most men would be so concerned about Segar's true proclivities in the bedchamber that they would want to assassinate him before he had a chance to defile the throne."
I snorted. "I don't give a damn if he sleeps with goats so long as he's discreet about it. And so long as he manages to sire a legitimate heir." I paused, glanced over at her. "And so long as I know he's not sleeping with you."
She turned in the chair and met my gaze. We looked at each other for a long moment before she said abruptly, "Here, let me help you." She corked the inkwell before she rose and glided over to the wardrobe. "I think this one would look nice." She pulled out a doublet of burgundy satin with silver threads crisscrossing it.
"Where did that come from?" I demanded. "It's garish, like something Segar would wear. I'm not wearing that."
She froze, and I wondered if I had offended her with my comment. Then she reached out and touched the portrait Safire had painted of her that I had hung on the inside of the wardrobe door. "How did that get here?" she said, her voice quiet.
"I put it here for safekeeping when you went to visit the House of Tyrel."
Her head whipped around. "For safekeeping?" she hissed, staring at me. "Do you know how frantic I've been, looking for this for a week?"
I shrugged. "My chamber's more secure than yours, particularly since I was here at the time and you weren't."
"That's all you have to say?"
"What else should I say?" I held up my hands, my fingers outstretched as if trying to grasp the mystery of her sudden upset from the air. Women made no sense sometimes.
"You could have asked me first. You could have said something. I felt sure some obsessed admirer had stolen it, and I've been worried the last week whoever took it would see the movement in it. Thank God Safire didn't sign it."
"Why didn't you say something before if you were so worried?"
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Because I know how you are--you would have accus
ed me of carelessness and given me hell about it. And you've had it this whole time, you sneak. I should have known."
"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry for trying to safeguard my House?"
"No, Mordric. If that's how you want to interpret your actions, far be it for me to burst your illusions." Still shaking her head, she gave a mirthless laugh. She thrust the burgundy doublet into my hand before she gripped the edges of the portrait and removed it from the hook, tucking it facedown under her arm. "I'm taking this back to my chamber. Then I'm dressing for the ball. Don't wait up for me tonight."
I counted silently to five before I circled her shoulder with my hand. "Eden, please. I think I should keep the portrait here. It's safer."
"Safer?" She lowered her chin and stared up at me, the whites of her eyes showing in obvious doubt. "How?"
"You can't even display it properly in your chamber with all the visitors you entertain."
"You call the inside of your wardrobe a proper display?" she said, her voice dripping with acid. I choose to ignore her tone, even though it was clearly meant to irk me.
I tilted my head, scratched my temple. "It's a good likeness, far better than your portrait at the hall. Someone should have the chance to appreciate it, even if it's only me. The witch put a lot of time and talent into it."
A faint smile creased Eden's mouth, her ill humor mysteriously gone as quickly as it had arrived. "That she did. All right, I'll leave it here on one condition."
"Condition?"
"That you wear this doublet to the ball tonight. It's a good color for you."
Grumbling, I let her help me adjust the lacing on the shoulders and at the sides of the garish doublet. She smoothed the seams with her hands, her palms coming to rest on my chest as our eyes met. "There."
"Thank you, my dear."
"I'd better go get ready myself." She paused, as if she wanted to say something else but didn't quite dare. Then she shook her head and ducked under my arm toward the door. "I'll see you at the ball," she said quickly.
I gazed after her, even when the door closed and all I could see were the reflections of the candles flickering over the ridges of the polished paneling. Then I examined her portrait, back where it belonged on the inside of my wardrobe door. Safire had captured her mocking, catlike beauty, the amber eyes, the wide cheekbones, the narrow chin, the arched brows, and the faint ironic grin always hovering over her full lips. I hated to think of Gerard escorting her yet again, but better him than most of the other fools at court. At least he knew his place and hadn't asked to marry her or tried to make her his mistress or done anything else ridiculous--yet. I only risked escorting her every fortnight or so.
I felt a sudden urge to curse, though I had no idea why. Eden and I had the perfect arrangement. A year ago, I would never have asked a mistress to help me with intrigue. Tumbling and politics had been strictly segregated. Then Eden had breached the boundaries between us, and now I found it impossible to imagine court or bed without her. It had been easier than I expected keeping it a secret--I had always kept my affairs private and never paraded my mistresses about at public events, so everyone assumed I carried on as usual. They never questioned seeing me with Eden, as we were in the same House and had often been seen together long before we acted on the lust between us. As for Eden, she continued going to feasts and balls with a wide variety of escorts, the haze of innuendo that always hung around her obscuring the truth. Not even Randel or Bridget seemed to suspect anything, or if they did, they were far too well-trained to discuss it with anyone. So why did I still want to curse?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I searched from my outpost on the balcony, I quickly found Merius and Safire despite the people crowding the ballroom. Safire's blaze of curls stood out amidst all the blond, brunette, and gray heads around her. I fought through the throng, already wishing I was back upstairs in the quiet of my chamber.
I had to wait in line to reach them--this was the first time Safire had been at court since Dominic's birth, and it seemed more people wanted to talk to her than to Princess Esme herself. Eden and I had often discussed the mystery of Safire's popularity--mostly we tried to determine if it was a good or bad thing the witch was so sought-out. Eden had worried at first that Safire and Merius's obvious love match would attract the court vultures, especially after King Arian's recent rants about the sinfulness of unbridled carnal passion in marriage, but the only vulture so far had been Peregrine, and he had been interested in Safire long before she and Merius even knew each other. Otherwise, most at court seemed enchanted by the union of my scapegrace son with an eccentric sparrow noblewoman.
