Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3)

by Nilsen, Karen

  "Safire?" I demanded.

  She raised her face, as rosily luminous as a flame flickering to life. "Dear God," she giggled. "Did that really look as silly as I feel?"

  "Damn it, what are you laughing for? You just scared the hell out of me." I gripped her hand, hearing the chamber go silent around us as everyone realized something had happened. Lady Rankin crouched on Safire's other side.

  "My dear, are you all right?" She smoothed her hand over Safire's brow.

  "I think . . . I think my water just broke. That's what startled me."

  I suddenly noticed a salty smell like sea water wafting in the air and remembered Sewell's birth. "But before . . ." I started and then realized what I was about to say aloud. "Aren't you supposed to have pains first?"

  "Not always," Lady Rankin said. "Perhaps you should help Safire to a bed, Merius."

  "What?" I said, feeling in a daze before I realized what she said. "Oh, of course." The back of Safire's frock felt damp as I slid my arm under her legs, and the salty scent grew stronger as I lifted her from the chair.

  "I'm not having pains yet, you know. I can walk," she insisted, the satiny ridges of her sleeve slithering across the back of my neck.

  "And I can carry you." I met her eyes, bright as verdant fire. The rest of the chamber and everyone in it blurred past the edges of the my vision--she suddenly took all my focus. "I'm not watching you stumble around any more tables or fall in any more chairs and call that walking."

  "Stubborn ass." She giggled again and ran her fingers up the back of my head, my scalp tingling.

  "Quit that--you're supposed to be hanging on for dear life, not tormenting me."

  "Come on, kiss me. It's good luck," she murmured as we proceeded down the hall, her arm tight against my shoulders as she pulled herself up. I lowered my mouth to hers, her charred cedar scent all around, her delightfully silken lips teasing mine apart until I groaned. Then she nipped me, hard, her teeth drawing blood that tasted rusty on my tongue.

  "What the hell, vixen?" I mumbled. "Do you want me to drop you . . ."

  "Merius," she gasped, her whole body suddenly seizing, taut in my arms. "Oh dear heart."

  "Oh hell." I pounded the last few steps into our chamber and set her down on the bed with such haste that it seemed like I dropped her. She curled into a ball, her hands fisting in the bedclothes. The pearly light of a late rainy afternoon shone through the windows, surrounding us with soft grayness as I reached for her.

  "That's a nice thought about the light, how soft it is," she murmured. "I'll have to use that in a painting." Her fingers encircled mine, and I could tell the pain was fading by how her grip began to relax.

  "What can I do for you, sweetheart?" I whispered.

  "Just stay with me."

  The others crowded into the chamber then. Eden silently started lighting candles from the one she had the presence of mind to bring with her. I almost asked her to quit, since candles would ruin the soft gray daylight, but stopped myself when I realized how ridiculous such a request would sound.

  Father came around the corner of the bed, took one look at me and Safire, and said, "I'll fetch the midwife." He strode from the chamber without another word.

  The Rankins hovered near the doorway. "Is there anything we can do?" Lady Rankin asked.

  "Dinner should be ready in a half hour. If you'd still like to stay, I'm sure Mordric and Eden would appreciate the company," Safire said. "Eden, why don't you take them into the library?"

  "Is there room in the library?" Eden asked, a tinge of disbelief coloring her voice.

  "What . . . oh, the glider," I stammered before I realized what she meant. "Jared and I dismantled the wings yesterday--the cross beams are too heavy. My lord, if you would take a look at the pieces and tell me what you think, I would be most obliged."

  "Certainly, Merius. I'm interested to see your progress." Rankin offered one of his mild smiles. "Though I suspect by the end of the evening you likely won't remember a word I or anyone else says."

  He and the others headed to the library then. I settled my back against the headboard, and Safire sat on my lap like a cat, her cheek resting on my chest. We didn't speak, the silence so rich between us it seemed palpable. Our auras, which usually joined together in a frenetic dance of light around the bed, instead slowly mingled together like different colored sands in a tipped hour glass. The effect hypnotized me as we waited. I usually hated waiting but this was different. Until the midwife got here, it didn't seem real that our son was on his way. We would never be truly alone with each other like this ever again. We would never be carefree and young like this ever again--I couldn't fathom it. And even if the birth went smoothly, Safire would still suffer a great deal of pain, pain that I couldn't take from her as she took my pain from me. And if the birth didn't go smoothly . . .

