by Karen Nilsen
I raised my palm to silence her. "Be still," I said. "Your concern for your sister is admirable, but when you speak, you show yourself a fool. I said I should condemn her, not that I would. There's a difference."
Dagmar swallowed. "Yes, sir."
"Now, it's late. I'll think more on this matter tomorrow." I looked at Safire. "You'll stay here until I decide what's to be done with you. And no more of your antics. Do you understand?"
She nodded, cleared her throat. "Sir?"
"What?" I asked warily.
"Maybe you shouldn't go back in that house, at least not before a priest exorcises it. She seems to feed off of you, your anger. It's a form of possession, really."
I gazed at her for a long moment, her pink-cheeked youthful earnestness. "It would take a hell of a priest to chase away Arilea," I said finally. "Good night." I paused. "Little witch."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The minute my head hit the pillow, I was asleep. The night passed with no dreams, and when I awoke, the sun had just cleared the hills. I couldn't remember the last time I had slept so soundly without the aid of whiskey. Briefly, the unbidden thought of Safire's hands on my arm the night before crossed my mind--that strange warmth in the blood and the lifting of an invisible weight from my muscles. I snorted. If it had happened to another man and not myself, I would have said that it sounded like he'd gone giddy at the touch of a young woman. But it hadn't been like that. It had reminded me more of the touch of an apothecary stitching up a wound, the way she had put her hands on me. Businesslike yet gentle, with a calm coolness and a sense of purpose. Healing hands.
Absently, I pulled on my clothes, laced up my shirt, buttoned my trousers, not realizing until I had finished that I had fastened the frogs of my jerkin crooked. I swore and began again, this time watching myself in the mirror. Safire's and Whitten's marriage could likely be annulled with little difficulty. After all, there had been a prior, if unofficial, betrothal between her and Merius, and the girl had been out of her mind--there were several witnesses to the fact. Of course, Whitten had taken it upon himself to consummate the union, against strict orders to the contrary. That might complicate matters.
I yanked on the bell pull. Baldwin appeared a moment later, rubbing his eyes. Lazy cur--he was likely dozing on duty again.
"Bring Whitten here immediately."
"But sir, he's still abed . . ."
"I don't care. Drag him if you must. Just get him."
"Yes, sir."
Whitten came more quickly than I had expected. He always knew when he was about to get lambasted and being a coward, generally tried to avoid it as long as possible. Maybe he had finally realized that waiting exacerbated my temper, not that it could be much more exacerbated on this occasion.
"You knock like an old woman," I growled. "Get in here."
He entered, pale and tousled as if he had tossed and turned the entire night. His linen was stained and wrinkled--he must have slept in it. Unshaven, bleary-eyed, he didn't look presentable for a peasant's dog. And this was supposed to be the head of the House of Landers. Thank God I hadn't let him near court since he'd graduated from the academy.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it. "Sir," he said, yawning as he inclined his head in a sorry acknowledgment.
"Straighten up. You're not fit to kennel with the hounds, but you should at least try to stand like a man."
"Sir, I know what this is about, and . . ."
"Silence. If I ask you a question, answer it. Otherwise, silence. Do you understand?"
He nodded, staring at his toes. "Now, do you know what happens to men who rape virgins?" There was a long pause. "Answer me."
"They're," he swallowed, "they're castrated."
"Yes, and they also pay thrice the amount of the traditional dowry to the virgins' fathers. What about men who rape other men's wives?"
"Same thing, except the fine goes to the women's husbands."
"Very good, Whitten," I said, caustic. "So what should your penalty be?"
"But . . ."
"What, you think you've done nothing wrong?"
"Well, sir, she is my wife, and . . ."
"In name only. Remember the day you and I and Dagmar discussed this? I told you myself that you were not to touch her. Are you trying to tell me you don't remember?"
He shook his head. "No, I remember. You said that until she came out of her fit and was herself, that I couldn't touch her until then, that the marriage was to protect her title and lands from peasant fortune-hunters."