I conjectured this surprising development was due to several factors: Lady Rankin's influence, Merius's position and general ease in company, the stability of their marriage and affection for one another, and Safire's uncanny understanding of everyone she met. Eden had said that like Cyranea or Lady Rankin, Safire spent just enough time at palace functions to intrigue the regulars but not enough time to be seen with any particular faction, a wise strategy apparently in the court social hierarchy. I took Eden's word for it--I understood the power plays among fellow men, but when Eden started talking about the complex bloodbath occurring under the ladies' careful manners and strained smiles, my eyes started to glaze over. I had decided long ago that women were for the most part unreasonable creatures, and Eden's stories about the noblewomen at court had done little to convince me otherwise. Thank God the women closest to me had sense, and I included Safire in this circle. Despite her occasional oddities, Safire possessed a sweet manner and clever tongue that seemed to win over most people. Eden herself, always suspicious of other women, had disparaged the witch before she knew her. Then, all of sudden, they were fast friends, such good friends in fact that they often banded together to thwart me. I shook my head. I couldn't help but think Safire's peculiar brand of charm and interests outside of court would likely shield her from the worst of politics, a good thing in light of her hidden dark talents.
"Good evening, Father," Merius said with a bobbing nod of acknowledgement and a quick hand clasp. He ran his fingers under the edge of his high collar and then scratched the back of his neck.
"Good evening. Who's watching Dominic?"
"Elsa and Bridget have him up in Eden's chambers so Safire can nurse him in a few hours."
"Good. He's not even four months old yet. He needs his mother close by."
"Damn it, Father, you sound like a fussy old nursemaid."
"Merius," Safire whispered, pinching his wrist. "Your language, dear heart. Good evening, sir."
"Good evening, my dear. Here, what's this?" I muttered as she stepped forward and enveloped me in an embrace. Her witch touch loosened all my muscles. The insidious headache lurking at the edges of my busy mind, the headache I didn't even realize I had until she touched me, suddenly melted away, and I drew a deep breath. She stepped back, her narrow gaze running over me. Then she nodded, as if satisfied, and let go of my sleeves. "Thank you, Safire."
"You're welcome." Her face broke in a merry smile as the musicians began to play their fiddles, flutes, and drums in a lively song. She swayed in time to the music and grasped Merius's hand. The incongruity struck me then--she seemed so young, yet her eyes were ancient. She saw too much for a woman barely past girlhood, and I feared for her. I shook myself at such a ludicrous thought--what had gotten into me?
"If you'll excuse us, Father, we're going to dance," Merius announced. Then, both laughing like children, they raced toward the whirling swarm of couples, turning so fast I felt dizzy watching them. I forgot my odd surge of fear for Safire then--she and Merius would look out for one another and keep each other youthful for many years yet, no matter how old her eyes looked.
"It's good he found such a likely young woman to wed," Cyril said suddenly beside me. "I wager she'll bear him a dozen more healthy babes."
"I know I opposed their pairing at first, but now I'm glad--the House of Landers has seen enough de
ath recently to last us for several centuries." I plucked two tumblers of mead from the tray of a nearby servant. I handed one tumbler to Cyril, then lifted mine in a silent toast. He followed suit, and I drained the mead in several long gulps. It stung my throat with its tart sweetness, refreshing me just in time to witness Eden descend the main staircase, her hand resting lightly on Gerard's arm. She wore a new gown, golden lacing against a wine-colored background, the fullness of her breasts and hips accentuating the crisscross of the laces. My fingers itched to follow those golden lines, itched to undo those numerous knots, and I swallowed past the sudden dryness of my mouth and wished for more mead.
"Does Casian mean to marry her?" Cyril demanded, apparently following the direction of my gaze.
"No." I spared him a sideways glance, noted his quivering bilious expression--he looked as if the mead had upset his stomach, but then he always looked that way--before I turned my attention back to Eden. "I would never agree to such a match. He's far too lowborn for her."
Cyril gave a derisive snort. "Not that you'll ever listen to me, but you'd be wise to rethink that position and accept Casian if he asks for her. You likely will never get another offer so good for that wasp-tongued strumpet."
"What's the matter, Cyril? Did she turn you down when you asked her to be your mistress?"
He choked over the last of his mead and then sputtered it everywhere, narrowly missing spitting on a young girl's elaborate hairdo. "How dare you? I'll have you know I'll take no public slur on my honor, Mordric," he yelled. Several heads turned.
"And I'll take none on mine or on anyone in my House. If you dare insult her again, I'll assume you want her for a mistress."
"Assume what you like," he sniffed. "It's the reputation of your House on the line, not mine."
"I beg to differ. You've had your goat's eye on her for quite some time, haven't you? No old man insults a young woman so much unless he's secretly worried how she'd judge him in the bedchamber."
"That's it!" He slammed down his tumbler on a window ledge. "Outside, right now." He jerked his thumb toward the doors leading to the garden terrace before he stormed off in that direction. Shrugging, I followed. He flung open the doors, the blast of cold air from outside making several ladies exclaim loudly in our wake. I shut the doors behind us, then turned to face him.
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 42