by Karen Nilsen
"I . . . I thought she was another one of your affairs that had gotten out of hand, thought you were making a disastrous mistake."
He barked a bitter laugh. "Disastrous for whom? For you? For the Landers position? I suppose it never occurred to you to wonder if she was a disaster for me. For me, Father--I'm the one who's marrying her. Not you, not the Landers position, but me. And I love her. To me, she's the best thing that's ever happened, the one reason I risked my life in Marenna, the one reason I fought like hell when others gave up just so I could see her again. I know you can't understand that, but that doesn't give you the right to ruin it." He buckled the bags with jerky motions and slung them over his shoulder.
"I can fix it, Merius."
"Fix it?" He chuckled, moving around the foot of the bed. "This isn't the hobby horse Whitten rode into the window or the bow I broke. You can't fix this one."
"An annulment . . ."
He stopped a few feet in front of me, stood there and stared at me without blinking for several moments. Then he heaved a deep breath. The punch shocked me, even though I saw him draw back his fist, saw it coming. It hadn’t seemed real until his knuckles connected with my jaw. I stumbled back, bracing myself on the wardrobe. Pain radiated towards my ear as the inside of my mouth went numb, and I wondered if he had cracked a tooth.
"I'll deal with you later." He turned and strode towards the door.
"Merius . . ." I managed, my tongue too stiff to fit itself around any other words.
He paused, his hand on the door knob, and glanced back at me. "I have to see Safire now. I presume she's at Landers Hall?"
I nodded, and he ducked out into the hall, slamming the door behind him with such force that the map of the seas under glass that he had hung on the wall fell to the floor and shattered. The air was sour and burned my lungs, but somehow I continued to breathe it, not moving until the sound of his footfalls had faded in the distance.
Chapter Twenty-Four--Merius
A royal stable boy in spotless livery napped beside the entrance to the stalls. He jumped at the hurried thump of my boots. "Sir," he gasped, tugging his vest straight.
"I need a horse."
"Yours, sir?" he called over his shoulder as he counted down the stalls.
"No, mine's not here."
"You're Sir Merius?" He paused and looked at me.
I bit my tongue, prayed for patience. "Yes. I'm in a hurry, if you don't mind, so . . ."
"Your horse is here. Big black stallion, Shadowfoot, right?"
My brow furrowed. "Yes, but . . ." I had left Shadowfoot at Landers Hall for the duration of the campaign.
"Your father brought him here. Few days ago."
"He did?" I only realized my hands clutched into fists when the sharp pain of my fingernails digging into my palms made me look down. I took a deep breath, tried to relax my fingers, but it was almost impossible. The rage would be long in relinquishing its hold on me. I had a fierce need to get on Shadowfoot and gallop until both of us were dropping with exhaustion--maybe then some of the tension would expend itself. If I didn't do something soon to escape this place and see Safire, it would take an act of God to keep me from finding Father and running him through with the blade he had given me when I was fourteen. I shook my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets, not able to stop the image of his blood on my sword from flooding my mind. He had best watch himself.
The stable boy trotted ahead of me until we reached Shadowfoot's stall. I stretched my arm over the barrier and rubbed the horse's nose, glad at the sight of him. He, at least, could never betray me. "Hello there, you big lummox. Did you miss me?"
He neighed in response, and I reached into the box of carrots that had been nailed to the tall wooden post that stood between the stalls. The boy had disappeared in the direction of the tack room. He emerged several minutes later with a loud clinking of bit and saddle stirrups. When he neared me, he dropped the saddle, and a cloud of straw dust rose in the sunlit air. For a moment, the entire place glowed golden and truly deserved to be called a king's stable. Then we both sneezed, and the dust scattered.
"Sorry, sir," the boy gasped. "The leather's been fresh greased, and it's . . ."
"That's all right. Let's just get it on him." Grunting, I slipped the bridle over Shadowfoot's head. Then I lifted the rope that held the stall door in place. Shadowfoot snorted and pranced out of the narrow space, obviously ready for a good run.
