Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3)

by Nilsen, Karen

  "What?"

  "It's a long story, and it'll soon be time for dinner, sir." I rose from the window seat, my foot tingling. It had fallen asleep. "Thank you for telling me everything. You've been a good friend to me at great risk to yourself, and I won't forget it."

  Chapter Fifteen -- Eden

  Landers Hall, Silmer Province, Eastern Cormalen

  August, 3 years ago

  I jerked awake to the sound of voices: Mordric's, low and rumbling, and Dagmar's, high and shrill, both muffled by the covers pulled over my head. She seemed agitated, judging by the rapid rise and fall of her words, and I strained through the lingering sleep fog to hear her.

  ". . . I tell you, she's healed him," Dagmar hissed.

  "Get in here before the servants hear you. Good God," Mordric growled like a bear woken from his winter sleep.

  "I mean, the scar from the brand is still there." Her voice rang clearer now she had stepped into the chamber, the door closed behind her, and I froze, every muscle on edge. "But his collarbone--completely healed. She insists it was an accident, that she didn't mean to. Apparently some effect of that bizarre bond of theirs . . ."

  I remembered, my brain feeling less dull with every passing instant. Dagmar had taken Flavian to the House of Long Marsh yesterday to see Safire, and now she returned to tell tales to Mordric. Sisterly devotion--what a sweet sentiment it was. I stifled a snort of laughter in my pillow.

  "So I take it he's not wearing the sling to conceal that she healed him?" Mordric asked.

  There was a pause. "No, he's wearing it."

  "Then how do you know she healed him?"

  There was another pause, longer this time. "I walked into their chamber and saw him lifting a trunk . . ."

  "Did you knock?"

  "The door was slightly ajar. I thought she was alone in there, so no, I didn't knock."

  Mordric sighed. "What's the point of this story, Dagmar?"

  "That this bond of theirs--it's dangerous. I mean, don't you think it's dangerous, sir?"

  "Perhaps. Again, what's your point? We deal with dangerous things everyday around here. Merius did a dangerous thing when he married your sister. You did a dangerous thing disturbing me to tell me this ridiculous tale. I don't have time for this."

  "I thought you at least would support me," Dagmar sniffed. She had Safire's courage--I had to give her that. "I mean, do you really want your son snared in this mind bond, whatever it is? I don't want Safire snared in it, I can tell you that. She was already half in some other world before she married Merius, and now she's all the way there. It's not natural, what's happening between them. It should be severed before it goes any further."

  Mordric heaved another sigh, deeper this time. "I don't think they can stop it without doing some permanent harm to each other. And it's proven useful more often than not--in fact, without the mind bond, Merius could have died from that arrow wound. Things rarely are all good or all bad, Dagmar--they just are, and we have to work with what we have, not what could or should be."

  Dagmar erupted in sobs, startling me. "I'm just so frightened for her, and no one will listen to me. Not her, not Merius, not you, not anyone. And now that Sarneth dauber is there, putting even stranger ideas in her already strange head . . . you should see that painting she started . . . fairies and vagabond caravans and Underhill . . . she's lost her mind."

  "What Sarneth dauber?" Mordric asked sharply.

  "Korigann. What kind of name is that? Not that you care." Dagmar exhaled with an angry huff and stormed out of the chamber.

  "Damned pregnant harpies--must run in the Long Marsh line," Mordric muttered. I lowered the sheet from my face and saw him go over to the washstand and run his hands over the stubble on his jaw. "Good God. At least Safire hasn't been that unreasonable--this time around."

  "When was Safire pregnant before?" I asked. I sat up and stretched.

  His back stiffened. "When the hell did you wake up?"

  "Why didn't you kick me out hours ago if you don't want me to hear things?" I yawned.

  He poured some water in the basin. "You seemed tired last night--thought I'd let you sleep."

  I raised my brows. "What happened to your fear of us being noticed?"

  He shrugged. "It's holy day--most everyone went to chapel early."

