The assassin stepped over him casually, wiping his dagger clean before he sheathed it. "You all right?" he asked.
I removed my cloak and glanced down at my shoulder. "Just a scrape," I said, the rusty smell of blood everywhere.
"We'll clean it with some whiskey in a minute." With his toe, he lifted the shoulder of the man I killed, then let it drop. "Hmm--both these men boarded with us in Cormalen."
"Peregrine's men," I said. "They said something about taking me back to their master so he could kill me himself. Has to be him."
"How can you be so sure? Your family is prominent in several courts . . ."
"I'm not saying the Landers don't have other enemies, but he's the only one I can think of who would care so much about killing me himself." I knelt in front of my trunk, threw open the lid, and rifled through my clothes and books until I found the cool glass of the whiskey bottle. I uncorked it and tipped it over my mouth, appreciating how swiftly the liquid fire burnt through my veins and soothed the tremble of my limbs. "Here--you want some?" I handed the bottle to the assassin, who took a swig and then gave it back to me.
"Who knew that you were sailing to Sarneth before you left?" The assassin plunked down on his bunk, watching me.
I soaked my handkerchief in whiskey and pressed it against my wound, wincing. "Let's see--you, of course. Safire, Father, Eden, Jared, the other assassins . . ." I trailed off, staring at him. The knowing gleams of his eyes, the half frown twisting his mouth--his expression did little to assuage my burgeoning fear. I started shaking my head. "No, no they couldn't have. They wouldn't have betrayed us--King Rainier's paying all of you too well for that, right? Oh hell, Safire's with them . . . ." I stood so fast I knocked my head against the low ceiling of my bunk. I hardly felt the scrape, a slight burning that made me absently rub my scalp as I sank back down on the bunk cushion, still staring at him.
He sighed and clasped his huge hands, not meeting my gaze. "King Rainier does pay handsomely, but the terms are harsh. Ten years to the day of your son's birth--that's how long we signed on for this assignment. We give each other breaks as we can, but it's a hard, lonely life. I hate to say this of my brethren, but there is one I fear could be coerced . . . someone had to have betrayed you to Bara for these men to know which ship we were on. I made certain we embarked with utmost secrecy after all the cargo and the other passengers were already aboard--no one followed us. They had to have known ahead of time."
"Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell . . . God damn it." I stood and paced around the perimeter of the cabin, stepping over bodies. Then I kicked over the whiskey bottle by accident. It glugged on the floor, and I stopped, my breathing harsh in my ears, my head pounding. I shut my eyes, an image of my wife before me, that day on the parapet I'd given her my troth ring, how her hair had blown like raging fire in the wind, how vulnerable she looked wearing my far-too-large cloak. My sweet witch. If anything happened to her . . . *Safire!
*What is it? Her clear voice rang in my mind.
"Oh thank God," I muttered. *Where are you?
A vision of the long front room in the House of Long Marsh, cozy with candle and fire light and the babble of toddlers and babies and the soft laughter of contented women. I glimpsed Eden, Dagmar, Elsa, Jared, Randel . . .
*Where's Father?
*Court. Eden came here to retrieve me . . . Randel's with her, to guard her and Evidee on the road . . .
*Never mind that now. Where are the assassins?
She gave the equivalent of a mental shrug--I could feel it in my shoulders. *Don't know. Somewhere around here, I'm sure. Why?
I showed her the state of the cabin, the men's bodies. *Brute and I think Peregrine bought off one of the other assassins.
*Oh God, Merius, what do I do? All the children are here . . . Her lungs burned as she stopped breathing, her thoughts a wordless spiral of panic.
*Safire, breathe. Breathe, sweetheart. As soon as I was certain she was no longer on the verge of fainting, I continued, mouthing the words to myself so I could be as clear as possible. *Get Randel and explain to him what's happened, that you're worried about the assassins. Be as quiet as you can about it--if the betrayer hears you or suspects you know, all could be lost.
I felt her jerk her head in a nod, and then all sense of her was gone, the fire lit sitting room vanishing from my mind as if I woke suddenly from a dream.
