by Karen Nilsen
Sullay went red, the vein standing out in his forehead. "You'll regret this," he muttered darkly before he turned and stalked toward the stairs.
“Your first day back at court, and you’re already insulting your staunchest ally?” I asked quietly as we stepped into the alcove, away from prying ears.
Peregrine shrugged, impatient. “He’d insist on joining us if I gave him the slightest encouragement. He’ll recover--he needs me more than I need him.”
“Indeed,” I said, my voice as dry as the SerVerin desert. Peregrine certainly rated his political influence high, too high perhaps. Arrogant dandy. “So, what news from Emperor Tetwar?”
“Our campaign against the slavers spooked him. He lost far more men than he expected in the mountains.”
“Really?” I considered this a moment. From all accounts of the campaign so far, it had seemed a blow for our side: the troops that had gone the furthest, like Merius’s troop, had lost better than half their men, and of the men who had survived, many had been taken captive, which meant expensive ransoms and hostage exchanges, hardly a victory without dire cost. Prince Segar had faced blistering criticism in the council chamber. Even though I had supported the prince, however, few dared criticize me. After all, my only son had been among those ransomed before he escaped and made himself a hero through his own recklessness. Merius‘s headstrong nature had its political uses after all. “So the campaign succeeded in its purpose of alarming Tetwar,” I said finally.
“Apparently--Tetwar didn’t expect our troops to hold out so long in the mountains. He didn’t understand why our men kept coming after half their comrades were killed or lost.”
“He underestimated our men, the fool.”
Peregrine nodded. “He thought their comrades’ deaths would frighten them, not make them so angry that--and this is a quote from him--‘they fought like barbarian fiends.’”
“Many of his soldiers are the children of slaves, impressive when they march but not to be trusted in actual battle. No wonder he’s spooked--he little realized the power of a volunteer force. A man’s word and his commitment are far stronger when he and his fathers before him have free will.”
Peregrine gave an unexpected chuckle. “He even admitted his best fighters were the slave traders, not his army. Of course, at the time, he‘d had a good bit of the whiskey I brought as a gift.”
“It’s odd--the SerVerinese are weaned on fermented goat’s milk, but they can’t handle Cormalen whiskey.”
“They have no need of whiskey, sir--they have no winters to weather, as we do.”
“True enough. So, it sounds like his thirst for battle has been quenched.”
“For the present.”
“For the present, yes--even though half his army are straw men, he still outnumbers us.” I leaned against the wall, my arms crossed as I pondered. How long would it take Tetwar to figure out the weak spot of his army? He was wily, but slavery had been part of the SerVerin Empire long before his birth. It would be as difficult for him to imagine an army without slaves as it would be for me to imagine one with slaves. The sheer numbers of his soldiers dissuaded most would-be opponents from testing the SerVerin Empire openly on the battlefield. With the appearance of overwhelming force, his straw army had so far accomplished its goal of avoiding war while expanding territory.
Besides, even though Tetwar was wily, he was also young, and his reign young with him. He wouldn’t want to challenge the bastion of SerVerin military tradition, not until he possessed the political assurance of a man at least a dozen years his senior. And what would he do, when he had that assurance? Start replacing his force with mercenaries? I couldn’t imagine that would garner him much public support. So, Cormalen had at least a few years to plan before facing the SerVerin Empire on the battlefield. The campaign had bought us time, if nothing else.
“What did he say of the wheat tariff?” I asked.
Peregrine shrugged. “He grumbled but not much else--I think he was still nonplussed by his troops defeat at our hands. Of course, I mentioned the tariff as a mere possibility--once it’s put fully into practice, he may have a stronger reaction.”
“Likely so.” I straightened, noticing Randel approach. He paused a respectful distance from the alcove--he must have an urgent message, to come find me like this. “Thank you, Peregrine. We’ll discuss this again before we present it at council--you’ve given me a good general picture, but I want more details.” I turned to leave.