"Steady, boy," I said to him, gripping the bridle as the stable hand lifted the saddle on him. I tightened the girth. Then I busied myself buckling on the saddlebags.
The boy peered at me over Shadowfoot's back. "What was it like, Marenna?" he asked suddenly.
"Not like here. It's very dry, and the mountains have hardly any trees on them."
"Did you . . ." he hesitated. "Did you kill a lot?"
"Over thirty."
His eyes widened. "With your sword?"
"Some. And some with my bow." I moved to mount then.
"Was it hard?"
I took a moment to answer. "Yes. I only killed those who had taken slaves, who tried to kill me or my comrades first, and it was hard."
"I want to be in the king's guard. My brother says I can't since I haven't any noble blood, but Celanus Stitt is a guard, and he's no more noble than I am."
I mounted, took the reins. "Can you fight, handle a sword and bow?"
He nodded proudly. "I hit the most bulls-eyes for my age in the last parish contest."
"Then you can be a king's guard." I tossed him a coin for his trouble and then spurred Shadowfoot forward. He needed little encouragement, lunging toward the courtyard so fast that I barely had time to tug on the reins to slow him before we crashed into the stable gate. He had caught my eagerness to flee this place.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When it grew too dark to see the road, I reluctantly stopped at an inn for the night. Shadowfoot, after several months of only stable yard exercise, needed a good brushdown and a few hours' rest. I removed his saddle and used the brush on him myself, finally leaving him when I had filled the oat box and water pail in his stall. Then I climbed the stairs to my chamber, lay down on the scratchy straw filled mattress, and spent the entire night with my hands behind my head as I stared at the beams of the ceiling. Safire was only seven or eight leagues away, and I was too jittery to sleep.
As soon as I saw the first gray light over the horizon, I rose and splashed some water on my face. I grabbed some bread and cheese in the common room before I headed out to the stable. Shadowfoot waited for me, and soon we were back on the road.
It was late morning when we reached the outskirts of the Landers estate. I drew rein, and Shadowfoot slowed to a walk. Everything, so drab and muddy when I had left, was suddenly green and rustling. Midsummer now, and I had last seen her in March. Would she still be wearing my ring? Would she even still speak to me, after what my father had done? I hadn't reached the end of her letter yesterday--it had seemed ardent at the start, but after absorbing the shock it had contained, I couldn't seem to remember much else about it. And what lies had Father told her? God knew. My hands tightened on the reins.
Instead of taking the main drive to the house, I swung Shadowfoot up the narrow path that ran beside the river. It was a secret trail few used--when Selwyn, Whitten, and I had wanted to sneak away from the estate, we had always gone by the river.
Shadowfoot, familiar with the path, deftly stepped over all the gnarled tree roots and stones that crossed the hardened dirt. I settled back in the saddle and let him have free rein while I inhaled the damp mossy air of the river bank and caught glimpses of the sky through the canopy of leaves overhead. Despite all my attempts, however, I couldn't chase away the half-sick feeling of nervous anticipation that clenched my middle. This was worse than going into battle.
I tugged the reins sharply, and Shadowfoot stopped with a whicker. I could have sworn I heard something over the roar of the water. I glanced all around. There it was again, clearer
this time. Laughter. Women's laughter, too, by the pitch of it.
The foliage broke in front of me, and Safire staggered across the path, barefoot and holding a straw hat. Her own hat dangled halfway down her back on loose drawstrings, her hair tied with a fraying green ribbon. I made some strangled sound in my throat, the first syllable of her name, and she whirled around, the laughter dying on her lips. Her eyes grew enormous, and slowly, she lifted her hand to her mouth, her breath coming in shuddering gasps that shook her whole body. We couldn't stop staring at each other, and my eyes, long parched for the sight of her, drank in every detail. Her fey, elfin-featured face, the wild curls of hair that always escaped around her forehead and ears, the perfect hollow of her collarbone, the ripe curves she couldn't hide under demure lace, her long arms . . . I paused on her arms. There were scars there, slashes that formed a crooked red ladder on her soft skin. Quickly, I glanced at her hands. Scars there, too. What the hell? Then I saw my ring still on her finger and forgot everything else for the moment.
