by Karen Nilsen
Father glanced back at me and shook his head just enough to let me know that if I said anything more in front of Selwyn, he would lash me forty times with the coach whip. I rolled my eyes as soon as his back was turned but trotted along silently in his shadow, as a properly chastened daughter ought. I didn't want to say anything more, anyway--Selwyn's attempts to worm out information about our business at the Hall had ceased being amusing.
After several other passages and a short stair, by which point I was thoroughly lost in this drafty warren of a house, we stopped before a paneled door. Selwyn knocked once and only opened the door after a sharp summons came from within.
Mordric rose as we entered. He tipped a pair of spectacles halfway down his nose and watched us narrowly over the rims as Father pulled out a chair for me. I stared at him, not so much out of rudeness or boldness but out of shock. Since meeting Merius, I had forgotten how much he resembled his father. Same lean swordsman's build, same square jaw, same deep-set gray eyes, same hawk-like nose (Mordric must have broken his at one point for there was a slight ridge in the middle.) Merius was likely taller, but only by an inch or two. Both wore a bit of stubble, though Mordric's was iron gray like the hair on his head. There wasn't a strand of color left. He seemed too young to be so grizzled. Father was the same age, and his hair was still reddish-blond. Of course, the gray suited Mordric. I looked away, unable to stand it. Here was Merius after thirty hard years, his silver aura tarnished and hardened to a brittle dark gray, shot through with taut black lines of tension and red patches the color of old blood. I glanced around the chamber at the decorative, twisted legs on the furniture, the vaulted ceiling, the blue and gold tapestry of a lion, not really seeing any of it as I tried to avoid looking at him again.
"Good evening," he said as he reclaimed his seat. I shuddered at the smooth quiet depth of his voice. It was Merius's voice without the warmth.
"Sir," Selwyn began. "I finished . . ."
Mordric raised his hand, his gaze on the papers before him. "Leave us. I'll look at it later."
"Yes, sir." As the door closed behind Selwyn, Mordric lifted his head and removed the spectacles, examining us again. This time I didn't look away, even though his resemblance to Merius still unnerved me. I just had to keep reminding myself that Merius could never come to this. Never. After all, Merius loved me. This man could never have loved anyone.
"You do have lovely daughters, Avernal," he remarked finally. "It's a shame my blackguard son had to pluck this one."
"I am not a flower to be plucked, sir, and your son is not a blackguard."
For the first time, he looked directly at me, his gaze as piercing as the winter wind through a thin cloak. "This rose has a thorn for a tongue, I fear."
"That's not my only thorn."
A ghost of Merius's smile crossed his lips as he reached for the servants' bell. "Would either of you care for any refreshment? Our cook has put up a fine apple brandy."
"No, thank you, Mordric," Father said quickly. "Now, if we could . . ."
"Excuse me," I interrupted. "This thorny rose would like some brandy, please."
Father turned to me, his face the color of brick. "Mind yourself," he hissed.
"No." I swallowed. "You've held the threat of your rages over me and Dagmar long enough. I won't have it anymore, Father. I'm a grown woman now, and you can't drag me off in the coach at night and herd me into a strange house without bothering to tell me why we're here."
"We're here to save what little reputation you have left and marry you off."
"I won’t be married off. My betrothed is in Marenna."
Father lowered his forehead down on his palm, shaking. "It's hopeless. You're hopeless. Thank God your mother's not here to see what you've come to."
The footman who had opened the front door appeared then and took Mordric's order for apple brandy and cheese. "Now," Mordric said when the boy had left, "Avernal, calm yourself. Remember, there's always the convent." He looked at me, a frankly appraising glance that left me chilled. "Though I doubt we'll have to resort to that."
"But she's ruined, completely ruined . . ."
"Good God, man, pull yourself together," Mordric snapped. "There are several prominent court wives who weren't virgins when they married. It's just not talked about--no husband wants to admit he was a cuckold even before the ceremony. All we require is a little discretion from Safire, and we should have her well married in a week or two and none the wiser."
