The Witch Awakening (Book One of the Landers Saga)

by Karen Nilsen

  "That‘s not what I want. Not exactly." She primly smoothed her skirts, not looking at me.

  “What do you want then? Exactly?”

  “You’re teasing me now.”

  I trailed my finger up her cheek, and the corners of her mouth rose with it until she was smiling. She still wouldn't look at me, though. "Let me kiss you again. You‘re adorable," I said.

  "No."

  "Later?"

  "No, you're too bold." Finally, her eyes darted up to meet mine. And then darted away again as she retrieved the combs and tried to put them back in her hair.

  "Leave it down. It's beautiful."

  "My sister will ask questions."

  "I wager your sister will be long abed by the time you leave here." I plucked the combs from her hand and set them with the sketch.

  "Give them back!" She tried to reach past me.

  I stayed her hand, lifting it to my mouth. "You'll get them back when you kiss me again," I muttered over her palm.

  "Wicked man . . . oh, I like that," she breathed as I nibbled her fingertips, the side of her wrist. "Oh, Merius. Merius, stop. Stop." I dropped her hand with little ceremony. "I didn't mean just stop. Not like that." She crossed her arms, looking severely at me.

  I shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a gentleman."

  "Ha." She tossed her head. "You kiss like a rogue."

  "And what would you know about a rogue's kisses?"

  "I've read about them in books."

  "What have you been reading, anyway?" I bent to pick up her book.

  "A little Lhigat."

  "No one ever reads a little Lhigat." I flipped open the book to the page I wanted. "'And so sang the mermaids/of long-lost love, found again/a blue fire in the veins . . .' Your hair looks like blue fire tonight."

  "You know Lhigat?" she exclaimed.

  "Of course I know him. My mother was in love with the man, or with his bones at any rate, since there probably isn't much else left of him."

  "I love Lhigat too," she sighed. "But Sirach's my favorite."

  "Sometimes they put on his plays here."

  "Really?"

  "I'll take you." I tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, visions of us alone together in the Landers private balcony at the theater quickening my pulse.

  “You’re thinking about kissing me again, aren’t you?” she whispered, the lace along the low collar of her gown visibly rising and falling.

  “Will you let me this time?”

  She glanced away toward the window, biting her bottom lip. The moonlight outlined her elfin features, her slightly upturned nose, her long lashes, her narrow chin. “In a little while, maybe. Will you recite some more poetry? I love your voice, like pipe smoke curling to fit the words.”

  When she looked directly at me again, her eyes luminous, I knew we were going to be there for a long time, perhaps forever. Us and the moon. The listening moon.

  Chapter Seven--Mordric

  Stupid mistresses. The morning light slanted across the neat stacks of papers, gilding the bindings of the books lined up on my desk top. The inkwell and the red sealing wax lay on the blotting paper where she had left them. I returned them to their proper pigeonholes. Meddlesome woman--I had told her to stay away from my desk. When I had awakened and caught her sitting here last night, she had tittered and said she thought I wouldn't mind if she wrote a letter to her sister. Letter, hell. She was probably one of Cyril's spies, though not much of one. Like all of my mistresses, she wasn't very clever. Best to dismiss her tonight, before I wasted any more jewelry on her. I was bored with her anyway. I was hardly in my dotage, and her puritan small clothes and fluttery manner held no more charms for me. I glanced down at my desk again. Barely ten o'clock, and already I had six letters.

  I picked up the first one and started to slit the seal with my dagger. The blade slipped and cut my index finger.

  "Damn it," I swore as the wound began to sting. At that moment, my steward Randel entered the chamber, carrying my boots, freshly polished. He drew up short.

  "Sir, are you all right?"

  "I'm fine." Blood dripped on the letter as I tried to wind a handkerchief around my finger. Age must be thinning my blood--if it had flowed so fast when I was young, I would have bled to death during the Gilgin War. "Where's Merius?"

  "Asleep, I think."

  "Asleep? Still? Has he a fever? If not, I'll take a strap to him. There's no excuse for such laziness."

