"No, you asinine dolt, we should discuss it now." Mordric brought his fist down on his desk, papers fluttering in the air. "You take such insane risks, all for a lark . . ."
"This isn't my fault," Merius flared, his aura suddenly a bright silver flame. "How could I have known such an outlandish thing would happen? And I would never risk my life for a lark. How can you call it that? Jared and I have worked on that glider for almost a year--I could have flown it all the way down to the harbor . . ."
"And for what?" Mordric sneered.
"To show that it can be done, that man doesn't have to be earthbound the rest of his existence."
"You're a madman--all these crazy things you do, building dams that flood fields, inventing oil lamps that explode, setting bear traps that catch people, flying gliders that break your arm--how is that helping anyone, Merius?"
"That's not fair--I was a boy when I did those things. I didn't have the skills I do now. If I rebuilt those things now, I could help people. That glider, for one--could you imagine how much easier it would be to sow fields and water crops if we could fly? How much easier it would be to ambush our enemies on the battlefield?"
"You promised me after you broke your arm the first time that you weren't going to build any more dangerous contraptions." Mordric's mouth was a straight, thin line, his eyes icy slits.
"What? I was fourteen and terrified of you when I made that promise."
"And you should have kept it. What happened today shows that you're dabbling in things beyond mortal ken, and it's going to cost you. Perhaps with your life."
"That's why I think we should enlist Rankin's aid," I said. Three heads turned silently in my direction, Merius's and Mordric's stares reminding me uncomfortably of the hawk's scrutiny. "I mean, he's proven himself trustworthy and wise, and he knows so much . . ."
"But Safire, you're the one who's always been uneasy about Talus's journals, the one who thinks we should just take what comes and not question it. My wife, the fatalist." Merius's voice held an edge.
"Yet I've still been willing to help when you've asked me, haven't I?" I asked, restraining myself as best I could from a sharp retort. "Given what's just happened, I think we need Rankin's expertise."
"Well, I don't. I don't want to involve him. This happened to me, and I'd just as soon forget it."
My lip trembled. I tried to stop it, which only made the tremor of fear inside more intense. I stood on the edge of a invisible precipice in the midst of an earthquake, watching Merius fly away from me. "But what if it happens again? What if you don't change back the next time?" I asked.
A silent moment followed. Merius's aura filled the chamber, thousands of darting sparks so bright that I had to blink, and even then I could still see the fireworks exploding on the backs of my eyelids. Then his arms surrounded me, and I buried my face against his chest, my body shaking. "Shh, sweetheart, it's not going to happen again."
"How can you be so sure?" I choked.
"Because it only happens under very specific circumstances, the weir elements--Talus is clear about that in the journals. I don't need Rankin to explain that--I already understand it, even better now that it's actually happened. As long as I don't fly the glider again, I should be fine. All right?"
I nodded, even though I still didn't share his certainty. And probably never would. I wondered if I would ever be certain of physical reality ever again.
"Why don't you stay here with Father for a few minutes, catch your breath while Jared and I go out to search for the glider?"
I nodded again, then held him with my gaze for as long as I could before he and Jared disappeared out the door. I almost bolted off the bed to follow him--I didn't want to let him out of my sight. But I had to let him go. Dominic usually nursed at this time, so I needed to collect my wits as quickly as possible and then go to Eden's chambers.
Mordric and I didn't speak after Merius and Jared left. He started at one point, saying, "I'm sorry . . ." then shook his head and lapsed back into silence when I met his world-weary eyes. What he had to apologize for to me, I had no idea. I doubted he did either. Finally, still stunned, I forced myself to rise from the bed. I rested my hand on Mordric's shoulder for a moment and drew away what tension I could from his shadowy aura.
"I have to go--see to Dominic," I explained.
He cleared his throat. "I'll tell Merius when he returns." He glanced up, our gazes locking for a moment. What passed between us in that moment was an odd peace, soothing yet strange after all that had occurred, the peace of those who had sensed much and understood more, the peace that was completely beyond the carnal plane, the peace that only ancient souls could attain.