"I'll marry no one but Merius, so expect no discretion from me."
Father shook his head and muttered something under his breath.
Mordric ignored him. "Well, I would make Merius marry you, sweet, if he were here. But he won't be here for several months, so you'd best . . ."
"No, you wouldn't. You wouldn't let him marry the younger daughter of a sparrow nobleman if you could prevent it. You have royal aims for him, blackguard though you call him."
"Safire!" Father started to rise. "Apologize immediately."
Mordric raised his hand, his narrow gaze never leaving mine. "Sit down, Avernal. It's all right. The girl's upset, and I've had worse insults."
"I'm not so upset that I can't tell a lie when I hear it."
Father rose again, this time grabbing for my arm. "You headstrong . . ."
"Avernal, why don't you go next door to the library and let me speak to Safire alone for a minute or two? There are a few things I think she doesn't understand."
Father’s hands slipped off my arm. "Alone? But why? I'm her father . . . I have to be here."
"These are things it may be easier for her to hear from an acquaintance than from her father, things it may be easier for me to say than for you. Blood is often too thick to see through."
"Maybe you're right." Father shook his head, his shoulders hunched, and I wanted nothing so much then as to erase everything that had happened since before Mother's death and embrace him. Boltan was right--I had always been a wicked girl. But there had been a time in my life when I knew how to make up for my mistakes so that everything ended up all right in the end. Either the mistakes had gotten bigger or I had gotten more wicked, but I knew nothing would be the same between Father and me after today. And that made me want to cry. Why was it that when we gained one thing, we so often lost another?
As Father was leaving, the footman returned with the brandy. Mordric poured a tumbler for me and then one for himself. "Thank you," I said, taking a sip. The brandy left a pleasant warmth down my throat, particularly welcome since the chamber seemed even colder than it had when we had entered. I pulled the cloak tighter around my elbows and glanced at the fire dying in the grate.
He drained his tumbler and poured another before he spoke. "You lack manners, miss, which makes you unfit to be a lady. However, that's not the catastrophe your father seems to think it is. There is a certain crude charm about you, common in the extreme considering your rank, but Merius has never had a taste for the finer things, particularly when it comes to women. Most men don't, so you should have no problem attracting another husband despite your ruined state."
"I don't care what you say about me, you and your forked tongue." I bridled. "Everything you say is a smokescreen anyway, you've been at court so long. I bet you knew about Merius and me before he even left--I bet you planned to send him away, because you knew he would marry me over any objection you could make. I thought there was something too well-timed about Herrod's request."
"The request was genuine. There is such a thing as too much intuition, my dear." He leaned back in his chair, but I detected a slight tautness about his movements, a faint tightening in the black lines constraining his aura. "Now, you seem a clever girl. You have to know that regardless of whether Merius means to marry you or not, such a marriage is an impossibility. He has responsibilities that he can only ignore for so long in pursuit of a love affair. I'm certain he meant it when he told you that he would relinquish his inheritance for you. I'm certain he meant it when he put that ring o
n your finger. He meant it with the others as well."
I laughed. The brandy was starting to go all fuzzy and warm in my head. "You'll need to try a lot harder than that. I'm every bit as stubborn as my father says."
He shrugged. "You know, I can make things very unpleasant for you."
"You can try. Listen, I love your son, and I will leave my family, leave everything, and go work on the docks just so I can see him again. If he doesn't want me when he returns, so be it. I won't marry another, and I won't go to a convent."
I shivered and hunkered down in my cloak then. A sudden draft had swept through the room as I spoke, and the already cold air went positively frigid. How did these people stand it?
"You know, Safire, I wasn't going to mention this, but please remember there's more between your family and mine than an indiscretion on your part. Your father's debts to me have been forgiven, and your sister's betrothal has been contracted, but unpaid debts can be reinstated, and contracts can be broken. Do you want to be the reason that your father loses all his lands and title and your sister ends in a convent?"