“Sir, there is a another matter,” Peregrine said.
I halfway turned to face him. “Make it quick, then. My steward‘s waiting.”
“Safire.” His voice grew quiet, his eyes hawk-like gleams in the alcove shadows.
“What about her?”
“You know I’ve made offers for her hand . . .”
I cut him off. “She’s married to Whitten, has been since before you approached Selwyn the first time with your suit. You can’t be betrothed to a married woman. What don’t you understand about that?”
“Sir, you won‘t put me off that easily.” His voice rose. “That marriage is a sham, obviously made for some convenience, perhaps to protect her virtue while she was ill--it could be easily annulled. Now I’m prepared to offer . . .”
“Whatever your offer, it won’t be high enough. Now there are plenty of eligible maidens with large dowries and powerful fathers. You could do very well for yourself--you have the skills to make a fine, perhaps great, career at court. An orphaned sparrow noblewoman like Safire would only weigh you down, Peregrine. I’ve always thought you were more savvy than to make a marriage for lust. Affairs are for that.”
“Are you suggesting I take her for a mistress?”
“No, I’m suggesting you put her out of your mind before you make a complete ass out of yourself. And how dare you insinuate a lady lately married into the House of Landers would consent to be your mistress?”
“I meant no insinuations, sir,” he said, sullen.
“Indeed.” I suddenly felt weary. Young fool--would I have to draw my sword on him this time instead of merely threatening it? “Even if Safire lacked virtue and would consent to be someone‘s mistress, somehow I doubt she’d risk the consequences of an affair for you. She doesn’t fancy you--that much is clear. You’d best forget her and find a woman who matches you in lack of virtue.”
He paled, the lines of his face taut. “Sir, I’ll stand no insult.”
“Really? Then why do you pursue Safire? She exhales insults more than air.”
“She does have a sharp tongue--I doubt Whitten knows how to handle her.”
“Forget a sharp tongue. You’ll have a sharp sword at your neck if you don’t desist. I know you’re used to purchasing whatever you want, but Safire’s a Landers now, and she’s not for sale. Perhaps you’ve been in the SerVerin Empire too long among the slavers--here in Cormalen, we don’t buy or sell our women at market, Peregrine.” I stalked from the alcove and down the hall, Randel hurrying after me.
"Why did you come find me?" I asked Randel after we‘d gone down a flight of steps and down the hall that led to the parapet, after I was certain Peregrine hadn’t followed us.
"It's Merius, sir. He's returned."
The muscles of my midriff clenched, my ribs squeezing my heart until it pounded in my ears, the same tense ache I'd felt when I'd stabbed my first opponent at sixteen. "When?"
"I saw him in the courtyard a few minutes ago."
I crossed to the nearest window and searched the courtyard. "He'd be in his chamber by now, sir," Randel said behind me.
"Yes, of course," I said absently. "I'm supposed to be meeting with Cyril at the next quarter hour in the prince's chambers. Deliver my apologies to him."
Randel nodded. "Anything else, sir?"
"No."
After Randel left, I remained at the window for awhile. The imperfections of the glazed glass panes distorted the bustle of the courtyard until it seemed only a moving blur of colors and shadowed faces. Ev
en if Merius were down there, I couldn't have picked him out from the other vague figures, but still I looked, strained my eyes. It seemed I had been looking for him for a long time when I sighed and turned away from the window.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Merius's chamber door was slightly ajar. I knocked and pushed it open. He stood facing the desk, shuffling through the stacks of letters from friends and allies and council notes that had piled up during his absence. Safire's message, which had arrived only yesterday, was somewhere at the bottom of the stack where I had concealed it, not so that he couldn't find it but so that I would have the chance to see him before he did. The witch had informed me a few weeks ago that she would write Merius a letter to explain the situation since I still wouldn’t allow her to leave the Landers estate, a letter that would at least let him know where she was and why she was there. I still feared letting her wander around on her own--she seemed intelligent, but she was also young and brash with little apparent sense, and it would take only one foot wrong for her to end up in Peregrine‘s or some other miscreant’s clutches. A letter, though--that had seemed harmless enough. Until now, when Merius’s return had become a reality.