  And now they were apparently back from chapel, so why was I still here? I couldn't make sense of what he said, so I decided to let it lie and not muddy the waters. Especially since I liked nothing better than waking in broad daylight still in his bed. There was something so titillating about the danger of someone noticing. What had gotten into me? More importantly, what had gotten into him? That damned bear hide had started it, I decided--it had brought back memories of his reckless youth perhaps. Did he even have a reckless youth to bring back? I studied how his loose shirt billowed with every movement as he rubbed soap into a lather on his face. He rarely discussed the past. At first I had appreciated this, as I had been at the mercy of many older men at court who enjoyed nothing better than reminiscing about their youth. However, as my lust for him grew, my curiosity about his past grew as well. I asked questions, only to have him deftly maneuver his way out of my verbal traps. The few cryptic answers he gave frustrated me as much as they fascinated me, particularly after we became lovers. Like a rich miser hoarded gold and gems, he hoarded his memories and emotions, which made me suspect he had quite a treasure trove hidden away.

  I slid out of bed and went over to the privy chamber. The warmth of the summer morning had yet to penetrate the stone walls of this ancient hall, so I pulled on my dressing gown when I emerged, my teeth chattering. He was still at the mirror, intent on his reflection as he scraped the blade over his jaw.

  "Want any help?" I murmured as I leaned up and kissed his ear. I inhaled the wet warmth of soap and water and the lingering incense of his pipe.

  His hand poised in midair, he met my gaze in the mirror. "You should get dressed. We have to return to court today." The razor rattled in the basin as he rinsed it.

  "Today?" My hands slid off his shoulders.

  He glanced away, his eyes following the razor as he shaved. "I thought you'd be happy. You hate it here."

  "Not when you're here."

  His eyes flew over to meet mine again, his gaze unblinking. "It's easier to hide it at court, Eden."

  I tasted soap in my mouth and grimaced. "Will we always have to hide it?"

  For once he didn't spew any nonsense about how I would tire of him, about how he had to find me some well-connected fool to marry. Instead he heaved a deep breath as he poured the contents of the basin into the slop jar. Then he put fresh water in the basin and plunged his face into it. He raised his head and toweled his skin dry before he turned to me, his hands gathering the cloth over my hips as we kissed.

  "You didn't answer my question," I said when we finally broke apart.

  "That's because I don't know the answer."

  I crossed my arms and turned away from him, my heart fluttering strangely in my chest. "What the hell does that mean?"

  There was a long pause. "You want more, don't you?" he asked, his tone flat, unreadable.

  My eyes ran over the rumpled bedclothes, the pillows tossed every which direction during our shared madness last night. He wanted more, I knew he did. No man like him would have carried it this far if he didn't want more. He would never admit it though. My hands fisted on the edge of the bed sheet, and I suddenly wanted to rend it. Then I looked sideways at him. "What exactly do you mean by more, sir?"

  His lips pinched together, a flicker of some unidentifiable emotion--anger perhaps--flitting over his stolid face. "If you dare answer another one of my questions with a question, I'll lock you in the nursery and leave."

  "Are you suggesting I'm being childish by answering a question with a question? I'll have you know I learned that particular evasion tactic from you."

  "What's gotten into you this morning? You're acting shrewish as Dagmar."

 
"What's gotten into me?" I heard tearing and glanced down, only to realize my hands had acted on their own accord. I ripped the rest of the sheet, the sound so satisfying I would have done it again except he grabbed me. He whirled me around so fast I felt dizzy, his fingers digging into my upper arms.

  "What's wrong with you?" He shook me.

  "More?" I spat. "Of course I want more. Don't you?"

  He froze as we stared at each other. Then, because he was incapable of expressing any deep emotion in words, he pushed me down on the bed. It was rough, it was raw, and we enjoyed it with an animal savagery unknown to civilized people. Afterwards, he gently smoothed the hair from my damp brow, as solicitous as an apothecary soothing a feverish patient. I traced the scrolls of the headboard with my fingertip.

  "We should have gone to chapel," he muttered, his tone wry.

  I smiled and turned toward him. "Let's go to the shore for a few days instead. Find an inn where no one knows us . . ."