  "Don't even think that," she said softly, loosening my shirt laces so she could run her hand over my chest and shoulder in a gentle caress. Then her hand tightened on my shoulder as another pang ripped through her. She shuddered and clung to me.

  When it had passed, she thought *Remember Sewell, how fast that went? The abbess said it was unladylike to be so fast, like a hare. We always switched to conversing in our thoughts when we mentioned Sewell. It was too dangerous to speak of him too often out loud with the assassins somewhere close by and perhaps listening. Although they had been doing less lurking and had kept their distance better since Korigann's visit back during the summer, for which both Safire and I were grateful. It didn't hurt to still be careful, though.

  I chuckled. *Wish the abbess were here.

  *Me too, but sure the midwife will do just fine. What you thought earlier about never being carefree and young again--haven't truly felt that way since Sewell. He's always there in my thoughts and feelings, even when I'm not conscious of it, as Dominic has been since I knew he was coming. Haunted by them both, afraid for them, and Sewell's so far away. Our children occupy the heights of our joys and the depths of our fears. Do you understand now, dear heart? I felt heat on my chest and realized her tears soaked my shirt in silent sobs.

  "Shh, shh." I patted her hair clumsily, overcome myself with what she felt, her grief like a dull saw back and forth across her heart, her joy like the pinpricks of a thousand tiny needles tickling the inside of her stomach. I just wanted to fix things for her so that all she ever felt was joy, not grief. I blocked her for a moment, thinking carefully about how to phrase what I wanted to communicate to her. When I opened my mind to her again, I thought *I was away at battle when Sewell was conceived, and it's been long enough that we could retrieve him and let people assume he's my bastard. When we first landed in Marenna, some of the men slipped down to the towns and found wenches. After all this time, no one from the troop will remember that I wasn't among them.

  She tilted her head up so she could meet my gaze, her eyes red from tears but luminous again. I could feel her hope rising inside, a bird freed from its cage in her ribs. *You would risk that . . .

  *No risk for me as a man, sweet. Highborn men support wards in their households all the time, and everyone knows those wards are usually the men's bastards. Even Father should accept that plan--as my ward, Sewell would be eligible for an annuity but no offices or property.

  *When, Merius? When? Her eagerness tugged like a strong horse straining at the bit.

  *I promise to do it, but not when. Not yet. Father and the council need me here now in the aftermath of Peregrine's treachery. And you need me here, sweet, with the assassins lurking about . . . shouldn't leave until I get you with child again--they won't dare try to seize you and take you back to Sarneth if you're with child. After what happened to the other pregnant witches, they'd wait until you're safely delivered. By then, I'd be back to protect you from them.

  She sighed. *That'll take a couple years at least.

  I inhaled deeply. *Only safe way I can think of. You have a better plan?

  She tipped her head back so she could meet my g
aze, her teeth pressed into her bottom lip, her rueful look. Then she slowly shook her head. *Had hardly any hope we could ever get him back until a minute ago, so I can wait until it's safe for all of us. Thank God I married you. Only one man in a thousand would care so much to attempt it. She pulled herself up and kissed me softly.

  We waited. And waited. At first I hadn't minded the waiting, but her pains seemed to be getting worse, which made the waiting worse. After her seventh pang, Safire eased herself off my lap. Bracing herself with both hands, she stood. "What are you doing?" I demanded as I followed her. I realized then the fluid that had soaked her skirt when her water broke had seeped through to my shirt and pants. "Ughh."

  "I just need to move a little," she said vaguely, clinging to the bed curtain and then the lid of the trunk as she moved around the bed. "You should change your clothes before the midwife gets here," she continued with a glance back at me.

  "I wish you'd lie back down again first." I trailed after her close as a hound at its mistress's heels, my hands outstretched to catch her. "If you insist on doing that, will you at least let me hold your elbow?" I asked.