"You agreed to that. So why did you touch her?"
"I thought she was lucid."
"Horseshit," I hissed. He flinched.
"Sir, I was drunk, and sh-she was in the hall, and . . ."
"You're telling me you were drunk every time you tumbled her?"
"But there was only the one time, sir."
"One or a hundred, you're still as guilty. And I bet there was more than one time. Also, if you had been drunk and raped a virgin, you would still be castrated. You were drunk. That’s no excuse. I slapped my wife a few times, even drew my dagger once, but I would have done the same when I was sober. Being drunk just made me quicker on the draw."
He started and looked up for the first time since entering the chamber. "Sir, I . . ."
"Did I ask you a question?" I barked.
"No, sir." He focused on his feet again.
"Now that we've eliminated ignorance and drunkenness, tell me the real reason you tumbled her against my orders."
"Well, she is a pretty little thing, and . . . well, sir, she didn't stop me."
"Of course she didn't stop you. She was out of her mind, not herself. That's the only way a girl like that would lie with you."
His head drooped lower. "I am sorry, sir. I didn't realize the wrong I did until . . ."
"Save your petty apologies. I'll have no more of them. You have no real realization of what you've done anyway. This isn't one of your serving wenches or barmaids, Whitten. Do you understand that at least?"
"Yes, sir."
"If it were up to me, I would have you lashed within an inch of your life. But there is Safire's reputation to consider. A consummated marriage is nearly impossible to annul. The marriage was never consummated, do you understand? The fact that it was is to remain a secret of these walls, and we can only hope that you didn't get her with child. If I were you, I would be praying on my knees for the next month that she is barren."
He raised his head. "Sir, there is one thing . . ."
"What?"
"Well, sir, I wasn't her, her first, if you take my meaning."
I shook my head. "Whitten, you irredeemable ass. Of course you weren't her first."
He gulped. "She said Merius gave her that gold ring, that it's a betrothal ring."
"Whitten, Whitten . . ." I was still shaking my head. "This harvest I had planned to betroth you to the queen‘s niece, Cyranea of the Helles Isles. Then suddenly, I threw over this irreplaceable political alliance of a marriage to marry you off to a mad sparrow noblewoman, and you thought all this time it was only because I wished to save the poor creature's already questionable reputation?"
He puzzled this a moment. "Merius seduced her," he said finally, "but you can't let Merius marry so low, so you sent him off to battle and married Safire to me."
"Yes. Your statesman's savvy grows minute by minute," I said acidly. "I told you not to touch her for several reasons, Whitten, only one of which was her lack of wits at the time. While the marriage remained unconsummated, you were but my dupe in Merius's eyes, an easily forgivable offense. Now that you've left your mark on her, he'll not be so forgiving."
"He's going to kill me," Whitten groaned.
"It'll be no less than you deserve."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"I told you before I don't want your useless apologies. You've fouled up my plans and crossed me in more ways than you're capable of understanding. At some point, I had hoped to annul your marriage to Safire after Merius's
ardor for her had cooled. That way I could have arranged more suitable matches for all three of you. Now, your idiot's lust has made that a far more difficult task, if not impossible."
"Sir . . ."
"Get out of my sight. If I were you, I would make myself scarce. And if you even so much as look at Safire or attempt to talk to her, I'll flog you myself."
He nodded as he grabbed for the doorknob. He fled the chamber, leaving the door swinging on its hinges. Cursing, I pulled it closed with a bang that likely woke the whole house. Sniveling ass--I would have hit him if he had stayed any longer. Damn it, Merius had wooed the witch, bought her a ring, gone off to battle so that he would have free claim to her when he returned, and for that drunkard to paw her like she was no better than a loose tavern wench was . . . I froze in the middle of yanking on my boots, balanced on my left foot. I sank down on the bed, still holding one boot as I stared straight ahead at the open wardrobe, the grays, browns, blacks, and blues of my doublets and jerkins, the unadorned linen of my shirts.
