“Merius wouldn’t forbid you--he seems proud of your ability. He’s a rare man, my dear, like Artemious.”
“You’re right--Merius would likely encourage me. He‘s very good about that sort of thing,” I said as we climbed into the carriage and got settled in our seats. The Rankins' carriage smelled of new leather--I remembered now she’d said it had just been redone because mice had taken up residence in the upholstery while the Rankins were in Sarneth. What little I could see of the seats in the lantern light shone a rich burgundy. I had dreamt last night that the babe growing in me had a burgundy aura, an intense marriage of purple and red far different from Sewell’s orange aura. I wondered what I would dream about him tonight--although I couldn’t be certain, I suspected I bore another son, though I hadn’t told Merius that little tidbit yet. Best to wait till I was certain. I smiled to myself before I realized Narie was watching me, her eyes bright with curiosity.
I started and said, “These new seats are sumptuous.”
“Thank you.” Narie inclined her head. “Now we’ve established Merius won’t object to you showing your work at court, so what stands in your way?”
“His Majesty Arian’s court calls women like me scribblers and daubers. As a noblewoman, it’s considered terribly vulgar for me to be in trade, and even worse for me to be an artist.”
“That’s why it would have to be a secret,” Narie said. “We’d only show the paintings to a select few. Oh, do consider it, Safire--I feel like I’ve discovered you, and I want to preen before my friends about it.”
I laughed, even as I felt a pang inside. I would have loved to do just as she suggested, but I didn’t dare. If someone noticed the movement in my work and gossiped about it, all would be lost. “I’ll think about it, my lady,” I said aloud. “Perhaps when Prince Segar ascends the throne, attitudes will change.”
“What a daring remark!” Narie exclaimed. “I declare, you and Merius both are a draft of fresh air, just what this stuffy court needs.”
Daring, all right. I thought about the ball ahead and wished I’d never suggested it in my fit of pique. I rested my hand on my belly, my Landers seal ring and Merius’s ring glinting every time a stray beam of lantern light shone through the windows. I had to seek Peregrine out. Tonight. It was my last chance, now that Merius knew about the baby. His anger at my words had blinded him tonight, but I couldn’t depend on it working a second time. He was too intelligent and he knew my bad habits too well for me to get away with it twice. He would never let me go without him again, no matter how much work Mordric gave him or how badly he wanted Rankin’s help translating Talus’s writing. I sank back on the seat and found myself praying that Peregrine wouldn’t be at the ball tonight, that somehow this would all go away, and I would arrive to Mordric telling me he already had what he needed, that he didn’t require me to dance with Peregrine to get it. God help me. God help me if Merius ever finds out.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Royal Palace, Corcin, Eastern Cormalen
May, 3 years ago
Eden wore a brown satin gown, threads of metallic gold twisted into a flourished diamond pattern over the surface of the skirt and bodice. Sheer golden gossamer that floated free every time she moved overlay the brown material. “October sunlight on the river, flecks of gold dancing in silt,” I had murmured when I saw her, wanting to capture that exact golden-brown shimmer on my canvas somehow. This remark had made her tilt her head and offer that slight mocking dip of a smile, her dark aura sparking amber. I knew she thought me a bit mad. Interesting but mad.
For the dozenth time since entering the ballroom, I held out my skirt and examined it. Pale lilac linen silk with creamy panels of lace over the lilac in spots, one of my oldest frocks, one I had worn long before Merius and I met. Acceptable but plain. It even had a spot of red paint on the sash. I futilely dipped my handkerchief in water and scrubbed at the paint, even though I knew such a move would likely only make the spot bigger. I couldn’t help myself--as long as I kept my hands occupied, I forgot the nervous knot growing ever tighter in my belly.
“Will you stop?” Eden hissed from behind her fan. “You look fine.”
“Next to you, I don’t. I should have thought to change. Peregrine will never notice me in this.”
“Are you in jest? When he sees you in that old frock, he‘ll think it the perfect opportunity to insult Merius and remind you of all the new frocks he could have bought you if you‘d only married him instead.”
