by Karen Nilsen
A slight smile creased her still chalky lips. "You're not as cruel as you pretend."
I paused, my hand on the servants' bell pull. The words little redhead clairvoyant suddenly entered my mind. Arilea's voice. I shook myself and let go of the bell before I could ring it. "That's a dangerous assumption," I said aloud. "I meant what I said about your sister's betrothal, your father's debts . . ."
"You're bluffing. The Landers need that betrothal, Dagmar's dowry, for some reason, or you never would have lent Father money to begin with . . ."
I cut her off. "You're feverish--you're not thinking about what you're saying. You and your father can rest here tonight, and we'll see how you fare in the morning."
Her eyes widened, and she clutched the cloak to her shoulders. "I'm not sleeping under this roof. Not with her anywhere about."
"Who? One of the servant women?"
She gave another half smile. "No, sir. You have ghosts."
"Ghosts?"
"Now you really think I'm delirious."
"That's because you are. Now, come sit in this chair, and I'll call your father." I offered her my hand.
She refused my help, gripping the door knob as she pulled herself to her feet. "If you'd be so kind to let me out, I think I can find him myself."
"No, you're not well enough. Get in the chair."
Her eyes flared. "I'll not stay in this House one more minute with you or her. Let me out."
"A lady does not make demands of her elders."
"I'm not a lady. Now let me out of this chamber."
I shrugged. "The door's not locked. Let yourself out." She rattled the knob and pushed the door, but to no avail. I shook my head. "Here." I grabbed the knob and twisted it, giving the door a hard shove. It didn't open. "What the hell?" I tried it again, but it still wouldn't budge.
Safire snorted, but by the time I glanced back at her, she had covered her mouth with her hand. "I'd ask you to keep a civil tongue," I said.
"I didn't say anything."
I leaned down and peered at the key hole. "It's a good thing for your backside that I didn't rear you. Insolent women are the devil's work."
"You're quite eloquent, you know. I can see where Merius gets his talent for writing verse," she said airily.
"You'd best hold your tongue if you want to keep it. I'll not bandy words with the raving daughter of a secondhand noble House." I stuck the key in the hole, just in case the door had somehow locked. The key turned easily, and the inner workings clicked, but the door still held firmly shut. "This is absurd," I muttered finally. “It’s not locked.”
“Then why won’t it open?”
"Sit down and be quiet.”
Safire swayed a little on her feet as she gazed at the door. "She locked it," she said quietly. "She wants me trapped in this room."
I gritted my teeth. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. Will you sit down?"
Gingerly she began to pick her way around the chamber, her hand trembling as she grasped various pieces of furniture. Swearing, I seized her arm and led her to a chair.
She struggled against my grip. "I need to get to the window--let me go!"
"You're delirious." I pushed her into the chair, and she immediately tried to stand. I pushed her down again, keeping my hands firmly on her shoulders this time. She screamed, her muscles taut and unyielding. Her frantic eyes stared past my shoulder so intently that I glanced behind me. There was nothing there.
A rush of cold air brushed my neck. Safire went limp, slumping in a sudden faint. Her skin was so pale it had the bluish tinge of someone dead. Her head dangled over the back of the chair, and I quickly reached behind her neck and straightened it so she could breathe easily. If she still was breathing.
"Hell flames," I muttered, still holding her neck. My gaze darted around the chamber, searching every shadow as if I expected an assassin to leap out. Of course, there was no assassin. There was nothing. She had a fever, that was all. A delirious fever. I looked down at her. The froths of lace around the collar of her gown rose and fell with slight breaths. The witch was still alive then. I lowered her head so that it rolled against her shoulder and backed away.
