by Karen Nilsen
Chapter Fourteen--Safire
Strawberry snuffled into my palm, searching for the last bit of apple. "There is no more, silly," I said, giggling. "That tickles, stop."
She lifted her head and looked at me. She had the loveliest eyes for a horse, long-lashed and bright. "I'm sorry." I reached into my empty pocket. "See, there is no more. You've had enough anyway. You'll be fat as Buckets soon." Buckets was Dagmar's and my old pony, an ancient creature who stood in the same place in the pasture all day chewing oats and biting flies and dreaming of his glory days when he wore a red saddle and pranced around the fields with us on his back.
Strawberry tossed her mane to show me what she thought of Buckets and my lack of apples. Then she turned to her trough, her rump to me. I scratched her back. "We'll go riding tomorrow, I promise. It rained this afternoon, or I would have taken you."
"You talk more to that horse than you do to most people." Boltan came from the paddock, a length of rope twined around his elbow.
"I expect that's because she listens." I propped my arms on the stall gate. The muffled crunch and grumble of Strawberry eating hay filled the silence. It was a sound I could listen to for hours, like the cooing of sleepy pigeons. Like Merius's breathing in the bed beside me. I twisted the ring on my finger as if it could somehow magically summon him. I'd make him take me with him this time, even if I had to play his washerwoman. I'd do far worse things than dirty laundry just to see him again.
"You got another letter today."
"What?"
"A messenger brought it a few minutes ago." Boltan's eyes, dark gleams in wrinkled pockets of leathery skin, were too shrewd for my liking. I glanced away and picked up a piece of straw.
"Maybe it's from Dagmar."
"It isn't from court."
I bent the straw in the middle. "Where is it from then?"
"Gilgana."
Gilgana was a fishing village on the coast, the launching place of Herrod's ships. Merius had left for there five days ago, and already it felt like a year. If I had a letter from him, that meant he had already sailed, which meant that he wouldn't get any more letters from me. They were going to be moving around too much to receive any messages except commands from Herrod. The straw broke, and I threw the pieces down and sighed. How was I going to stand five months of this?
"You've gotten a letter a day since you returned home."
"I made some new acquaintances at court."
"Is that why your father summoned you home?"
I gave him a sidelong glance. "You ask too many questions for a servant."
Boltan grinned. "At least you learned one ladylike propriety while you were away."
"So, where is this letter?"
"On the bench in the front hall."
I hopped down and walked beside Boltan into the courtyard. "How long do you think it takes to sail to Marenna from here?"
He shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted across the fields. "It would take awhile to pull a ship across all that grass, my lady."
I swatted his arm. "Fool, I didn't mean from this house. I meant Cormalen."
"Cormalen's a big country to be sailing anywhere."
"Stop it right now. I'm not going to ask you anything anymore. Either you give me presumptuous advice or mock me."
"You make yourself an easy target, miss. Now, it would take a ship maybe a week and a half to sail from Gilgana to the northern coast of Marenna, given good winds and no storms. Does that answer your question?"
"I never said anything about Gilgana." I lifted my chin.
He stopped and looked at me. "Your father had best marry you off soon. Either that, or keep a better eye on you."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I hope not, though I think you're lying. You've looked the last few days like you did when you were five and went swimming in the river and came home covered with mud. You were laughing and jumping in puddles right up to the moment your father switched you. I've never seen a little girl who was so happy being naughty as you, and it doesn't seem you've changed much."
"At least I'm happy, unlike nose in the air Dagmar."
"You'd do better, adopting some of Lady Dagmar's ways."
"What, like tattling?" I left him then and went into the house. The front door slammed behind me, and I strode across the hall to the bench, where Merius's letter waited. The seal tore under my impatient fingers. I shook open the letter with a rustling of parchment and sank down on the bench, my lips moving soundlessly as I began to read.
Dearest Safire,
I'm writing this from the Weaver Thrush Inn in Gilgana. Of course, there's not a thrush for miles. They should call it the Screeching Seagull--there's hundreds of those. One attacked Gerard today. He was eating some smoked salmon when the gull swooped down and grabbed the fish right out of his hand. He was so surprised that he slipped and fell off the dock--not a hard thing to do, as the wood is slimy. When he didn't come up, Roland and I jumped in after him. His foot was caught on the rough edge of a piling, and we had a devil of a time getting him loose.
Sorry about the red spots--some of the candle wax dripped on the edge. I should go downstairs and get more parchment, but I don't want to run into anyone. It's ten at night, and this is likely the most privacy I'm going to get. Everyone else is downstairs, drinking and playing cards and, judging from all the thuds and yells, beating each other with benches.
It's bad your father is so upset. I'd rather he'd not gotten the news in a letter from your sister, but we can't help that now. Perhaps he'll relent when he realizes that I'll marry you the day I return. I can't blame him for being suspicious of my intentions, but I had hoped the troth ring would have assuaged at least some of his doubts. Having suffered from my father's dishonesty, I don't make promises lightly, particularly a promise to you, sweetheart. I'm sorry to have caused this rift between you and your family, but it'll be all put right when I return and we marry. If it would help, I would write to your father myself, but from your last letter, it sounded like that would make things worse at this point. Is there any other assurance I can send him? I hate to think of you upset or hurt. You've given me the sweetest moments a man can hope for in this mortal life, and there will be many more. We've only tasted the joy we can bring each other.
