The Witch Awakening (Book One of the Landers Saga)

by Karen Nilsen

  Picking up the candle, I glanced back at Safire. A slight shape under the blanket, a few stray curls on the pillow, a gentle sigh of breath. A virgin until tonight. If anyone hurt her, I'd kill him. The abrupt, sensational violence of this gut instinct made me pause as my eyes lingered over her again, my hand on the door knob. I examined the thought, imagined the sword in my hand, another man's blood on my conscience. Yes, I would gladly kill for her. It was that easy. The certainty intoxicated me. Finally, I knew exactly how I felt about something, someone. No doubts. No second reckonings. No confusion. No Father.

  As soon as I was out in the hall, I locked the door behind me and pocketed the key. It was unlikely Safire would awaken before I returned. Father had taught me long ago never to leave the chamber without securing the door, at least when I was at court. There were many spies here, and the Landers had too many secret royal papers entrusted to us to be careless.

  At the end of the hall, one of the stewards slept in a chair, the same man I had paid to deliver Safire's orchid the other night. He straightened as soon as I passed him.

  "Warden at your service, sir."

  "Yes." I grimaced. The heels of my riding boots made too much noise; I should have worn the leather-soled shoes.

  "Anything I can do for you, sir?"

  "No, not tonight, Warden. Just going out for some air." I continued down the back stairs, wall-mounted torches lighting my way to the kitchens and stables at the end of the main courtyard. Usually only servants went this way, but at midnight, the unspoken boundaries that governed the palace during the day mattered little.

  When I reached the kitchens, I lifted my candle high and navigated the shadowy maze of chopping blocks, wash tubs, and snoring scullions. The banked embers of the three huge fireplaces across the far end of the first kitchen lit everything with a lurid glow as I picked my way to the larder. It smelled of meat drippings from the grease lamps the servants used. I searched the shelves, finally deciding on a loaf of wheat bread, a half-used molding of butter, a chunk of soft white cheese, and several fat pears and mangoes the ambassador from the Sud Islands had likely brought as a gift. Fresh fruit was a rarity this time of year in Cormalen, and the diplomats from the southern climates always exploited this lack by tempting us with exotic offerings. The head butler would have locked the cellars and gone to bed by now, but I found an acceptable bottle of red wine on the back of the middle pantry shelf. I added it to the basket I had pilfered for my haul.

  Warden was still awake when I came up the stairs and entered the hall. "Hungry, sir?" he asked.

  "A little," I said shortly. I often was up in the dead of night wandering around. This was the first time there had been a steward guarding this doorway, and it irritated me, particularly when he felt compelled to comment on my doings.

  Safire was awake when I entered the chamber. She turned from the window, the blanket wrapped around her body. She had rekindled the fire in the grate, and a warm glow lit her skin and hair. "I missed you," she said.

  I shut the door behind me and put the candle down before I set fire to something. "I thought you might be hungry," I said, balancing the basket on the bed. "Let's see--there's bread, cheese, some fruit . . ." She came around the corner of the bed, her arms crossed over the edges of blanket. "Damn, I forgot glasses for the wine."

  "I don't mind drinking out of the bottle."

  I uncorked the bottle with my teeth and handed it to her. "Here, sweetheart." Our fingers grazed as she took the wine, and we both jumped a little, invisible sparks between us.

  Safire took a gulp from the bottle. Instantly, she choked, somehow managing not to spew wine everywhere as her face turned red. "I'm sorry," she croaked.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Embarrassed, that's all. That wine is so strong . . ."

  "Here, sit down." I cleared a spot on the bed. The edge of her blanket slipped as she held out her arm, revealing all. She tried to retrieve it, especially when she noticed my stare.

  "Are you cold?" I asked, my eyes lingering.

  "Yes. A little." She gulped down more wine, her knuckles white as she clutched the blanket to her breasts.

  I watched her for a moment. Then I shoved the basket aside, sat beside her, and kicked off my boots. Her eyes cut in my direction before she glanced at the floor, swallowing.

