by Karen Nilsen
"You know," he said then, returning to me with the food, "he let me take back that damned ring, my duties, unofficially swear fealty to him and the Landers, all the while knowing what he'd done, knowing that I would want to avenge you when I found out. It was pointless--why did he do that?"
"Perhaps he wanted one moment when he could pretend that none of it had happened."
"Conniving blackguard," Merius muttered.
I passed him a glass of wine. "Why did you take the ring back?"
He took a bite of bread, chewed for a moment before he answered. "I don't know exactly. Several reasons, I suppose. I thought about you, about our children, how much more I could offer you if I had my inheritance back-"
"Oh no Merius . . ."
"It's a legitimate concern, Safire. We're going to marry--I have to be practical. What if I get you with child? We need coin for that. Besides, Father seemed different, willing to respect me as my own man." He shook his head, swallowing hard as if his bread had just turned to sawdust. "God damn him, I'll kill him for this," he said quietly.
I glanced down at my cheese, suddenly not hungry. With child, he had said. My insides seethed--my womb felt full of writhing snakes, a dark secret I had carried now for several days. For the second new moon since my fit, I had missed my bleeding. Of course, that could be anything--I had missed bleedings before. Even two times in a row. And nothing had come of it. Nothing . . .
In a daze, I set my wine glass and food on the table and sank to the pillows. The air in the chamber was heavy, thick as cold syrup in my lungs, and I barely felt Merius grip my arm. "Safire? Safire?" he said slowly from a great distance.
"I'm fine," I managed. "Just a little faint."
"You're cold as ice. Here." He lay on his side behind me, cupped my body with his as he wrapped his arms around me like a shawl. "I should have told him to light the fire."
"You're warmer than any fire." It was true--already the feeling was returning to my limbs.
"Was it something I said?"
"No, dearest. I just . . . it's just all of this suddenly hit me. It feels sometimes like I've been awake every night for the last several months, what with Father and this mess with Whitten and missing you . . ."
"I couldn't sleep for missing you either. And we were on alert all the time in the mountains . . . here, maybe you should eat some more. You've hardly touched your food."
Obediently, I ate the rest of the cheese and bread with long sips of wine. I insisted he eat my fish, however--although I usually loved smoked fish, my stomach rebelled at the oily smell of it. My stomach had been rebelling a lot lately.
When we had finished eating, he brought me some water and made me get under the bedclothes as if I were a sick child. As he covered the remaining food and corked the wine bottle, I wondered at his tenderness. Certainly, he hadn't learned it from Mordric. My own father had usually disappeared at the first sign of female illness, sending a servant to make the necessary ministrations until all was better again. But Merius was different, as good a nurse as Dagmar, even if he was somewhat less concerned with being tidy. Maybe it was because his mother had had so many miscarriages and stillbirths--she must have been sick frequently. Poor little boy.
He shed his clothes on the floor before he crawled into bed beside me. As he leaned over to snuff the candle, I reached for him. Our arms entwined and then our bodies as we held each other in the dark.
"Make love to me, Merius," I whispered after the silent minutes had drawn out into at least a quarter hour and neither of us was asleep.
He cleared his throat. "Are you certain you're-"
"I feel fine now." I gave him a long kiss as a demonstration of my fitness.
"You are fine indeed." He chuckled, his eager hands already seeking out the secret places of my body.
Perhaps if we made love enough times, if he spent enough of his seed in me, the baby would somehow become his. This was a child's thinking, but I was little more than a frightened child at that point, an innocent girl desperate to erase a violation she couldn't remember, a woman who still believed in fairy tales.
Chapter Twenty-Six - Merius
After her bath at the inn one morning, Safire sat on a stool by the window while I brushed her hair. "How many days have we been here?" she asked.
"A week, I think." My hand followed the brush as I ran it from the crown of her head all the way to the ends of her hair.
She arched her neck, her eyes closed. "Really?"
"I heard the church bells this morning, so it must be holy day."
