by Karen Nilsen
"As long as he's not here, the sotted fool." I tossed my pipe on the table. "Did Merius say anything?"
"He asked if you were still here."
"Is that all? Where is he now?"
"In his chamber with Lady Dagmar--I think they're packing his and Lady Safire's belongings to take . . ."
I was around the table before Randel could finish, heading towards the door. He lifted a hand to my arm. "Sir, he has his sword . . ."
"He always has his sword. That's how I trained him." I brushed past Randel and opened the door.
Chapter Twenty-Nine--Merius
I tossed a pile of my shirts in Safire's trunk and slammed the lid down. Dagmar dropped the book she was dusting and hurried over. She opened the trunk and began pulling out the shirts. "You can't do that, throw them in there like that. The linen will wrinkle."
"I'll worry with that later," I said, grasping the shirts. A seam ripped. "There's not much time . . ."
She wouldn't let go. "It won't take but a minute to pack them properly."
"It's a minute I haven't got. We're due at the Calcors dock three days hence, and . . ."
"Three days?" She sank back on her heels, her grip loosening on the shirts. Her eyes, paler than Safire's, had the greenish glitter of thin ice.
"Herrod's offered me a place in Lord Rankin's escort," I said, with some pride. Posts with ambassadors were difficult for younger guardsmen to get, as they involved being able to navigate the morass of a strange court. My experience on council and knowledge of foreign languages and customs had given me an advantage. The only thing Herrod had been doubtful about was Safire accompanying me, but after he met her, he had winked and said he understood why I didn't want to leave her alone, the pert minx. He really didn't have any ground to stand on, since other ambassadors' escorts had taken their wives in the past, but I had refrained from that argument, seeing it as likely just to aggravate him rather than convince him.
"Who's Lord Rankin?" Dagmar demanded.
"The ambassador to Sarneth."
"You're taking my sister to Sarneth? For how long?"
"A year."
"A year!" Dagmar leapt to her feet. "A year--you can't do that."
"It's not my decision--it's simply the length of the assignment."
"Can't you leave her here?"
"Here? With my scoundrel father and that drunken fool Whitten waiting to paw her--you must be mad." I grabbed the shirts and threw them back in the trunk, the lid falling shut with a crash.
"None of that would have happened but for you seducing her. You're lucky my father's not alive . . ."
"I agree," I said evenly. "I shouldn't have touched her--I love her and had full intention to marry her at the time, but it was still wrong of me to taste the fruit before I plucked it and tempt her to do the same. But we're married now, and that is between us and us alone."
Dagmar's arms were crossed, her bony frame tensed for battle. "How do I know you married her? I haven't seen her since you took her away."
"She sent you a letter about it, two days ago. I don't know why it's not here yet." Some loose coins clinked against the bottom of my wardrobe as I pulled out my old pair of riding boots. Gold, no less. I quickly stuffed them in my pockets.
"Why isn't she here today?"
"Because I didn't tell her I was coming here today."
"What?"
I straightened, looked at her. "She shouldn't be within ten leagues of this House, Dagmar. Those scars on her arms . . . she could have bled to death. And then there's that bastard Whitten--what if he'd been here? It's bad enough my father's here. I have to see him before I leave, but I sure as hell don't want her anywhere near him."
Dagmar seemed to shrink, her squared shoulders sagging. She sat on the trunk heavily. "You're right, I suppose, but I just want to see her, see she's all right. You can understand that, surely."
I bit back the caustic retort I'd had ready. "She wants to see you, too," I said. "Why don't you come with me when I leave here? Selwyn could spare you a few days, couldn't he?"
She pressed her palms over her skirt, tugging out the wrinkles. "I suppose he could," she said quietly.
There was a sudden racket out in the hall, the clamp of boots and the mutter of low voices. I turned sharply. "What?"
We had left the door cracked since the chamber smelled musty. Now it swung open. Father stepped over the threshold, Eden and Randel hovering behind him. "Merius-" he began.