  I spoke first. "I'm sorry it hurt."

  She started and finally looked me full in the face, her grasp loosening on the bottle neck. "What?"

  Gently, I took the wine from her. "Safire, I don't go around deflowering virgins."

  She arched one brow. "Even if they're panting to be deflowered? Merius, if that was pain, then I'll take my punishment gladly. And often."

  "How often? Really, sweet, if that's how you feel, why are you still hiding under that damned blanket?"

  She shrugged. "You're not naked. Why should I be?"

  It was I who choked over the wine this time. "Vixen."

  "The fact is, I'm still a little scared . . ."

  "But love, there's no reason to be."

  She put her hand on my arm. "Not scared of you. Scared of myself. When you look at me, your eyes tell me I'm a woman. But Father and Dagmar still see me as an unruly girl who needs someone to hold her hand, and that girl is the one who keeps tugging up the blanket--she doesn't realize yet that she no longer exists. The woman's been here inside a long time, waiting for you, for this night."

  I ran my hand through my hair and quaffed the wine. "I should have courted you for a year before I even asked for the honor to kiss your hand. I feel like a seducer."

  She tossed her head. "Maybe I seduced you."

  I chuckled and set the wine bottle on the floor before I seized her, only to find her seizing me.

  Later, as we lay in the sweat-sheened bliss of each others' arms, she whispered, "How many times can we do that in one night?"

  "I don't know. Do we really need sleep?"

  She swatted my shoulder. "We're being wicked, and Dagmar's going to know in the morning that I wasn't in my bed, and then she's going to find me. Then she's going to see my face, and she's going to know, because all wicked women have the look."

  "What look, sweet?" I muttered into her neck.

  "Stop it. And I don't know how to describe the look exactly. It involves face paint."

  "But you're not wearing any face paint."

  "You go on thinking that, and we'll get along just fine."

  "Safire, all I noticed was a little kohl around your eyes, and all women wear that at court. Even Dagmar."

  "But after tonight, it'll be powder. And then rouge. And then God knows what."

  "Don't." My voice sounded muffled as my mouth moved from her neck to her shoulder. "I like you now."

  "I won't be able to help myself because I'm wicked. Wicked women have face paint just like skunks have stripes.”

  "You're not wicked. You're demented with hunger." I reached for the basket. "Here, do you like pears?"

  She grasped the pear and bit into it. "Thank you. Did you happen to get a napkin . . ." In answer, I lapped up the juice dribbling down her chin as I idly traced the curve of her right breast. "Stop it--that tickles. Stop . . ." She giggled. "I thought you were hungry . . ."

  "Sweetheart, what kind of ring would you like?"

  She took another bite of pear. "The last man who asked me that was Peregrine.”

  "You contrary flirt. What answer did you give him?"

  "Pearls from the moon and gold from the sun and rubies from the heart he doesn't possess. But even if he could get a ring like that, I‘d still never wear it. I don't much care for rubies. But I do like pearls. And gold and silver, just not together. You have a silver aura, you know."

  "Silver what?"

  "Aura. It's this light around you, something only a witch would see." She twined her arms around my neck and kissed me. Her lips tasted of pear and wine and salt from the tears she had cried earlier as I'd taken her maidenhead. Her tears burned like the sea on my tongue
.

  I eased back on my elbow after a long moment, one arm still locked around her waist. "So, what else did Peregrine promise you?" I asked.

  Her brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"

  "He said he intended to marry you before the snow flies, and he's not the sort to make vain boasts."

  She tensed against my arm. "That scoundrel. How do you know him?"

  "I've known him since I was thirteen. We were at the academy together, and I think he's a no-good bastard."

  "Why would he tell you that he wants to marry me? That seems like a rather private confidence to be sharing with someone who thinks you're a no-good bastard." She yanked up the blanket.

  I groaned inwardly. "Safire, have you ever heard the saying keep your friends close and your enemies closer?"

