Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3)

by Nilsen, Karen

  “Safire?” I asked, rubbing my jaw. The burning sting had spread to the bone under the skin, as if she’d pressed a cut lemon on an exposed wound.

  “Merius, please leave me alone for while. Please.” Her voice shook, and I knew she was crying. “We’re both in such a temper, we’ll only say and do more things to hurt each other, and I can’t stand it. If you would, send Elsa up.”

  “All right.” I turned away from her, my heart beating in a strange, fast rhythm as if it tried to escape my chest. As I left the chamber, I paused and picked up the crumpled letter, shoving it in my shirt pocket.

  I found Elsa in the kitchen, chattering over mugs of tea with the cook, her cousin Birdley. All fell silent the instant they noticed me standing in the doorway.

  “Sir Merius, how do you manage to move so quietly sometimes when you’re so loud other times? I’d have been as likely to hear the smoke from the fire as to hear you just now,” Elsa said finally, tracing the scrolled pattern on her mug with her fingertip.

  “Sometimes I like to spook insolent servant girls. You should mind your wagging tongue better,” I heard myself bark. I sounded just like Father in a temper. What the hell had gotten into me? “I apologize,” I muttered. “That was rude.”

  “Sir Merius, are you all right? It looks like you scraped your jaw . . .” Elsa half rose, watching me with narrow eyes.

  I didn’t answer her, instead turning away before she could make any other sharp observations. I paced over to the window, feeling their eyes boring into my back. The rain pattered down on the cobbles outside, lashing the panes in sudden gusts of wind. Stubborn, reckless witch. How dare she be so reckless? She reminded me of a vixen in a trap, so wild to get free she would gnaw off her own paw. She acted sometimes as if I had trapped her by marrying her. Well, if that was the case, apparently my trap wasn’t very effective, as she had managed to conduct this mad scheme with Peregrine right under my nose for months, and I had been none the wiser. Never again, though.

  I whirled around to find both women watching me. Instantly, their eyes returned to their mugs.

  “Elsa, Lady Safire isn’t feeling well. If you would, take her some supper. She’ll likely refuse to eat it, but bring it to her nonetheless. If anyone can get her to eat, you can. And if she tries to go out on her own, you tell me. The storm seems to have put her in a wild humor.”

  Birdley and Elsa looked at each other. “Yes, sir,” Elsa murmured finally as she stood and grabbed a tray from the sideboard.

  “Do either of you know where Jared is?”

  “Up on the roof, testing your contrap . . .” Birdley trailed off, blushing. “That thing you call a kite, sir.”

  I felt a slight smile crease my mouth. Contraption, indeed. These two fine, practical women, with their feet solidly planted on the ground, could not condone the idea that Jared and I pursued.

  I headed upstairs. Of course Jared was on the roof--how could I have forgotten? We had talked about it earlier, when we heard rumor of the approaching storm. The first kite I had made had been dashed apart against the parapet wall in early June. For this second kite, we used wooden staves Jared had picked himself, the same kind of staves he would have made bows from. They were much stronger, yet more flexible than the ribs of the first kite. Today was the first real tempest of the season, and I had been excited to fly the new kite in the winds following the storm. I sighed. God, for the sweet ignorance of this afternoon, before I knew of this latest threat to Safire and the Landers.

  Given the gravity of what Safire had just told me, I needed to speak with Father as soon as possible. I bounded up the last few steps to the attic and the servants’ chambers--at the far end of the narrow hall was the door that led to the balcony on the roof. A widow’s walk, as Safire had called it after reading Lhigat’s poem about the captain who went down with his ship in a storm, his wife left watching for his return in vain. The wind banged the door shut behind me as I stepped outside. Jared stood on the widow's walk, leaning over the flimsy railing. His cloak flapped in the wind, the kite string taut in his hand.

  "I have a task for you," I yelled above the wind.

  Evidently thinking my task involved the kite or glider, as most of the tasks I assigned him did, he yelled back, "It's hit the chimneys twice." He jerked his thumb toward the house beside ours. It had many chimneys, one for every chamber it seemed, an inefficient design and a fire risk in my opinion.