She did have a talent for discerning the male animal’s particular weaknesses. I grinned to myself and gazed at the couples pacing through the set steps of a rather sedate reel. I saw the musicians nodding over their violins, their bows swaying in the easy, slow rhythm. Mordric, with a gracious little bow at odds with his usually stiff demeanor in crowds, had asked Narie to dance, and they stood now, arm in arm as they waited their turn. He danced with the feral grace of a wolf stalking a rabbit through the underbrush, not a movement wasted, in perfect time with the rhythm. I had heard that he and Arilea had danced more than they talked during their courtship, and I understood now what the court gossips had meant. He seemed more comfortable expressing his deeper emotions in movement, whether that be dancing or fighting, than in speech.
“Will you dance with him?” I whispered to Eden.
Her eyes glowed like sunlight through amber, her aura soft crimson around the edges. “I think we could risk a waltz or two,” she whispered back. “We’ve danced together here before, and no one’s thought a thing of it.”
“Why don’t you then?”
She shrugged. “It depends on him, his mood.” She paused, leaned closer to me, her fan shielding us from any prying eyes, perhaps even Rainier‘s assassins. “And it grows more difficult to hide it,” she said under her breath.
She was in love with him. I had suspected it before, but her aura, the aura of inveterate secret-keeper, had revealed more sparks of intense lust and passion than any softer feelings until now. Whatever would come of their affair? I could hear Dagmar now, railing about morality. I could hear Merius, flailing about in shock and perhaps anger at his father‘s lack of honor. When I had pointed out a few days ago that there was no law against a match such as theirs, Eden had already started shaking her head before the words were even out of my mouth. Then she had explained that their high positions, their distant kinship, her supposed affair with the prince, the court's view of Mordric as her unofficial guardian and mentor--all of these ingredients combined in one hot stew of a scandal that could ruin his career. I thought to myself that perhaps she was right but that more likely neither one could admit the depth of their feelings for each other, which made it seem more of a scandal in their own minds than it was in actuality. To me, the connection between Mordric and Eden was a good influence on both of them. He had been in a much better humor of late, and she seemed able to let go of her many masks and just be herself in his presence, while somehow still keeping the secret of their affair. I sighed and hoped that others would understand it the same way when it inevitably came to light.
Eden‘s hand suddenly circled my elbow, her fingers pinching. “Safire, he’s here,” she whispered.
My stomach roiled, and I wondered if I would be sick. Vomiting on Peregrine before he could touch me would be a way to avoid him. My hands curled into fists as if I went into battle, my nails digging into my palms. The sharp pain roused me from my longing to escape. I had to go through with this now, tonight, while Merius wasn’t here. I was doing this to help Merius and his career. I was doing this to bring Peregrine down so he couldn’t betray Cormalen to the SerVerin Empire. I had to do this. With deliberate slowness, I swiveled my head around and surveyed him with the cool detachment of a lioness stalking her prey. At least an attempted cool detachment. My hands trembled, and my stomach felt as if it had fallen through the floor under my feet, but otherwise I was proud of my outward calm, so unlike my usual high-strung spontaneity.
He lounged in the main entrance, leaning a
gainst the wide band of tan marble lining the inside of the large archway. One of his comrades, an older, gaunt merchant Merius had identified as Sullay the first day we were here, stood before Peregrine, gesticulating with sharp fingers and elbows that put me in mind of a underfed vulture. His aura, a sickly mustard yellow, darkened as I watched--it bubbled around him with the oily gleam and consistency of a fermenting cesspit. He seemed in a miser’s rage over some insult or loss. I wrinkled my nose, glad I couldn’t smell his aura. What could make a person so uniformly unpleasant? It fascinated me what mysterious interaction of character and experience produced a Sullay. Or an Eden. Or a Cyranea of the Helles Isles. She was here tonight too--the brilliant jewel hues of her aura had caught my eye several times. She quietly trailed Queen Verna hither and yon as the queen mingled with the court. I wanted to speak to Cyranea sometime when I wasn’t engaged in a nerve-wracking intrigue. I had to focus and not let my mind wander again. I took a deep breath and forced myself to look at Peregrine and not his companion.