  "Yes, I have, and I had no idea you were so cynical."

  "Love, you have to be at court. And I wouldn't call it cynicism exactly. I'd call it strategy. You don't defeat men like Peregrine by making your intentions clear. All that does is give them an edge."

  "So what you're saying is that you have to pretend to like someone you don't and do things you don't want to do just so he doesn't get an edge? If I'd acted that way, I would be married to Peregrine by now."

  "How many times has he asked you to marry him?"

  "I don't know. Lots."

  "I bet you've answered him with a loud no every time, probably with some choice insults thrown in for good measure."

  "Of course I've told him no. I'll never marry that toad."

  "So, if bald candor works so well in defeating a lying knave like Peregrine, then why does he seem to think you'll be his by this year's harvest?"

  Safire grew still. Then she began to shake her head, one hand cupped over her mouth. "Never. I never thought of--of it like that. Oh, Merius, I don't know what to do."

  My arms tightened around her. "Shh, I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to make a point."

  "It's not you. It's Peregrine."

  "What about Peregrine?"

  "He said . . . he said that Father owed him ten thousand silvers and that he could have him thrown in debtor's prison for far less and . . ."

  "Peregrine said this to you?"

  "He said he'd do it if his wooing didn't suit me."

  "He's blackmailing you, the whoreson."

  "I know what it's called." She sighed, lightly running her hand back and forth across my chest. "I never knew there were so many muscles. Like ropes . . . you must train with your sword and bow everyday."

  "Practically. I've wanted to join the king's guard since I was thirteen." I stared up at the ribbed underside of the bed tester, the blue fabric between the slats turned black in the shadows. "If he speaks to you again, you tell me."

  Her hand tightened on my shoulder. "I shouldn't have told you about that. It's nothing, really . . . he was likely only bluffing."

  "Don't count on it."

  "Besides, Father can easily get ten thousand silvers," she added brightly.

  I bit my tongue. She had to know of her father's debts, but a daughter's lie to protect her father's reputation was understandable. What was incomprehensible to me was that same father letting a scoundrel like Peregrine court his daughter. I hated my father, but at least he had never tried to sell me.

  "Peregrine won't bother you again."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Don't worry about it, sweetheart." I tore some bread off the loaf.

  "What if he hurts you? I'll warrant he doesn't fight like a gentleman."

  I chuckled. "Neither do I. Safire, I've been in several fights with that son of a bitch and won my share of them. I doubt it will come to fighting anyway."

  "What will it come to, then?"

  "Maybe nothing. You'll be a Landers lady soon, my love, and he'll have no claim on you or your father's silver." I swallowed the last of the bread. Who was I jesting, being so cocky? The truth was, I didn’t want to think of Peregrine, of anything beyond Safire and me and the small, safe world of this bed. If only getting married was as easy as us exchanging kisses in the dark. If only we could wake in the morning and find ourselves wed, no worries about contracts or dowries or our families. I sighed and hoped she didn’t notice. Father would never approve of me marrying a sparrow noblewoman, not after he‘d made unofficial plans for me to wed the king‘s niece--he’d likely disinherit me for defying him. And her father--he’d not want her to marry a disinherited nobleman, a nobleman who’d seduced her before any proper betrothal. Especially when she could have had Peregrine and his bags of gold. I tightened my grip on her, pressed my lips to her temple. However our families thought or acted, she was mine now, and that was all that mattered. Father could disinherit me all he liked--I didn’t want his coin and offices anyway. He might as well have willed me a golden ball and chain. He’d always used the threat of disinheritance to control me, and it would be good to be rid of the chafing weight of his influence. As for her father, I’d prove to him what an honorable man I was, if it took the rest of my life.

  “You’re my lady now, sweet.”

  "I haven't said yes yet, you know. I'm waiting to see what the ring looks like." Her voice was the whicker of a mischievous filly bucking her first harness. Or her hundredth--although she made out that her father and sister often ordered her around, I seriously doubted any of those orders had been followed. It was good she was so bold--she would need to be strong to defy our families when the time came for us to elope.