My hand found the brandy bottle, and I took a long swig, watching her warily as if I thought she would awaken and start screaming again. Ridiculous, really. Irksome wench. How had she had known about Dagmar's dowry? Merius couldn't have told her--he didn't know which lands came with the betrothal agreement. No one did, except Avernal and I. Besides, why would Merius and Safire even have discussed such a thing? Youthful infatuations did not welcome pragmatic concerns like dowries. Maybe she had eavesdropped on her father and me, though she didn't seem the eavesdropping kind. She seemed the impractical kind, just what Merius didn't need. He was already impractical enough on his own without an unearthly witch for a wife. Ghosts, indeed. Even if she had been from one of the first families, I still wouldn't have let Merius marry her. He needed a wife who would anchor him, not float away with him.
The girl moaned, and I looked at her again. Still unconscious. Good--that meant her mouth would stay shut a while longer. I could kill Merius for getting me into this mess. Of course, it would be more useful to kill her. I gave her a speculative glance and then shook my head. I had never had anyone assassinated, and I didn't want to start with a young, albeit troublesome, girl. It should be easy enough to marry her off if we kept her gagged. Peregrine wanted her, and he knew what a wicked tongue she had. Some men enjoyed such sparring. She was a clever little thing, too quick for her own good when she wasn't screeching about spirits.
There came a knock at the door. Before I could yell that it was stuck, Avernal entered, easily opening it and closing it behind him. I started, giving the door a sharp glance.
"How is-" he began, trailing off when he caught sight of Safire. He stopped, staring blankly at her. "What? Safire . . ." He quickly went to the chair and touched her arm and then her cheek. "What?" He turned to give me the same blank stare.
"She just fainted. I think she has a fever." I took a step closer.
"But . . ." He picked up her hand and began chafing her wrist frantically. "She doesn't feel feverish."
"She acted strange, delirious after you left--I thought maybe . . ."
He continued to stare at me. "What did you say to her?"
"I told her that Merius had promised to marry other girls, had given them rings and never followed through on it, that she would do best by herself and her House to marry as quickly and quietly as possible to a suitable man who wouldn't ask too many questions."
He turned back to Safire. "She has no color, white and cold as snow. Just like her mother looked . . ." he murmured to himself. "Safire!" He suddenly grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Safire!"
I stepped closer, my hand out. "Avernal, I really don't think that will help. I'll call Baldwin, and we can find her a chamber, the apothecary . . ."
He continued to shake her as if he hadn't heard me. When I reached for his arm, he pushed me away with surprising force. "Safire, open your eyes. Stop this. Stop it right now." His face had turned almost as ashen as hers, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.
I rang the servants' bell. When Baldwin opened the door, I gestured to him. He ambled over to me, watching Safire and Avernal with an unabashed, slack-jawed curiosity. Damned fool--one would have thought Talia had hired him from a docks tavern instead of another noble household. I snapped my fingers at him, and he started.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you think you can close your mouth long enough to carry the lady to one of the spare chambers and summon the apothecary?"
He glanced at Safire. "What's the matter with her?"
"That's none of your affair. Just do as I say."
Baldwin nodded and went over to Safire. When he tried to lift her, Avernal hit him. Baldwin stumbled back, holding his nose. I immediately strode past Baldwin and grabbed Avernal's shoulder. "What are you doing? You hit my servant."
His bloo
dshot eyes bulged. "He's not touching my daughter!"
"He's taking her to find the apothecary . . ."
"I'm not letting any apothecary touch her either with his damned leeches. That's what killed her mother."
I took a deep breath. "No apothecaries, then. At least let us take her to a chamber where she can rest."
"I'll take her myself!"
"Avernal, you're not in a fit state . . ."
"I'm in a perfectly fine state," he roared. "It's Safire who's fainted--what did you do to her?"
"I didn't do a damn thing to her, and I don't appreciate the insult."
"Well, something happened to her, and you were the only one who was here."
"She caught a sudden fever--it happens that way sometimes. Now, I don't like what you're implying, sir, so either be quiet and let us care for her or get out."
"You've cared for her enough," he sputtered. "You and your rake of a son." He hefted Safire up in his arms. Dark red patches appeared on his forehead and round jowls, the rest of his skin a sickly white.
Safire blinked then. "Papa?" she murmured.
"It's all right, sweet. I'm taking you back home."
"Where are we?"