In contrast to Sullay’s excited demeanor, Peregrine seemed possessed of his usual insolent dark suavity. He still lounged in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, every silver button gleaming, his blue velvet doublet straining just a tad at the shoulders as he shifted position. His neatly combed hair and perfectly trimmed beard made me feel a sudden pang for Merius, whose hair would never be so disciplined if he combed it constantly for a year. Why was I doing this? I’d never manage it right, I knew I wouldn’t. I turned to tell Eden so, to tell her I wanted to leave, only to find that she had vanished. I looked around wildly. Neither her nor Mordric could be seen. No Narie either. Likely Mordric and Eden had drawn her off on some pretext just out of sight. Mordric had said he would keep his eye on me, but from a distance. After all, Peregrine wouldn’t dare approach me if he noticed my lethal father-in-law in close proximity. I rubbed my arms, suddenly feeling a draft. Then a cloud reeking of ambergris descended. The rest of the room went dim, the dancers dizzy spots of color whirling around me, the sounds of laughter and music and chatter undulating in a distant roar like an ocean in a storm.
“You seem at a loss, pet. Can I help you?” Peregrine’s smooth voice sounded amused, as if he were on the verge of chuckling.
I recoiled. “You’d help me best by leaving.”
“Oh come, Safire, can we do away with this pretense for once? I saw you watching me just now.” He took my arm as if I were his, a bold move in this crowded ballroom. “You’re all alone? You’d think your husband and kinsmen would look after you better. Or barring that, dress you better.” He clucked his tongue. “It’s a shame such a fetching portrait should wear such a tattered frame.” *Look at her, glaring like a hungry cat. Such a little ascetic when it comes to jewels and other female vanities, even worse than my bluestocking betrothed. Never met a woman so immune to the lure of clothes. What else can I tempt her with? his thoughts ran.
Idiot--perhaps if he’d once, just once, truly admired my sketches, he might have tempted me. Thank God he hadn’t. And I paid attention to clothes. To hear him talk, one would think I always dressed like a nun or ragbag woman. What an arrogant swine. I twisted my arm from his grip, then remembered I was supposed to let him touch me so I could listen to his thoughts. I sighed inwardly and prayed for more sangfroid, wishing I had a demeanor like Eden‘s. All her effortless masks would have come in handy at times like these.
Peregrine grinned, my rejection of his advances only encouraging him. “I’ve missed your backwards flirting, I must say. All these other women have been throwing themselves at me--it’s most tiresome.”
“You must like your betrothed then. I hear she hates you even more than I do.”
“Let’s not talk of Cyranea,” he said curtly. “I’d rather dance.” He dragged me in the midst of the waltzing couples, turning me with such smooth strength that my feet moved in the well-learned steps even as my will resisted him. His aura filled the space around us, the spicy sweetness burning my lungs and stealing my air until I felt in a drugged stupor. My stomach stirred uneasily on the quick turns, and I recalled my nausea this morning when Merius had dipped and whirled me in that mad dance all over the studio. Peregrine‘s aura had always made me feel drunk and ill, and the queasiness of early pregnancy had been added to the mix. I savagely gulped down the bile rising in my throat and tried to concentrate on his thoughts.
*How slight she is--can barely feel her hand in mine. Warm to the touch, though, the little spitfire. I wonder if her loins are hot for me yet. How she flushes! I’d like to tie her to the bed and show her . . .
Oh God . . what could I say to distract him? Anything . . . “Why don’t you want to talk of your betrothed?” I demanded.
“Because she’s a dull topic and a waste of our precious time together,” he said with a flash of perfect teeth. Then his leer turned to a grimace. *Hate to think of tumbling the spectacled nag--be like going to bed with a leathery sack of bones. But I need a legitimate heir to secure control of the Helles Isles and keep Thadeus‘s good will in our agreement. Maybe she’ll quicken on the first try.
Odious toad, thinking of Cyranea with such disrespect. “Why are you marrying her then, if she’s so dull?” I forced myself to ask, wondering what he had meant by agreement.
