Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3)

by Nilsen, Karen

  "Surely a babe's fever is a mere trifle for the hands of a," Talia paused, "healer like her."

  "Mother," Selwyn hissed with a glance in my direction. "Mother, stop."

  "Why should I? All those nosy servants are at dinner, safe away in the kitchen. This is the ideal time to talk." Talia's spoon clattered on her plate. "We all know what she is. Why, your wife was at death's door, and that little--healer--swept in, and next we knew Dagmar was cured. Pact with the devil, I swear it . . ."

  "Sing at the table, whistle in bed, and a bit--, sorry, witch will come and chop off your head." I mopped my bread around my plate, feeling all their eyes swivel in my direction. I sighed inwardly--no more peace for me, not tonight. "That's the rhyme we learned when we were children, isn't it?" I said to Talia.

  "If I had known what evil this House would come to, I would never have married into it," she sniffed.

  "But you did--it's a little late for regret now, isn't it? If you dislike being a Landers lady so much you should have taken Selwyn and gone back to the House of Huron after Regin's and Cal's deaths . . . oh, I forgot, the House of Huron no longer exists for you to descend upon it like a harpy. It seems you're stuck being a Landers, and we're stuck with you."

  Her cheeks colored. "How dare you mention my family House? They had honor, dignity . . ."

  "How dare you disparage Safire for saving your daughter-in-law's life? You really want your grandsons to be orphans?"

  "Better that than they inherit the taint . . ."

  "Mordric's right. You are a harpy," Dagmar screeched, the vein throbbing in her forehead as she slammed back her chair and pointed her finger at Talia. "Don't you ever talk about my sister like that again. I wish I was a witch myself so I could curse you. I'd send a pestilence on you. You'd have to beg Safire to save you, and then I hope she'd say no. I know she wouldn't though--she's far too generous for her own good." Then, sobbing, she stormed out of the room.

  Talia's face went white--perhaps she feared Dagmar really could curse her. She sank down in her chair, her bony fingers clutched around the edge of the table. "Such a display, such a display," she murmured over and over again. "Selwyn, I order you to go talk to her. She better apologize to me. I won't tolerate another demon tongue in this House."

  "Mother, no." Selwyn tossed down his napkin. "I told you not to say anything about Safire, and you didn't listen to me. Now, I agree--Dagmar's outburst showed a distinct lack of respect for your age and position. I'll talk to her about that when she's calmer. But you said some terrible things. I don't think Dagmar should have to apologize to you until you apologize to her."

  "Selwyn!" Talia turned in her chair and slapped him, the sound cracking to the high rafters. "How dare you speak to me that way? I'm your mother."

  "And Dagmar's my wife," he said evenly as he touched the red mark on his cheek. "She's a good wife and mother, and I'm grateful to Safire for saving her life. I won't have you talking about her that way."

  "What if your sons turn out to be warlocks, hmm?" Talia's tone dipped nastily. "How will you feel then?"

  "They'd still be my sons," Selwyn said, with a stoutness I didn't realize he had in him. He'd need it, tugged between Talia and Dagmar.

  Merius and I glanced at each other, and I remembered that terrible day on the parapet. The sunlight gleaming silver against him, the bulky shadow of the glider on the rippling water suddenly shifting to the sleek shadow of a huge bird, his outstretched talons, long and sharp as daggers as he landed on the stone wall and Safire fell limp against me. I had thought for a single, awful instant that he would be a hawk forever, that I'd lost him as well as his stillborn brothers and sisters. Then he'd shifted back to his familiar self, confused, angry, embarrassed, and thankfully human, and I dared breathe again.

  "Lady Talia," Merius said smoothly as he propped his elbows on the table, "it seems my wife's presence offends you, which is why she and I stay away from this House as much as possible. I'll have you know she has never trafficked with the devil or any evil spirits. In fact, soon after I married her, a convent abbess saw fit to inform me that Safire's talents are from God and are meant to do good in this world, which I firmly believe."

  "Nuns know she's a witch?" Talia demanded, her skin now deathly pale as snow. She visibly gulped and ran her fingers around the edge of her high collar as if it suddenly felt too tight. "Do they know she's a Landers?"

