Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3)

by Nilsen, Karen

  “All right--she tattles to Father. That’s the main reason I don’t trust her.” He clasped my fists in his hands, kissing my knuckles. “Can we go to bed now?”

  “Did the maids change the bedclothes?”

  He reached out and walloped the end of the bed. All that rose was the sweet smell of wind-dried sheets that had been washed in lavender soap. “Is my lady pleased?”

  “It smells wonderful, like sleep‘s scent if it had one.” I yawned.

  Without warning, Merius lifted me in his arms to the bed, where he dropped me in a nest of pillows. I giggled as he flopped down beside me, the bed creaking in an alarming manner. It creaked even more as he rolled over and threw his arm around me.

  “Good God--they can probably hear that in the next chamber,” I said.

  “Hear what?” he muttered, his mouth on my jaw, then my throat.

  “The ropes.”

  “The servants wound them too tight, is all. We can fix that.” He cocked one brow like a satyr, his lips curled in an impression of a leer, and I giggled. Then we both were laughing. And kissing. And creaking.

  “God, can you imagine how it will sound in a few minutes? The whole hall will hear us.”

  “I bet they’ll hear this first.” He tickled me, and I screeched.

  “Merius!”

  “You’re such a noisy thing,” he said in delight, tickling me again.

  I screeched some more, then kicked and flailed at him. He only chuckled and pinned me down for another kiss, all the while torturing me with the edge of his thumbnail along my ear lobe as he cupped my head with his hand.

  I had a brief, terrible flash of Whitten above me, likely because I was back in this house. I took a quick breath and concentrated on Merius before he noticed anything. The tension released its stranglehold on my muscles, and as suddenly as the fear had come upon me, it left, and I was alone with my husband again.

  He began to kiss me down the length of my body, his mouth so hot it almost branded me. When I tried to return the favor, he held me back. “No, Safire,” he murmured, his lips brushing my navel before moving down to tease my nether regions.

  I gulped. “But Merius . . .” I clutched for his hair, for any part of him I could.

  “Just keep your hand there, in my hair.”

  “But . . .” and my voice died in a moan.

  “That’s what I like to hear.” I could feel him grinning, the stubble on his chin prickling the inside of my thighs. “All right,” he continued after what seemed like a blissful eternity. “Come here, my heart, my only.” He snuffed the candle before he pulled me to him, and we began to move together, his lips finding mine as our auras twined together, purple and silver flashes lighting the dark, amber and burgundy sparks crackling all around us. “Safire,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “I want you with our child.”

  “If we keep this up, you won’t have long to w-w-wait,” I gasped. His aura was all around me, inside me. I felt trapped in a silver bowl, sunlight reflecting off the metal in blinding flashes, tingling against my skin, soon to set me ablaze with the force of the mirrored light, doubling back on itself, so intense it would render me to ashes at the peak of our union. I cried out, the shrill, wild cry of a bird in flight, and he clenched me closer, his fingers so taut they pressed into my flesh like blades.

  Another eternity later, when the blaze between us had faded to a cozy warmth, I asked the dark, drowsy, “Did you mean what you said?”

  All was silent for a long moment, a moment when I struggled not to read his mind, to give him time to gather his thoughts in private. Finally, he heaved a deep breath. “I did mean it, sweet. I’ve felt different since we’ve been back.”

  “Different?”

  “Older--I feel older. I think being in Sarneth and then returning here, allied with Father but no longer his dependent--it’s changed me. The word duty used to stick like sawdust in my mouth, the unpleasant sourness of following others’ ill-fitting orders--now when I think of duty, I picture you nursing our son, and duty tastes sweet to me, the fruit of our union.” He buried his face against my hair, inhaling my scent. “Like a cedar fire,” he whispered. “God, you’re lovely.”

  I huddled in the warm protection of his strong body and aura, trying not to shudder as I unwillingly remembered Peregrine. Peregrine‘s thoughts--he had thought about my hair, how it smelled like cedar smoke--no other man besides Merius had ever sensed the burning cedar. Did Peregrine have a touch of warlock about him?

