Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3)

by Nilsen, Karen

  "Safire?" Merius's voice cut into my reverie.

  "Hmm?" I raised my eyes to his, realizing then that I had scratched my skin red in spots. I hastily straightened, the scratches stinging as I crossed my arms.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Fine--I'm fine, just watching Dominic. He's so curious . . ."

  "That he is." Merius leaned down and tousled Dominic's hair. Dominic responded with a happy burble, then resumed exploring the chair rung. From there he found his father's boot. "Now, sweet, if you would, please listen. Both Lord Rankin and I want to hear your thoughts about this."

  "Of course." I hunkered down, my arms still clutched together. "You are aware that our son is right at your feet, playing with your boot buckle?"

  "I see him--I'm not moving," Merius assured me before he looked at Rankin. "Now, my lord, you said that you haven't come across any mention of a trial to determine someone's particular weir element?"

  "No, I haven't. I do like your idea of auras having some connection to the weir elements, but I wonder how we can determine that for certain from the text. There are a few passages that may indicate your theory but they could just as easily indicate other theories, such as my idea about trials. Safire?"

  I touched Merius's hand, wove my fingers with his before I spoke. "You remember that nightmare we had, the one with the cave and our children's souls in the bottles?" When Merius nodded, his eyes shifting from mine, I continued, "Do you remember how I knew your soul was made of air, just like our daughter's soul? How did I know that about you?"

  He shrugged, his expression sharp, his fingers taut against mine. "I have no idea. It was just a nightmare, Safire. That's what you said when we awoke--it was just a nightmare."

  "You wanted my opinion about these infernal things," I reminded him. "Now that I offer it, you respond with doubt?"

  "I didn't think you were going to bring up that nightmare as proof," he huffed. "Not when you said it was just a dream."

  I dropped his hand. "I didn't claim it as proof of anything, Merius. I just asked a simple question. And you wonder why I'm so reluctant to help you, when you respond with unease and scorn? I can only offer what I have, and that's dreams, visions, impressions . . ."

  "All right, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sweetheart." He drummed his fingers against the table in a jerky rhythm, and I knew that if Dominic wasn't at his feet, he probably would have shoved his chair back and started pacing. "I just don't like pondering that dream--it was too much like the nightmares we had when Jazmene forced the Ursula's Bane on me."

  "I understand that." I reclaimed his hand, gently squeezed it. "But if you really want to understand what Talus has written, you have to accept that you're a warlock."

  He gave a derisive snort. "Not much of one--I can't even sense auras except yours or control those sparks when I'm supposed to be protecting you."

  "Oh dear heart." So that was the root of his problem with being a warlock--he couldn't do it well, so he didn't want to do it at all. I shook my head. I knew Mordric had done the best he could as a father, but sometimes I wanted to shake him for instilling Merius with this constant striving to be better. Merius was never quite satisfied with himself . . .

  "That's not true, Safire," he snapped. His aura bristled with silvery splinters as he glared at me. Poor Rankin started in confusion at Merius's sudden irritation.

  I wanted to roll my eyes but stopped myself. "Sorry, just a stray thought. I didn't mean it. Let's leave it be for the moment and go back to the weir elements. I know your wife wants you home at a reasonable hour, my lord," I said with a glance at Rankin.

  "My definition of reasonable and hers differ a great deal when it comes to time." Rankin smiled, then tilted his spectacles as he examined what he had written this evening. His quill scratching against the foolscap, he wrote a couple more sentences before he looked back at me. "When you say that you knew Merius's soul was made of air during this dream you shared, what do you mean by soul?"

  "The essence of someone--we're pure spirit before we're born in this carnal state, and we return to being pure spirit again when we die. As pure spirit, we have no limits. Only when the spirit enters the body are there limits--that's when the spirit becomes a soul, trapped on the mortal plane to learn some lesson before returning to the realm of spirit. Each soul is unique, made of unique substance--I believe that the unique substance of someone's soul could correspond with a particular element or condition on the mortal plane, hence Talus's notion of the weir elements. Certain souls made of similar substances, for instance, might respond to water. Other souls made of different substances might respond to earth or fire or air. So when I say that I sensed Merius's soul was made of air, I merely meant that air is the element his soul is attuned with most strongly. And yes, I think there must be clues in our auras as to which element our souls would respond to--auras are an outward manifestation of our souls, our life force."