“Because I can’t have you.” The leer returned. “At least not openly.” *There’s plenty of places to hide her on the Isles, smuggler’s caves and such. Merius would never think to look for her there . . . hell, look for her?! He'll be dead by then . . . if all goes according to plan, I already have a proxy to kill him. My hands will be clean and I'll be rid of that impolitic fool Sullay in one stroke. Tell Thadeus and the SerVerinese Mordric is a threat to our plans, they’d find a way to do away with him too, even if the Landers have hired bodyguards . . .
“You seem to forget I’m married,” I managed, sickened at the complete depravity of his thoughts. Such a handsome, charming mask he wore to conceal his rotting soul.
“Oh I haven’t forgotten. I just don’t care, pet.” He turned me so fast I barely kept from retching. *So I'll take her to the Isles once Merius and Mordric are dead. Easier to hide her there. Can’t let the SerVerinese see her though--they’re always looking for fair-skinned beauties to tempt their leaders‘ jaded tastes, and I wouldn’t trust the cutthroats not to steal her from me. She’d fetch a fool’s ransom in the south, with her hair . . .
Who was Thadeus? Cyranea’s father? I realized then how sick I felt, on the verge of gagging. "Let go of me," I yelled. My loud voice seemed to catch him by surprise, perhaps embarrassed him, for I managed to wrench myself from his arms and flee for the fresh air of the terrace.
Away from his aura and thoughts, I immediately felt better as I inhaled great gulps of air. A misty rain softly fell, which explained why the gardens seemed to be abandoned aside from me. Yellow light from the windows and doorways fell across the terrace and hulking shadows of the hedgerows and azaleas. The cool of a damp spring evening surrounded me, the scent of Queen Verna’s lily garden so strong that I almost wept at the sweet purity of it.
"Safire," Peregrine said behind me. "Are you all right?"
He stood between me and the doors back to the ballroom, so I couldn't flee that way. I stumbled toward the garden--I had to get away from him. Drunk on fresh air and lily scent, I had the vague, silly plan to find a place to hide amidst the azaleas. Of course, he followed me, his hand curling around my arm just as I started along one of the garden paths.
“Shh,” he whispered silkily. “I just want to talk to you . . . what the hell?” His hold loosened on me. *Must be a wasp, but they don’t fly in the rain . . . stings like hell though. Wait, my shoulder’s going numb. Those bastard bodyguards . . . they did this . . .where the hell did they get Ursula's Bane . . . was the last conscious thought I had from him before he let go of my arm and collapsed with a groan. He landed in an azalea bush, the branches cracking so loudly that I almost bit my tongue in two. It sounded like someone had just felled a h
uge buck in the queen’s garden.
I’d better get out of here before someone sees me . . . I barely lifted my skirts to run when a gloved hand closed over my arm with an iron grip. Before I could scream from shock, another gloved hand clapped over my mouth, the leather tasting of acid against my tongue. It smelled oddly sweet, like moonflowers. The smell of Ursula’s Bane--he must have spilled a precious drop or two on his glove when he dipped that dart for Peregrine in the stuff. I raised my knee and then kicked back hard, trying to hit the assassin in his shin. He dodged my foot by stepping back. Then he apparently slipped on the rain-slicked stones of the path, for he abruptly sat down on a bench with a “humph,” me on his lap. A huge dark shape materialized out of the shadowy bushes on the other side of the path and watched us silently.
“My lady, don’t struggle. We mean you no harm,” the man behind me whispered, his Sarneth accent coarsening the smooth Corcin words.
I’d heard that one before, from much better liars than him. I kicked and writhed and dug my nails into his thigh. That drew a grunt of pain from him, even a muffled curse in Sarns.
“Here,” the dark shape hissed, fumbling in his cloak.
“No. She’s with child,” the man holding me said.
“Don’t you think I know that--I was there this morning same as you,” his fellow assassin answered. He suddenly grabbed the other assassin‘s hand from my mouth. I gulped air to work up to a really loud scream, but a nasty tasting cloth smothered any sound before I could make it. The assassin pinched my nostrils shut, forcing me to inhale through my mouth. I noticed his hands were bare. And huge--he must be the one I called the brute. “His Majesty said to give this to her in her sleep when we knew for sure--it won’t hurt her or the child and could strengthen the child‘s abilities.”
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 15