God help me, I miss you. Every time I wake up, the first few moments are bliss, because I think you're here. I wouldn't have thought before I met you that I could become so accustomed to sleeping in the same bed with someone in so short a time. I don't know what to do with my arms now that I don't have you to hold.
I'll write you as soon as we reach Marenna. After that, letters may be a bit difficult to manage, but I'll write as often as I can. The scouts will take my letters to send back to Cormalen, but they won’t be able to deliver any letters to me--once we’re in the mountains, the scouts never know which troops they’ll meet on the paths because travel time in the mountains is so difficult to judge, particularly when you’re leading a troop of a hundred men, and our maps are sometimes misleading. So save your letters for me, and I’ll read them when I return.
I think about you all the time, you witch, and find myself reaching for the lock of hair you gave me constantly. You've put such a spell on me that my friends hardly know what to make of my new reformed behavior.
I hear Gerard on the stairs. I can always tell it's him by the spurs. We've been ribbing him about being Ronceval Devons's protege--that old pirate even wears spurs in the council chamber, and no one's ever seen him near a horse. I better end this before Gerard comes in. Blow me a kiss and a prayer on the morrow and every day afterwards until I return to you, dearest.
All my love,
Merius
I swallowed and read over it again, holding every word in my mind until I had it memorized. Then I folded it, pressed it to my lips, and put it in my skirt pocket.
The front door flew open with a bang. Father tramped in and tossed his muddy cloak on the floor, sparing me a brief, baleful
glance.
"We're going to Landers Hall tonight," he muttered.
"Why?"
"Don't you question me. We're going, so be presentable. That's all you need to know."
"Presentable for whom?" I crossed my arms.
He leaned his hand against the dining hall door jamb, his back to me as he shook his head. "Boltan told me you got another letter."
"Yes?"
"Give it here, Safire."
"I burned it."
He turned his head, half looking at me. "Give it here. Right now."
"No, I told you I burned it. I knew you'd ask for it, so I burned it." I stood up and began to pace, the letter heavy in my pocket.
He seemed to accept this, turning his head away again. There was a long moment of silence before he cleared his throat and spoke. "It's not that I don't think Merius intends to marry you. He likely does. It's just that intentions are different from actions."
"Not for him."
"I can't wait around five or six months to prove my lovesick daughter wrong. Can't you see? Didn't your mother and I at least raise you to have some sense? Honorable men don't seduce young girls. You're ruined, Safire. He ruined you. And I can tell you this--if he respected you the way a husband should respect his wife, he wouldn't even have thought to touch you."
"I'd hate to be so respected that my husband wouldn't dream of touching me. That would be a dull marriage."
He sighed. "God, I'd whip you if it would do any good. I'll be lucky if some fool man will even have you."
"I'm sorry, Father--I know I've disappointed you. But Merius will have me. He made a solemn vow.”
Father turned, his throat working as if he were trying to keep from saying something. "Let me ask you a question," he managed finally, "and just think for a moment before you answer. If Merius is so eager to have you, what is he doing in another country? And why didn't he come see me first, ask for your hand properly?"
"You said a question, not questions."
His hand tightened into a fist. "If you act pert again, miss, I’ll find you a husband on the docks. Answer me, Safire. Why didn't he see me first?"
"Because there was no time. Between Herrod asking him to leave and him leaving, we only had three days."
"A day to ride here, a day to meet with me, and a day to ride back." Father ticked the days off on his fingers. “He could have managed it."
I swallowed. "He wanted to be with me those three days. I reckon he trusted my promise to wait for him more than you trust his promise to me, even though he honored it with a troth ring."
"And dishonored you in the bargain. I have no faith in his promises. Many men give their mistresses rings, but do they marry them?"
"How dare you," I choked.
"I dare because I care about your reputation, this family's reputation. Did you even consider that? And where is your supposed betrothed, the man who couldn't even face me to ask for my daughter's hand?" He slammed his fist against the door frame, his face red. "He's in Marenna for God knows how long. What the hell is he doing there, may I ask? When he should be here, making amends for . . ."
"Stop it, just stop it," I yelled. "You don't understand. You always think you understand, but you never do. He had to go. He had to abandon his inheritance, his father's influence, before he could marry me. The only way he could do that is join with Herrod and the king's guard. He's given up everything, risked his life in battle, for me. How dare you stand here and doubt his word?"
"Because Mordric, two days ago, raised no objections to a marriage between you and Merius. So, according to his own father, the reasons Merius gave you for his sudden departure were false." Triumph flickered in Father's eyes, and even though he thought he had his reasons to be cruel in order to get through to me, I would never forgive him for that brief dark flicker. It felt like he had brought his boot heel down on my heart.