  "Who am I jesting? I'd take a glass ring from you before I'd take another man's diamond," she said as she settled back on my arm, her head on my chest. "Recite one of your poems for me, Merius."

  I cleared my throat. "Which one?"

  "I don't know. The last one you wrote."

  I began, my voice low. "Out where the sea-hawks soar and cry/Above the waves that leap and die/upon the shifting sands/Shimmering in the golden rays/of a thousand suns and a thousand days . . ."

  She looked at me. "That's not the end, surely?"

  "No, not exactly. You likely don't want to hear the rest."

  "Yes, I do. I thought that bit was lovely. Tell me the rest."

  "It's not written."

  "But you just said . . ."

  "I mean written in its final form. It's roughed out, not finished."

  "Merius, please--I just want to hear it.”

  "Let's not talk about it anymore."

  She rolled over, her chin resting on her crossed arms as she gave me a quizzical stare. "Did I do something wrong?"

  "No, sweetheart, it's not you."

  "Then why won't you finish the poem for me?"

  I shrugged. Mother was ten years in the grave, but it still felt like she was listening sometimes, betrayed that I was sharing my poetry with someone else. "The dead make wonderful critics," I remarked under my breath. "Safire, do you believe in ghosts?"

  She was silent for so long that I wondered if she had heard me. "I‘ve seen them before," she said softly, as if confessing a shameful secret.

  My hand moved in the silken nest of her hair. "Where?"

  "I’ve sensed several since I came here. They‘re all around, really, most of them too preoccupied with their own doings to notice the living.”

  “What are they, exactly?”

  “I suppose they’re spirits who wouldn’t cross over for one reason or another. When I was younger, I tried talking to them, but Mother told me to stop before someone heard me and thought me addled or possessed.”

  “I sometimes . . .” I hesitated, chilled suddenly. “Sometimes I think my mother’s still around.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s likely only my imagination.” I pulled Safire closer.

  “Not necessarily. When do you feel her the most?”

  “When I’m at Landers Hall.”

  “Maybe she’s watching over you.”

  “Maybe.” The part of me that hesitated sharing my verse with Safire fell quiet. Slowly, I began to recite:
<
br />   Out where the sea-hawks soar and cry

  above the waves that leap and die

  upon the shifting sands

  Shimmering in the golden rays

  of a thousand suns and a thousand days

  Here we send you to a final sleep

  In the sapphire haze

  of the eternal deep

  A shining ship, sails unfurled

  will take you to the edge of this world

  And what beyond? Who can say?

  For what is mortal must pass away

  So, we come by light of day

  to give you to the endless waters

  Silver and gold we bring

  To honor you, our tall king

  Before the wind-whipped sails

  White ship wings

  carry you away

  out past the day

  Beyond the waves that leap and die

  Below the sea-hawks that soar and cry.

  All was silent for several minutes after I finished. Then Safire leaned over and kissed me, the salt of the sea again on her lips. “Thank you, dear heart,” she whispered.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “Because it’s beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful. I could write a poem about you right now.”

  She bit her bottom lip and hid her face against my shoulder. She said something, her voice so muffled I could barely hear her.

  I slipped my hand under her chin and forced her to look at me. “What did you say, Safire?”

  She swallowed. “I love you.” Then she hid her face again.

  I smiled. “You hold my heart in your hands. Do you know that?”

  She lifted her head. “Then I’ll hold it as gently as I would hold a dove.”

  “I know you will. I want you for my wife, Safire.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll have a ring for you soon.”

  She nodded. We fell silent for a long while, neither of us able to sleep. The rain had started again, and I listened to it, very aware of her presence in my arms. It felt like she had always been there, that we had been lying here together listening to rain forever, that everything else but the flicker of the candle and the pitter-patter of drops on the window and her warmth beside me was my imagination. I sighed and touched my lips to the crown of her head, a lover‘s blessing.