Chapter Twenty-Two--Safire
House of Long Marsh, Silmer Province, Eastern Cormalen
October, last year
I walked along the darkened hallway, my hand trembling so hard the candle I held sent flickers of light skittering wildly through the shadows. I did take comfort in the fact that Randel was a silent, protective presence somewhere behind me, comfort which enabled me to actually put one foot in front of the other instead of running out the front door screaming. However, my blood still prickled in my veins, and my breath came in short gasps as I tried not to think about what could happen to Merius, Sewell, Dominic, all the people I loved downstairs, and to the babe growing in my belly if I failed and Peregrine succeeded.
Thank God Randel had accepted what I babbled to him--somehow he seemed to know about the mind bond, though how I had no idea. Maybe Mordric had told him in case of a situation like the one we currently found ourselves in. Merius and I had noticed of late that when Mordric was away from court, Randel seemed to hover between us and Eden, a silent, serious watchman of all Mordric held dear. And I was certain Mordric had sent Eden to talk me into returning to Corcin on the morrow to stay until Merius's return. Would that I have gone yesterday . . . to think that only a few minutes before, I had been sitting in my favorite chair, cuddling a sleepy Dominic, listening to Eden's latest batch of court gossip, and dreaming of Merius's return with Sewell in little over a week. Of course, then the assassins would have followed me to Corcin and possibly threatened all there. At least, though, I would have had Mordric's cunning to help me. I seemed terribly alone and exposed here, walking down this hallway that had seen my first tottering steps as a laughing baby one autumn day (or so my mother had reminisced on her deathbed.)
I felt rather than saw the assassin fall into step behind me, a shadow moving within shadows, his breath stirring the air that tingled ever so slightly against my ear lobes and sent wings of panic fluttering through my veins. All the blood in my body suddenly seemed to drain to my middle, leaving me lightheaded. I braced myself on the knob of my bedchamber door, willing my hand to turn it so I could escape his eyes silently trailing my every move.
There came a metallic whoosh then, a muffled thud like an arrow burying itself in a target, and the agonized yell of a man in sudden, intense pain, and I knew then that Randel had hit his mark. Without looking back, I threw open the door of my bedchamber and raced in, slamming it behind me and twisting the key in the lock. The candle sputtered and died as it toppled to the floor, the stench of charred wick relieving my faintness a tad. I leaned against the door, my heart pounding in my ears so loudly that at first I could hear nothing else. I closed my eyes, my hand cradling my belly, and felt a wordless prayer of desperation grip me. My feet and hands had somehow moved quickly enough, and I and my unborn daughter were safe for the moment. But what about everyone else? Would Randel be able to finish off the traitor assassin? Or would the assassin rally from his wound, slaughter Randel, and then come after me? We had whispered to Jared and Eden to sneak everyone out of the sitting room as soon as they heard me reach the second floor landing, the sign that I had drawn the assassin a safe distance away from them. Had Jared and Eden managed it? If they had, they were to barricade themselves and the others in the cellars and wait for me or Randel to announce the all clear. I sobbed for breath and longed for Merius, his intelligent certainty and strong arms.
Several alarming thumps and curses resounded through the thick door. I pressed my ear tightly against the wood, waiting to hear Randel's quiet, steady voice. I wondered suddenly about him, his family--had he ever been in love or been marri
ed? Sired children? Or had he spent the whole time toiling in Mordric's exacting service, a good soldier to the end with his golden brown aura exuding the reassuring whiff of buttered toast? Why had I never thought about him before, I who sensed wild stories swirling around everyone I met? I cursed myself for not paying more attention to this brave man who was now willing to risk his life to protect me.
There came a quiet knock, and I started. "Lady Safire, it's safe--for the moment at least." Randel's voice carried through the keyhole.
"Thank God," I muttered. I exited the chamber, Randel a solid presence in the shadows. In the patch of moonlight shining through the window at the end of the hall, I saw what looked like a large bundle. I moved closer, my hands flying to my mouth when I realized the bundle was the assassin's body. The taste of ashes coated the inside of my mouth, the taste of death. I shut my eyes, but it was still there, all of it, the assassin's angry spirit whirling in a violent, fell wind that stole the breath from my body. So much rage and fear like a black rot at the unknown realm that awaited him. He didn’t even know he was dead yet--he still fought, beating at shadow foes. I sagged against Randel, tears springing to my eyes.