"What the hell do you want?" I moved around the trunk toward the door, every muscle tensed.
He held up his hands. "There's no need to draw your blade."
I glanced down, realized my fingers were already clenched around my sword. I released it but kept my hand close, at the ready as he himself had taught me. "I'll decide that, Father."
"Sir . . ." Randel put his hand on Father's arm.
Father shook him off. "Leave me." I noticed with no small shock that he had a beard, a straggled, untidy affair. His shirt and doublet were rumpled, obviously slept in. His usual military precision had vanished--he looked haggard, ill from too much drink. Buffeted by a hurricane, the neat, tight rigging of his life had frayed, and now he was adrift. And for a man like my father to be adrift was dangerous. In desperation, he was capable of anything. My hand flitted over my sword hilt, the tiny muscles of my fingers twitching.
"What's this?" he asked, gesturing to the trunks, the piles of books and clothes yet to be packed.
"The rest of Safire's and my belongings." Pretending it was the most natural thing in the world, I bent down and began to stack the books in my trunk. I continued to watch him, though, poised for action.
"You must have a place to live then."
"Yes. I need to talk with you about that."
"What about it?"
I stood, brushed the dust from my hands. "Safire's dowry--her family house, the stables, the horses, the grounds around it. That's where we're living, where she wants to stay when we return from Sarneth. If you attempt to make a claim on it from her marriage to Whitten, I'll fight you."
He shrugged. "I have no interest in it. Even if I did, neither I nor Whitten could claim it. Since there was no consummation or heirs, that marriage never existed as far as the crown is concerned. I'll warn you, though--without the income from the Long Marsh lands in Dagmar‘s dowry, it's going to be difficult to keep the house."
"I'll worry about that." I took a deep breath, tried to still the quiver of rage inside. Why did he have to mention consummation and heirs? Did he suspect? I blinked, my knuckles white where I clutched the next book to go on the stack in the trunk. I had to stay calm for Safire's sake. If I sought vengeance now of any kind, even something as minor as punching Whitten, people would wonder, perhaps talk. We couldn't afford any talk, any public speculation about the true nature of that mockery of a marriage and the growing life inside her. It was bad enough her own sister knew about Whitten's violation. That drunken blackguard.
I noticed Father watching me and quickly put the book in the trunk, my fingers shaking. "What's this about Sarneth?" he asked.
"Herrod's granted me a position with Lord Rankin."
"Damn it, Merius." The sudden expletive after all our careful formality jolted Dagmar and Eden, reminding me that we weren't alone.
"You served in an ambassador's escort between battles."
"I was seventeen and didn't have half your training at the time."
"It's a good position, Father. They're not easy to get."
"For most of the guards. But you're ready for a commander's post."
"Herrod would have offered me that, but . . ." Safire and I have to leave the country for at least a year so we can lie about when the baby is born--that’s why I need a post with an ambassador, damn you.
"But what?" Father's eyes bore into me, that legendary gimlet gaze that had undone so many lesser men at court.
"I'm through discussing this with you. It's none of your affair." I turned my back to him and began shoving b
ooks in the trunk.
"I apologize, Merius," he said swiftly, too swiftly. "You're right--it's a fine post. Safire must be proud."
I bit my tongue. Hard. "I said it's none of your affair."
"You know, if you're ever in any trouble, if you need coin . . ."
I barked a bitter chuckle. "I wouldn't take your coin if I was starving."
"What if Safire was starving?" he asked softly. "Would you take it then?"
"That's it." I spun around, my sword drawn. Dagmar screamed, a harsh, short shrillness that cut the silence after the hiss of my blade.
Randel moved between me and Father, his palms out. "Out of my way, Randel," I said.
"No, sir." He swallowed. "I follow your father's orders, not yours."
"He didn't order you to be a fool."
"A fool, sir? A fool wouldn't trust you not to strike an unarmed man. I know you better than that."
"Move, Randel," Father said then. "I don't pay you enough for you to be a bodyguard."
"But, sir . . ."
"Move."