"You're right--I heard them too. It doesn't seem that long."
I set aside the brush and began to massage her scalp with my fingertips, her sun-warmed hair slipping over my hands. In the mid-morning light, the strands glowed brilliant as molten copper flowing between my fingers. "We'll soon have to figure out what to do next."
She sighed. "I suppose."
"Herrod's ship should have docked by now, and he'll be back in Corcin. He told me to report to him when he returned."
"You still want to take rooms in the city?"
"It's not a question of want. We'll have to, at least for the next several months. It's all we can afford."
Her fingers fiddled with the tassels on the edges of the blanket she'd wrapped around her shoulders. "There is another possibility, Merius."
My hands stilled in her hair. "What?"
She glanced back at me. "My dowry."
"Oh, love, Father will have sold that by now.”
"He hasn't sold it, Merius. It’s not his to sell.”
“What is your dowry, anyway?”
"The house of Long Marsh and everything in it and the land around it. We could live there. Your father can't turn us out because it's my dowry, and I never signed that godforsaken betrothal contract officially giving the Landers the rights to it. I don't think he would try to turn us out anyway." Her voice rose as she became more excited. "It would be perfect--Boltan and his wife are still there, and Strawberry . . . we could sell the other horses that are left for coin, and . . . oh, I've missed Strawberry, Merius."
I leaned down and kissed her upraised face. Our mouths met awkwardly, my lower lip against her upper one and vice versa, an upside down kiss that made her giggle. The charred cedar scent of her skin and hair was on me. Her mouth was soft and gave under mine easily. Sometimes when I kissed her, there was the faint salt of the sea on her lips, the mysterious sadness of an ancient woman inside the merry witch-girl, the woman I had as yet barely touched or seen.
I broke away finally. “Have you been crying?”
“No,” she said.
“You taste of it.” I straightened and gazed into her eyes. “Have I done something wrong?”
“Of course not, Merius--it‘s nothing to do with you. It’s just that I’m still grieving Father.”
“Naturally, with how little time has passed. I just wish . . .” I trailed off.
“What?”
“I wish you wouldn’t go off alone to grieve. I wish you would let me comfort you.”
She swallowed and glanced down at her hands, twisting in the folds of the blanket. “I don’t want to burden you,” she said. “We’re so happy here--I wish we didn’t have to leave.”
“Me too, sweet.” Sometimes I wondered about the men I had fought with, my comrades who had died and the men I had killed. Had they sweethearts? Certainly some of them had sweethearts, maybe even wives. How blessed was I, to return home to my love--the privations of battle made me cherish her as I never could have before. She unfurled as softly as a flower in my arms, the glory of her blossoming mine alone to bring about, mine alone to savor. God, she was lovely, my night witch. Even if those other men had sweethearts, they could never have Safire. She had chosen to be mine. I closed my eyes, inhaling her as I buried my face in the fiery curtain of her hair. The essence of her made me lightheaded.
"I've set aside coin for your wedding ring," I said huskily. "You can have anything you like on it--I'll
not dishonor you with another Landers ring."
"It's no dishonor, Merius. That's your House, and I'll wear its seal gladly if you put it on my finger." She clasped my hand.
I knelt behind her and kissed her shoulder where it peeped over the blanket. "You have a spattering of freckles across your back here-" I kissed under the nape of her neck, "and here, like a speckled egg."
"Don't kiss them--no, stop." She pulled the blanket up over her shoulders.
"Why not?" I tugged the blanket back down.
"They'll never go away now. Merius . . ."
I paused. "They'll never go away?"
"'Bathe in buttermilk, freckles go away,'" she quipped, "'Bathe in kisses, freckles stay.'"
I grinned and kissed another freckle. "Silly--you made that up."
"Why would I make up such a thing?" she demanded indignantly. "And stop it--I've worked hard to get rid of those freckles."
"Well, I like them, and I'm going to kiss every single last one so they never go away." I moved down her back, not heeding her stifled shrieks of laughter. "In the old stories, the changelings were always freckled."