  "I think he had something of a late night. Or early morning, rather."

  I glanced up from knotting the handkerchief. "What was it this time? A card game? Another one of those damned poxy barmaids? I really will take a strap to him."

  "I don't think so. Warden told me--Warden's another steward, you know . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "Said that last night Sir Merius paid him to deliver an orchid and a message to a certain young lady here at court."

  "What young lady?"

  Randel swallowed. "Warden didn't say the name. It wasn't one of the major Houses, I know that."

  "My son's a fool," I muttered. "Orchid, hell."

  "What's that, sir?"

  I shook a small key out of my pocket. It went to the lock in the middle drawer of my desk. I kept several pouches of gold and silver coins there. Also some secret court papers and letters, a few spare baubles for my mistress of the month, and some of Merius's poetry I had confiscated from his chamber a couple weeks ago. I told him that I had burned it. I needed to burn it, as it was probably seditious claptrap, but I usually read it first before committing it to the flames. It wasn't all as seditious as that one about the king's funeral he had been working on at council. What if that had fallen into the wrong hands? Poetry, for God's sake. What possessed him to take up such a pastime? It must be the last trace of his bitch mother's poison working out of his veins. I never should have allowed Arilea to nurse him herself. I wagered that was where all this nonsense had started.

  I took out a silver piece for Randel. "Find out this girl's name."

  He pocketed the coin. "Yes, sir."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  When Merius had still not appeared by one, I corked my inkwell, removed my spectacles, and went over to the wardrobe. Randel had brought a tray of bread and sausage earlier, but I needed stiffer sustenance. I reached behind the polished boots and pulled out a silver flask. Inside was the nectar of our fair land, the purest rye spirits distilled in Cormalen. I took a long swig and wiped my mouth as the whiskey iced my veins. Heady stuff--already my legs felt twenty years younger. As a young cavalier, I had jeered at anyone who drank liquor like it was courage in a bottle. I required no help with my fighting. But I wasn't going to fight with Merius. I was going to talk to him.

  As I entered the lower hall on the way to Merius‘s chamber, Eden slunk past me. I grabbed her shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

  Her amber eyes glittered, a smirk sliding across her full lips. "I seem to have lost my way, sir."

  "I should say so. Your chamber's upstairs."

  "Thank you for reminding me. I'd forgotten--it's been several nights since I last visited it."

  Gritting my teeth, I pulled her out of the corridor and into the alcove under the stairwell. The daughter of my long dead second cousin Slevin, she was a year older than Merius and almost as much trouble.

  "You also seem to have forgotten our little discussion," I hissed. "Although you may not believe it, I can find some fool to marry you. Somewhere there's a liver-spotted country squire who's been lying with the goats so long that he won't mind the stench of used baggage like you." Those cat eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth.

  Before she could speak, I put my finger to her lips. "Listen now, if you want to stay here. I don't mind a courtesan in the family. A clever courtesan can be far more useful at court than a hundred simpering brides as far as the Landers position is concerned. I do, however, mind an indiscriminate slut."

  "I haven't been indiscriminate."

  "You've been
indiscreet, which is almost as bad. No woman in your position leaves a man's chamber at one in the afternoon."

  "When should I have left it, pray?"

  "When you were finished with him last night. Discretion is the one virtue no courtesan can do without, my dear."

  Eden smiled. "Of course." I wondered sometimes if she secretly used pipe weed; her voice had an unusual smoky quality. "Everyone will wake up in the proper beds from this day forward, Mordric. I promise. Oh, and that reminds me . . ." She reached into her bodice and pulled out a letter with a red seal on it.

  I took it from her, the parchment faintly scented with the exotic spice of her Marennese perfume. "Is it as I suspected?" I asked her as I stuffed the letter in my pocket, not daring to read it here.

  She nodded. "He has the Bishop in his bed, though I doubt he finds His Grace quite as entertaining as me."

  "Blackmail?"

  "Perhaps. You'll have to read it, see what you make of it. I'm but an indiscreet slut, so I'll leave the difficult work to you."