"Nowhere important." He strained for breath.
"No, papa, you're sick . . ."
"Just be still now. I'll get you home." He turned with her and started for the hall slowly, his steps shuffling. He made it to the doorway before he uttered one low groan and collapsed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Apoplexy," the apothecary said, his ear to Avernal's chest. "A severe apoplectic fit, at that."
I lowered the candle. Avernal's rigid stare gleamed in the light. Absently, the apothecary reached up and closed his eyelids as if he were already dead. "What's to be done?"
The apothecary stepped back, shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Not much we can do. Keep him comfortable. I doubt he'll move or speak again."
"What of the girl?"
"I'm not certain. I'd like to have another look at her."
After I summoned a maid to watch Avernal, the apothecary and I moved next door. Safire sat in a chair in front of the large mullioned window, a single candle burning beside her as she gazed out at the night. She didn't stir when we entered.
The apothecary went over and picked up her wrist. She still didn't move. When he let go of her arm, it fell limply back to her side. "Shock, I'll warrant. Most likely when she saw her father collapse, she . . ."
"But she was acting odd before, delirious like she had a fever."
He scratched behind his ear. "No sign of a fever now. At least not that I can see." He hefted himself up on the window sill and looked intently into Safire's face for a moment. "No, I still say shock." He nimbly hopped down, dusting his hands on his trousers. "Pretty girl--it's a pity, though she'll likely come out of it. She needs a priest to bless her--that'll bring her out of it quicker than anything I can give her."
After he finished with Safire, we headed to the main door, where I paid him with a single gold piece. It was a more generous sum than his time warranted, but honest apothecaries were rare as chaste barmaids.
"Thank you, sir," he said, pocketing the coin before he picked up his medicine chest with a rattle of glass. "I'll return in a few days." He gave a slight bow and headed down the front steps into the night. I shut the door behind him and started up the stairs to my chamber. My bones ached with exhaustion. It had been a long evening.
"Sir?" Selwyn came hurrying from the back hall. "Sir?"
I paused on the landing, taking a moment to swear under my breath before I turned around. "What now?”He didn't even have the courtesy to look abashed. "Sir, I was wondering if I should summon Dagmar in the morning . . ."
"No. I think we should let her return home to find her father at death's door and her sister struck dumb with shock."
"Really? Don't you think . . ."
I closed my eyes and put my fingers to my throbbing forehead, reminding myself that even complete literal-minded idiocy had its uses. "No, fool. It was in jest."
"So I should summon her?"
"Yes. As soon as possible."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Dagmar arrived three days later in the early afternoon. When Baldwin came to tell me of her arrival, she had already been escorted to her father. I found her emerging from his chamber, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. I waited while she composed herself before I spoke. "I welcome you to the hall, although I'm sorry your visit has to be under such unfortunate circumstances."
"Thank you, sir." She sniffed into the handkerchief. "Safire and I always feared something like this would happen to Father."
"I also apologize for Selwyn's absence. If he had known you would be so early, he would have stayed, but there was some pressing estate business in Calcors . . ."
"That's quite all right. I understand--I'll see him this evening." She put away her handkerchief. "Where's Safire?"
Pretty in a pale, angular way, she was no beauty like her witch sister, but she had a sensible manner, something any wise man would value far more than looks. I took her elbow and led her a short distance down the hall. The peasant maid Elsa, a pleasantly plump dimpled girl with sleek brown hair that reminded me of corn-fed quail, opened the door at my knock. "Yes, sir?"
"Lady Safire's sister is here to see her."
"Yes, sir." She moved aside and let us into the chamber.
Dagmar crossed over to the window where Safire sat on the broad sill, her head angled so she could see the orchard walls and the tops of the blossoming apple trees. Dagmar grasped her arm. "I'm here," she said, a sudden briskness in her voice.
Safire slowly turned and gazed at her for a long moment before she turned back to the window.
"Safire, it's me, Dagmar, your sister," she said impatiently. "Come on now."