He glanced up from the letters as I stepped into the room. "Good afternoon, Father," he said, as casually as if I were a servant and he'd merely been out for a morning ride. I noticed though, how his hand tightened on the parchment he held.
"Good afternoon."
He seemed taller than when he had left, though I soon decided that was only a trick of the light--he'd become leaner, and that made him seem taller. His skin had taken on the leathery look that bespoke long, rough days out in the wilds. He had the stance of a soldier now, the unconscious tautness of one always on the verge of a battle--fiercely unyielding yet resilient. He was the only survivor of the seven children Arilea had borne me, a sturdy, laughing baby who had somehow thrived amidst the dark damp of Landers Hall and the poisoned air of a vicious marriage.
"I brought your gold back. The sacks are in your chamber," he said.
"Good. I have your seal ring." I held it out.
He glanced at it, then quickly looked down at the letters. "That's not mine anymore, Father."
"Horseshit."
He raised his head, met my gaze. "Didn't you hear what I said before I left?"
"I heard you, but oftentimes intentions change, especially those spoken in haste and anger. I won't hold you to that."
"You don't have to. I'm holding myself to it."
I drew a deep breath before I answered. "What do you want, Merius?"
"Nothing. You did more than I expected when you paid my ransom. I brought back every coin of it, so we should be even."
"I don't want it back. It's yours."
"I won't take your coin."
"Proud fool," I spat. "You earned it when you escaped. Now take it, Merius."
He slapped the letters on the desk. "It always comes to this with you, doesn't it? You think you can bribe everybody."
"How can it be a bribe when you earned it?"
His eyes narrowed. "I earned my freedom, not only from those traders but from you as well. I'll not put a price on that. Now leave."
I ignored his command. "You think I paid that ransom to buy your good graces?"
He shrugged, began to pace. "You're not a difficult man to predict, Father. You always have an ulterior motive."
My muscles were tense as bowstrings. "Ulterior motive? Merius, you're my only son."
"I'm also your only heir," he shot back, "and in order to get ahead at court, you need a legitimate heir, don't you? That's what you've always told me."
The heaviness of my hip flask weighed down my pocket. My hand started to reach for it--already I could feel the liquid warmth heating my throat, loosening my muscles, my ribs releasing their clutch on my heart. Then I noticed Merius watching me, and I crossed my arms, every sinew in my body at the breaking point.
"I can sire other heirs," I said hoarsely.
"Then save the coin to buy them back when the time comes. Leave me alone." He returned to the letters, his back to me as he rustled through the pieces of parchment.
"I can sire other heirs," I repeated with difficulty, each word punching the air, "but you will always be my only son, Merius. Please."
His hands grew still, and the chamber fell completely silent before he said evenly, "Please what, Father?"
"Don't do this. I was the second son, with few prospects except the king's guard. I distinguished myself as best I could, made more coin than I'd expected in places I'll never speak of again, and then I returned to Landers Hall when I had enough. I took every copper and invested it a dozen times over in the land, made even more coin, used that to win your mother's hand. Then my hangdog brother, the one my parents put such hopes in, didn't want the responsibilities of court, so I had to leave the guard and assume his offices. When he died, everything came to me. Again, I saved it, I invested it, to make it into an inheritance for you. You're the only man I would trust with it."
"You've an odd way of showing your trust," he said softly, his back still to me as he gripped the carved edges of the desk.
"That depends on how you look at it. Who else knows so many of my plots? Who else would I let draft my private letters? Who else would I leave in complete charge of the estate? Not Selwyn, surely. I never had to return to Landers Hall when you were there except once or twice--in the last three months, I've been there at least eight times."
He glanced sideways at me over his shoulder. "If I take back my seal ring, I'd have some requirements."