"No, they weren't. You're thinking of moles, not freckles," she snorted. "Ass."
"You're still a changeling." I stood and planted my last kiss on the crown of her head. "Now, while I'm still clothed, I should go see to Shadowfoot."
"Wait--I'll go down with you," Safire said, letting the blanket fall as she rose from the stool.
I leaned against the door and watched her as she whisked around the chamber. In the space of a few minutes, she dressed, picked the clothes off the floor, made the bed, straightened the growing collection of combs, her mirror, brushes, my razor, and bottles on the washstand, and covered the food from breakfast. Like a bird building a nest, she darted about so quickly I hardly had time to comprehend what she was doing before she was on to the next task.
As she went to stow my inkwell in the bedside table drawer, I remembered something I had planned to do upon waking this morning. "Wait, sweet, I need that for a moment."
She handed me the inkwell, and I pulled a piece of parchment and my pen out of the drawer. I dipped the quill in the well and wrote Selwyn--If you can, meet me at the crossroads tavern tomorrow at four in the afternoon. Thanks, Merius The table wobbled, and I swore at it, an ink blot swallowing half of my signature. "Damn--well, at least it's mostly readable." I shook the page and rewrote my name and the date.
"What's that?" Safire asked.
"A message to Selwyn."
"Oh--can I write something to Dagmar at the bottom?"
"Here." I gave her the pen, and she started writing. There were many pauses between words when she looked up, her lips pursed. Then she commenced scribbling again--for someone who could draw an apple that looked real enough to eat, her handwriting left much to be desired. At times it was difficult to catch the words between the blots. 'Something' became several sentences and ten minutes, and then two paragraphs and a quarter hour before she finally corked the inkwell and sprinkled a little sand on the parchment. Then she looked up. "Oh, I forgot to mention my trunk--I wanted her to check the latch. There was something wrong with it . . ." She chewed her lip, gazing at me as if somehow I had the answer.
I had long since leaned against the door, my arms crossed. "There looks room for a postscript, if you write small."
Still chewing her lip, she glanced back down at the letter before she shook off the sand and uncorked the ink well. I closed my eyes, hearing the scratch of the pen as she composed a postscript. When she was done, I reached for the letter. I folded and addressed it, only hesitating when it came to the seal. After a moment's deliberation, I pulled my seal ring out of my pocket and used that.
"Thank you. I didn't realize I'd taken so long."
"We're in no hurry, love, and I know how ladies are about their letters."
She flushed. "I didn't mean it to be a letter, but there just suddenly seemed so many things to tell her." She paused. "Do I look all right?"
My gaze ran over her, stopping on her eyes, eyes that reminded me of sunlight through new leaves. I cleared my throat. "You look lovely, as always."
Her flush deepened, and she smiled. "I mean, to go downstairs--am I presentable?"
I took her hand, pulled her towards the door. "You're so presentable I'd introduce you to the entire court and the king right this moment, if I could. Now come on."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The crossroads tavern had changed little since the night Selwyn, Whitten, Peregrine, and I had gone after the horse thieves. There were only a few dim figures scattered in the common room as I made my way to our customary corner table. Imogene quickly came over, bangles clinking.
"Haven't seen you in a month of Sundays," she purred, touching my shoulder.
I started, then remembered that I had been interested in her briefly before I met Safire. The thought surprised me--it was of a past so vague it seemed to belong to someone else, not me. I had liked her bangles, her dark eyes, resented the way she flirted with all the sailors. I could hardly imagine it all now. I glanced at her and smiled as I would at a fond memory. And shrugged off her hand. "I've been away, at battle."
"That's what they said." She drew back and crossed her arms, hiding her hands. She returned my smile, but the luster had left her eyes--it was a look of hurt puzzlement. She wasn't accustomed to men turning down her favors. "What can I get you?"
"Ale will be fine."
Selwyn pulled out the bench across the table from me just as Imogene brought my second mug. He barked his order, and she spun around in a swirl of skirts, her heels smacking against the splintery floorboards as she stomped towards the back room.