  "Eden, we have to be at court tomorrow." He looked upwards at the canopy as if all the plans for his intrigues were written there. "There's this business with Sullay to wrap up, and then Peregrine . . ."

  "I know what we have to do." I sighed. "Believe me, I know. But I also know you need a rest . . ."

  "A rest?" he said, as if I spoke in a foreign language.

  I flopped over and raised myself up on my elbows so I could look down at him. "You never rest, except when you're drunk."

  "There's a good reason for that."

  "What reason?" I demanded.

  His smile was bitter. "Haven't you heard? No rest for the wicked."

  "You're not wicked, Mordric."

  "There are so many things I've done, so many things about me you don't know."

  "So? There are things about me you don't know." I rested my cheek on the smoothness of the scar over his heart. "Besides, Safire saved your life and treats you like a second father. I trust that witch's instincts about people--she could never care for any truly wicked person."

  "She knows about us, doesn't she?"

  I snorted. "Ever since the first time she saw us together, at the banquet here last spring."

  "She's known that long without a word or stray thought to Merius?" Mordric's voice rose with apparent incredulity. "I don't believe it. Why hasn't she told him? Why didn't you tell me that she knew?" His hand tightened on my shoulder.

  I combed my fingers through his chest hair. "See, women have just as many wicked secrets as men."

  He chuckled. "She doesn't mind, then?"

  "Not that she's mentioned to me. I think she thinks we're good for each other."

  He was silent a long while, his ribcage rising and falling, rising and falling under my palm. "She's too open-hearted for this world," he said softly. Then he lifted his head, and I angled my face up, our gazes locking. "When we finish this business with Peregrine, we'll find your inn on the shore, all right? I can only promise a few days--any more rest than that might kill me."

  I smiled and kissed his witch scar. "A few days is all I ask, sir."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  House of Long Marsh, Silmer Province, Eastern Cormalen

  August, 3 years ago

  Dagmar insisted on accompanying Mordric and me in the carriage as far as the House of Long Marsh. Her pale, stiff-lipped presence made for a silent ride during which I hardly dared look in Mordric's direction lest I start giggling.

  Even Dagmar had to smile, though, as we emerged from the carriage to be greeted by Safire. "Here, you're officially crowned queens of summer," Safire said as she tossed a wreath of poppies on Dagmar's blond head and one of yellow roses on mine. "We just made them to decorate the house but they look much nicer on you." She clapped her hands. "Wear gloves when you take yours off, Eden--we tried to remove all the thorns, but we may have missed a few." She turned to Mordric. "Would you like one, sir? I think pink would match your coloring the best."

  He blinked down at her and shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Only if Merius wears one."

  "I've never had such a nicely scented crown," I said, touching the velvety smooth petals of the roses. "I see you're wearing flowers as well, Safire, though yours cost a few more coins than mine, I wager." I examined the dozens of tiny emerald, amethyst, and topaz blooms dotting Safire's golden necklace and earrings. "Some of Guillard's handiwork, I take it?"

  "Sister, you shouldn't wear those around the house," Dagmar exclaimed. "They're meant for balls, not everyday--what if you drop an earring when you're kneading the bread dough?"

  Safire laughed, grabbed Dagmar's hands, and whirled her gracefully around the courtyard. "See, this is a ball--we're dancing," she said breathlessly. "And Merius told me to wear them everyday that I'm happy, and I'm happy today."

  "Happy or drunk?" Dagmar demanded as she extricated herself. Her crown dangled askew over one eye. "Of course, it's hard to tell with you."

  "Korigann's painting a portrait of Merius and me, and it's beautiful. Our first portrait together. Come all of you, come inside," Safire said as she took Dagmar's hand. "We have fresh scones and newly made strawberry jam and thick cream and coffee and tea . . . Greit and Elsa and I have been hard at work this morning." Her bright, clear eyes, rosy cheeks, and softly rounded body made pregnancy look like the new cure-all for any ailment, whereas poor Dagmar had dark circles under her eyes and a hand poised over the small of her back as if it pained her. Of course, Dagmar had barely recovered from Flavian's birth when her milk dried up. They'd had to hire a wet nurse, and then Dagmar had turned up with child almost immediately afterwards. Perhaps that was why she was so tired and irritable.