  "Don't sulk, Eden. It doesn't become a lady."

  "I thought I was a courtesan, not a lady."

  "All the great courtesans have been ladies. Understand that, and you'll have the court at your feet."

  "You're certainly free with advice today."

  I ignored her cheek--impudence was bad in a wife, but then she wasn’t destined to be anyone's wife. "Have you seen Merius?"

  "Last I saw of him was the other night. He was dancing with some provincial redhead."

  "What redhead?"

  She shrugged. "The same one Peregrine's been panting after. I was with him on the balcony when he saw her and Merius. I think he said her name is Safrine, Safire, Satire, something silly like that. It suits her. Myself, I don't see what all the fuss is . . ."

  "Redhead, Safire . . . that's Avernal's younger daughter," I said.

  "Avernal of Long Marsh?"

  "Yes." It had been months since I'd seen the girl. Little sharp-tongued minx, not at all like her decorous older sister. For the younger daughter of an indebted minor nobleman, she had certainly carried herself proudly. Vain of her looks, I supposed. Most of the beautiful ones were, as I had discovered during my marriage.

  "Well, she is prettier than Dagmar," Eden sniffed, "though that's not saying much."

  "Sheathe your claws," I said. "I don't want to see you on this hall again. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir," she muttered.

  "Remember you're at court on my whim, Eden."

  "I remember, sir."

  "Good. As long as we understand each other. Now, off with you." She disappeared up the stairs, her slippers silent on the marble. I walked down the hall, pausing outside Merius's door. After a moment of silence, I knocked.

  "Come in," he yelled.

  I entered the chamber and closed the door behind me. He sat at his desk, writing what I hoped was a proposal to King Arian about threatening the SerVerin Empire with a tariff on our wheat. Whatever it was, inkblots covered it as well as Merius's hands. If he had filled his pen with ink and then shaken it over his desk, things couldn't have been messier. Of course, the blotting paper, if there was any, was lost under a rough sea of papers. I had made him straighten everything two days ago after he had misplaced his council notes, but training Merius to be orderly was like training a horse to clean its own stall. I put my fingers to my right temple, anticipating the jab of pain.

  "You were supposed to be in my chamber at ten, Merius."

  "I was?" His expression was carefully blank, a look he likely practiced in front of the mirror. He rose, holding the ink-blotted mess of parchment. “I’ve been drafting this proposal, Father, and I can’t figure it out.”

  “What can’t you figure out?”

  He began to pace in a tight circle around his desk chair, even though he knew it drove me mad. Why couldn‘t he stay still? “How we can threaten the SerVerin Empire with raising the tariff on our wheat and not ruin the entire wheat market. I’m worried Emperor Tetwar will laugh in our ambassador’s face and tell his subjects to buy their wheat elsewhere, perhaps from countries that support the slave trade. Devons was right yesterday at council.”

  “There are no countries that produce wheat like Cormalen does, Merius. You, not Devons, were right yesterday at council--the SerVerinese would starve without our wheat.”

  He sighed. “We shouldn’t be trading with the SerVerin Empire at all, maybe--it’s wrong to trade with a country that deals in human flesh.”

  “The SerVerin slaves would starve if we didn’t ply our wheat to their masters. Our tenants would be in poverty if the demand for the wheat they grow falters. Your blind idealism would cause a famine on both shores of the Gilgin Sea.”

  His mouth worked, as if he held back several swear words. Finally, he said, his voice clipped, “You never said anything about being in your chamber at ten this morning.”

  “Of course I did. Yesterday at dinner.”

  "Dinner?" he repeated.

  "It's a holy day today," I said. "Happens once every fortnight. There are no councils on holy days. Hence, what do we always do on holy days?"

  "Father, I . . ."

  "We review our correspondence, don't we?"

  "Just let me . . ."

  "And why do we review our correspondence? To be certain we've answered every letter, to be certain we haven't missed anything. And why would we have missed anything? Because your desk is a godforsaken unholy mess." I stopped myself, realizing my voice had risen. And I hadn't meant to bring his desk into this.

