He dropped his head in an abrupt nod, as if I had just severed the invisible string of hope holding his chin up. He bit his lips together in a straight line and looked down. "Safire," he said, so low I could barely hear him. "It's about Safire, isn't it?"
I gripped his elbow. "Come on, Merius. Let's get you back to the carriages. Randel, could you see to the trunks?"
"I've got it under control, sir," the assassin rumbled. "Though if your man wants to help, he could carry the boy's box."
"Thank you," I said, towing Merius ahead while Randel and the assassin saw to the luggage. Merius moved like a sleepwalker. He shambled along beside me, and I found myself slowing to match his pace, something I thought I would never have to do.
"His name is Vrendane," Merius said in a monotone. "Did you know that? I didn't know that. King Rainier told me. After three years, he bothered to tell me the name of the man guarding me. I suppose since he saved my life, he's the only one left, and we now know his name, we can assume he's trustworthy, unlike that traitor. We have King Rainier's guarantee." He gave a bitter chuckle and shifted Sewell under his cloak, then swiveled his head in my direction. "Sewell's asleep, or I'd let him meet you. I think you'll like him--he's a good little fellow, nothing like Whitten. He has Safire's smile . . ." he trailed off, looking lost. "What the hell happened, Father?"
"I'll tell you everything when we get on the road home." I left Merius standing by the back wheel of the first carriage as I spoke with Ebner, who had insisted on driving in case we met any ruffians on the road. Ebner helped Randel and Vrendane load the luggage as I went back to Merius. He still stood in the same spot, his mouth set in a straight line, his grip tight around Sewell. He appeared frozen in a trance. If we drove away and left him, I wondered if he would even notice or just keep standing there, staring at nothing. Of course, shock had that effect on people, but I had never seen it have that effect on Merius. I suddenly wanted him to pace. I wanted him to tear his hands through his head and curse. I wanted him to punch something, even if it was me he hit.
"Can Vrendane watch Sewell for a few hours in the other carriage? Bridget and Randel are riding in that one," I said.
Merius slowly turned to look at me. "I suppose, if Bridget and Randel are there," he said with that dreadful flatness. "Sewell knows him and doesn't seem afraid of him anymore--Vrendane even told him a few fairytales last night. Shocked me--he doesn't seem like the kind of man who had a mother who told him fairytales, does he?"
"No, he doesn't. Come on, Merius." I heard myself speak to him as I might have spoken to a small child, except I had never used such a gentle tone with Merius, even when he was small.
It didn't take long to get Sewell settled in the back carriage--thank God he was a sound sleeper. He hardly stirred as Merius laid him across the seat beside the assassin, even though Evidee was bouncing from Bridget's lap to Randel's arms, chanting loudly in her infant prattle. I tried to stay out of her sight, knowing she would start screaming if she glimpsed me and thought I was leaving her.
"How's Evi?" Eden asked as I followed Merius into the front carriage.
"Loud as ever. She has a captive audience, so she seemed content enough."
Eden smiled faintly. "You should have heard her yell just now when Bridget and I changed her diaper and then I left her. You would have thought I was murdering her--people stared at me like they'd seen a banshee." The carriage jerked forward then, its wheels rattling on the bricks of the street.
"Where's Dominic?" Merius asked suddenly.
Eden and I exchanged looks before I replied. "With Elsa and Dagmar. And Safire," I added, watching Merius closely in case he changed back into himself and started punching things. Instead he just stared blankly at me.
"Alive?" he murmured. "Alive? If she's alive, why haven't I had one coherent thought from her since the assassin's betrayal? I've had dreams of flying after her, chasing her, beautiful dreams where I catch up to her and we fly together over places I can't even describe--they're too lovely and strange. But not one clear word from her mind to mine--just images and scents and sensations. And all around that haunting bird song. I've never heard anything like it--I thought maybe she was showing me heaven." He swallowed as if his throat were dry, and I silently offered him both my hip flask and the water jug. He sipped some water and then lowered the jug to his lap, his eyes on me. "You say she's still alive, but I don't understand--is she in a delirious fever? Did she hit her head? Is she mortally wounded? What, Father?"