  “Any damage?” I lifted my outstretched hand to the sky to imitate the kite’s flight.

  He shook his head with a grin, and I clapped him on the shoulder, not able to stop the gladness welling up inside despite Safire's and my fight, despite Peregrine. Jared's new staves were an engineering feat--by treating the wood just as he would treat a bow, he had given them the flexible strength they needed to fly in any weather. Now if we could make them thick enough to bear my weight yet still be flexible enough to fly . . . it would be a challenge. Thick staves were all too ready to splinter and crack when one tried to bend them. Yew was the best wood to use, but it would be difficult to find yew trees that were tall enough to make ribs for the glider as the width of the wings would be seven feet at least, the span twenty-three feet. There was a whole row of old, ornamental yews lining the drive to Landers Hall. I wondered what would happen if I suggested cutting every other one to thin them out . . .

  He handed me the string of the kite, and I squinted up at it, a distant white bird dipping and soaring against the gray clouds. I felt the kite tug and yank at the end of its string, every movement thrumming through to my fingers. At times like this, the kite seemed a living creature with a will all its own, some wild bird we had harnessed to tell us the wind’s secrets.

  I sighed, reluctant to come back to earth, reluctant to face the reality of this latest intrigue and what it might mean for my wife. “I suppose we should head inside--I need to speak with Father this evening.”

  “At court?” Jared asked.

  I reeled in the kite, cursing over a tangle in the line. Normally I would have gone to court to find Father myself, but given the nature of what I planned to discuss with him, best to do it here where there were fewer prying ears. Also, I wanted to keep an eye on Safire. “If you would, go find him at court--he’ll likely be in his chambers this time of evening. Invite him to supper and if he says no, tell him it’s imperative we meet here as soon as possible. Only talk to him if he’s alone. Make sure you‘re not followed.”

  “Yes sir.” Jared opened the doors for me as I carried the kite down to the studio, the only chamber with enough free floor space to store it. Then he hurried off to find Father. I paused outside the door to the bedchamber, hearing the dulcet murmur of subdued female voices. I reached out with my mind to her, as tentative as if I stepped toward a doe in a clearing. Her aura was barely perceptible--she had withdrawn, the purple folded in on itself so many times that it appeared almost black, a sharp-edged barrier protecting her and Dominic from all--including me. I could sense nothing else. She had completely blocked me.

  I turned on my heel, my ribs tightening around my lungs and heart as I headed into the chamber we had set up as the library and study. It had built-in shelves, so it seemed the most logical choice for our growing collection of books. Safire and I had both been gathering books for our library since before we even met. The bulk of what we had were books I had borrowed from the Landers library that no one but perhaps Eden would miss. Others Safire or I had bought. A few had belonged to Safire’s mother, mostly books of verse, fairy stories, art, and plant lore. Safire’s father, a practical man of simple tastes, had left her dull farming treatises and pamphlets. These Safire had given to Selwyn, another practical soul who would truly appreciate them.

  I sat down at the long table in the center of the chamber and unfurled a piece of foolscap. I uncorked the inkwell and dipped my quill nib in it. Then I stopped, the ink dripping back out into the well. I had been planning to write notes for tomorrow’s council but found my mind a blank. A half hou
r later when Father arrived, I still had written nothing but splotches.

  Father knocked, then entered without so much as a by-my-leave. He sat in the chair across from me, putting his hands behind his head as he glanced around. I had expected a flare of rage at his presence, the new knowledge that he had indeed plotted with Safire behind my back like a coal burning a hole in my gut. However, mostly what I felt toward him now, looking at him, was a tired acceptance. I expected him to plot--scheming was like breathing to him. It didn’t shock me that he plotted without my knowledge. Likely in his twisted way, he considered it was for my own good. What did shock me was Safire plotting with him.

  Jared trailed after Father. “Sir, do you want supper?” he prompted me. “I don’t think Sir Mordric has eaten yet, and I know you haven’t.”

