by Karen Nilsen
He began to shake his head, his fingers splayed at his temples. "That could be a scar from anything. It didn't happen."
"But you just said you remembered."
"No, no--I'm remembering something else, a tavern fight I saw when I was younger." He swallowed. "No, maybe not that fight, but another fight. I've seen a lot of fights, a lot of blades flashing. I don't know. All I know is you're lying."
"Merius . . ."
"I never would have let you draw your dagger on her."
His incoherence shook me. Merius was often hot-tempered but rarely irrational. Had Arilea talked to him afterwards, made him think that I had swung the dagger, made him think that somehow he should have protected her? She had loved her games.
"You're always doing this to me.”
"Me? Your mother's the one who lied to you . . ."
"Leave," he said flatly. "Leave now, Father."
I shrugged and turned to the door. There was no point talking to him when he was like this--he wouldn't listen. Not that he listened to me anyway. He had swallowed his mother's poison for so long that the truth meant nothing to him. My chest tightened, a fire in my lungs. Maybe none of this mattered. Maybe he really was Gaven's get. I looked back as I grasped the door knob. Merius raised his head and glowered, one hand poised on his dagger hilt and his eyes dry, daring me to stay. That hangdog Gaven would have been quivering like a woman by this point. I suddenly wanted to laugh, though it would have been for the benefit of a bitch ten years in the grave. Merius acted like me when he was in a rage. At least she couldn't take that from me.
Chapter Eight--Safire
For the third time in an hour, I tossed down my charcoal stick and ripped up the drawing, letting the scraps of paper fall to the floor. Then I leaned against the window frame and chewed my lip as I examined the blank expanse of my sketch board. Nothing seemed to be working today. Like every day since I had come here, I sat on my window seat and sketched whatever interested me in the courtyard below. Horses and their riders, servants unhitching coaches, the queen and her entourage in their flowing silk gowns, the king's guard at practice--all of these had been captured in my portfolio. Today, however, I was like a butterfly collector, pinning the lifeless image of the thing to paper while its soul escaped me. Maybe I was tired. But I didn't feel tired, despite the fact that I'd been up most of the night. I felt jittery. I set aside my sketch board and rose, stretching. It was almost time to get ready for Merius.
At the thought of him, a flush tingled over my skin, and I grinned. His name was Merius. He was the only son of Mordric of Landers, provincial minister at court. His mother had been Arilea of Somners, who died when he was only ten. He was two months shy of his twenty-first birthday, and he had graduated from the court academy three years ago, first in his class. None of this he told me. I had found it written in the register of high nobility this morning, all the while glancing over my shoulder to make certain no one was watching. One would have thought I was looking at naughty pictures instead of a respectably dusty register of Houses. Maybe I was afraid some former, more sensible version of me would come around the corner and find this new, silly Safire poring over those few tidbits of his life like a fifteen-year-old with heart flutters.
I tarried over my hair too long, and the church bells caught me lacing up the front of my brocade gown. Six o'clock--I was supposed to be meeting Merius right now in the stairwell. Hastily, I tied the bodice strings and pushed my feet into satin dancing slippers. The hallway was cold as the door clicked shut behind me. I shivered a little and hurried to the stairs. Twilight darkened the sky outside the hall windows, gray clouds so low I could have brushed them with my fingers. "Please don't rain," I prayed as I started down the steps. Merius wanted to take me somewhere outside, a surprise. And I had forgotten my cloak. I paused, looking back up the shadowy stairs. It was too late to go back and get it. Swearing under my breath, I continued on my way. Maybe Merius would kiss me again--that would keep me warm.
I stopped on the second floor down from mine. No Merius. I glanced down the empty corridor, my feet on the threshold. This was the single men's hall. Proper girls didn't go on this hall. We had agreed to meet here, hadn't we? Maybe it was the floor above--I thought that was where the Landers had their rooms. After all, it had been four in the morning when we had made our plans, so I probably hadn't heard him right. No, I was certain he'd said the second floor down. I waited for a moment or two on the landing, too nervous inside to stand still for long. Finally, unable to wait any longer, I tentatively put my foot on the flagstones of the hallway floor. It didn't feel any different from the other floors. Dagmar said only wicked women came here, so I was wicked now. Stifling a giggle, I began walking past the doors, wondering which was his and if I dared knock on it. One door, two doors, three . . . I stopped. I heard the sliding of a bolt and then the knob of the door next to me turned.
