Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3)

by Nilsen, Karen

  "Old goat," I gasped as he came at me and punched me in the gut. I flung him aside, and he fell on his rump. He exhaled in an agonized whistle, and I thought the foolishness was over. Then he grabbed my ankle and pulled me down. My knees hit the icy cobbles hard, and I grimaced at the stab of pain radiating up and down the bones of my legs. His fist connected with my cheek, his signet ring cutting me. The warm blood felt odd oozing down my cold skin. I struck him square on the nose, and he harrumphed, then covered his face with his hand as blood flowed down over his upper lip. Dimly, I heard the doors open, the tramp of boots on the cobbles. In the light pouring through the windows, I saw a tall figure run toward us.

  "Father, Sir Cyril, what the hell are you doing?" Merius reached for my shoulder just as Cyril slung his fist into my gut again. My own bellow of pain filled my ears. I jerked myself from Merius's restraining grip and pushed Cyril down, pummeling his face.

  "God damn you both," Merius swore. He grabbed my arms from behind, his fingers tough as iron manacles. He panted as I struggled against his grip, then he somehow dragged me to my feet. Cyril must have knocked the wind out of me--each breath I took felt as if I fanned a fire in my lungs. I coughed and tasted the rust of blood.

  Cyril groaned finally and rolled over on his stomach before he slowly pushed himself up. The blood on his face gleamed like a macabre mask in the light. I wondered if he would have two black eyes come morning in addition to a broken nose.

  "Let's get one thing straight," I wheezed when I finally had enough breath to speak. "If you ever say one more word about her, I'll break your jaw so we won't have to listen to your braying anymore."

  Despite his battered face, he tried to take another dive at me, all his movements stiff as if he were a marionette. "For God's sake," Merius exclaimed, yanking me back.

  "Merius?" There came the patter of slippers on the cobbles, and then Safire knelt beside Cyril. "Oh, Sir Somners, your face," she crooned. She pulled out a dainty handkerchief and started trying to clean the blood from under his nose. Her hand curled around his neck, and I noticed he didn't protest. Instead, his squared shoulders slackened as he drew a deep sigh of breath. "This isn't going to work. We need to get you to a washbasin to clean you up properly," she said. Cyril braced his hand on her shoulder as she rose.

  His eyes met mine in a bloody glare as he staggered to his feet, and if not for Safire and Merius, we likely would have had another go at each other. "This is only the first round, Mordric," he rasped.

  "Is that so, you old fool? Better make it the only round--I doubt you'll be standing for another one."

  "Quit it right now, both of you," Merius said through his teeth, his grip tightening on my arms. "You want King Arian or Prince Segar to witness this idiocy?"

  More people started filing out on to the terrace in whispering groups of two or three. There came the ring of spurs as Ronceval Devons stepped forward--since Sullay's arrest and Peregrine's departure, he was now the head merchant on the council. "You need any help, young Landers?" he roared.

  "Thank you, Sir Devons, but I think we're all right now."

  "What happened?" Devons looked from me to Cyril, his mouth turned up in a wide grin. "You two finally decide to go fisticuffs for the first council seat? Sorry I missed it--who won?"

  "I did, but I won't hold Cyril to the terms. He had some mead, and not being accustomed to drink, his judgment is compromised."

  "I should say so, if he thought he could beat you in a fight." Devons gave a hoarse snicker.

  Cyril's expression looked as if someone had jammed a lemon wedge over his tongue and down his throat. He spluttered once or twice, then swallowed hard, shaking his head. Safire clucked over him, and he glanced at her, his eyes softening. Even he wasn't immune to the witch. I wanted to laugh, but I didn't because it would have hurt.

  After a brief consultation, Merius and Safire decided to bypass the ballroom and escort us up one of the back staircases. The crowd on the terrace scattered--it had started to snow, and a nasty wind blew. Now that the excitement was over, I shivered at the cold.

  Safire went with Cyril to his chambers, and Merius led me to mine. I sank down on the edge of the bed, suddenly realizing how sore I was. I reached for my hip flask and took a swig. The whiskey warmth chased away some of the ache in my muscles, the pain of the bruises, but Safire's witch hands would have worked better.