  Both Merius and Rankin gaped at me, their mouths slightly open, and I trailed off, flushing. "What?" I demanded after a silent moment.

  "You--the way you think, how you visualize things, never ceases to amaze me." Merius glanced at his feet where Dominic traced all the seams of his boot with a tiny finger. When he had assured himself exactly where our son was so he didn't step on him, he leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek. "Where did all that come from, anyway?" he asked softly. "How do you know all that?"

  I shrugged. "It just comes to me, like my paintings or that vision of the forest and the stream when I healed Jerimy or when we . . ." I stammered, realizing what I was about to say in front of Rankin. "Or when we're together sometimes," I finished lamely, my cheeks on fire. Honestly, I didn't understand what was so important about what I had said concerning souls and the weir elements. It seemed only natural to me. "It's just like how plans to build gliders and water tanks in the mantel come to you--how do you know all that, anyway?" My tone was a bit defiant, and Merius offered a silent grin as he pressed his lips to the back of my hand.

  "So we have a scholar, a mystic, an inventor, and a very curious baby in this chamber--seems to me we should be able to finish translating these journals and scrolls by midnight, which would make my wife happy," Rankin observed dryly, his snarly brows thickening and swooping downwards toward the bridge of his nose. "Both of you, your attention to the matter at hand, please."

  "Yes, my lord," I murmured for both of us since Merius was still kissing my knuckles. I had never seen this taskmaster side of Rankin before.

  A vision of a severe owl in spectacles flitted across Merius's mind. *How he used to look when he was language master at the court academy. Merius thought. I gulped back a laugh and shot my husband what I hoped was a look of chastisement for being too amusing for his own good.

  "First of all, Safire, before we forget, I want you to repeat what you said about souls and the weir elements as slowly and clearly as you can so Merius and I can jot it down."

  So I repeated myself and repeated myself again and then again before Rankin was finally satisfied they had transcribed all my words. After the second time when I began to lose my voice and had to get some water, I offered to write it down myself but Rankin insisted he and Merius do so. Apparently, it helped him mull over ideas better if he listened and then wrote them down in his own hand. Something about different learning styles, he said. In the midst of all this, Dominic grew restive and started to cry, so I picked him up and cuddled him, drawing away his upset with my witch touch until he lingered on the verge of sleep. He needed his diaper changed, the poor dear, and I started growing restive myself, wondering when all this transcribing would be over.

  "So, Safire, what kinds of things in a man's aura would be evidence of his soul's attunement to a particular weir element?" Rankin asked.

  I jerked my head up, my sleepy mind fuzzy at the edges. It took me a moment to work out exactly what he was asking me. "Well, the scent for instance. Someone with an aura of ambergris, I would expect that man to be most attuned to water
as an element." I thought of Peregrine and felt a bit dizzy, the chamber suddenly tipping around me so I had to brace my feet against the floor. No wonder piracy came so naturally to him--it was the wicked man's way of going to sea, of always being close to the water. Quickly, I tried to think of something else. Someone else. "I believe Merius is most attuned to air because his aura often reminds me of a whirlwind."

  "So your scent of burning cedar? Does that mean you're most familiar with fire?" Merius said. "Remember the diamond flask of fire in our dream--you said it was one of our daughters . . ." he trailed off, his eyes searching my face. "Safire, what is it?"

  I managed a weak smile. "I'm just tired, and Dominic should be put to bed."

  "Oh." His aura softened, a warm, silvery mist that surrounded me and Dominic. He knew something bothered me, but he didn't know what. I didn't even know what. Talking about the weir elements had suddenly chilled me inside, and I shivered despite the warmth from Merius's aura. "We've done a lot tonight," he said. "Why don't you get ready for bed? Lord Rankin and I will finish up here, and I'll join you in a few minutes."