Randel stepped aside, just enough so that Father and I were facing each other. I kept my sword drawn but lowered, my gaze on his every breath, his only movement. For a moment, all was quiet, and I almost grew hypnotized, watching the faint rise and fall, rise and fall of his shirt.
"Merius," he said abruptly, breaking the spell. "Merius, I meant no threat or dishonor to Safire. Quite the contrary. I merely . . ."
"How dare you even say her name, after what you've done?" I wiped my forehead where the sweat had started to bead in the heavy air.
"I know no other way to speak of her, besides her name."
"Maybe you shouldn't speak of her at all then."
"Forgive me, I know you're upset . . ."
"Upset?" I scoffed. "You've almost made a murderer out of me, Father. You could say I'm upset."
"Just listen for a moment, Merius. That's all I ask."
"All right." I sheathed my sword with trembling hands, ashamed I had drawn it in front of Dagmar and Eden. "Let the lies begin."
"I just want to tell you that the coin is there. I know you're too proud to take any for yourself, but for her, for your children . . . and not just coin, either. I have connections in every court in this hemisphere . . ."
"Father," I said, surprised at the weariness in my own voice. "I've had enough of your connections."
"I understand that, but it won't be like before. I'm through with all that."
"You admit then that you've used your 'connections'" here I glanced at Randel, "to spy on me?"
"Yes."
"I knew it." I paced over to the main window, my hand fisted over my mouth. "I knew it. That's how you knew about Safire." I unclenched my fingers, ran my hand over my jaw and the back of my neck. My throat felt strangely constricted, as if I couldn't get enough air in my lungs. Every girl I had taken for a sweetheart, no matter how brief, every time I had lost at cards, every time I had been in a fight, every time . . . he had known, more likely than not.
"Merius, I was trying to establish your career at court, keep certain things concealed from our fool of a king. You're always into something--that crazy glider, punching the wrong people, writing seditious verse, romancing barmaids, drinking and gambling . . ."
"It wasn't seditious--you've never said that before. You just don't like poetry."
"Of course it was seditious--what about that one about the king's funeral, for God's sake? What would our august sovereign call that but seditious? The point is, you concealed all of this from me, grew angry when I questioned you . . ."
"And you wonder why?"
"I didn't know what else to do--I used spies for everything else."
"What about Herrod? Was that the first time you'd done something like that?" I leaned my forehead against the glass and gazed out at the courtyard.
"What about Herrod?"
"He said that you granted permission for him to ask me to go on that campaign, even as you threatened to disinherit me for going."
Father sighed. "I knew if I gave you my approval too easily, you would be suspicious and might not go."
"And the only reason you wanted me to go is so you could go after Safire?"
"I thought she was a fortune hunter, Merius. I know better now."
"That's a relief," I said bitterly. "You-" I broke off, staring into the courtyard. Strawberry galloped through the gates, Safire on her back. The little mare came to an abrupt halt and flicked her tail. Safire dismounted, not waiting for the help of the stablehand who rushed out to her. "Damned witch," I muttered. "You could have fallen on your head." I turned on my heel and strode for the door and the hall, pushing past Father and the others.
Chapter Thirty--Safire
Boltan was sitting on a chair outside the stable in the sunlight polishing harness when I returned from Calcors. He glanced up as I came through the open gate, leading Strawberry by her halter with my left hand, my right arm curled around a messy bouquet of daisies and buttercups. He glanced back down at the girth buckle in his hand, continuing to rub it with his rag even though it could already blind an army with its shine. I let go of Strawberry so she could get a bite of hay from the trough in the paddock before I went over to stand next to Boltan. I watched his polishing for a minute, both of us silent. Then I took one of the daisies and dangled it over the balding spot on the top of his head, the petals just brushing him. He dropped the girth and swatted at the flower. "Little minx. Stop it," he said.
I laughed and put the daisy back with its mates, burying my face in them. "What are you doing that for?" he demanded. "They don't smell like anything."
"They smell warm and yellow, like sunshine," I protested.