"Safire, stop! You left your shoes and took my hat . . ." Dagmar charged on to the path. She halted when she noticed her sister standing so still. She followed the direction of Safire's stare, starting at the sight of me. "Oh dear God," she muttered.
Gripping the pommel, I swung my leg over and dismounted, each small action magnified and slowed so that it seemed minutes before I stood on the ground beside Shadowfoot. Safire suddenly dropped Dagmar's hat and raced toward me, crying. I stepped forward and caught her as she tumbled over a root and then she was in my arms and I was in hers . . . I crushed her to me, showering kisses on her hair and face until her lips locked with mine. The world fell away, and I groaned at the sweet, eager feel of her, the familiar warmth of her body in my arms, the smoky cedar essence of her hair and skin. We were starved for the taste of each other, and it was torture when she finally broke away, sobbing for breath.
"Breathe, sweetheart." I laughed unsteadily, both arms still clutched around her as her arms were clutched around me. "God, I've missed you."
"I, I m-m-missed you too," she managed through sobs.
I kissed her eyelids and cheeks until most of the tears were gone. "Shh, don't cry. Shh."
"I can't help it." She fumbled in her skirt pocket and dragged out a rumpled handkerchief. Turning away a little, she delicately blew her nose. "I'll collect my wits soon enough. It just seems forever, Merius. I had a dream last night, you know, a dream of Shadowfoot galloping on the road, and I knew then you were coming home for certain."
"Let me look at you." I backed away, keeping my hands on her elbows. "You're so lovely--you look fresh sprung from a daffodil."
"It's the frock." She cast her eyes down, suddenly shy, and held out the golden folds of the skirt, busied herself straightening the green sash. Then she smiled and glanced at me from under lowered lashes. "So, have you tanned all over?"
I raised my brows. "No, parts of me are still pale. Like a skewbald horse, brown patches and white patches."
She tucked her fingers in my belt, pulled me closer. Then she leaned up on her tiptoes and whispered, her lips brushing my ear, "I want to see you all skewbald."
I chuckled. "Witch. That may happen sooner than you think."
She blushed, and I stole a quick kiss. Then Dagmar snapped a twig. Safire and I both jumped.
"I'm sorry," I said. Keeping my left arm tight around Safire's shoulders, I took Dagmar's hand in mine and quickly touched her knuckles with my lips. "I've been remiss."
"That's quite all right," she said briskly, meeting my eyes briefly before she glanced away. The last time I had seen her had been in the court library, and she had not liked me then. Evidently, her enmity was still strong. "We should go back to the house. It's almost time for lunch," she said as she bent down, picked up her hat, and jammed it on her head. "Here are your shoes, Safire." She pulled a pair of leather slippers from her pinafore pocket and handed them to Safire. "Put them on before you get a thorn in your foot." Then she turned on her heel and started off down the path.
I glanced at Safire, who shrugged. "Never mind her," she murmured. "She's in a mood."
"Aren't you going to put those on?" I nodded to the slippers in her hand.
"No." She shot me a sideways look. "I'll not let you go yet, just to put on some shoes." We began to follow Dagmar down the path. Shadowfoot trailed beside us.
"What were you two doing out here, anyway?"
"We were taking a walk, and I had a notion to wade in the river." She nuzzled my hand on her shoulder. "I didn't expect you for several more days."
I cupped the back of her neck in my palm. "I didn't expect myself for several more days. Herrod sent Gerard and me home earlier than we thought he would."
"I heard how you protected your friends, how you escaped," she said softly. "It sounded all so dashing, like reading one of Lhigat's war poems. You're a hero to everyone at the house, especially me."
I felt my face grow hot. "It wasn't all like that," I said awkwardly. "But thank you, sweetheart."
She caught my hand in hers. "I know it was very hard for you--your aura's changed," she stammered. "It's sharper somehow, like a blade that's been honed, so I know it was horrible in parts, that you saw your boyhood friends die and almost died yourself, but that makes you even more a hero to me. I'm so proud of you."