  "All right. Good night, my lord," I said to Rankin.

  He inclined his head gravely, another sneeze seizing him. "Good night, Safire. Thank you for your invaluable aid," he said, his voice muffled in his handkerchief.

  I rose, Dominic's head pillowed on my shoulder, and left the studio, Merius's aura trailing around me. Even after I reached our bedchamber and shut the door, his aura followed me, sparks in the air that sizzled with tingling warmth against my aura. I sighed, wondering what had prompted my sudden unease. Perhaps it had been the intrusive thoughts of Peregrine. I shuddered and concentrated on my son, hoping he would distract me from the maelstrom inside. Roused from his slumber, Dominic kicked and fussed a little as I changed his diaper, then settled into nursing with a lazy contentment.

  I hummed a wistful lullaby about a robin who only laid one precious egg while all the other robins had at least two. Dominic's eyelids fluttered closed, his long lashes little sparkles of gold in the flickering light. I gently settled him in his cradle and rocked it for a few minutes until his aura was a faint haze around him, a sure sign he was fast asleep. Then I shut my eyes. A vision of Sewell came to me, a small boy just past infancy who slumbered so far away across the sea. Moonlight shone through the high window of the white-walled convent cell unto his narrow crib. He stirred, one hand fisted on his pillow as he snuffled for breath (he had a bit of Rankin's cold apparently, for his forehead felt hot with a slight fever as I smoothed the dark hair from his brow). His eyes roved under his eyelids. "Dweam-ma," he murmured. "Dweam mama."

  I swallowed back tears and kissed his temple before I leaned back, out of the vision. I didn't want to wake him up--I had done so accidently one time, and he had started crying when he realized I wasn't physically there. He could see me in his dreams, I knew he could, just as he could sense my presence when he was awake. I wondered sometimes if he had inherited my witch talents as Dominic had, or if the bond between us was strong enough to overcome the barriers of his mind. Regardless of whether they possessed witch talents or not, small children seemed more open to mystical experiences, greeting them with a simple acceptance that would likely fade as the cloak of maturity descended on their shoulders. As it was, I could only breach the distance between us for a few brief minutes. Anymore than that exhausted me into a dead faint. It seemed that only Merius and I could communicate across long distances without me expending a tremendous amount of effort. I wished sometimes I had Undene's talent with mirrors, not so that I could spy on people as she did, but so that I could communicate with the abbess about Sewell and observe him more easily.

  I thought about this, tears welling up as I disrobed and washed in preparation for bed. The sheets slid against my body with soothing cool smoothness. I curled into a ball and then stretched out again, relishing our cozy bed and pillows, my eyes squeezed shut. After a few minutes of this abandon to luxuriance, Merius entered the chamber, and I grew still, listening to the clatter of his belt buckle as he loosened it, the thump of his boots landing on the floor, his muttered cursing when he dinged the ewer against the washbasin. Then he snuffed the candles with a sputter. The bed creaked and bounced as he climbed between the covers. His arm encircled my waist, and I relaxed at the familiar scratchy warmth and strength of his body.

  "I do believe the lady is naked," he muttered, his hand roaming over my curves.

  I giggled. "You're incorrigible."

  "You're the one chortling like a naughty nymph. Come here, you."

  I rolled over, our limbs tangling as we kissed with more passion than grace. Finally he pulled away a bit. *Tastes like salt came his thought before he said aloud, "Why have you been crying? Was it the journals?"

  "No." *Just thinking about Sewell.

  "Oh. 'Cause you seemed upset earlier when I mentioned your aura and the charred cedar scent. I worried I'd said something wrong."

  "No, dear heart. No." Yet even as I protested, heat swelled in my chest, each heartbeat thundering in my ears as I broke into sobs. I huddled in his arms and cried until my eyes ached, my eyelids so swollen I could barely blink. Every time I thought the tears were over, another hiccup rose in my throat, and I was off again. At some point, he fumbled around and found a handkerchief, pressing it against my face.

  Finally, when the storm seemed over, he ventured, his voice hesitant, "What is it, sweetheart? Please tell me."