  "Of course. Just to reassure you, these particular nuns are in Sarneth, which as you may know, has completely different laws from Cormalen regarding witches. In Sarneth, they no longer have the barbaric practice of burning someone at the stake. Why, Lady Talia, you seem so concerned. I apologize for alarming you. Did it not occur to you before that we could all burn together if we don't keep Safire's special talents a secret? Perhaps now you can understand why I'd really rather not bandy the topic of witches about over the dinner table. We are, after all, not in Sarneth. If you don't mind, that is." Merius offered a slight smile and bit into a large forkful of trout.

  "But I'm a virtuous woman. The priests know that." Despite her words, apparent doubt tinged her tone.

  "I'm sure they do," I said softly with the least amount of sarcasm I could manage, "but both you and I have been alive long enough to see many a virtuous soul executed. Witch hunts rarely stop with the witches, once the mob has found a taste for blood. Remember Bernica of Norland? Upright widow who accused her sister-in-law Rhianan of false prophesy and witchcraft? The servants later claimed Bernica had cast a wicked spell to kill her husband in that hunting accident. She was eventually hanged last summer."

  "Dear Lord--of course I heard she was hanged. No one seemed to know why, though." Talia covered her mouth with her hand.

  "The council hushed up the reason--I think some of the councilors were discomfited, perhaps even ashamed, that they had voted to send Rhianan to the stake because of Bernica's testimony, and then Bernica herself was accused of trafficking with the devil. That's why Merius and I have worked so hard to strengthen our standing on the council and at court--it protects our family. All of us. Virtue only goes so far in this climate of witch hunts."

  Talia drew a shuddering breath, her hand fluttering over her bosom--she looked on the verge of hysterics. "I'm sorry I said anything about Safire," she said stiffly. "I won't speak of her taint again."

  A fleeting grin upturned Merius's mouth, and for an instant, I glimpsed the naughty boy who had played more than one prank on Talia. Thank God she had never found out he was the one who placed the grass snake in her slipper. I had switched his palms for that one, the clever imp. He had kept the snake captive in a jar on the springhouse floor until it was sluggish from the cold, then tucked it in her slipper as if he were putting it to bed. God, she had screamed--the whole house echoed with it for weeks afterwards.

  "Selwyn, if you would, go fetch Dagmar. I have an announcement, and she should be here for it," I said.

  He nodded and left the room without a word. Merius, Talia, and I continued to eat in blessed quiet--finally. Or at least Merius and I continued to eat. Talia shredded a slice of bread over her plate, her lips moving silently as she stared straight ahead. I found Merius looking at her too--then he caught my eye, shrugged, and went back to shoveling food in his mouth. Likely she prayed for the salvation of our wicked souls. If that was the case, she'd be here all night after I made my announcement. I gulped down the wine in my goblet and wished it were whiskey.

  Selwyn and Dagmar returned then, his hand under her elbow as he guided her to her customary place. She regarded Talia with icy indifference, her thin body so straight it looked like she had a broomstick for a spine.

  "All right." I pushed aside my plate and glanced around at all of them to make certain I had everyone's attention. Talia still gazed enrapt at the wall. I banged my fist on the table, and she jumped, aiming her eyes at me. "Good. I want to announce that Eden has turned up with child. To preserve her reputation and hence, the reputation of our House, I've married her."


  "It's about time," Selwyn snorted. "That hussy should have long since been some other House's problem . . ." he trailed off, a stony silence overtaking the chamber in the wake of his words. He looked from Dagmar to Merius to Talia before finally looking back at me, his face slack-jawed. "You mean, you married her, sir? You don't mean you married her off to someone else?" he added helpfully, as if he hoped beyond hope that I had merely forgotten the word 'off' at the end of my pronouncement.

  "I married her, Selwyn. It was the only way I could keep her at court respectably. I need her at court."

  Dagmar started as if someone had stuck a pin in her. She shot me a narrow-eyed, knowing look, then shook her head and fixed her gaze on her plate. Somehow she guessed the truth behind my half-lie. I didn't understand how when my own son needed me to spell it out for him, but she knew. Perhaps it had something to do with being the witch's sister. Thank God Talia didn't seem to possess the same feminine depth of perception--she stared at me without blinking, seemingly as uncomprehending as her son.