  "Safire looks remarkably well," I whispered to Mordric as we trooped across the threshold. He grunted an assent.

  "Glad to see it--likely means a healthy babe." He gazed after Safire, and I dared to give his fingers a quick squeeze. Even though he would never admit it, I knew he was remembering how Arilea had died. He squeezed my hand back before he dropped it, a sign that I had read his mind correctly.

  I had never been in the House of Long Marsh before and found myself looking around. Nowhere near as grand or old as Landers Hall, of course, but far cozier. One could see the feminine influence in the curved legs and scrolled floral designs carved on most of the furniture and paneling, the soft blues and orangish-pinks and delicate greens of the paint, the dainty embroidered chair cushions and lace-edged curtains.

  "Dagmar sewed those when she was a girl," Safire announced with some pride when I commented on the curtains. She glanced at her sister. "You should make some for Landers Hall."

  "Oh no." Dagmar flushed, looking prettier now that she had a little color in her cheeks. "Lady Talia is a far more skilled seamstress than I."

  I couldn't help a snort. "Perhaps, if you like overstuffed cushions. Myself, I think the Hall could use some new curtains . . ."

  "The Hall doesn't need anything new," Mordric said. "You women are shameless spendthrifts."

  "Do you really want us to have curtains of moth lace and cobwebs? The Hall looks haunted as it is," I said. Then I noticed the quick exchange of glances between him and Safire at my remark, the subtle tension suddenly tightening the air. Some secret of his, a secret the witch was privy to and I wasn't. My eyes narrowed. I wondered if I could weasel it out of Safire later. He would never tell me, I was certain of that.

  Safire led us into what appeared to be the main front room. It had lovely latticed panes with cushioned window seats stretching its length. I smelled the sharp scents of minerals and turpentine and the faintly sweet decay of old books, indicating this was where she and Merius spent most of their time. Merius himself rose as we entered. He had been sitting at a large table, its surface covered with unfurled scrolls, battered journals, quills, and inkwells. Merius's left hand looked like he'd dipped it in the inkwell, black ink etched deeply into the lines on side of his palm. Likely attempting to find a handkerchief to clean up the mess, he started fumbling around with hi
s supposedly incapacitated right arm. For an instant, he battled with the sling, his elbow frantically bobbing up and down before he remembered that his arm was supposed to be restrained. I noticed Dagmar frown at both Safire and Mordric as she huffed to herself. Merius muttered something that was probably a curse word before he raised his face, flashing the same winsomely mischievous grin he had used as a boy to distract adults from his misdeeds.

  "Good morn, Father, Eden. So nice of you to return, Sister Dagmar," he said, the faintest hint of acid in his tone. Before any of us could move, Merius had crossed the room with the swift silence of a swordsman and planted a kiss on Dagmar's thin cheek. She turned brick red and sputtered something unintelligible.

  "You know she hates that," Safire said crossly. "Now quit being an ass and come here." She pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket for him, dipped it in a nearby vase of wildflowers, and then rubbed his palm with the vigor of a washerwoman. As usual, the air thrummed around them as if invisible strings bound them to each other. The hum sounded louder than before, and I glanced at Mordric and Dagmar to see if they sensed it. Dagmar seemed to sense something--she glared at Merius as if she thought him the hell wolf from the ancient fairy tale, the same wolf who had tried to consume the heroine with the gleaming dagger teeth of his vulpine smile. I grinned at the thought of Merius as the evil wolf and Safire as the young innocent--somehow, neither mask fit particularly well.

  Mordric had gone over to the table, where he flipped through Merius's journal. "You seem to have gotten more ink on your hand than on the page," he observed.

  Merius sighed. "I know. I need Rankin's help." He went over to stand beside his father. "See, read that." He pointed at something on the page. "Does that make any sense to you?"

  "Perhaps if I could read it. Good God, Merius, what's the point of translating these if no one can decipher your handwriting?"

  "Forget it then." Merius snatched the journal away and shut it with a bang.