"Where are his comrades?" I asked.
"Likely dead somewhere. I'm sure he killed them earlier tonight before they could realize he was up to no good."
"You're a brave man, Randel. Thank you," I said inadequately. *It's all right, dear heart. We're safe.
*Thank God. Merius's aura reached for mine across the many leagues between us, his silvery sparks warming me for an instant before my sense of him faded.
*I love you. Always. The feeling welled up in me, my eyes stinging as I started to shake. We had come so close to losing everything, and he was so far away. I just wanted his arms tight around me. *Dear heart, I have to block you, or I'll be useless the rest of the night.
"We should go tell the others." I held out my hand, and Randel gripped my fingers, bracing me as I walked on unsteady legs toward the second story landing.
As we came down the stairway to the front hallway, I saw it through the window beside the front door. A distant orange glow across the fields, a hellfire in the night. I froze, my eyes widening as the glow grew larger, more distinct. It was several circles of feral light, loosely joined in a moving line. Torches. Coming this way. With a sudden stab of knowledge in my gut, I knew those torches meant a witch hunt. Peregrine, in his desire to bring about the downfall of the Landers and claim me in one fell swoop, had formulated a truly horrifying plan.
"Oh no," I breathed. "Randel, no . . . a witch hunt."
"My lady," he said, gulping. He seemed at a loss, this tough old soldier, and that frightened me more than anything else.
After a lost moment of numb shock, I found my feet moving, a slow shuffle from step to step, my eyes still transfixed by the torches. They were at the head of the long drive leading to the house. They'd be here in scant minutes.
"They want me, right?" I forced myself to say out loud. "If I go out there, surrender, perhaps they won't search the house."
"My lady Safire, no, no, I won't let you. We'll find another way . . ."
I wrapped my hand around his arm, digging my nails through the thin linen of his shirt. "Listen, I'm certain it's a mob, hungry for witch blood. If we give them reason to come in this house . . . Randel, they cannot come in this house, they cannot find the others, they cannot find my son. God knows what they'd do. It's the only way. We don't have time for anything else. Do you understand me?" I shook his arm.
He groaned, the shadow of his head jerking in a nod. "Sir Mordric," he managed.
"Sir Mordric will figure out a way to get me released. If I go out there quietly, they'll likely only arrest me and put me in prison tonight." I took resolve from my own words. I could stand being arrested. I could stand prison for a night or two or three. Surely that was Peregrine's plan--he didn't want me dead. He wanted me terrified, in a position where I'd have to beg for his aid. "Now go to the others--keep them safe. Go!"
Randel jerked his head in another nod and then raced down the rest of the steps and around the banister, heading toward the back of the house. I lifted my head, drew a deep breath, and glided on feet I couldn't feel toward the front door. My movements mechanical, I lowered the latch with a click and stepped out into the night.
I pulled the door closed behind me and blinked at the acrid sting of smoke befouling the cool air. There were a dozen torches, the only sounds the crackle and hiss of fire bowing to the breeze and footfalls as the mob marched up the drive. Otherwise, all was eerie silence. The bishop's tall, lanky frame headed the procession, his long robes swirling back behind him in flame-touched pale billows. They might have been advancing up the main aisle of the palace chapel, all deep in prayer as they prepared for some sacred ritual.
When my gaze fell on the man behind the bishop, I cried out. He raised wide eyes toward me, his aura still resembling a nasty blue-black bruise around his body. Whitten. He licked his lips, his mouth open as if he wanted to speak. Then he closed it again--he gave a little shake of his head and tapped his index finger to his lips, signaling silence. He must have been part of Peregrine's plot, likely here to make certain I wasn't damaged too much by the mob. My only ally, the weak drunkard who had raped me in my witch fit and left me with child. How reassuring. I gasped for breath, finding myself on the verge of hysterics. The mob stopped when they reached the courtyard between the house and the stable--I heard Strawberry give a sleepy whicker, probably disturbed by the tramp of the boots. Boltan would look out for her until I returned--thank goodness he and Greit had gone to bed early in their attic chamber, safely out of earshot of this madness.