  "No, I need some air." She moved from the bed to the washstand, her knuckles white as she clutched the marble edge.

  "That makes no sense."

  "Your aura, Merius--sometimes it's like breathing through a wool blanket." When she saw my expression, she quickly amended, "A very warm, soft wool blanket."

  "Do you want me to leave?"

  "No--please stay. Just leave me loose for a minute. It helps the pangs to move a little." She proceeded from the washstand to the wardrobe, her fingers outstretched as she touched the polished wood. Then she paused, her eyes scrunched shut as she breathed through her clenched teeth with a low, hard whistling. I froze, terrified I would jar her or steal her air or cause her to faint if I got too close. Finally, her eyes popped open, and she exhaled. "That was a long one," she said.

  "It seemed like forever. Would you please lie back down?" I said, my own teeth clenched now.

  "How long was it, do you think?" When I didn't answer right away, she lowered her chin and stared at me with wide eyes and raised brows. She was trying to look stern but couldn't quite manage it. "Merius, the midwife will ask how long the pangs are, how long between pangs . . ."

  "It was a minute perhaps. And you're adorable. Now get back to bed before you have another one."

  "All right," she sighed. "But help me change first. This should do for the labor." She reached into the wardrobe and tugged out an old shift. "And then you need to change."

  After I got her safely ensconced back in bed, I unbuckled my belt with perfunctory movements as I stared into the dark depths of the wardrobe. Dimly, I heard her moan as another pain started. It was happening too fast. My shirts and doublets swayed a little, as if disturbed by a rogue draft. I moved them aside and peered into the shadows behind them. A vague form seemed to emerge, insubstantial as smoke. It streamed out of the wardrobe and coiled around the inside of the bed canopy. Safire arched her back then as if to lift herself free of the pain, her eyes shut tight. She didn't see death slithering above her like a venomous snake. I glanced around wildly. My sword was in its scabbard, leaning in the corner by the door. Perhaps if I moved quickly enough, I could somehow vanquish death before it took her. Then I stopped, paralyzed with horror as dark tendrils grew down toward her, greedy roots that would latch on to her and suck her life away. I had seen the tree of life depicted in churches, but those depictions never showed the pile of corpses under it, feeding it. My mother was in that pile, and soon Safire would be too if I didn't do something. But what? What could I do? She was in labor now--there was no halting it. When the black roots reached her and the bed, they turned red, her blood soaking the blankets and sheets . . . I covered my eyes with my hands, unable to watch. My breath shuddered in my chest, harsh gasps as if I could somehow save her by breathing for her.

  "Merius? What is it?" Safire asked then, her voice ringing through the fog of my fear. I lowered my hand to find her gazing at me, her brow furrowed, her aura deep purplish red with pain and concern. Perhaps I had mistaken her aura for blood because there was no actual blood around her, no death coiled darkly in the shadows above her. What was wrong with me? Thank God I had apparently blocked her during my crazed vision--the last thing she needed right now was my dread weighing her down.

  I stepped toward the bed. "Are you all right?" I said huskily.

  "I'm fine--it was just another pang." She smiled to reassure me. "Love, you have no clothes on. I don't mind, but your father and the midwife might."

  A few minutes later, a short woman in a striped smock with a sun-burned face as round and red as a copper coin bustled into the chamber, Father and Elsa behind her. She seemed more washerwoman than midwife with her burly arms and work-chapped hands, and I wondered where Father had found her. *Far more trustworthy aura than Reti. Safire thought. Reti was the court midwife, the one most noblewomen used. Safire had been to see Reti a few times over the course of her pregnancy.

  *What does a trustworthy aura look like?

  Safire tried to show me then, but all I got was a flash of deep bluish-green, like the cool calm under a copse of pines after a long day hunting. A flash was all I ever got of anyone's aura, aside from Safire's.

  "This is Helga," Father announced. "Elsa knew where to find her."

  "We saw your sign on the way to the market a few weeks ago," Safire said, propping herself up on her elbows. "It's nice to meet you."