  “Safire, what is it? You’re blocking me . . . are you shivering?” He turned on his side so he could wrap his arms around me.

  “I don’t think I’m ready, Merius,” I whispered. “I keep remembering Sewell. I’m scared, dear heart. Then there‘s the king‘s assassins, just waiting and watching . . .”

  “Shh, shh. We can wait. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t upset me.” I yawned, nestled against him as the tension slowly drained from my muscles. “I’ll be ready soon, I promise . . . I want your babies. It‘s bound to happen soon anyway whether we will it or not, as often as we lie together.”

  “Not as long as I withdraw and spill my seed . . .”

  I grinned in the dark but held my tongue, pretending to fall asleep so I could block my thoughts without concerning him. He had this touching conceit that he could control nature and magically keep me barren until we were both ready. And his method had worked so far, despite a few lapses here and there. I admired how well he had actually done, considering our youth and passion for each other. Most husbands wouldn’t have been willing to exert so much control for their wives, particularly when they were of the high nobility and expected to produce heirs as soon as possible. It just worried me that he seemed to think if he did such and such exactly right, he could protect me from everything. He should know by now that our lives didn’t work that way and would never work that way. We had spent our whole time together blundering off the well-trod path set for us by our families and forging our own way through the exciting, dangerous thickets of the unknown. Such a wild journey could never end with me locked up safe inside a tower while Merius stood guard outside the door.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  I knelt on the worn red cushion of the library window seat, resting my elbows on the sill as I peered through the diamond-shaped panes. The March wind tore at the trees in the front yard. The trunks and branches bowed and swayed as if begging the wind for mercy, but none was given. If anything, the wind gusted harder, shrieking in the eaves. I was glad the poor trees didn’t have leaves yet, or they would have been ripped away. Chill eddies of air drafted around the edges of the window, the latch rattling with the force of March’s rage. Did Merius and Selwyn really intend to hunt in this? Foolish men--the wind would blow their arrows off course, likely steal them for its own nefarious purposes. I pictured the wind sweeping over a battlefield, a cloud of stolen arrows on its invisible back, ready to let fly a deadly rain on the unsuspecting army below.

  I shuddered and sank back on the cushion, which gave comfortably under me like a plump grandmother‘s cozy lap. My witch fancies, my dark passions as Merius called them, had been even darker of late. Darker since Sarneth. I grabbed the book I had plucked off the shelf, rifling through the pages. It had been hidden behind some dusty atlas, right where Merius said it would be. Sirach‘s bawdy poems to his mistress and her arch replies back to him, all in clever couplets, just the right thing to jar me from my brooding.

  Your wig is brown as a stoat in high summer, your hair as white as an ermine in winter

  Remember I am no fresh dewberry when I ask you what true color your pelt down hinter

  I slapped the book shut as the door creaked open, my cheeks hot. Merius had said this was a scandalous book, banned at King Arian’s court, and now I knew why.

  Elsa bustled into the library as I sat on the book and clasped my hands in front of me. “What a blustery day,” she said, rattling the damper. Wind wailed d
own the chimney, an eerie cry, a cloud of ashes graying the air briefly. Elsa and I both sneezed. Then she knelt on the hearth to kindle a fire, her warm aura whirling around her like an updraft of autumn leaves, all bright crimson and scarlet and gold and brown and orange. I inhaled the faint cinnamon that always wafted in the air near her and leaned against the paneling beside me with a contented sigh. She would be a perfect lady’s maid. Her grandmother had been a witch, and she understood such things. I could likely even show her my moving paintings and trust her to keep my secret safe. I had few friends my age--fear of revealing my talents had kept me isolated--and it would be nice to feel like an ordinary woman for a change, with friends to share confidences with, giggle with, cry with.

  “Elsa?”

  She turned from the kindling and pine needles, just starting to crackle on the banked embers. Her rosy round cheeks dimpled with a smile as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes, my lady?” Her hair gleamed like polished hazelnut shells.

  “Would you like to join me and Merius when we leave here?” I stammered, suddenly realizing I had never asked or hired anyone to be my servant. I had no idea how it was done. I should have talked to Dagmar first, found out if the House of Landers could even spare Elsa. I could hear Dagmar now, upbraiding me for my impulsivity.