  “Thank you, Jared. Whatever you and Birdley and Elsa are eating tonight is fine. And bring us another candelabra while you’re at it--it feels dark in here.”

  As soon as Jared left, Father turned in his seat, one brow lifted in a sardonic arch. “You’re beyond belief sometimes.”

  “Don’t start, Father.”

  “A year ago, you were too good for your own inheritance. I had to grovel in Sarneth to get you to accept what most sons would kill to have. Then you turn around and take the best books from the Landers library and steal our most talented tenant for your steward. I should dock your income.”

  “Better those books be used than gather dust--I never noticed anyone besides me and Eden reading them. And Jared was happy to come here--he has too much talent to spend his life making the Landers bows and arrows.”

  “If you summoned me here for your mockery, I’ll run you through.”

  “It’s I who should be running you through, you liar.” I brought the flat of my hand down hard on the table, hoping the sudden sound would make him start. Not him--he continued to watch me with that same gray stolidity that had ridden out so many storms in the council chamber. He didn‘t visibly move, but I did sense the air growing taut around him as if he were a wolf picking up a new scent. I rose and began to pace.

  “What did I lie about this time?” He crossed his arms. I knew he wanted to yell at me to stop pacing.

  “So spit it out, Merius,” he said. “Is it like the lie I told Queen Jazmene about your witch’s whereabouts? Or the lie I told about Whitten to protect her reputation?”

  “More like the lie you told me so I would go off to battle and leave her to your dubious mercy,” I retorted. “How dare you use her in one of your plots against Peregrine, especially a plot that required her to dance with him? Father, how could you do that to her, to our unborn child, when you knew how dangerously infatuated with her he is?”

  He watched me without blinking, so expressionless I almost wanted to hit him so he would show some emotion. “Merius, she is--was our only hope with him. He has so few weak spots, and when she and I found out she can read his thoughts, it seemed the only way. She understands that, and she agreed of her own free will--she wants to see him vanquished as badly as we do, if not more. Would you deny her the chance to help, deny us our one hope, simply because she’s a woman?”

  “Simply because she’s my wife, my pregnant wife, I might add, and my responsibility to protect. I would die for her in a heartbeat, do you realize that?

  He sighed, finally showing some feeling. “I would die for her too, Merius, have come close to it a few times. You’re not the only one who cares for Safire.”

  “If you care for her, why would you let her risk herself like that?” I sank back down on my seat, my hand over my eyes as my head started to ache.

  “Because we’re at war, Merius. Because Peregrine would love to see both of us dead--what do you think would happen to Safire then?”

  “Surely there were other ways, Father.”

  “Perhaps, but they would have taken precious months, maybe longer. Maybe never. Because of the information Safire learned for me, all I lack now is an insider on the Helles Isles--once I have that, we’ll be free of Peregrine and Sullay. I hope for your help to find the right man for the task.”

  “You or Safire should have told me.”

  Father looked down at the table, his fingers clasping under his chin. “She didn’t think you would understand or condone it.”

  “Well, she was right.”

  “Her heart beats for you, Merius--misguided and wrong as you may see it, her only thought was to help you." He glanced back up at me.

  "I realize that. Here, I have something to show you." I handed him the crumpled letter, ashes drifting down to cloud the polished surface of the table. “He sent this to her earlier today,” I said as Father pulled out his spectacles to read the letter. “Apparently when she went to meet him and he touched her arm, she read his thoughts. Whitten is hiding at the House of Bara, and Peregrine knows Safire’s a witch.”

  Father gave no indication he heard me, his eyes still on the letter. “Where’s Safire?” he barked, glancing over the tops of his spectacles at me.

  “In our chamber, resting.”

  “Get her--”

  “Father, she and I . . . well, we had a fight. She’s tired, and with the baby, I don’t want her upset any more than she already is.”

  “Then I’ll go get her.”

  Father rose and was out the door and across the hall so swiftly and silently that I hardly knew what had happened until I heard him knock on the bedchamber door.