I swallowed hard and squeezed her hand. "I just wanted to return to you. I . . . I had hoped we would marry now, but . . ."
She bit her lip. "You got my letter then?"
"Yes. I know what my father and that drunken son of a bitch Whitten did to you. I was a fool--I should have married you before I left," I finished bitterly.
"It wouldn't have worked anyway. He would have found a way around it, and we'd be worse off than we are now. You were right. This way I can get an annulment from Whitten, and then . . ."
I shook my head. "He'll not do it. He said he would, but he likes nothing better than lying. I know my father."
She flashed an odd little smile. "Oh, he'll do it. I worked my witchery on him."
"On Father?"
She kept smiling that secretive smile that made tingles in my toes. "It's been a long four months, my love."
"Obviously, if you swayed my cold statue of a father." I hesitated, but was too overcome by curiosity not to ask. "What did he do, anyway, to marry you off to that ass? Did he blackmail you somehow? Threaten you?"
"He . . ." she paused. "He threatened to break Dagmar's betrothal and reinstate my father's debts, but I don't think he really would have done it."
"Don't believe it. He's ruined a lot of people, Safire, including my mother." She stiffened. "What is it?" I asked.
"Nothing."
It was a long moment before I asked, "Did . . . did Whitten touch you at all?"
She pretended to be fascinated by a clump of violets. "I don't remember. I don't think so."
I stopped and forced her to look at me. "What do you mean, you don't remember? Don't be afraid to tell me."
She met my gaze, her pupils so large her eyes appeared black. "I told you, I don't remember, Merius. There were a couple of months when I wasn't quite myself."
"Mad, you mean? Safire, what the hell did they do to you?" I gripped her shoulders, Shadowfoot's reins slipping from my hand. "Tell me."
"You may not believe me if I tell you." She paused, and then, taking a deep breath, raised her arms. "Do you see these scars?"
"Yes, I was going to ask you about them."
"They're from ghosts, spirits," she said quickly. "There are ghosts in Landers Hall, and they attacked me."
"Ghosts?"
She shook her head. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"No, no, I just wasn't expecting that."
She turned, began to walk again. "It's all right," she said. "It's all right. It's a ridiculous story, I know, and . . ."
I gripped her shoulder and forced her to slow down. "Safire, stop it. I believe you. You can heal with your hands, you can see ghosts
. It's fine. Now, quit being such a little fool and tell me what happened."
"I'm sorry, I'm used to people not believing me. Dagmar . . ."
"I'm not Dagmar." I took her hand. "Remember what I told you our first night together?"
She smiled in spite of herself. "You said a lot of things that night."
"There's nothing wrong with you, Safire. You're too beautiful to burn. I love you. Do you remember that?"
Her fingers tightened around mine. "There's just so much--so many things have happened, it's hard to know what to say first."
"The ghosts attacked you. Then what?"
She stared ahead, lost for a moment in another place. "It was about a week after you left. My father and I came to Landers Hall to meet with your father about our betrothal, and they argued with me, bullied me a bit, but I didn't give in. Even when your father threatened me. I had noticed when we came in his study that it was cold, but I thought it was just the house. Drafty, you know. My father left the chamber at one point--now that I think about it, that was the last time I saw him before he collapsed . . ." She trailed off.
"Your father--I forgot when I saw you. I'm so sorry. I wanted to meet him . . ."
"Thank you, love. He would have respected you, approved our match if he had met you, but we'll talk about that later. There's just so much . . ." She sighed. "Anyway, he left the chamber, and your father and I sparred for a bit. It kept getting colder, but I ignored it. Until I felt the icy fingers creeping around my neck." She shivered. "There was whispering, horrible, cruel words--I thought I was going crazy. I'd seen spirits before, but they had always been caught up in their own invisible hells and hadn't bothered with me. It just got so cold . . . oh Merius, it was awful. The fingers ripped at my hair, strangled me, and I couldn't stop them. Your father thought I'd suddenly gone delirious. I was frantic to escape but the door was stuck and I couldn't get away, and then I fainted. I woke up two months later in an unfamiliar bed with no idea where I was or what had happened."