I licked my lips and then took a swig of whiskey before I met his gaze. "You remember how you transformed into the hawk that day on the parapet?" When he nodded mutely, I continued, "Well, Safire transformed like that. Into a firebird, Rankin says."
"A phoenix?" he said. "She turned into a phoenix?!" His voice rose, and the jug dropped to the floor, water spilling everywhere. Eden reached for it. "But how?"
"From what we can figure, Peregrine betrayed her to the bishop, thinking he would just arrest her and put her in prison to await trial like any other accused witch. Some of the prison guards admitted that Peregrine bribed them so that they would allow her to 'escape.' The bishop, however, had his own plans . . ." I trailed off and pinched the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut. It felt like someone had shot an arrow through my skull.
"The bishop came with a mob and set her on fire in the courtyard of the House of Long Marsh, Merius," Eden said. "Dagmar and I saw it with our own eyes, and we could do nothing to help her. There were too many of them, and we feared they'd find the children and do God knows what with them."
"They burned her alive?" Merius choked. "No, no, how could they do that to her? How could anyone do that to her? Oh dear God, not her, why her . . ." He cried out in pain as if struck and then buried his face in his hands, horrible, dry sobs racking his body. Eden switched seats so she was sitting beside him. She put her arm around his heaving shoulders and combed her hand through his hair, rocking him.
"Shh, shh," she whispered over and over again. "Shh, Merius."
Slowly, the silences between his sobs grew longer until they were mere hitches in his breath. He still kept his hands over his face, though, as if he could somehow avoid the inevitable by not looking at it. Eden and I stole a glance at each other, wondering what to do next. I wanted to fix it for him but knew I couldn't. No one could fix it, and this knowledge made waiting for him to look up well nigh unbearable.
He lifted his head after an interminable silence, his face gaunt, his eyes red-rimmed like a wraith's. "I kill them," he said hoarsely. "I'll kill them all."
I held his dead-eyed gaze with mine. "The only one left for you to kill is Peregrine, if he's even still alive. The rest are dead, incinerated when Safire transformed. She even killed King Arian."
"The king was there with the mob?" Merius demanded.
"No, I don't think His Majesty knew what the bishop plotted. He wouldn't have allowed them to do that to her without a trial. Prince--sorry--King Segar attested to that. He swore to me that his father always told him before they arrested anyone of rank, and that King Arian had said nothing to him about Safire being a witch. It seems the bishop planned this on his own, fearing the king would balk at arresting a Landers, especially on such slim evidence. All the bishop had were his own suspicions and the word of that traitor Whitten."
Merius's jaw dropped. "Whitten told the bishop?"
"We think so." I glanced down as Eden leaned across and slid her hand over mine, our fingers entwining. "We'll likely never know for sure because both the bishop and Whitten are dead, but I imagine Whitten was part of Peregrine's plot to kidnap Safire. Whitten tried to save her in the end, though, when he realized the bishop meant to burn her, but it was too late."
Merius grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut as he ran his hands over his jaw and massaged his temples. "So the king," he said thickly. "How did she kill King Arian?"
"After she transformed, she flew to the palace. The guards didn't know what she was and tried to shoot h
er, only to have their bows and arrows burst into flame in their hands. No weapon can kill her, apparently."
"Because she's immortal now," Merius said, as if by rote. "That's why she didn't change back, like I did that day on the parapet. She can't change back because the fire consumed her mortality. It consumed her humanity."
I took another swallow of whiskey and rubbed the back of my neck--it had a terrible crick suddenly. "Rankin said the song of a firebird is so beautiful that it can drive some people to madness--at least that's what the old stories say, and it must be true, because when King Arian heard her, he went mad and dove off the balcony before his guards could stop him."