He glanced away at his letters. "I worry for you, you know. You have the eyes of an old woman sometimes," he said softly. Then his tone changed, became more businesslike. "Be careful what you say to Eden, sweet. I trust her with my life, with all our lives, and I'd trust her with this as well, but I have no idea how to explain it to her. Hell, I have no idea how to explain it to myself. It's one of those things that has to be seen to be believed. In fact, I don't think we should speak of it again. I don't know what good it would do."
And we didn't speak of it again. Merius and I didn't even communicate about it in our shared thoughts. Without a word, he burned the torn remnants of his clothes he and Jared had found near where the glider washed up on a sand bar. He couldn't bring himself to destroy the glider, so he and Jared dismantled it and hid the pieces upstairs, telling anyone who asked that they needed to tweak the design before it was flight worthy. All of these careful machinations, our deliberate avoidance of the topic of Merius's transformation, eventually made it almost seem like the dream I had first thought it to be when I woke from my faint. Almost, but not quite. We still flew in our mutual dreams, still flew when we made love, and these no longer seemed like fantasies, but dizzying glimpses of our true natures, of the wordless reality beyond our frail mortality.
Chapter Nineteen--Eden
Royal Palace, Corcin, Eastern Cormalen
June, 2 years ago
I stopped outside his door and glanced up and down the hall. No one in sight. I rapped three short beats on dark paneling, our signal, then listened for a moment. Hearing no muffled protests from within, I pulled the key he had given me from my pocket and turned it in the lock. The door opened easily. I slipped inside, shutting and locking the door behind me. He read Salazar's collection of rhetoric at his desk. When I entered, he snapped the book closed and looked up. I slid the cloak from my hair and undid the collar fastenings, and the heavy velvet dropped to the bed. Thank goodness--it was early June, far too hot for even a light mantle. I usually wore a hooded cloak to his chambers, even when the heat of high summer pervaded the palace and bees buzzed sleepily outside the open windows--I didn't want people to notice how often I actually visited him.
"Is that in the original SerVerinese?" I nodded toward the book as I tried to repress the urge to start laughing hysterically.
“Of course--it hasn't been translated yet. Clever cur, this Salazar. Thank God Tetwar doesn't seem to possess his gift for persuasion. If so, we would have long since been vanquished by the SerVerin Empire, our children lisping the tongue of the enemy. What is it?” he asked, setting the book aside when he caught a glimpse of my face.
I gripped a bedpost, supporting myself. “I’ve been to see Helga." At his furrowed look, I continued, "You know, that midwife you found for Safire. I didn't dare risk Reti--she's such a gossip. Mordric, I’m with child.”
He never moved. “Damn it,” he said, no inflection in his voice.
“It seems we’ve both been fools in this.”
He rose, tossed down his spectacles as he began to pace. “Don't call yourself a fool, not for this. The only suitable precaution was mine to take, and I bungled it. Damn it.”
“The bloodweed might still work.” I stopped at his drawn expression, his taut hands.
“No. No, Eden. If you mention bloodweed again, I’
ll whip you myself.”
I put my palms on my hips. “What are you going to do then? Marry me?” The mockery in my voice cut me, almost more than it cut him.
“A marriage could easily be arranged . . .”
“I’ll bear your bastard before I’ll be made to marry some fool.”
“Far be it for me to dishonor you so.”
“Is that what this is about? Your honor?” I jeered.
“You better damn well hope it’s about my honor. If not for a man’s honor, he would never admit to his mistakes and try to mend them. If not for a man’s honor, there would be no such thing as marriage.” He gripped my shoulder, forced me to look at him. A silence followed as we stared at each other, the only sound our breathing.
“I don’t want to marry. Ever,” I said finally.
“Eden, you can’t bear a bastard and expect to have any position at court. I’ll be forced to send you back to Landers Hall in disgrace. You have to marry someone.”