  Merius poured water in the washbasin. Then he dipped a rag in the water and rubbed it over a cake of soap to make it sudsy before he leaned over me. I flinched as he pressed the rag against my face, the soap stinging in the cut Cyril's ring had made. "Son of a bitch," I muttered.

  He ignored my swearing, instead silently turning back to the washbasin and wringing out the rag. "What was all that about, anyway?" he asked as he rinsed the suds off my face.

  "He insulted Eden," I said.

  The rag paused over my jaw as Merius pondered this. "He's insulted her before, and you haven't punched him."

  "He's had it coming for a long time."

  He shrugged. "You two have been circling each other like stray curs for years--it was bound to erupt at some point, I suppose. Just make certain I'm there next time, all right?"

  "Why?"

  Merius held my gaze before he turned around and dropped the rag in the basin with a splash. "So I can stop you before you seriously hurt him."

  "You upstart dolt," I snarled. "I wasn't going to hurt him."

  "I know you wouldn't intend to, Father, but you're a lot stronger than he is, and once you lose your temper . . . just make certain I'm there, all right?"

  "God, I don't know how either of us survived our duel twenty-five years ago without your expert mediation," I snapped.

  The ass smiled, wiping his hands on a towel. "Sheer luck, I suppose. I've heard of this legendary duel, but you've never told me what it was about."

  "Your mother. Silliest duel I've ever fought--it lasted about five minutes, and then Cyril stumbled and hit his fool head on a rock. He claimed the sun got in his eyes."

  "Why were you fighting over Mother?"

  "Cyril accused me of seducing her before we were properly wed. Myself, I've always thought he wanted to seduce her but lacked the guts . . ."

  Merius raised his hand and grimaced. "I don't need to know any more. You two should never discuss women again, that much is clear." He reached for my arm so he could help me to my feet. "All right, let's go find Safire so she can ease your pain."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Much later that night, Eden and I lay together in my bed as a blizzard howled outside the windows. I inhaled through my nose, her exotic, spicy Marennese scent all around, intoxicating in its power. Her head rested on my shoulder, and her hair tingled against my skin as she turned her face up to look at me in the dark.

  "What is it?" I muttered, half asleep. "I can feel you watching me."

  There was a long silence, her fingers caressing the spot over my heart. "It's just," she whispered finally. "It's just I didn't feel you withdraw before . . . before the end."

  I heaved a sigh, my arm tightening around her shoulders. "That's because I didn't."

  There came another long silence. "Oh," she said, and I couldn't read her tone. She shifted, her hand sliding down to my middle as she hid her face against my chest. Her breath warmed my skin.

  "I'm sorry." I paused. "It seems I lost control."

  Her mouth tickled my skin as if her lips puckered up in a grin, though I couldn't be sure. "I don't mind you losing control on occasion."

  "Well, you should. What if it's the wrong occasion?"

  "It's not. Not tonight."

  "I'll take your word for it." I turned over on my side, and she followed my lead as though we moved in some ancient dance. My head pillowed on her hair, my arm tight around her waist, I said, "You know, it's your decision."

  "What is?"

  "When to end it, Eden. You're the one with everything to lose."

  "Is that so?" Her tone was light, but a shiver r
ippled down her body as if she were suddenly cold. "And what have I to lose that you don't?"

  "Your reputation, for one. Men can weather scandals and still marry. Women can't. It's not fair, but that's how it is, and there are plenty of Cyrils at this court ready to enforce it. Because of your high position, you've managed to balance on the edge of the blade thus far, but if someone caught wind of our affair, you could never be anything but a courtesan ever again. No man would marry you."

  "I knew the risks when we started this. I think you're the one who doesn't understand the risks." Her words had hard edges, and I knew then how angry she was. Her muscles went taut against mine.

  "What the hell does that mean? I just explained . . ."

  "So I have everything to lose and you have nothing? Why then are you holding me like I'm the last woman alive?"