  He stared at me, both of us motionless for a long moment. Then, with a sudden, violent movement, he swept everything off the desk. Papers and quill pens fluttered in the air as the inkwell hit the stone floor and shattered. Ink splattered on my boots.

  "There, Father. My desk is clean."

  I paused before I responded. I had struck him a few times when he was younger, but he was too old for that now. Besides, thrashings had never worked well with Merius. Nothing had ever worked well with Merius.

  "A stripling boy wouldn't be so immature," I said finally.

  He shrugged. "Treat me like a grown man if you want me to act like one."

  "A grown man would have been on time this morning."

  "On time for your unrelenting criticism? I think not."

  "My standards are no higher than what the council will expect of you when you inherit my position."

  "I don't see the council in here straightening my desk." He crossed his arms. "Father, if I'm so unfit an heir, then give me leave to join the guard. We're too different for me to be anything but a disappointment to you in the council chamber."

  I noticed his toe tracing invisible patterns on the floor--he had never been able to keep still. Never. My brother Gaven had been like that--always restless. Merius had his hair as well, a brown mess that began to curl if he let it grow too long. One time when I had been away for several months when Merius was an infant, Arilea had let Merius's hair grow until it hung in ringlets. Some idiotic old wives' tale about how cutting a baby's hair was bad luck--at least that was what she had said. She had cried and called me a heartless bastard when I had drawn my dagger and chopped off the curls. Merius had babbled and played with his own hair trimmings throughout the whole proceeding, obviously not perturbed. Later, I had found one of the ringlets in a box under Arilea’s and my bed when I was searching for my boots. In the same box had been a miniature of Gaven and his letters to her, letters which the cheating bitch had sworn she'd burned after his funeral. The box had been in plain sight near the edge of the bed, like it had been waiting for me. It probably had. Arilea had loved her little games.

  "Father?" Merius demanded.

  I shook myself and looked at him. So he resembled Gaven in some ways. Children often resembled their uncles. It was nothing. "You're my son, I trained you--we can't be that different. You'll make a fine councilor when you shed your slovenly habits. You're not slovenly when it comes to your sword, your dagger
, your horse. This is the same thing."

  He took a deep breath. "No, it's not. Mother used to say . . ."

  "Merius, your mother lied. Constantly," I said through clenched teeth. "How many times do I have to tell you . . ."

  He stood, preparing for battle. "Not this again," he said evenly. "She's dead, for God's sake--leave her in peace. I'm sick of you calling her names. I'm sick of you blaming her for what you do, for what you did. I saw you slap her, all right? I saw you hit her once. I saw you . . ."

  "You saw me do worse than that? Spit it out then.”

  His brows drew together. "What are you talking about?"

  "Don't be deliberately dense," I snapped. "You were seven, Merius, old enough to remember, so don't pretend like you've forgotten. You keep needling me with it, so let's air it once and for all and be done with it. She started it--I doubt you remember that, but she did. She liked to start things. If I'd known you were in the chamber, I never would have drawn the knife, but I was drunk and she was being a bitch, as usual. It had nothing to do with you." His mouth was slightly open as he gaped at me. "What? Well, say something, damn it."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" he repeated finally.

  "You know what I'm talking about. You were reading in the corner. You saw the whole thing. You wouldn't talk for days. Arilea panicked and summoned the Calcors physician. You don't remember all that?"

  He sank into the chair. "What did I see?" he said, his voice hoarse.

  "Not much, really. An argument, no worse than any of the others we had. This one I just happened to draw my dagger. I wasn't going to use it, hurt her or anything like that--I just wanted to get her attention. She screamed, of course--she was good at screaming. I think that upset you more than anything else."

  "The dagger." Merius sounded monotone, like he was talking in his sleep. "I remember now. The silver blur of the blade when you swung it at her. You were trying to kill her."

  "No. I never swung it at her. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I was going to shake her to get her to quit screaming so I dropped the dagger. She picked it up and swung the blade at me. When I went to wrest it away from her, the tip left a cut on my arm. I still have the scar. See?" I rolled up my sleeve.