"Lady Safire." The bishop's voice resonated against the stones of the courtyard, so deep and rolling that it seemed as if the hills behind the house had suddenly spoken. "You are under arrest for witchcraft."
When I didn't move immediately, one of the men said, "Shall we seize her, Your Grace?"
"Don't touch me," I heard myself hiss. "I'm coming." Yet I found my feet rooted to the stones. This had been my home since I was born--how dare they come here?
The bishop himself stepped forward and came up the few steps to the door. His spooky silver eyes caught the torchlight, reflecting hellfire. I leaned away from him, the ice of his steely aura surrounding me until I shivered.
"I knew the first time I saw you. It's always the ethereal looking ones who are the most dangerous--your seeming purity is a devil's trick to lure hapless men your way." He captured my hand in his as if I'd just agreed to dance with him. His fingers felt hard and cold as bars on a cage made of ice, and I trembled at the chill of him. If only I could melt him with fire as I had Arilea. But he was no spirit to be exorcised--he was a flesh and blood man who thought he was doing the right thing, the most frightening, insidious evil of all.
"Don't do this--it'll be your undoing, the end of us both," I said evenly.
"I'm not afraid of your witch's spells. If you be my end, at least I'll rid the world of your wickedness." Then he headed down the steps, dragging me behind him. I stumbled, then scrambled forward until I stood straight, my chin high as I strode along beside him. I would not bow in his wake.
Chapter Twenty-Three--Merius
Royal Palace, Midmarch, Sarneth
October, last year
A razor-edged tongue of flame lit the night, filling the darkness with a wordless keening. The song's exquisite beauty and pain cut my soul to the quick. I flapped powerful wings in a race with the wind to catch the flame. No matter how fast I flew, though, the flame faded before me, its song fading as well to a distant, haunting echo.
My eyes jerked open. The carriage we rode in had stopped. The assassin stood in a crouch and then exited through the narrow doorway, tapping me on the shoulder on his way out.
"Sir Merius, we're here," he said, peering back at me.
"I can see that. Thank you." I sighed and stepped out after him. I squinted in the bright sunlight flooding
the palace courtyard, my tired eyes burning. After killing Peregrine's men and alerting Safire, I had fallen into a strange half state between sleep and wakefulness, waiting to hear how she fared. My trance dreams had been like the visions we shared when we made love, except I flew by myself, searching for her all night. Now I was exhausted--and worried. I hadn't had one clear thought from her since she had told me she loved me last night. Why had I left her? It had seemed like a good plan at the time, the best plan any of us could devise to retrieve Sewell, but now I wondered why I hadn't sent Jared instead of myself. Or asked Father. It might have been more logical to send Jared or Father, but in the end, I had only trusted myself to carry this task out properly. I owed it to Safire to see her firstborn returned safely to her arms.
I barely noticed our surroundings, instead tramping after the assassin through a series of subterranean hallways and up some narrow stairs. Finally he stepped through a doorway, and I followed him on to a narrow balcony. My eyes widened at all the books. Thousands upon thousands of volumes, the spines all gleaming. Two stories of shelves ringed around a huge chamber; the scrolled iron balcony we stood on provided access to the second story. For an instant, I forgot everything else, my fingers itching to pull a book, any book off a shelf and start reading. God, I could spend years here, inhaling the library dust, absorbing it through my pores like airborne knowledge.
"Young Landers, welcome." King Rainier's reedy voice floated up to me, and I started, realizing there were other people in the chamber besides myself and the assassin.
"Your Majesty," I said with a slight bow towards where he sat in a leather-upholstered, monstrous chair near the fireplace on the first story. He was so short and the chair so huge that it dwarfed him. He was an ugly little imp of a king, his head far too large for his body, his eyes black beetle gleams that regarded me with a flat intensity. Two guards, masked and silent statues with swords, flanked his chair.
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 53