  Elsa‘s brow furrowed. “As your maid, you mean?”

  “I suppose you could say that, but I really don’t want a maid so much as a companion,” I said quickly. “I mean, I do need help with my clothes and my hair--I’m terrible at fixing it--but I think you and I could become friends too. It’ll be lonesome at the House of Long Marsh.”

  “Lonesome?” she echoed, her eyes wide.

  “The only other servants there now are Boltan and his wife Greit, my family’s most loyal retainers.” I paused, watching her aura. The colors had stopped swirling, all still as if she were thinking very hard about something. “It would be dull for you,” I continued in a rush. “Besides, I’m sure you have friends here you wouldn‘t want to part from, perhaps a young man . . .”

  “No young man, my lady. At least not now.” She examined her nails, rubbed at a spot of ash on her knuckle. Then she sighed, looked up and met my gaze with her steady brown eyes. “He choose another.”

  “Then he’s a fool and not worthy of you.”

  A moment of full silence passed before she said, her voice low. “It would be nice to leave here for awhile, see some new places. And I’m flattered that you would think to ask me to be your lady’s maid. But I’ve never been a lady’s maid before--I wouldn’t know what to do.”

  “I’ve never had a lady’s maid before--I won’t know what to tell you to do. We’ll make a fine pair.”

  She smiled, those dimples appearing again. “I’ve never met a noblewoman like you, my lady.”

  “I forgot one thing--I’ll join Merius at court sometimes. What do you think of court? Would you like to go there?”

  “Court?” she repeated, her voice a bit strangled as her aura spun so fast it blurred. “Court--I’ve never imagined in all my days even seeing court, much less staying there. My mother,” she paused, nervously tugged at the rolled edges of her sleeves, “my mother--she won’t know what to say. A daughter of hers at court . . .”

  “Does that mean you accept my offer?”

  That winsome smile flashed again. “I never thought there was any doubt about that. Of course I’ll go with you.”

  I rose from the window seat and threw my arms around her, just as Dagmar entered, clutching Flavian bundled in a blanket. “What’s this?” she demanded, gaping at us.

  “Elsa’s just agreed to be my lady’s maid,” I said. “That is, if you can spare her,” I added hastily, not sure what to make of my sister’s startled expression and sharp-edged aura.

  “We can spare her,” she said automatically. “Though I hate to lose you, Elsa--you’re good with Flavian.”

  Elsa glanced from me to Dagmar, uncertain. “I don’t want to cause trouble,” she started.

  “Oh nonsense.” Dagmar’s voice was brisk, a tone I knew well, a tone that told me she had made up her mind, likely in my favor. “You’re a sensible girl, and I think Safire needs you more than I do. I have been uneasy at the thought of you on your own, sister, and Elsa will be a good companion for you, someone I trust to watch you in my stead.”

  “Dagmar, you make me sound like a child who needs minding, not a grown woman. You’re only two years my elder, you know.” I fisted my hands on my hips.

  “Safire, I didn’t mean it like that, not exactly. You’re just not very . . . very practical sometimes.” Avoiding my glare, she noticed the Sirach book on the window seat and picked it up. “I've never seen this one before . . . “

  I grabbed it from her before I could consider that might not be the wisest move. Even less wise was me hiding the book behind my back like a naughty toddler. Maybe I really did need minding.

  “Safire.” Dagmar’s voice dipped on the last syllable of my name, a bad sign. “Safire, give it here.”

  “It’s Sirach’s poems--you wouldn’t like it.”

  Quicker than I anticipated, considering she had Flavian tucked in the crook of one arm, she reached around me and snatched the book back. She flipped it open, her face first flushing a delicate, becoming pink that gradually blossomed to a most unbecoming scarlet. She finally tossed the book down as if it burned her.

  “I suppose Merius gave you that,” she said quietly, her gaze boring into me.

  “Not exactly--don’t bring him into this.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Elsa silently pick up the book and open it. “Why do you always have to blame him for my shortcomings?” I demanded, hoping to distract Dagmar from Elsa.