“Men have too much power over their wives. A husband could order me home, away from court.”
“Perhaps, but a wife still has more power than a disgraced woman.”
“If you can find a man like you, a man who would let me help with his plotting and intrigues, I’d think about marrying him.”
There was another long silence, during which we held each other's gazes, unable to look away. I hoped the child inherited his eyes--that seething gray like the sea on a stormy day. Then I shook myself--what the hell was wrong with me? The biggest crisis of my life, and I daydreamed about the babe's eye color? Had I lost my mind? Apparently, as well as some other essential parts--my good sense, for instance. I should have just taken the bloodweed and never said a word to him.
Finally he blinked, his grip loosening on my arm a little. “If it were possible, I’d marry you myself.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I’m too old to marry you.”
“But not too old to tumble me, sire a child on me?”
“Damn it, Eden.” He let go of my shoulder and began to pace again. “If we married, you’d likely be a widow by thirty-five.”
“I could handle that.”
“Hussy. Do you want a husband half in his dotage? What if I sicken? You don’t strike me as a handy nursemaid.”
“You haven’t been sick a day in your life. When you die, you’ll die by the sword, Mordric.”
He braced his hands on the mantel. “We’ll scandalize the court,” he said to the ashes on the hearth.
“Is that such a terrible thing?” I came up behind him, slid my hands around his waist.
“No. I’ve done it before.” He sighed, put one hand over mine. “Why did you tell me? Why didn’t you just take the bloodweed?”
“I don’t know.” I leaned against his back, my cheek against his shoulder blade. I inhaled the scents of pipe weed and oiled leather, his scents. “I thought you had a right to know, I suppose.”
“I will marry you, if that’s really what you want.”
“To be honest, it scares me.”
“It should. I’m not an easy man, Eden.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“What happens when I start to slow, grow feeble? You’ll take a lover, I suppose, and then I’ll have to kill you both.”
I laughed. “Sir, I don‘t see you as a likely cuckold, no matter what age you are.”
“Remember, I’ll hold you to that.”
“I know.” I swallowed, my arms tightening around him. “I wasn’t made to be a wife, but I think I could be a good wife to you. We plot well together at any rate.”
He barked a laugh, the muscles of his midriff drawing taut. “This situation is going to test our combined skills, you know. We can't let on to the vultures the true nature of our relationship--King Arian and the bishop disapprove of marriages fueled by passion, especially within Houses. We're each other's biggest vulnerability, and the Landers have to present as invulnerable a front as possible. It's the only way to protect Safire and Dominic. It would be best if we somehow played it off as a marriage of convenience.”
I nodded against his back, my eyes closed. "It would lessen the scandal if everyone assumed it was for convenience. How do we accomplish that, though?"
"Give me a little time, my dear." His voice held dry amusement. "Till tomorrow at least. I'm still a bit stunned."
"Do you regret what we've done?"
He turned to face me as if he could read my thoughts, his lips brushing mine, teasing me into a kiss. I moaned, suddenly terrified of this passion that had left me so vulnerable that now I was host to an uninvited child. I felt weak with need. I had thought I wanted him when I actually needed him. I had never needed anyone since I was an infant--even my parents had died before I knew them--and to need him now was an unwelcome revelation. My world had been shaken, the foundations cracked into bits, my carefully maintained habits no use to me anymore. I drew away, a hitch in my breath.
“Eden, what is it?”
“I don’t know.” I found to my chagrin that my voice was shaking. An odd heat rose behind my eyes, a heat I could only remember feeling once or twice before. Tears. I choked and turned away before he could see the telltale gleam in my eyes. I had screamed in this man‘s bed, begged for his touch, but God forbid he see me cry.
He jerked me back around, lifted my chin. He examined me a moment as if he had found an interesting specimen, his face stolid. I knew that expression--he was startled and hiding it. “You’re crying,” he said finally.
“How observant,” I snapped, fumbling for the handkerchief I never used.
“Why?”