  I longed to let her go, to show her that I didn't want her anymore, that she was free to leave if that was what she desired, but to do so would be acknowledging that I understood what she meant. So I gripped her even tighter. "You think I want it to end? I'm just being realistic."

  She gave a bark of laughter, so unexpected that it startled me. "You're so obtuse sometimes I can't even stay angry at you."

  "Obtuse? You're the fool who keeps risking your reputation for a man old enough to be your father. All I'm saying is that I don't see how this can end well for you."

  "So send me away. Marry me off to Gerard."

  "Is that what you want?"

  "According to you, I'm a fool and what I want is bad for me, so I'm relying on your," she paused, "wisdom to guide me."

  "Cyril's right--you really are an irksome, wasp-tongued wench. I should marry you off just to get rid of you."

  She laughed again, a rich peal of sound that roused me, much to my dismay. "See, sir," she said in a husky tone that told me she was a bit roused herself, "your actions betray you every time. Your words are such a poor cover of your true intentions that I hardly listen to what you say anymore." She turned to face me, her arms suddenly twined around my back and neck.

  Because I was weak, I angled my head and pressed my lips against hers. Because I was weak, I clutched her to me. Because I was weak, I touched her with knowing hands in all the places that would unlock her body to mine. I should have ordered her away, found her a young man to marry long ago. But the sad fact was that I couldn't contemplate the idea of her in another man's arms, in another man's bed, without my insides twisting in an impossible knot of bile and jealousy. Jealousy was the province of young men--they could afford its high costs, respond to its siren song without wrecking themselves forever on the rocks of ill fortune, their youthful ignorance their greatest strength. I had never been young, however. My heart had never been that supple. My jealousy had always been the icy, vengeful demon of an old man long since hardened with bitterness, the same demon who had let my drunken brother drown under the weight of his sins, the same demon who had witnessed my treacherous wife bleed to death after delivering our last stillborn child. Eden understood me in ways that Arilea never had, so I doubted she would ever provoke the worst of me as Arilea had. But still I worried. She deserved what I could never give her. She deserved the youth that had never been mine to give.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Prince Segar was as good as his word concerning Dominic's blessing ceremony. Both he and Esme sat in the left-hand front pew of the palace chapel with King Arian and Queen Verna, motionless as the royal effigies on their ancestors' tombs. As Merius's closest relatives at court, Cyril and I occupied the right-hand front pew--me at the end closer to the main aisle and him at the other end, as far away as he could get and still be sitting in the same pew with me. The bruises around his eyes had faded to a nasty yellowish color, and his nose had a new crook just under the bridge, the only remaining evidence of our fight. We still weren't on speaking terms outside the council chamber, but I wagered that would change soon enough. Our alliance had survived a potentially fatal duel, and that was long before Merius showed his talent as a courtier. Now with our mutual ambition for his career to unite us, there was little but death itself that could end our alliance. Pompous he might be, but underneath, Cyril was just as practical as I was when it came to maintaining the nobility's advantage at court.

  Eden and the Rankins sat in the pew behind us. I was glad to see the Rankins attend and show their public support of both Merius and Safire. They were one of the most highly respected couples at court. Artemious was even related to His Majesty--their mothers had been sisters. The Rankins' presence would be noted by both King Arian and the bishop and could very well help dispel any suspicions of Safire's eccentricities being less than innocent.

  I spared a few glances at Princess Esme during the ceremony but detected nothing aside from well-maintained politeness and perhaps a lingering look or two at Merius as he and Safire carried Dominic up to the altar. Merius worried that Esme knew about Safire's witch talents and would say something to Segar, but I doubted it. For one thing, Merius wasn't certain that Esme knew about Safire being a witch, only that she suspected it, suspicions that her mother Queen Jazmene had apparently dismissed when Esme broached the subject with her in Merius's presence. And even if, despite her mother's protests to the contrary, Esme still thought Safire a witch, she would be a fool to mention this to Segar or anyone else at court for that matter, at least until she was more firmly ensconced. Most in Cormalen had ostensibly accepted her as their future queen, but only several more years of experience in our court and coronation would give her the understanding and power necessary to challenge an established family like the Landers and survive the inevitable political backlash. Merius comprehended this on an intellectual level but when it came to his witch, his emotions trumped his intellect.