"You're bluffing." I coughed, and the cold stabbed like icicles in my lungs.
"Oh, my dear, I wish I was." He smiled. "Now, I have influence, and I can make a good match for you, a match any other girl in your position would envy. You should consider it--I won't offer it to you again. I only tolerate foolish obstinacy so long."
"And what are you going to tell Merius when he returns and finds you coerced me into marrying another?"
Chapter Fifteen--Mordric
The witch sat back in her chair, one thin hand curled around her tumbler of brandy, as if what she had just said settled it.
"I suppose I'll tell him the truth, that you're a scheming hussy who's only after his position and inheritance."
She straightened, the tumbler going down on the chair arm with a clank. "If that's the case, why am I still wanting to marry him, even after he's forsaken his sainted inheritance and position?"
"Because you're hopeful. It's a rare father who follows through on threats to disinherit his only son and heir because of an unwise marriage."
"It's also a rare father who tries to ruin his son's life. You, sir, are such a rarity," she retorted. Impossible little minx. If I could have gotten away with it, I would have locked her in the cellar until Merius was safely married to a nice, quiet girl from one of the first Houses, the sort whose only needles were in her sewing basket.
Maybe I could set her up for some crime and have her arrested--there were already rumors of witchery swirling around her at court. She took long walks unchaperoned, read strange books, and drew peculiar sketches which someone had seen her selling down on the Calcors docks. No, that wouldn't work. If she ended up in prison, Merius would hatch some hare-brained plot to rescue her and get in trouble. She had to be married to someone else by the time he returned. It shouldn't be difficult to find a man for her. There were plenty of fools willing to take a hoyden if she was beautiful enough. And she did have a certain spooky way about her, an oddly perceptive incivility that made me wonder just how much Merius had revealed to her. I had to keep better track of him--if he blabbed to all his bedmates, he would be an easy mark for every dishonest courtesan.
But for the present there was this crisis who sat across the table from me with flaming hair and creamy skin and a faint golden dust of freckles across her cheekbones and far too sharp eyes. A crisis who refused to cooperate, even after I had threatened her with more than I threatened most men with before they buckled. I sighed inwardly, exhausted suddenly. I had been so certain my attempt to coerce her by threatening her father and sister would work, but she had seen it for the bluff it was. The Landers needed that land that came with Dagmar's dowry--there was a stretch by the sea with a perfect natural harbor, land Avernal hadn't the means to use properly but we did. With the way tariffs kept increasing and the black market kept flourishing, a harbor outside the bounds of any port could be highly useful possession. Damn her.
I propped my elbows on the table. "Merius stands to inherit not only thousands of acres worth of income, but all my offices as well: provincial minister, a head seat on the council, king's advisor. He's more than ready to assume all those duties. As you said before, I have royal aims for him, but I wouldn't have those aims if they weren't justified. It would be a crime for him to waste his considerable skills in the king's guard, following others' orders for the rest of his life."
"He wants to be in the king's guard."
"Only because of you. Do you want to be the reason he falls on his sword?" I asked gently. "You're a likely wench, with a quick way about you. I can see why you tempted him. But it can never go anywhere, Safire, not without binding him unfairly."
Her gaze locked with mine. "Like you've bound him with your own ambitions, never considering what he might want? He's wanted to be a guard since he was thirteen--that was years before he met me, sir. I just gave him the reason he needed to leave your poisonous influence."
I blinked, swearing under my breath. Her father would be returning soon, and I had been able to do nothing with her. I poured yet another measure of brandy, not caring anymore. If we lost the harbor, so be it. "Since you refuse to cooperate, there's only one course of action open to me. I have here the contract of betrothal between Dagmar and Selwyn. Let me ask you one more time: shall I break it? We can call your father in now. No use in delaying it."
Safire shivered suddenly, clutching her arms together as she glanced around my shoulder at the fireplace. "Do you have a window open or something?"