I had told Whitten that Merius would be justified in killing him. What about killing me? I had arranged for Merius to leave, deceived him into going. I had arranged the mock marriage, attempted to coerce Safire. At the time I had thought her a fortune-hunting hussy, but even if that were the case, I doubted Merius would see it that way when he returned. And it wasn't the case--whatever else she was, Safire was not a fortune hunter. She hadn't expressed the slightest interest in Merius's inheritance or titles. A true schemer would have tried to worm her way into my good graces since I was the one who held the purse strings. A true conniver would have shown some skill at manipulation. Safire had managed neither of these. She was honest to the point of rudeness, as incapable of concealing her true nature as a flower was incapable of not blooming.
I covered my eyes with my hand. The early light shining through the windows was too bright. Pain split my temples. My original plot had been that Merius would return after several months of fighting and have forgotten the girl, but I realized now that she was not so easily forgettable. He had staked his entire inheritance on her, something he would never have done for any of his barmaids. If Safire had meant little to him, he would have flaunted her. Instead, as with all things he treasured, he had gone out of his way to keep her a secret, especially from me. As well he might, looking at what had transpired the last few months. I groaned again, shaking my head. And those letters--those letters. There had been so many of them, and they hadn't been the usual vapid love slop that young men wrote to get women into bed. They had been more like letters to an intimate friend, interspersed with passages of the raw longing I unwillingly remembered from my first few years with Arilea. His ardor would not cool any time soon.
But he had to know he couldn't marry her. He had to know that--I had taught him better, damn it. Unless he had meant what he had said about joining the king's guard permanently. I raised my head, staring between my fingers at the wardrobe before my hands slid down and clasped together under my chin. He had meant what he had said. Young he might be, reckless he might be, but once he made up his mind . . . I could jest myself all I wanted, but when it came down to it, Merius had become the man I had reared him to be, no longer the boy I could command. He wasn't Gaven's get. He was mine, and he wouldn't be asking for his seal ring when he returned. I had lost my son, my only heir, through my own stupid plotting. I needed whiskey.
I staggered to the wardrobe. My trembling fingers soon felt the cool silver at the bottom of my inner cloak pocket. I pulled forth my flask, sunlight glancing off its battered sides and blinding me. I uncorked it and took a long swig, liquid lighting a fire down my throat, Arilea's laughter ringing in my ears. Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I glanced around the chamber, the dark corners, the perpetual shadows clinging in the vaulted ceiling, our bed in the middle of it all. "Laugh away, you dead bitch," I muttered before I returned to my flask. It was half gone--it could be all gone in a few more swigs, and I wouldn't give a damn anymore. It was a breakfast fit for fighting ghosts.
There came a knock at the door. I gulped down my last mouthful. "What the hell is it now?" I sputtered.
"Mordric?"
Was that Eden? No, it couldn't be--I had left her at court under strict orders to watch for developments. "The name is sir," I shouted.
"Mordric, sir?" She added the sir as a deliberate afterthought.
Now I was certain it was her--only she would disrespect me twice in so familiar a fashion. "What the hell are you doing here, you trained viper?"
"I have to talk to you."
"I wouldn't recommend you come in unless you want to get beaten for disobeying orders."
The door opened, and Eden slipped into the chamber, closing it quickly behind her. She was still cloaked--she must have just arrived by the morning coach and not even bothered to stop by her chamber to wash off the road dust. "Listen, Mordric . . ."
"No, you listen." I stepped towards her. "I told you to stay at court, not to leave for anything. You were to send Randel if you had an urgent message, but you were not to leave yourself, not until I returned."
Her yellow eyes glinted under her hood. "This was too urgent to leave to Randel."
"Nothing is too urgent to leave to Randel. He's been my steward since before you were born."
"He's still only a servant." She threw back her hood, her snarled hair tumbling loose over her collar.
"Whose bed did you leave to come here? Uncombed, unwashed--you look like a dock wench. Didn't I train you about appearance, its importance-"
She interrupted me. "Merius has been taken hostage. Prince Segar got the word last night."