Merius opened the door, then froze when he noticed me in the hall. We stared at each other. Suddenly, boots thumped below, and male voices echoed up the stairs. Merius grabbed my hand and pulled me into the chamber, shutting the door behind us. We waited in the darkness until the men had passed, laughing, down the corridor.
"Safire," he whispered. "You're not supposed to be on this hall."
"I know that. What, do you want me to leave?"
"No, of course not. I'm sorry I wasn't in the stairwell. I was on my way, but then the steward delivered another damned letter."
"That's all right."
I heard him move away to the other side of the chamber, where a few coals still glowed in the fireplace. There was a scrape of metal, and a minute later, a wavering light leapt on the walls as he lit a candle from the embers and set it on the mantel.
"There," he said, turning to me. "At least I can see you now."
I glanced around the chamber. Books and papers everywhere, as I had expected. My eyes came to rest on him. He leaned against the mantel, unblinking as he watched me. I quickly looked away, wondering if I had done something wrong. His aura glowed dully tonight, a somber pewter instead of its usual crackling silver. Maybe he was tired.
"Last night . . ." I stammered finally. "You must know every word of the Celandine speech from Sirach."
"God knows I've read it enough times to know it by now."
"Who's your favorite? Sirach or Lhigat?"
"Sirach. Lhigat was my mother's favorite, but I've always thought Lhigat was too perfect to be anyone's favorite. Lhigat is almost too perfect to read, in fact. I can only take so much of his poetry. But Sirach--I could read Sirach for days and days." He sighed and kicked at the embers in the grate. "How is it your father let you read all those poems and plays? Most fathers won't let their daughters read Sirach--he's a trifle too . . ."
I arched one brow. "Erotic?" I hoped the shadows hid my fierce blush.
Merius grinned, the candle flame catching in his eyes. "Yes, erotic," he repeated softly. "Too erotic for proper young ladies." An invisible petticoat called chastity slid to the floor, and I swallowed.
"My father doesn't like to read, so he's never read any Sirach. If he had, he would have censored his poems long ago."
"My father reads only practical things, so he's never read Sirach either. He thinks poetry a waste of time.” Merius touched his temples then, rubbing them a little.
"Do you have a headache?"
"Sort of."
"Here." I swept the clothes off the trunk at the foot of the bed. "Sit down."
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"Just have a seat. You'll see."
"Bossy wench," he said, but he sat. I ran my fingers through his hair, letting them come to rest on his temples. "This is a promising start," he murmured. "Do you know you smell of cedar smoke? It's strangely--dare I say it--erotic."
"Shh."
"Oh, no. You're blushing again. You'll be permanently scarlet if this keeps up."
I furrowed my brow as I massaged his temples. "Behave."
"I don't
know how.”
"Do you want this headache gone or not?"
"Kiss me--that'll cure it."
"You had enough kisses last night." I squinted my eyes, concentrating. The tension wrapped around his head like a tight rope, and I was having difficulty finding the knot. "So tense," I whispered. "Why?"
"You're touching me, and you ask why I'm tense?"
"Are you saying I gave you this horrendous headache?"
He snorted. "No."
"Then what did?"
"I had a fight with Father earlier, but . . ."
"Ahaa . . . there we go." In my mind, the knot loosened under my fingers, and the rope came free, falling away into oblivion.
"There we go what . . . oh, it's gone," he exclaimed, reaching for his temples. "Completely gone." He looked at me. "How did you do that?"
I fell back, uncomfortable under his piercing gaze. "It's an old remedy. Touching the temples like that--it releases the bad humors and . . ."
"I've massaged my temples a hundred times and never had a headache vanish like that."
"It's having someone else do it--that's the secret."