"Like what?"
"As you said, I'm a man now. I make my own decisions about my life--who I marry, for instance. You can offer advice, but no more than that, or I'll return to the king's guard without a backwards glance."
"All right. Anything else?"
He bent over the desk, his head bowed. "Never mention my mother to me again, unless I ask you a question about her. Then you speak of her respectfully."
I thought of Arilea, the lies she had told him. That I had hit her when she was with child, for instance. That was a lie. I had never hit her when she was with child. I had only struck her a few times that I could remember, threatened her with my knife once to get her to shut up about Gaven. But somehow she had always contrived to have Merius in the chamber during these incidents, generally when I was too drunk to realize he was there. That bitch--God I hated her. But he had been so young, and it was too late now to tell him that she, his beloved, long dead, forever beautiful mother, had manipulated him. And I had struck her, though not as he remembered it. He was right--best never to mention it again. Even now, after her death, she was still stealing my son. Bitterness burned my tongue, and I was silent so long that he said sharply, "Father?"
I started. "You're right--I'll not speak of her again."
He nodded, his head still bowed.
"Is that all, Merius?" I continued after several moments.
He cleared his throat and turned to face me. "Yes, that's all."
I fumbled in my pocket and found his ring. "Here." I held it out.
He took it, rolled it around his palm for a minute before he pocketed it. Then he picked up the letters again and leaned against the desk as he began to sort through them. "I'll return to my duties here next week. I have something to attend to in the meantime, and I'd like to stay at the hall for a few days," he said absently.
Oh hell--in the midst of our discussion, Safire's letter had completely slipped my mind. "Take as long as you need," I said without thinking, my body frozen and faraway as I watched him put down half the stack and flip through the remaining messages.
He looked up then. "I'm certain you have pressing business elsewhere."
I shook my head but reached for the door knob. Somehow, though, I couldn't turn it--my fingers wouldn't function. My legs wouldn't cooperate, either, my feet seemingly rooted to the floorboards. What was wrong with me? I didn't want to be here for this, but I couldn't move. He looked
at several more letters and quickly set them aside before he paused over one. His fingers tightened on this letter, all the others fluttering to the floor, forgotten. I was forgotten as well as he stared at the letter, turned it over in his trembling hands before he ripped the seal and shook open the folds of crinkling parchment. His eyes scanned over the text, his lips moving slower and slower as he got into the body of the letter. Finally, his lips stopped moving altogether, his set face sickly pale under his tan. "No," he said then, his tone flat. "No."
"Merius . . ." I stepped around the foot of the bed, towards him.
He looked up, held out the letter. "You," he said quietly. "You did this? You did this . . ." His voice trailed off as the realization sank in. "Oh hell. Hell." He crumpled the letter, gripped it as he began to stride around the narrow space between the desk and the bed like a caged tiger. "Safire, sweetheart . . . if that drunken ass touched her, he's dead. I'll kill him. I'll kill you too. How could you do this to her, Father, you son of a bitch . . . God damn it!" He stopped and ripped the letter into little shreds and threw it on the floor before he resumed pacing.
"I thought she was a fortune hunter."
He drew up short, stared at me. "What? What fortune?"
"Yours. Your offices, your coin, inheritance . . ."
"I surrendered all that before I left. She knew that, knew what kind of life we'd have with me in the guard, and she accepted it. All you have to do is take one look at her and know she's not that kind. Fortune hunter? Fortune hunter?!" His voice rose. "What kind of excuse is that?"
"I know all that now, but at the time . . ."
"No, no, there's going to be none of this. None of your lies. What you thought is that you couldn't have your only heir marrying the daughter of a sparrow nobleman. You wanted the king's whiny nag of a niece for me so I could have a 'position' at court. I know how you think--God knows you've lectured me enough about it." He went over to the bed. His saddlebags lay there, empty. He began stuffing random things in them, a shirt, a belt, a spare dagger, loose coin, whatever lay within arm's reach.