"No. What are you talking about?"
"There’s a nasty draft in here."
I sighed. All women resorted to the same ploy in the end: female weakness. "You can't avoid this forever, my dear. Are you going to cooperate or not?"
"No. I can't think," she choked. "It's too cold. Stop it."
Some dim image on the edge of memory, a dream half remembered, Arilea's mocking voice whispering in my ear, a bone shattering cold . . . I shook my head to clear it. It wasn't cold in here. She was putting on to avoid giving me an answer. "Safire, this is ridiculous. Now your father's returning in a minute, and we're no closer to an agreement then when we started. Do you want to force my hand? I won't hesitate to . . ."
She pulled her cloak around her as tightly as she could, shuddering so violently her teeth chattered. "No, no, stop," she moaned. "No, please."
I rose then. "Listen, are you all right?" Maybe she had been struck with a sudden fever.
She shook her head and jumped to her feet. The chair slammed against the floor as she knocked it over in her haste to get to the door. "Let me out!" She rattled the door knob frantically. "Let me out, please let me out! Why won't it open? For God's sake, open, please . . . Father . . ."
I came around the table. "What is it?"
She ignored me, throwing her shoulder against the door. "Open, oh God please. Father, help me," she babbled.
I grabbed her arm. The instant my fingers brushed against her, she screamed. "What the hell?" I shook her a little to get her attention, and she glanced back at me with the wild eyes of a caged animal. "Now, listen here, there's no need for this. Calm down."
"Let me out of here!"
"What's the matter with you? Are you ill?" I shook her again. "Well, answer me."
She twisted out of my grip and began beating on the door with her fists. "Let me out! Let me out right now!"
I pulled her away from the door, and she screamed again, beads of blood welling up from tiny cuts on her hands. "Papa! Papa, help!" She kicked and scratched, at one point punching me.
"Vixen," I panted, finally forcing her into a chair. "Stop it right now."
She screamed a third time, and I slapped her, the only effective cure I knew of for hysteria. She kicked my knee and dodged past me towards the door.
"Damn you," I swore, limping after her as she began tugging on the knob again. It must be stuck. Certainly it wasn't locked--I had the only
key.
"Open, please open," she pleaded hoarsely. "It's cold. Mama, help me, don't let her get me . . . she's so cold, it's hurts . . ." Her hands slid from the knob, and she sank to the floor, buried her head in her arms as she began to sob.
"Safire?" I crouched beside her, my knee still throbbing. I would have grabbed her and hauled her back to the chair, but I didn't know if my other knee could stand it. Let her father handle her, the damned wildcat. "Look at me, Safire."
She peeked at me between her fingers and then hid her face again like a small child. "Go away."
"Damn you, look at me. I should warn you, I have little patience for female hysterics or playacting." I wrenched her hands from her face.
Her skin was white. Her breath came in shallow pants, and she trembled uncontrollably. Every few sobs, a violent shudder ran through her. Her forehead was clammy to the touch. A sudden fever, then, and not hysterics. Good. I hated hysterical women.
I straightened and reached for the brandy bottle. "Here, have a bit more of this. It'll warm you until Baldwin can take you to a spare room."
"I don't want it." She coughed.
I poured a measure of brandy into the tumbler. "Here."
Still shivering, she peered at the liquor and then gave me a suspicious look. "I thought you were the villain here, sir."
"Meaning?"
"This likely has poison or some such in it. Why else would you be offering it to me?"
"So you don't start raving again."
Safire shrugged, took the tumbler. "I'd almost rather have poison than have her come at me again, anyway," she muttered.
"Her?"
Her eyes shot up, that quick, sharp glance that seemed to see more than it should. "Never mind," she said finally, looking back at the liquor. "I was speaking to myself."
"A sign of delirium."
"Also a sign that there's no one else fit to talk to."
"You seem recovered. Recovered of your tongue, at any rate." I found her cloak on the floor where it had fallen and tossed it to her.