"No, I think the secret is that you're magical. You know things you shouldn't know, heal with your touch."
I shook my head. "No."
"I think," he continued, "that you're a witch."
"Stop it." I stumbled over some boots, trying to find my way around the bed. "I have to leave."
With the lightning reflexes of a swordsman, he was up and around the footboard and grasping my sleeve before I could reach the door. "Sweetheart, don't. It was a jest."
I struggled against his grip. "Witches burn in the market square of this city all the time, and you call it a jest?"
"I didn't mean it like that--I'm sorry. Come here."
Reluctantly, I let him take me in his arms and then was glad I had. He smelled of pipe smoke and leather, and his woolen vest was warm and scratchy against my cheek. His aura, bright again, was all around us like a silver cloud, shielding me. "Shh, you're not a witch," he said, his breath ruffling my hair.
"But I am a witch. I see and hear things I shouldn't. Feel things I shouldn't . . ."
"There's nothing wrong with you, Safire."
"There was nothing wrong with those women in the square, either, and they burned them."
"No one's going to burn you. You're too beautiful."
"You haven't really looked at me, if you think that. And red hair is a sign of the devil," I sniffed.
"Now you're being silly." He loosened his hold, keeping his hands on my shoulders as his eyes met mine. "And I'll never let them burn you.” He paused. “I love you."
I gasped and stepped back. "But, but, Merius . . ."
"You're blushing again," he said, but he wasn't smiling this time. His face was intent, watching, waiting for my reaction.
My tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth, and I began to pace, my hands clasped behind my back. His chamber had many obstacles to pacing--piles of books, boots, a quiver of arrows, a couple of leather bound chests. I found myself stepping around these items and over them, noting them with the detached interest of one in complete shock.
"No one's ever said that to me before. Not like that," I managed finally. What did I mean, not like that? How stupid of me . . .
"Sweet, stop pacing. It seems I've thrown you into a tumult."
I stopped by the mantel and turned on him. "You are a tumult."
He followed me around the bed. "Too tumultuous for dinner?"
"Why, are you hungry?"
"I don't know--I'm asking you." He stepped on to the hearthstones and slid his hand over mine on the mantel. I was trembling, and I thought he was trembling a little too. Something jabbed my stomach with a thousand icy needles, all silver and tickling.
"No, no dinner," I heard myself say, my voice floating up to the ceiling. "I want to stay here. Stay here . . . oh no." I lunged towards the washstand. Merius swore and grabbed my hand. Somewhere in the middle of my lunging and his grabbing, we ended up in each others' arms. A confusion of hands and arms and heads ensued, a confusion that ceased as soon as our mouths met.
His lips were warm and firm, and he knew how to use them. His tongue was light and teasing across mine. No other man in my limited, furtively gained experience had kissed like this. Either they had choked me with their tongues, or their lips had been cold, like a fish. One had even tasted like fish. But Merius tasted clean and sharp, a searing liquor. Merius had the subtle, practiced touch of an artist. An artist of kisses.
I eased away, just to see what he would do. He groaned, low in his throat, his hand tightening on my waist, the fingers of his other hand clenching in my hair, and I knew then he wanted me. Power--I had power over him, and the girl-woman inside had no idea what to do with it. My mother's voice warned that men didn't marry girls they kissed like this. But the woman argued with the mother--the woman wanted to put her hands all over him. And the girl was screaming, absolutely terrified. I pulled away, gasping for breath.
We stared at each other, and his grip loosened on my waist. "Safire," he said. "Safire, maybe you should leave."
"Why?"
"Your father would kill me."
"He's leagues away, Merius."
"Still . . ." He held one of my curls then and sniffed it, closing his eyes. "Why does your hair have to smell so good?"
"Because I wash it."
He chuckled. "You have puckish eyebrows, and your nose turns up. Saucy freckles and a propensity for wicked grins--I bet you fight with your family all the time." I nodded, and he raised one brow. "I knew it. I knew you were an impossible knot the first time I saw you. I want to untie you. And then I want to tie you back up just so I can untie you all over again and again and again . . . forever, Safire."
"How do you do that?"