  "How many pains, dearie?" Helga asked, rolling up her sleeves. She spoke in a rumbling, alto burr, perhaps how a sow bear would sound if capable of speech.

  "Twelve or thirteen, I think." Safire glanced at me.

  "Thirteen," I said.

  Helga ran me up and down with her small eyes, the warm color of freshly baked dark bread. "You must be the young Sir Landers."

  "You can call me Sir Merius."

  "Sir Merius it is." She turned her attention to Safire. "So thirteen pains--how many hours since the pains started?"

  "One, if that."

  "One?" Helga exclaimed. "And your water already broke?"

  Safire nodded, then inhaled sharply, her fingers knotting the blanket as another pain took her. Helga put her large hand over the lower curve of Safire's belly and counted to herself. None of the rest of us hardly dared breathe until the pang finally passed--I could hear our collective exhaling as Safire sank back on the bed.

  "Least a minute long, I'll be bound." Helga's eyes narrowed as she looked over Safire. "And the pains have been coming closer together?" Safire nodded, her eyelids fluttering open. "Are you certain this is your first, my lady?" Helga asked.

  Safire met the midwife's gaze, her eyes wide and guileless. "Of course. I think I'd remember giving birth. So far, it doesn't seem like an experience one could sleep through."

  Elsa's mouth opened and closed as if she wanted to say something and then thought the better of it. Helga kept her steady gaze on Safire for a moment before she said, "No, I don't suppose you could forget it, at that." She patted Safire's arm. "Tough little duck, aren't you? If you'll forgive me saying it, most highborn ladies would be screeching or fainted by now."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Safire ordered me to go eat dinner with everyone else--she said I would need my strength for later in the evening. So I obediently shoveled food in my mouth without tasting it or even comprehending what it was. I could have been eating the tablecloth for all I noticed. I caught snatches of Rankin and Father's conversation about the council, how much it had changed in the wake of Sullay's imprisonment and Peregrine's departure. The merchants had rallied around Ronceval Devons, a shrewd, flamboyant soul who wore spurs constantly even though one rarely saw him on an actual horse. Even though Devons and the nobility often quarreled, he at least had a conscience and was willing to negotiate without backstabbing.

  I kept dropping my napkin. It slid off my knee, and then I would reach for it to wipe my mouth or fin
gers, only to find it on the floor. After the fourth or fifth instance of me diving under the table for it, I noticed a peculiar quiet when I emerged topside. Four pairs of eyes were on me.

  "Merius?" Lady Rankin broke the silence. "What's wrong?"

  "My napkin keeps falling on the floor. I don't know what's wrong with it."

  Father cleared his throat. "Maybe you should go see to your wife then," he said, his voice even more gruff than usual. A year ago I would have taken offense at his words, his tone, and the implication I was somehow neglecting Safire, but I knew now that wasn't what he meant. Instead he was ordering me in a roundabout way to treat my wife better than he had treated my mother, ordering me to be a better man than he had been in his youth.

  "Thank you, Father. If you would excuse me," I said as I rose and tossed my napkin on the chair. I left the dining hall and raced up the steps to the second story. Safire shrieked, the sharp sound muted by the thick door. I cringed, pausing with my hand on the latch. Then I took a deep breath, knocked, and went in after a silent, pale Elsa opened the door.

  Safire raised her head as I came in. All the pillows were stacked behind her so that she reclined half upright instead of laying flat on her back. Her pupils were so large her eyes appeared black. Her face was flushed, beads of sweat darkening the tiny curls of hair that ringed her brow. I dodged around the foot of the bed and a stray boot and crouched on the floor beside her. Our fingers wove together, her grip tight.

  "Your hand's cold," I muttered and chafed her skin with my free hand.

  She nodded and then arched her head back, her eyes squeezing shut as the last of the pang shuddered through her. Then she turned to look at me, and a fierce smile passed between us. I had thought she would be exhausted. Instead I sensed the blood thundering in her veins, the alert tension of her muscles, the wakeful watch of her body and soul as she labored to bring our son into the world.

  "You look like you're praying, Sir Merius," Elsa observed. "Would you like a chair?"