  “Damn you,” I said, following him. “I told you . . . let me talk to her then.”

  Father knocked again. “Safire?” he said.

  Elsa cracked the door, then seeing Father, opened it wider. Her hair hung in untidy strands over her flushed cheeks as she panted, “Sir--she’s resting.”

  In contradiction to Elsa’s words, I looked past her and saw Safire emerge from the depths of our wardrobe, her hair even wilder than Elsa’s. She blew a stray tendril off her face as she came towards the door. “It’s all right, Elsa. Good evening, sir,” she said, giving Father a wan smile as she ignored me. I knew she feared to meet my eyes, lest she let down her defenses. I glanced past her and Elsa, noticing the open trunk near the bed. Father noticed it too, for he touched my shoulder as if ready to restrain me, and when I glanced at him, he shook his head, a slight, curt movement. Not yet, he seemed to say. Let me talk to her first. I nodded, my gaze following her.

  “I think it best if we talk in the library, my dear,” Father said with a wolfish gallantry as he gazed at Safire. “Have you eaten supper yet?”

  “She wouldn’t eat it, two bites is all,” Elsa burst out. “You make her eat it, sir--she might listen to you.”

  “Not hungry, I take it?” Father reached in his pocket and pulled out his battered flask. “Have a sip of this--it’ll revive you.”

  “Father, what . . .” I began, trailing off when I saw Safire’s pale face break into a grin at the sight of the flask, her eyes suddenly dancing.

  “As I said before, you make an odd apothecary, sir.” She took the flask. “I better not--I already had some wine earlier. Besides, I know someone else who probably needs it more.”

  She passed the flask to me. I uncorked it and inhaled the aroma of spirits, Safire’s charred cedar scent still clinging to the sides of the flask. Then I gulped the whiskey down with a glugging noise in my throat, the liquor burning through my insides until purple and amber sparkles darted before my eyes.

  “All right then.” Father snatched the flask from me. “I didn’t come here to watch you turn drunkard.”

  Safire's eyes finally met mine in a brief flash of silver and purple lightning. Her aura brushed against mine, a sinuous silkiness like a mink arching against my palm, and a shudder ran under my skin from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. I took a deep breath as I remembered what Father had indicated. After he had a chance to talk with her--then we could discuss the significance of that open trunk in our chamber.

  When we entered the library, Jared was setting out the plates an
d silverware. He noticed Safire’s arrival and vanished out the door, returning a moment later with another place setting and a flask of sweet spiced cider, her preferred drink since she had known she was pregnant. We ate for a good quarter hour in silence. Realizing suddenly how starved I felt, I inhaled the cold chicken, fresh greens with vinegar and oil, cheese, bread and butter before I looked up. Then I kept glancing at Father, waiting for him to speak, then realized he kept glancing at Safire, whose eyes remained firmly fixed on her plate. It struck me that he wanted to be sure she ate something before he asked her questions and perhaps upset her more. His unusual restraint with her could be due to her being with child, but I didn’t think that was the entire reason. My ruthless, battle-scarred father had grown fond of my witch. He was like some old tomcat she had tamed with soft words and table scraps, the same tomcat who bit everyone else but let her scratch him behind his ragged ears after he brought her the glorious gift of a dead mouse. I snorted, and both Safire and Father looked at me.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Just swallowed my ale wrong.”

  Safire returned to her food with nary a word or even a nod. Her aura surrounded her like the closed bud of a flower, too delicate to be forced open without damaging the blossom within. She had at least eaten most of the contents of her plate and now picked at the rest, listlessly pushing around the chicken bones with the crust of her bread.

  “So, my dear, let‘s get to it,” Father said finally, shoving aside his cleaned plate before he put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Merius tells me that you sensed Peregrine thinking about hiding Whitten and that somehow Peregrine now knows you’re a witch.”

  Safire nodded mutely, staring down at her white-knuckled hands clenched together on the tabletop.

  “Can you describe the tenor of these thoughts?” Father asked finally when it became clear that Safire needed more prompting.