Shaking his head, he picked the girth back up. "I would have thought that ring on your finger would give you some sense finally, but I guess not."
"Merius didn't marry me for my sense."
"Good thing, because you don't have any."
I whipped him with a daisy, petals fluttering all over his shirt and trousers. He ignored them, seemingly intent on the girth. "Where is Merius, anyway? Shadowfoot's not in the paddock." I tucked a buttercup behind my ear.
"I don't know. After you left, Merius hitched him up to that old cart and drove out of here in a hurry."
"He hitched Shadowfoot to the cart?" A vague twinge of uneasiness rose in my stomach, but I fought it down. I hadn't retched once today, and I intended to keep it that way. Boltan's wife Greit had already been giving me expectant looks when she brought our breakfast. "That seems odd."
"I thought so."
"I wonder where he went." I leaned against the wall. A cloud passed over the sun, and I shivered. My arms crossed, I closed my eyes. At first all was dark behind my eyelids, but then, hazy at first and then slowly coming into focus . . . stairs rose before me, around me the silent stone and oak front hall, the walls warmed only by elaborate tapestries, the lines of the few chairs and tables scattered about grimly austere with age. I reached out for the stairs, still in disbelief, and felt the edges of the ship carved on the balustrade, worn almost smooth after centuries of hands trailing over it. All around, a dusty chill that penetrated to the bones and crept around the throat, a cold that couldn't be explained only by dampness. Landers Hall. He had gone to Landers Hall. What if Whitten was there? Mordric?
"Oh no," I said. "No, Merius." The daisies and buttercups fell to the ground as I ran for Strawberry.
"My lady?" Boltan called, the harness clattering as he stood, but I was already on Strawberry and racing towards the main road.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
By the time Landers Hall loomed across the fields, poor Strawberry's sides heaved as she panted for breath. I patted her damp neck. I hadn't meant to push her so fast, but apprehension gripped me at every turn. I found myself digging my knees in and flicking the reins to urge her on, my midriff knotted with tension.
I drew rein briefly at the pain in my middle and touched my belly. Everything seemed all right
besides a bit of soreness from too much riding, but I said a quick prayer anyway. Merius hadn't wanted me to ride at all--we’d had an argument about it this morning. I had finally smoothed him down with a few caresses and a soft plea that I wouldn't have a chance to ride Strawberry again for a year and that I would take it ever so slow and that other women in delicate conditions rode. Of course, they didn't gallop.
I glanced down. What did a miscarriage feel like? I had no idea, though I’d heard other women whisper about a sudden cramp in their wombs and a rush of blood warm on their thighs being the first signs. Surely I would notice if I bled. I smoothed my skirt over my belly and rode on, more gentle with the reins now.
What are you so worried about? It’s not Merius’s seed you carry. Some evil voice not my own whispered inside. I swallowed, tried to shut my ears against the voice. But it was in my head, inescapable. Really, Safire, your talents tell you it’s male. How can you ask that of him, to raise some other man’s son as his firstborn?
“I didn’t ask it of him. He offered,” I said.
He offered because he’s an honorable man. But you know he broods about it late at night as you do, tosses and turns after he thinks you’re asleep. A miscarriage would be a blessing.
“Shut up,” I said savagely, one hand clutched over my belly as if I thought the voice could somehow hurt the babe. Already, I could feel my son’s aura shaping, a wavering candle flame flickering deep inside. Already, I loved him.
You’re mad, witch, you and your cuckoo’s child. Merius will never accept this interloper son, this drunkard‘s spawn, no matter what he says now--why should he? He could have any woman he wanted . . .
“Yes he could have any woman, but he loves me. I know he does--you can never make me doubt that, no matter what you say.” Quickly, before the voice could spew all my wretched doubts and fears again, I remembered Merius’s arms around me, his lips against my ear. Whenever I woke from a nightmare of the violation I still only remembered in tiny flashes, Merius was there, his whispers in the dark like sweet kisses to my trembling soul.