The telling exhausted me, and I slumped back on the seat. It had been such a long week, filled with racing between court and Landers Hall, and I was ready to go be alone somewhere and get drunk. Eden's warmth settled back beside me then, her hand snaking over my shoulder and cuffing around my neck. She kneaded my muscles until the ache eased, then disappeared. As for Merius, he sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped under his chin as he pondered the air in front of him with unseeing eyes. The rattle of the carriage wheels was the only sound for a long time as the three of us shared a grief-stricken silence that no words would ever be able to assuage.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Royal Palace, Corcin, Eastern Cormalen
November, last year
Even though King Segar had yet to call the council to order, the chamber remained strangely hushed aside from the nervous rustling of papers. Usually the men spoke to each other beforehand, rivals trading sharp-edged jests, allies comparing notes, friends conversing on all manner of subjects. But not today. Only the day following King Arian's death had been quieter.
Cyril leaned over. "How's Merius doing?" he whispered, the first words anyone had spoken to me since I sat down.
Segar glanced up at the question, his eyes slits of apparent curiosity. "Yes, how does he fare?"
I frowned. "As well as can be expected. He hasn't taken to drink--yet." God, what was I supposed to say in answer to such idiocy? How did they think he fared? I wanted to curse out loud but restrained myself, realizing they likely meant well. It was just people kept asking me about him, kept asking Eden about him, and neither of us knew what to say. Aside from his breakdown in the carriage, he had maintained a tough front. When I had suggested he spend at least a month away from court, he had asked "What for?" His stolid expression had so resembled my own reflection in the mirror that I suddenly longed to take a month off myself. The only time he seemed halfway his old self, the only time he smiled anymore, was when he played games with or read stories to Sewell and Dominic, and then I figured it was mostly an act, part of his and Elsa's campaign to keep things as normal as possible for the children because that was what "Safire would have wanted," his new standard answer to most questions. His stoicism frightened me even as I admired it. He reminded me of a soldier on the verge of a battle he knew he couldn't win. The brave mask, the false bravado, the blank stare of a man facing certain death. Was that the answer Cyril and Segar wanted to hear? Somehow I doubted it.
Cyril cleared his throat, startling me back to the present. "He's still coming, right?"
"Of course--I would have said something if he wasn't." I shrugged.
As if on cue, the door opened, and Merius entered, trailed by the firebird. I had thought the chamber was quiet before, but now it was dead silent. Everyone seemed to stop breathing as he made his way around the table to the empty seat at Segar's right. Merius had muttered some overblown nonsense last night about how Safire "flowed like a flame swaying in the breeze," though watching her traverse the length of the council table today, I realized the image was more apt than I had given him credit for at the time.
Not even Artemious understood it. One would expect a bird of her size and shape to waddle, but she didn't. Artemious had theorized that our human senses were too slow and flesh bound to keep pace with her, that she sang and moved and lived at a slightly higher plane of existence from ours. I had reserved comment, partly because I didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but mostly because Merius had livened up a little and shown a flash of his old self when he responded to Rankin, and I didn't want to interrupt him. I didn't understand what he said either--something about how the mind bond helped him sense things the way Safire could sense them in her new body, giving him glimpses of a world of colors and feelings superimposed on our own--whatever the hell that meant--but it had been good to see him act like himself for a moment, even if it didn't make sense. The upshot of all their theories was that Safire was just as spooky a bird as she had been a woman, not quite of this world, and I could understand what they meant by that even if I understood nothing else they said.
The slack-jawed expressions on the faces of my fellow councilors showed they felt a similar sense of wonder when they beheld her, though for many, that wonder seemed colored by a goodly amount of terror. Trembling fingers loosened suddenly tight collars, clumsy hands fumbled with inkwells and glasses, and throats cleared with shy little coughs, as if they feared to be noisy in her presence. Likely most of them thought King Segar had taken leave of his senses when he invited her to be here. What they didn't realize is that no one, including Merius, had ever successfully restricted Safire. She had always behaved as she pleased, and now in her invulnerable, potentially lethal form, she would go where she liked, kings be damned. That such a creature was now associated with the Landers family and would gladly incinerate anyone who threatened us pleased my power hungry side to no end, though I cursed myself for even considering the unintended benefits of this tragedy. Truly, if I could, I would use any means necessary to restore Safire to her former self. However, since that was impossible, I had to be practical. And being practical meant acknowledging the powerful weapon we now held because of Safire's transformation.