  “Because you never used to act this, this--wicked,” she concluded with a hint of triumph. “He’s a bad influence on you.”

  “He is not! You’re just jealous.” Oh no, I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  “Jealous of what, exactly?”

  There were many answers I could have snapped at her, but Flavian saved me from myself. He broke into a long snuffling cry that rapidly escalated to a ear-splitting scream. Apparently Dagmar’s grip on him had tightened during our exchange. She turned partly away, cuddling him, her attention and aura suddenly wound tightly around him like thread around a spool. It gave me the chance to look at Elsa again, just in time to hear her stifled giggle as she read. I wondered suddenly where she had learned to read--educating girls in Cormalen was not a priority, particularly peasant girls. The only reason Dagmar and I knew more than the rudiments was because none of our poor brothers had survived infancy, and Father had overcompensated with us as a result. And we were noblewomen--a peasant girl knowing how to read bespoke someone with great determination and interest in things beyond the mundane. As if she knew what I was thinking, Elsa met my gaze then, her dimpled cheeks crimson as she grinned guiltily and slipped the book into her generous apron pocket. I grinned back with a wink. Yes, she would be the perfect lady’s maid for me.

  Despite all Dagmar’s shushing, Flavian remained implacable. “I don’t understand it,” she said to him. “I just fed you, and your diaper’s clean. What’s wrong?” He wailed a response, his tiny feet frantically kicking lumps in the blanket.

  “Maybe he’s too warm, my lady?” Elsa suggested.

  “But it’s so drafty in here from the wind . . .” She paced up and down the hearth, cuddling the struggling bundle of baby.

  I stepped forward, my arms out. “Here, sister, can I hold him?”

  She shot me a doubtful look as if she wondered what good I could do, me who she thought had never borne a baby. If only she knew. I wanted desperately to tell her about Sewell, share the true depth of what had transpired in Sarneth, but I didn’t dare reveal Sewell’s existence to anyone. Only Merius and Mordric knew, and it had to stay that way. If King Rainier ever suspected I had borne a living child in Sarneth, he would leave no stone unturned to find Sewell and do God knows what
with him. I had visions of my children, King Rainier perverting their witch talents to serve his own nefarious ends. Warlock assassins, trained to kill innocents. I shuddered at the thought, my arms curling around Flavian’s small body as Dagmar finally relinquished him.

  I cooed and rocked him even as he continued screaming, then kissed his red forehead, wrinkled like a cantankerous old man‘s under wispy hair just long enough to start curling. I wagered he would take after our father, full of charming bombast and bluster. As I used to do when Sewell got like this, I rested my hand on the crown of his head and drew away his anxiety, smoothed the jagged edges of his yellow flame of an aura, until his wail trailed off to a whimper and then stopped all together. His eyelids squeezed shut and then he blinked and stared up at my face with newborn blue eyes just starting to shift to what looked like gray-green.

  “Well, aren’t you a serious little man?” I crooned, nuzzling his forehead.

  “He doesn’t like to be nuzzled like . . . that,” Dagmar trailed off as Flavian’s eyes slipped closed and he began to sleep. “How did you do that? I’ve never seen him doze off so sudden after a screaming fit . . .” she trailed off a second time, staring at me. “I should have known,” she muttered after a long moment, apparently remembering she had a witch for a sister.

  “Lady Safire’s a healer,” Elsa said softly. “It stands to reason she can calm a baby quick like.”

  “Elsa, you’re a prudent girl. Please remember you can only speak of such things in front of us and Sir Merius. Not everyone in this house and certainly not everyone in Cormalen will understand,” Dagmar said stiffly.

  “I know, my lady. My grandmother was a healer too, remember?” Likely she had ancestors who had burned at the stake, just as Dagmar and I did.

  I shut my eyes, nuzzling Flavian’s silken skin again. I had so missed this weight in my arms, this slight, tense weight of new life. Sewell would be about this size--he and Flavian had both been born in the dead of winter. Would I ever see him again? Would I ever hold him in my arms again?