"Stay and you'll find out."
"I thought you didn't want me to stay," I said as he swept my hair back.
"I never said that. I just said that you shouldn't stay," he whispered, his lips brushing over my ear lobe.
I raised my hand and loosened his collar. The girl was still screeching somewhere, but I could ignore her. She wouldn't exist much longer. My hand slid under the shirt and over his chest. His breath caught. "Safire . . ."
"I can't let you do all the seducing." The girl finally fell silent. I had seen men's chests before, but never this close. All that crinkly hair and sinewy muscle. And what did they need nipples for? Though I knew better than to voice such a question, I couldn't resist pinching one just to see what would happen.
"Good God. Vixen," he said. He grabbed my wandering hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed every finger, every knuckle, working his way down my palm until he had inside of my wrist between his teeth. I watched his hand, the blunt edges of his square fingernails. He wouldn't need gloves when he went riding--his hands were tough and strong for a nobleman's hands . . . then I noticed one of those hands crept over my bodice laces, deftly pulling them apart. He paused when he felt my stare. Then I raised my hands to his and helped him, both of us fumbling with the rest of my laces. A rosebud of sweet fear unfurled in my pounding heart.
He eased my dress off my shoulders and over my arms. It dropped to the floor with a sighing crumple of satin brocade. The petticoats and shift floated away soon after, and I was naked. I stood there, wearing nothing but my slippers, my eyes shut tight. I didn't dare open them. Eve had opened her eyes and lost Eden. So I stood there, staring at the inside of my eyelids, and listened. The drip of water on the stones outside as it started raining. My breathing, fast and shallow. The shuffle of his feet as he walked around me. And then I heard his breathing, and it was ragged, ragged like a man with a fever.
"My God," he muttered hoarsely. "My God, you're lovely. I shouldn't touch you . . ."
"Shouldn't?" I repeated, my words shrill and shaking. "The last time you said shouldn't, you told me I shouldn't stay, and now you've taken away all my clothes so I can't leave. You don't tak
e shouldn't very seriously, do you?"
"Are you mocking me, Safire?"
"Yes."
"Witch. Lovely, lovely witch." His voice was closer, a whisper behind me. His warm breath snaked through my hair, and I knew his mouth was only inches from my ear.
"Touch me, Merius."
A finger trailed lightly up the middle of my back. I quivered inside as that evil finger traced over my shoulder blade and down my shoulder. Agonizingly slow now, it slid down, down my chest to my left breast. It stopped on my nipple, stroking the taut peak with the edge of a fingernail. All my breath came out with a gasp, and my eyes flew open. Eden was lost now, lost forever, and I didn't give a damn. I glanced down, staring at his hand on me, on a place where no man's hand had ever been before, and I began to shake.
"Sweetheart," he said, his teeth nibbling my ear, "you're trembling. If you have any doubts, if you want to leave . . ."
I spun around and answered him with a fierce kiss, my fingers twining in his hair. The woman inside was demanding to be untied by the hands of a poet.
Chapter Nine--Merius
When I awoke, the rain had stopped. The dark of a moonless night pressed against my eyes, and I shut them again, turning on my side and pulling the covers over my head. That was when I found Safire. She lay curled against me like a cat, her hair tickling my arm. When I moved, she huddled closer. My eyes closed, I ran my hand over her shoulder, stroked the arc of her collarbone. My geometry master once described heaven as a place where all angles and shapes met in exquisite harmony so that nothing struck the eye amiss, the unattainable goal of every temple and cathedral builder. Tonight I discovered my perfect temple in Safire's body, and from now on, I would worship there with the stubborn ardor of a true zealot. I had said my prayers once already, and in a while, if she woke and was amenable, I would say them again.
I shifted her shoulders off my arm and tucked the blanket around her. Then I rose and lit a candle. It took me a few minutes to locate some trousers and a shirt. I left the shirt loose and grabbed the first footwear that came to hand: my riding boots. I had some shoes for roaming through the palace in the middle of the night, but they had been lost under the bed months ago, and I was in too much of a hurry to retrieve them.