But Safire continued to stare out the window. "This is childish," Dagmar snapped. "Our father's dying, and you . . . I can't believe you." She shook Safire's arm, but Safire's only response was to shrug her hand away.
"Safire, stop this. Please. Just say one word, I don't care what." Her voice trailed off, and all was silent for several moments. She turned to me then, her face drawn, the sharp bones prominent as blades. "What's wrong with her?"
"The apothecary says shock."
"Shock," she repeated, glancing at her sister. "Shock." Her fingers worried at the ends of Safire's hair. "Do you have a comb, a brush?" she asked suddenly.
Elsa pulled an ivory vanity set from beside the wash basin. Dagmar took the brush and began to run it through Safire's hair. When the bristles hit a tangle, she gently worked it out, holding the length of hair near the roots so as not to pull too hard. "Such beautiful hair," she murmured. "She was such a wild thing when she was little, out in the woods all day, doing God knows what--she used to come home with burrs and twigs in it. It would take Mother an hour to brush out the snarls." Dagmar looked up then. "Has she spoken at all?"
I shook my head, glancing at Elsa, who cleared her throat. "Only in her sleep. She speaks in her sleep often, my lady."
"What does she say?"
"I don't know, really. Nonsense mostly. Something about a woman in the ice. And cold--she speaks of cold and shivers, even though she's well covered with our best wool blankets. Seems some sort of nightmare."
Dagmar coiled one red curl around her finger again and again, her face thoughtful. "She talks in her sleep all the time. Always has. It seems odd she won't talk when she's awake, if she can still talk in her sleep. Are you certain she hasn't said anything when she's awake?"
"No, my lady. I've been with her almost the entire time, and she's not spoke one word in three days. The second day, we tried to get her to write something on a bit of paper but all she did was draw a songbird in a cage on it. Most life-like it was too. Does she have a bird at home?"
"No--she wanted a bird, but the feathers make Father sneeze." Dagmar sighed, clutching the curl in her hand. "Safire, what are we to do with you? It doesn't seem natura
l, neither you nor Father talking. Usually I'm telling you to be quiet." She choked and bit her bottom lip. Then she dropped the brush as she began to sob.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"The apothecary thinks she'll recover eventually," I said, leaning forward in my chair.
"What does eventually mean? A month? Two months? A year? Never?" Dagmar's tone was biting.
"It means he doesn't know, my lady."
"I'm sorry." Her hand tightened around a handkerchief. "Father's apoplexy is a hard blow, of course, but Safire . . . I mean, she's never been sick. A fever here and there, that's all. I've always been the one who caught chills and colds and such, but not her . . ."
I waited while she wound down, not hearing her tirade against ill fortune as I thought about what to do next. I had already delayed my return to court by several days to pick apart the mare's-nest of the Long Marsh affair. Without Merius to write drafts of letters and official documents and attend council, my work had likely collected in several large stacks by now. And Cyril--Cyril would certainly have lost an important vote on the council by the time I returned. The fool couldn't be left alone for long, or he'd scare away our allies among the merchants. I rubbed the back of my neck, which had ached for two days now. I must have slept on it wrong. And here was this sharp-faced blond with red streaks down her face blathering on about one thing or another . . . I stared at her for a moment, trying to remember who she was and why she was so important. Oh yes, she was Dagmar, the last remaining Long Marsh who could talk.
"And I don't understand," she was saying, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief, "I just don't understand why she can't speak or write but can still draw. Of course, she's been drawing practically since before she could talk, but still . . ." I raised my hand, and she trailed off. At least she was respectful.
"Yes, sir?"
"It seems," I said, "that we have a decision before us."
"A decision?"
"I hate to be blunt, but your sister's reputation is at stake. As you know, my son seduced her before he left for Marenna. If he were here, the affair could be easily remedied with a marriage, but he won't return for at least several months."
Dagmar flushed. "Sir, I'm not my father, and I'd rather not discuss the matter. It's most indelicate. In Safire's defense, she's rather young and has always been reckless, especially since Mother . . ."