Slowly, I took another swallow of whiskey, my gaze never leaving hers. "That son of a bitch Herrod," I said finally, corking the flask and pocketing it before I turned back to the wardrobe. "He knew better than to send them into those mountains. Did the prince know whether it was a Marennese or SerVerin band that took them?"
"He thinks SerVerin only because they wrote in their ransom note that they slit the throats of all lowborn prisoners."
"They always say that--it's a lie to create a panic in our court, nothing more. You can bet your last coin that they sold the lowborn prisoners to the slavers." I knelt before the wardrobe and began to remove boots and boxes from the bottom until I had cleared a spot far in the back.
"The prince said the ransom is high, eight bags of gold, and they'll probably hold out for more." Eden came over and stood behind me, her arms crossed.
"They always do, the greedy, flesh-mongering bastards." I ran my fingers over the wardrobe bottom until I found the knot hole. I slipped my finger through the hole and lifted the loose board. A cloud of dust rose as I dragged out a pouch of coin. Spiders scuttled across the boards, and Eden sneezed as more dust filled the air.
Her eyes widened as I pulled out pouch after pouch of gold. "That's three bags at least," she said after about the twentieth pouch.
"Yes." I straightened and slid the board back into its spot. She helped me put the boots and boxes back, her eyes still skipping to the dusty pile of pouches when she thought I wasn't watching her. "That coin hasn't seen the light of day since I was married," I said.
"Where did you get it?"
I shrugged. "Different places. I was quite the card and dice player when I was in the king's guard."
"Surely it's not all from that."
"No."
Eden considered this for a moment, but she knew better than to question me further about the coin's origins. "Do you want me to take all of this to the prince? If so, I'll require a trunk . . ."
I shook my head. "Take only seven pouches, a bag's worth. It would be too dangerous for you to take more than that, too difficult to conceal. In fact, don't go by the public coach. I'll arrange for Ebner to take you in the carriage, and then he can return for me tonight." I stood, closed the wardrobe, and went over to the writing desk. There was a fresh piece of parchment already laid out. I uncorked the inkwell and tapped the quill
of the pen against the desk as I thought for a minute. Then I dipped it in the ink and wrote:
The bag that Eden bears is to be sent to the ransomers immediately. I'll bring the rest tomorrow when I return to court. Mordric
I folded the note, sealed it, and handed it to Eden. "Deliver this to the prince and no one else. I don't trust King Arian not to keep some for the church, dishonest monk that he is. I don't much like the idea of Merius's fate resting on Prince Segar's judgment, but at least he can be blackmailed into behaving, unlike his praying father. Rather suspicious, really, a king with no vices. No wonder the rest of the world distrusts us."
Chapter Twenty-One--Merius
By second full moon after departing Cormalen, there were only fifty-three of us left from the original band of one hundred. Gerard and I were the only remaining men of rank. "It's a hell of a thing," he whispered to me one night when we both couldn't sleep. "It's a hell of thing, commanding these men to certain death in these hellish mountains."
"Yes." I gazed up at the moon. It was an odd bronzy orange, nothing like the moon at home. The stars were different too--I hadn't reckoned on that when we had left. I savagely tore off a bit of jerky with my teeth. Why couldn't the damn sky at least be the same? I didn't want to die under this weird moon and these foreign constellations. "It‘s a sad way to be promoted."
"What do you mean?"
"We came to command only through the deaths of others, our friends."
Gerard shrugged. "Someone has to do it, Merius."
"I know that. Well, since we're in command now, let's turn around."
"What?"
"You heard me." I swallowed the jerky and took another bite. "What are we doing here? It's a suicide mission. We can't possibly pick off enough SerVerinese to make it worth our deaths, the deaths of these men."
"That's defying orders."
"So what? When Herrod made those orders, he had no idea it would be like this. They gave us a horrid map--God knows where we are now. We were supposed to be back in the foothills two days ago. Let's cut our losses, find our way back. I don't want these men's deaths on my conscience, and you obviously don't either, since you brought it up."