  "You don't have anything to say about this?!" Selwyn half rose from his chair, gesturing toward Merius. "He's your father . . ."

  "I agree with what he did," Merius said curtly. "We need Eden at court. There are places she goes where neither Father nor I have access. Princess Esme's and Queen Verna's chambers, for instance. Enemies like Peregrine are careless with their words around her because she's a woman and they don't realize how clever she is."

  "But she's loose--how can you trust her?"

  "Her reputation as a loose woman is my fault, Selwyn. I encouraged her pretense as a courtesan to get information."

  "Must not be much of a pretense if she's turned up pregnant," he scoffed.

  "I blame myself for allowing her such a long leash. Young women need more protection than I gave Eden from seducers at court . . ."

  "That they do," Dagmar chimed in with a pointed glance at Merius.

  "Good God, Dagmar, do we have to go over that again?" he exploded.

  "Go over what again?" she asked innocently. "One would think you have a guilty conscience."

  "Or you have a prurient mind. Safire and I have been happily married almost two years despite all your rampant disapproval, and I bet you wouldn't dare say anything if she was here."

  "What did you just say to my wife?" Selwyn demanded, his hands fisting. "Prury-what?"

  I brought my palm down flat on the table. "Can we return to the matter at hand, all of you?" I barked.

  "Yes, sir," Selwyn said. Dagmar jerked her head in a nod, and Merius looked sheepish. Talia's eyes had remained fixed on me during the youngsters' quarrel, her mouth still working soundlessly.

  "Are you praying, Talia?" I asked.

  She blinked and took a noisy swallow of water from her glass. Then she cleared her throat and said quietly, "I'm glad you married that whore. It's just penance for all your sins."

  "Say what you like about me, but never call her a whore again. She's risked herself to protect this House and all of us. Are we clear?" I growled, holding Talia's cold gaze. Finally she glanced away, her chin dipping in what I hoped was a nod.

  "Lady Talia," Merius said, that deceptive smoothness in his tone again, and I braced myself for whatever came next. "You know, you do so many works of mercy amidst the peasants. The parish looks up to you as a pillar of virtue. You're an inspiration to those, like myself, who long to crawl out of their pits of iniquity. When Eden returns here for her confinement, perhaps you can minister to her as you would to any other soiled dove. Charity, after all, should start at home."

  "She's returning here for her confinement?" Talia squeaked. Selwyn and Dagmar looked aghast.

  Merius raised his brows. "That's what she said before I left court. She's quite ashamed of her condition. Talk about penance--she's been in the chapel every day praying. A reformed woman. I'm certain she would benefit from your guidance."

  Dagmar ducked her head down and covered her mouth with a napkin, but not before I caught her smile. Selwyn still looked horror-struck by the whole affair--like his mother, he rarely caught others' irony or mockery. Also he'd likely been distracted by visions of himself at dinner with Talia, Dagmar, and Eden, the only hapless male amidst all those sharpened female claws. I'd have to thank Merius after all this was over. He was in rare form tonight.

  Finally Talia sputtered, "Well, it's about time she saw the error of her ways. I'll pray for her continued reformation. In the mean time, much as I hate to condemn her, perhaps she should consider staying at court for her confinement. After all, if she hides from public disapprobation, she'll never realize the depth of her former depravity, without which true reform is impossible."

  I gritted my teeth before I said, "You know, Talia, that's quite a wise observation. Perhaps Eden should stay at court for her own good. I'll be sure to tell her that."

  Both Selwyn and Talia breathed visible sighs of relief. Merius arched one brow and shot me a quick grin before he devoured the rest of his fish. As for Dagmar, she toyed with the remaining food on her plate, a thoughtful little frown pursing her lips as she used her fork to turn her stuffing and trout into mishmash.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Royal Palace, Corcin, Eastern Cormalen

  June, 2 years ago

  Prince Segar motioned to me as I entered the otherwise empty council chamber. He sat at the head of the long table. Cyril was on Segar's right hand side, shuffling through papers and muttering to himself. His spectacles trembled on the edge of his nose, and when he paused to anchor them more securely, he noticed me. His eyes narrowed to thin gleams over the wire rims, tracking my progress as I claimed the seat to His Highness's left. That put the width of the table and the prince between Cyril and me, a necessary precaution in case the old goat made any more impolitic threats.