  I searched inside, but there were no answers, only a vague terror that shadowed my heart. "I don't know, Merius."

  "Is it the journals? I won't ask you to help us with them again, if it upsets you so."

  "No, I don't think it's the journals."

  His arms tightened around me, his muscles sinewy as ropes. "Is it that whoreson Peregrine? Last report to the council, they believe they've destroyed his primary docking area on some island off the coast of Marenna. It's only a matter of time before they find him," he declared, his confidence endearing.

  "No, not Peregrine."

  His voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you with child again then? I know you say it can't happen when you're nursing, but I don't believe that, Safire."

  "I know you don’t--we've had this discussion before, remember?"

  He gave a gusty sigh as he buried his face in my hair. "The last thing I want is to hurt you somehow. I've seen too many marriages where the wife ends up with child every year and exhausted. Look at how ill your sister's been . . ."

  "I know." Poor Dagmar had suffered from childbed fever following the birth of her second son, Jacold, back in late December. I had taken Dominic and returned to Landers Hall to tend her--if not for me using my talents to draw away the fever, I feared she might have died. "She seems destined to have problems. First her milk for Flavian dried up and now this. I'm not her, though, Merius."

  "Thank God," he said, his tone wry. "Dagmar's an admirable woman, but . . ."

  I swatted his shoulder. "You better hush while you're ahead, husband." He chuckled and ran his finger tips over my back in an invisible pattern of swirls. "That feels nice," I murmured. "You always know how to touch me."

  "So what made you cry?"

  *Missing Sewell. Even as I thought it, I knew deep down that Sewell wasn't the entire reason for my fit, but I honestly didn't know what else had triggered me. I had so many emotions inside, and some of them weren't even mine, but secrets I unconsciously sensed in other people. I often stumbled over some deep cache of feeling during my artistic musings, and I didn't always know where it came from. Of course, it was odd to have such a horrendous crying fit and not know why, but I didn't want to explain all that to Merius. All he would do was worry, and I hated it when he worried.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Royal Palace, Corcin, Eastern Cormalen

  May, 2 years ago

  The cloudless, deep blue sky reminded me of the day Merius and I had met up here for a picnic, the day he had given me our troth ring. Despite the nerves kno
tting my innards, I couldn't help but smile to myself at the memory as I glanced down at the swirling stream of gold and pearls around my ring finger, the single peridot winking a bright green in the sunlight. Sighing, I shielded my eyes with my hand as I reluctantly lifted my gaze to my insane husband and his steward, perched like cawing crows near the edge of the parapet as they argued.

  Jared yanked on the string connected to the kite soaring overhead, its tail snapping in the wind. "I'm telling you, you'll hit the opposite wall before you clear it, Sir Merius. Just watch the kite--see those currents?"

  Merius pointed out over the river, toward the opposite wall. "That's always been a risk, no matter the currents. Why else do you think we've rebuilt it so many times, trying to find just the right balance of strength and lightness? Why else do you think I added those flaps?"

  A warm gust whipped my skirt and petticoats and loosened my hair, which I had bound back with a ribbon. I grabbed at the errant strands as they tickled my face. I should have had Elsa braid it--she didn't possess Bridget's artistry with hair, but she at least was able to plait it tightly enough that a rogue wind didn't turn it into a bird's nest.

  Jared reeled in the kite, still yelling about currents. Merius threw his hands in the air and turned his back on Jared as he knelt beside the glider. It appeared huge leaning against the wall--the wing span stretched from the doorway leading to the inner staircase all the way to where Jared stood. He leaned back in his efforts to bring in the kite--it seemed to realize he was trying to hobble it again, and it drew the string taut between them, wildly dipping and swooping in its efforts to get away. Merius tested the straps and buckles that would attach him to the glider, running the leather between his hands and pulling each piece tight. He nodded finally, satisfied. Then he rose and hefted the glider by the straps. It swayed a little before the wind billowed under the canvas undersides, almost pulling it from Merius's hands before Jared grabbed the edge of one wing.