  Merius kept his hand tight around Safire's elbow even after they had processed up the aisle and now stood before the bishop. I wanted to tell him to let her go--I could see the stiffness of his stance down to his white-edged knuckles. Then I glimpsed Safire's face and realized she probably needed his support. The dark circles under her eyes rivaled Cyril's bruises--the contrast made her face appear even paler than usual, her freckles sickly speckles, her smile wobbly as if she might break into tears at any moment. Good God. Of course, people would likely assume her appearance had something to do with being a new mother.

  I seemed to remember now that Arilea had a similar harassed look through Merius's infancy. He had been prone to throwing his rattle or blanket out of his cradle and then yelling about it for hours. And he never seemed to sleep. Arilea had been so grateful to finally have a child who lived that she idolized him anyway, but honestly, he had been a terrible baby except when he laughed. At least he had laughed and babbled almost as often as he cried, a baby who never shut up. After all the stillbirths, if Merius had been as silent as Dominic, we likely would have thought there was something wrong with him and been in a panic all the time. So perhaps there was a good reason he had been such a loud baby. He had been reminding us he was still there, assuring us that he still drew breath. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry, and glanced down at my clasped hands.

  Thank God Dominic seemed to have inherited both his parents' sturdy resilience if not their chattering tongues. I had never seen such a silent, serious baby, although I had to admit I had little experience with infants. Likely Safire's witchery to soothe him contributed to his spooky silence. However, his solemnity was entirely his own creation. He watched everyone with a slight frown and unblinking gray eyes, his hands curled in chubby fists. His mother and occasionally his father seemed the only ones able to coax a smile or gurgle from him. Otherwise he watched. And waited. And then watched some more.

  He watched us now. I found myself frozen as the bishop began the ritual by taking Dominic from Safire and holding him up for the audience to see. Dominic surveyed the chapel quietly, nary a tiny restless foot disturbing the skirt of his white infant gown, nary a wail distorting his face. The few of these ceremonies I had attended, the babe alw
ays cried when the priest or bishop took it from its mother. Merius had kicked over the bowl of holy oil during his blessing, forcing us to start the whole thing over again, our ears ringing with his shrieks of rage. But Dominic remained silent, the bishop's bony, gnarled hands clenched around his small body like old tree roots. I doubted even I could have maintained such equanimity while being in that hellfire windbag's clutches.

  "God above," the bishop intoned. "I present unto you Dominic of Landers, first son of Merius of Landers and Safire of Long Marsh. With this holy oil, I ask your blessings upon him and your forgiveness for any sins of his parents. By your grace and with this holy oil, I ask you to cleanse him of the stain of sin present in us from our first father and mother so that he may enter heaven at the end of his mortal days."

  He lowered Dominic and handed him back to Safire. The bishop's lambent gaze fell on my daughter-in-law then. At first she didn't seem to notice, her eyes downcast as she cuddled Dominic and kissed his forehead, whispering to him. He gave an unexpected gurgle as he reached for her, his tiny hand curling around a loose tendril of her hair. She smiled, then looked up. Her glance met the bishop's eyes, and her smile faded, replaced by a pensive frown as if she tried to make out a conversation just out of earshot. The bishop held her gaze for a long moment, and they both regarded each other without blinking.

  A memory came to me then--as boys, Gaven and I had crawled into a cave near Landers Hall and netted a fish from an underground stream. When we had brought the creature out into the daylight, it had still been alive, flopping around on the ground, its sides heaving as it stared with its shimmery white eyes, blind after its life in the darkness, seemingly dying from exposure to the light. The bishop's slightly protruding, pale eyes looked exactly like that fish's eyes as he surveyed Safire. I suddenly wished, my heels itching in my boots, that I had listened to Merius's misgivings about the bishop and somehow found a way to keep Safire and Dominic away from him at all costs. Merius shifted then from one foot to the other as if he had itchy feet as well and cleared his throat. The bishop started, then picked up the bowl of holy oil and continued with the ceremony as if nothing odd had occurred.