  "His Grace tells me congratulations are in order," Prince Segar said, his mouth dipped in a sardonic smile. Supercilious whelp. Of course, he could have said far worse things, so perhaps I should count my blessings.

  Eden and I had decided it was safest to have the bishop himself marry us, much as we both detested him. Going to some alley church priest would have only made the rumors and subsequent scandal worse in the long run. His Grace didn't bat a lid over those pale snake eyes when I asked him--he had acted supremely indifferent, as if he facilitated such marriages every day. Of course we had known he would race to tell the king and prince as soon as the ceremony was over, just as he did with the secrets told him in confession. He considered such tattling his holy duty to keep the court's errant souls in line.

  I shifted my chair closer to the table with a loud scrape and avoided Cyril's gaze. "Thank you, Your Highness. Though I'm not sure how much a marriage at my age warrants congratulations."

  "I've always thought such unions decidedly inconvenient in some respects." He still wore that idiotic smile--as I watched, it widened to an awful rictus of crooked teeth. Did he suspect something? How? I'd have to ask Eden--she knew him better than I did. "You know, Sir Mordric, I do want to apologize."

  "Whatever for, Your Highness?"

  "I fear imprudent actions on my part in regard to the Lady Eden perhaps contributed to the necessity of this marriage. Sir Cyril here and my father have both seen fit to make me aware of certain unfortunate rumors regarding myself and Lady Eden. Please know I had no idea my innocent friendship with her would be seen in such a light," he said with so much sincerity I almost believed him.

  "Why, Your Highness, this court can be a hotbed of rumor at times. I never put any stock in those stories about you and Eden. I've known you since you were a boy--your character is beyond reproach. I would trust you alone with my daughter if I had one." I finally looked at Cyril and allowed myself to give a tight smile in response to his bilious glare. It was the old goat's own fault, talking to the prince behind my back about Eden.

  "Thank you for your faith in me." Segar beamed. "I know how sparing you are with your praise, so it means even more when you give it."

  Oh
God, was this to become a sticky exchange of honey-tongued flattery? Quickly, I switched back to the subject of Eden. "If I could, I would make the scoundrel who seduced her marry her himself, but he's far too lowborn, likely after her position, and that's all we'll say about him. She's so well-educated and clever, it seems a shame to let her languish in some hopeless marriage or stay at Landers Hall in disgrace when she can assist me here."

  "Odd. Merius's mother Arilea was virtuous to a fault and just as clever as Eden, and you let her languish at Landers Hall." Cyril's quill scratched with an injudicious fierceness against the foolscap of his council notes.

  I should have known he would bring up Arilea. "When we were young men, court was a different place. After they married, most women only spent a few weeks out of the year here with their husbands. Even your wife, Cyril, one of Her Majesty's best friends, has only attended a few balls and fetes a year since she married you." That shut him up--he hated having his mirror of faults turned back on him. He burrowed into his notes, seemingly engrossed.

  More councilors began drifting into the chamber then, so the prince and I stopped conversing and glanced over our own notes. My handwriting blurred before my eyes, though--I had forgotten my spectacles. I squinted at the notes, then realized that I remembered most of what I'd written. Eden had helped me compose it this morning. I set my foolscap aside, watching as the seats around the table filled up.

  "Congratulations, Mordric," Ronceval Devons boomed, his voice probably cracking the vaulting of the ceiling. "She's a likely wench."

  "Thank you, Ronceval." My smile felt thin as a blade. "Never quote tavern songs in reference to my wife again."

  "Sorry." However, he continued to leer. I had known I would have to put up with a certain amount of ribbing, but for God's sake, tavern ditties in the council chamber? I hated having my private affairs on display for all the idiots to paw over. I just had to remind myself it could be much worse--at least they seemed willing to play along with the polite fiction. It was a testament to the strength of the Landers position that no one dared question me too much.