"What's wrong with her?" he said. "All I did was order . . . If she spits in my ale . . ."
"She's more likely to spit in mine," I said. "How are you, Selwyn?"
"Fine, fine," he mumbled, still staring at the back room doorway. Then he let out a gusty sigh and turned towards the table. "I'm fine. Where have you been?"
"At an inn."
"Dagmar's worried sick, you know. Been driving me up the wall this last week with her fretting over Safire. You shouldn't have done it, Merius. Your father-" he broke off.
"What about my father? Has he gotten the annulment yet?"
Selwyn nodded. "Thank God," I muttered. The tension that had gripped my middle since entering the tavern suddenly disappeared, and I sank back against the wall. I drained the last of the ale. I could picture Safire's face when I told her, the pearly glow that lit her skin when she was overjoyed. "Thank God."
Selwyn's brows knotted together, and he cleared his throat. "So you really mean to marry her?"
My hand tightened again on the mug handle. "Yes--what the hell else do you think this is about?"
We both started as Imogene slammed down Selwyn's mug and departed, her face stony.
Selwyn waited a moment before he answered. "I thought . . . I thought maybe you'd lost your head," he said carefully.
"What?"
He stared into his mug, running his fingers up and down the sides. "Merius, we all have moments of weakness when it comes to women. Now, she's a fine-looking girl, and I can see how this happened, but-"
"But what?"
"Never mind."
"No, I want to hear what you have to say. It will give me some idea of whether I merely punch you or if I need to challenge you to a duel."
"You always do this. You always take things too far. Like your inheritance--what was the point of throwing that away, you fool?"
I stood, my hand on my sword hilt. "You've insulted my betrothed and insulted my honor by suggesting I shouldn't marry her. A duel is more than appropriate, cousin."
"I'm sorry. I just . . . Merius, she sees spirits, for God's sake."
"I know--she told me."
He rose, leaned forward across the table. "Did she tell you she had a fit for two months where she wouldn't speak and didn't even recognize her own sister? Did she tell you she ra
n off to Calcors? Your father and I looked for her for hours--God knows where she was. Or maybe I should say Satan knows where she was. When we finally found her and brought her back to the house, she had a screaming fit on the front doorstep and these cuts just appeared on her arms, out of nowhere. There's something not right with her, Merius. She's a witch. You've cast aside everything for a witch." His voice rose.
I grabbed him by the collar, dragged him around the table, and shoved him against the wall. "You listen here," I said evenly. "Never speak of her that way again. She is your sister-in-law, soon to be my wife. If I find out you had any part in what happened to her when I was gone, I'll kill you when I kill Father and that drunken bastard Whitten. She is not a witch. She sees things others can't see, but that doesn't make her a witch. That makes her beautiful. I'll not hear you say any more against her just because you're too stupid to see her for what she is. Do you understand?"
"You're crazy," he croaked, sweat beading his red face. "She's bewitched you . . ."
I shook him. "I asked you if you understand."
He nodded, and I released him. He staggered back to the bench. "Damn you, Merius." He choked and rubbed his throat, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes.
I sat down. Imogene sauntered over with a pitcher of ale and filled my mug. "I haven't seen you two fight since we were children," she said. "Don't make me have to call Jasper."
"Don't nose in your patrons' affairs, and you won't have to call Jasper." Selwyn hunkered down on the bench, his mouth set in a sour scowl.
"I apologize for him, Imogene," I said swiftly. "He seems to have left his manners at the Hall. Here." I squeezed a silver into her palm. "Keep the change."
"Thank you," she said, her voice clipped as she shot Selwyn a flinty look. She set the pitcher on the table and wiped her hands on her apron. "Here, keep this so I won't inconvenience you again with my presence, Sir Selwyn."
"There was no call for you to be rude to her." I said as soon as she had moved on to the next table. "She may not have been born a fine lady, but she deserves common decency nonetheless."