A stinging sensation crept over my face as if I'd been out in the sun too long and gotten burned. Safire's dazzling eyes fixed on me, the pupils large and gleaming like fiery obsidian chips, completely untamed. I realized, rubbing my cheek and feeling the feverish heat of my skin, that she knew what I was thinking. And she didn't like it. She would be no man's weapon or tool. The scar over my heart suddenly tingled with faint warmth, a twinge of memory. That little witch.
She trilled deep in her throat then, and half the council froze while the other half shoved their chairs back, poised to run for the door. Even Cyril, who knew better than most, drew straight as a blade, his white-knuckled hands gripped around the table edge. Only Cyranea and Rankin remained calm, both leaning forward and watching her with bespectacled fascination. She warbled again, the merry, wild sound of a vagabond fiddle, and Merius shot her a startled glance. Then a faint smile touched his mouth, and he ran his fingers over the untidy reddish-gold crest adorning her head, his caress as tender as it had been when she was human. The heat faded from my skin, and I suddenly wanted to laugh. She might not think or communicate in words anymore, but she still had her temper. And her wit.
"Gentlemen," King Segar said. "Please remain seated--I think your obvious fear has amused our guest."
"Guest?!" Warden of Turley sputtered, his tufts of dirty white hair quivering. "Guest--how can you call this creature that? This bird siren assassinated your father, Your Majesty."
"You're welcome to address your comments directly to her, Warden," Segar said coolly. "That is, if you dare. And my father was not assassinated. He slaughtered himself, as you're well aware. I'll not allow his life--and manner of death--to become a cheap pawn of politics."
"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the bird's song did drive His Majesty Arian to the madness that precipitated his unfortunate demise. Surely you don't deny that," said the merchant Neils of Ghet, his voice smooth. Cyril and I exchanged stiletto glances--with Peregrine and Sullay gone, Neils seemed the likeliest candidate to take their place as the merchant we despised most on the council. Merius had remarked he resembled a sucker eel, quietly draining the life ou
t of the king's position while other, more colorful sorts distracted us with their antics.
King Segar seemed to choose his words with care as he responded, "Yes, Neils, I agree--Safire's song, beautiful though it was, did affect my father strangely. How do you suggest I punish her?"
Neils's thin cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked down, seemingly absorbed with brushing some invisible lint from his sleeves. "I can't say, Your Majesty."
"There's the old story of the nightingale, how it sang in the garden at night. All with ears to hear it stopped whatever they were doing to listen, even the heavenly bodies in their orbits. Its song so distracted the moon and stars that they fell from the sky and ended the old world so that God could create a better one," Artemious said dreamily, his jaw propped on one hand as he gazed at Safire. Then he straightened and looked around the table, impaling everyone with suddenly intent eyes. "Who among you would blame the nightingale for its beauty? Who among you would shoot it?"
There was more than one furtive glance in Safire's direction, but no one spoke up. "That's what I thought," Rankin said after an uncomfortable silence. "Even if you could kill her, I doubt you'll ever forget what happened to His Grace the bishop and the fools who followed him when they tried." Boots creaked as some of the men shifted in their seats. The members of the mob probably would have remained anonymous if Safire's transformation hadn't killed them. As it was, the whole list of names had been announced at chapel and then again at council. Aside from the bishop, Whitten had been the highest ranking man on the list. His Grace had chosen his lackeys from the lesser sparrow nobility and poorer merchant families, knowing that such desperately ambitious men would be more eager than most to follow his orders. Ironically, his astute selection of the mob had made dealing with the aftermath of this disaster far easier for me and King Segar, as the men's families held little influence and were in no position to pursue retribution. In fact, judging from the official letters of apology the Landers had received, most of the families seemed eager to disavow their witch hunt kinsmen.
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 57