I sank against the wall and slipped to the floor, my head in my arms as I began to sob. "No. No, Mordric's lying. Merius loves me. He'll be back for me."
"What reason would Mordric have to lie? He admitted his only son was a rake--why would he do that if it wasn't the truth?"
"He's lying." Tears trickled down under my chin, and I wiped my sleeve across my face. "He wants Merius to be just like him at court, and Merius doesn't want that," I babbled. "They fight all the time. Merius has these horrible headaches from it--I must have taken away three or four of them with my hands . . ."
"That's enough, Safire." Father's tone was gruff. He didn't like to hear about how I could take away pain with my hands, even though I had done it several times for him when he seemed on the verge of apoplexy. "Now, get yourself together, wash your face. We need to set out soon if we're to reach there before nightfall."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Dusk had almost deepened to night by the time our coach wheels rattled on the cobbles of the Landers courtyard. I had spent the hour long trip staring out the window at the trees shifting from green to gray and finally to black as the sky darkened overhead. I had feared Father would continue his lecture in the coach, but evidently even he had tired of it for he spoke not a word the entire ride. At first, I relished the silence, but about halfway to Landers Hall, it began to weigh down the air to the point that each breath was an effort. A couple years ago, when a spring flood had carried off half the wheat seed in our lower field, there had been the same brooding quiet throughout the house for a week. After Father's considerable rage and bluster were spent, he went into a silent, sullen melancholy which Dagmar and I dreaded, for it brought back memories of the miserable months after Mother's death when he wouldn't speak at meals. The silence felt like a punishment to my guilty spirit, one which I supposed I deserved. However, I couldn't help the one cynical thought amidst my guilt: that he wasn't as upset over my sin as he was over the damage I had done to my already questionable value on the marriage market.
After the coach had stopped, Boltan came around, opened the door, and helped me to the ground. The swaying lanterns at the edges of the courtyard lit a path to the front door but showed little else of the house, a huge, hulking shadow across the starry sky. The only other light came from the far end of the house, a warm, orange light that streamed through an open door and against the side of the stables. There was the sound of someone playing a fiddle and women's laughter--the kitchens and servants' quarters, I warranted. I looked longingly after that light as Father pushed me towards the front door, wishing for a moment that I was just a simple scullery maid. It would be drudgery, but at least I would be free to bestow my favors in a haystack if I so chose. I was wicked for even thinking such a thing. I squared my shoulders and marched up the steps. Whatever happened, at least I had Merius’s ring on my finger.
It was cold inside. When the footman tried to take my cloak, I shook my head and crushed the velvet against my arms, shivering as I looked around. All stone and oak beams and tapestries, far older than the House of Long Marsh, even older than the oldest section of court. The Landers were descended from the first shipload of Sarneth adventurers whose blood had mingled with the ancients, a true founding family of Cormalen. The footman ushered Father and me up the stairs. Selwyn came through a door and out on the landing, stopping when he noticed us.
"Good evening, sir," he said to Father. His pale gray eyes paused for several moments on me as if I were an account he couldn't quite puzzle out. I gazed back, unblinking, and he finally looked away. A long face and jaw with features to match and already thinning brown hair. For some reason, Dagmar seemed happy with him, though why I would never understand.
"Good evening," Father replied.
"Is Dagmar well?"
"Oh yes, she's fine."
"One never knows, this time of year. A fever can strike at any time," Selwyn said, his gaze returning to me. I glanced up at the ceiling and bit my tongue.
"Yes, spring plagues are the worst. I've told her to leave the city if one strikes," Father said.
"Dagmar would be just fine but for a pla
gue of the mouth," I muttered.
Father's back stiffened, and Selwyn said, "What was that, Lady Safire?"
I flashed him a smile. "I was just remarking that Dagmar's fine now, but that Corcin has a plague every month."
"Ah, yes. A most unhealthy place. Forgive me, but I thought you were there with her."
"I was, but I . . ."
"Safire's lately come home," Father interrupted hastily. "I wasn’t feeling well last week, and she returned to attend me."
"I'm sorry to hear you were ill, sir."
"It was nothing serious. Merely rheumatism of the back--to be expected in this damp weather."
"Merely rheumatism!" I exclaimed. "You were in bed two days, Father. I had to feed you because you couldn't bend your neck. In fact, you look a trifle stiff right now. You really shouldn't be standing like this--it might flare up again."
"Thank you, daughter," he said through his teeth as he shot me a lethal look, "but I'm fine."
"If you'd like, sir, you can sit on this bench," Selwyn offered. I bit my lip to keep from laughing and looked down at my clasped hands.
"No, that's quite all right," Father said, gripping my arm. "Thank you, but we really must see Mordric." He began to tug me off the landing.
"Allow me to escort you. Baldwin, go bolt the door." Selwyn dismissed the footman with a quick nod. "Forgive me," he continued as we went down a long passage. "I didn't realize you were here to see Mordric. He doesn't usually meet with anyone this late."