“Perhaps being pregnant has affected me.”
“Perhaps.”
“What does that mean?” I demanded, infuriated that he hadn’t taken my simple explanation seriously. “Women often get weepy when they’re with child--look at Safire and Dagmar. It means nothing.” I wiped the tears away, only to find more welling up.
“Dagmar?” he scoffed. “Dagmar cries when Flavian cuts a tooth. You--you cry less than most men I know. Now, what is it? Are you frightened?”
“No,” I said, my voice too loud. “Maybe,” I amended.
“Maybe? What frightens you?”
I turned away, angrily blowing my nose into the handkerchief. “I don’t know.”
“Childbirth?”
“Hell no. If men can go to war and face death, I can bear a brat without sniveling.”
“So, what is it?”
“I told you, I don’t know. Let’s forget it.”
“Eden, it irritates me when people dither. You’ve never done it before. Don’t do it now.”
I gulped back a sob, the tears flowing down my cheeks in earnest, my face burning. “You--you frighten me.”
He grabbed my arm, forced me around so I was facing him again. “Good God--when have I ever hurt you?”
“Never, but do you know how hard it was to come here and tell you I was with your bastard?”
“Why was that so hard?”
“Because I had no idea how you were going to react. You’re such a sphinx sometimes. I worried you might get angry . . .”
“I am angry--at myself.”
“No method is foolproof, sir.”
“No, but I should never have put you at risk in the first place. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I don’t think we were thinking.” Finally, I could hold back my sobs no longer--the more I gulped them back, the more there seemed to be.
I let him pull me into his arms, my face against his chest. He was strong enough to kill someone with his bare hands, his sinewy muscles always poised for action, but that same strength hid a surprising gentleness few were privy to. “Shh,” he said. “Shh. We’ll marry soon, you can stay at court. I’ll look out for you. All right?”
“Did you look out for Arilea?”
“She never gave me the chance. Don’t be like her, Eden--she was miserable.”
“Trust
me, I won’t be.”
“Good.” There was an awkward silence after this, a silence during which we both realized we had just been far too honest with each other. He was a man--all I was supposed to want from him was excitement, jewels, and a high position at court. And all he was supposed to want from me was beauty, clever repartee, and tumbling. That game had lost its luster months ago, but we still played at it, unable to discard it for fear of what lay under all the artifice. Now that artifice had been stripped away, all our intentions laid bare, our vulnerabilities raw. The only way we could feel comfortable with each other in this state was in bed, and so that was where we went, my clothes already on the floor before we even hit the feather tick, his clothes not long to follow.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Her Royal Highness Esme's irritatingly perfect hair rippled with a dark shimmer as she tossed her head back and gave a musical laugh. Since her advent at court, King Arian had finally retracted his rule that women must bind their hair in public, a bit of diplomacy that seemed at odds with His Majesty's long held belief that all women with loosened tresses were wanton harlots. Prince Segar had admitted to me that King Arian had succumbed to the combined urging of Queen Verna and Princess Esme to do away with the rule. Indeed, he would have been hard-pressed to deny Esme such a small concession now that we marched toward eventual war with the SerVerin Empire and needed the alliance with her father Rainier's hundred thousand troops more than ever. Even though the bishop insisted Cormalen would prevail on the power of prayer alone, it seemed King Arian thought otherwise despite all his religious posturing. I grinned to myself behind the fan of my cards.
"What hand do you hold, Lady Eden, to be smiling like a cat in the cream?" Esme whispered to me. She and I were partners in this silly game of thrice--I much preferred poker. Poker didn't require partners. I hated splitting my winnings.
"More like a cat in water, Your Highness," I whispered back with an exaggerated grimace, hoping the ladies-in-waiting giggling beside us heard me. And believed me. I flashed my cards at Esme so she could see the three jacks I held. At least she caught on quickly--her crimson lips drooped in a slight moue of disappointment. I'd have to ask her what she used on her mouth for color--carmine perhaps?
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 47