Chapter Six ~ Mordric

 

The scribe unfolded the last bit of foolscap and scribbled a hash mark on the official council annals before him. We all waited silently while he counted the marks under his breath. "One hundred and three ayes and two nays," he intoned finally.

"Two nays?" Halbert of Casian scoffed. "Well, we all know who cast those votes."

"Silence, Halbert." King Segar tugged the ends of his sleeves straight. "You know it's against council rules to speculate out loud on who cast which vote."

It might have been against the rules to say it out loud, but that didn't stop any of us from thinking about it. I glanced across the table at Eden to find her face turned toward the king, ignoring me, damn her. I caught Cyril looking in her direction as well before he noticed me watching him. Then he gave a little shake of his head. For once I agreed with the pompous goat. Eden should have known better than to vote nay on this particular judgment.

A flicker of movement a few chairs down from mine captured my eye. Slithery as a serpent, Neils of Ghet leaned down noiselessly to retrieve a bit of foolscap he'd dropped on the floor. Although I couldn't be certain, it appeared that he thrust it toward the man beside him, a pasty, pinched minor nobleman named Thom of Hen River. According to court rumor, Thom owed Neils at least three thousand silvers. Because of his debts to Neils, I had long suspected Thom of being Neils's secret mouthpiece, a way for Neils to convey controversial rhetoric without having to speak it himself, and the sight of Neils handing Thom some foolscap seemed to confirm this suspicion.

Thom cleared his throat then and made a great show of shuffling through his notes as we looked at him. His hollow cheeks grew even more shadowed as he sucked air through his nostrils, apparently nervous that everyone now watched him.

As Thom started to speak, Cyril and I exchanged narrow glances--his words and phrasing sounded just like Neils's overblown deference and sly insults. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the manner of Halbert's expression shouldn't obscure the fact that he perhaps makes a valid point."

"The manner of my expression?" Halbert exclaimed. "I don't particularly care for the manner of yours, Thom--sounds like you have a mouth full of honey-dipped horse--"

"His Majesty said silence, Halbert," Cyril snapped, banging his fist on the table.

"Horse apples," Halbert finished, to the muffled amusement of Herrod, who hid a snort of laughter behind his huge hand.

King Segar ignored the aside with icy indifference, for which I secretly commended him. A year ago, he might have laughed with Herrod. However, ascending the throne had quelled his sometimes odd sense of humor and helped him cultivate a better mask at council, a necessity for him to maintain his authority during this uncertain time.

"Now, Thom, am I to understand that you wish to challenge a century-old rule and discuss how particular councilors voted?" Segar asked smoothly, gazing at Thom.

Thom loudly breathed more air through his nose, his cheeks positively cadaverous now. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, those who just voted nay challenged a centuries-old law . . ."

"A law of assumption. Or presumption rather," Eden sniffed as I groaned inwardly. "A law so old it should be challenged and overturned. It no longer applies to our society. Unless you would have all our children be slaves, Sir Hen River," she added, drawling his name with a deadly sweetness.

"You're mad or dreaming, my lady. Nowhere in that law does it say anything about slavery."

Eden glanced at her notes. "'And so declares King Cainwulf the First, that all children belong to their natural sire, just as their mothers belong to the same until his death. If a boy who has not yet reached his majority or a woman of any age disobey, their sire or husband, as their master, will be held responsible for their disobedience.'" She paused, looking around at all of us with wide eyes. "Forgive me," she said, ever so slightly mocking Neils's deferential tone, "but these words 'belong' and 'master' imply that men own their wives and children, that their wives and children are their property. The wording implies slavery . . ."

"That's absurd," Thom said, any resemblance to Neils long gone. "The wording may be archaic, but it's a perfectly fine law that still applies today."

"Really?" Eden fixed him with that lambent gaze. "So if your wife disobeys and murders someone, you would be willing to lay your neck on the block for her crime?"

Thom's face reddened, and he sputtered something unintelligible. I stared at my disobedient wife and imagined laying my neck on the block for her after this council meeting.

A faint smirk, a quick flicker of crooked teeth, slid across King Segar's mouth before he got control of himself. "Lady Landers, please confine your remarks to the case at hand. I fear a discussion of murder by the hand of the fairer sex, even hypothetical murder, will drive someone into an apoplectic fit."

"My apologies. We wouldn't want that, Your Majesty," she purred. "My point is that we no longer hold a man accountable for his wife's or child's crime--that would be absurd--yet we still blindly follow the other implications of this law."

"Blindly, my lady? Your choice of words surprises me," Neils said, finally coming to his poor proxy Thom's rescue. "Forgive me, but how else do we determine inheritance and property, save through the father's bloodline?"

"Well, forgive me, Sir Ghet, but I wasn't aware that inheritance was the main question at hand in this debate. If it were the main question, I would have cast a different vote. I have no objections to Sir Colmer's firstborn natural son inheriting his name and property when the boy comes into his majority."

"What is the main question at hand then, in your estimation?" Ronceval Devons asked, chin propped on one meaty fist as he regarded Eden with frank wonderment, perhaps how he might have looked at one of his ships' figureheads if it came to life and started talking to him. Neils's eyes glittered--likely he wanted to throttle Ronceval for opening the door wide to Eden's speculations. I knew I did.

Cyril gave me a sharp poke in the side. "Stop her," he hissed as Eden leaned over and whispered something to Cyranea, who nodded and handed Eden her notes.

I glared at Cyril, and he subsided, muttering under his breath. Even though I dreaded what nonsense Eden might utter next, I certainly wasn't going to stop her. There were already plenty of rumors that I had used my clout to replace Merius with her because she was my wife and would do whatever I told her to do. There had been similar accusations when Merius first joined the council, that he would vote only as I commanded him to vote because he was my son and therefore my mindless drone, accusations which the ass had quickly put to rest when he first opened his mouth. After today, whatever else they thought about Eden, all of them would know she had her own mind and will.

"The main question at hand is the rightful custody of Sir Sirus of Colmer and Lady Tyra of Halford's son," Eden said. "As this matter came before the council to vote upon, I assume that it is not as certain a matter as Sir Ghet, Sir Hen River, Sir Casian, and others here would seem to think. Certainly, it's not at all clear to me . . ."

"That doesn't surprise me," Halbert interrupted. "Women are famous for muddling things up. My wife is a dear soul, but she has no gift for logic."

"Would you like me to challenge you to a duel, Halbert?" I asked softly. The whole table fell silent--I didn't hear one breath. "Please say yes--I've had it with your loose tongue and would be happy to cut it out for you before it causes you any more trouble." Perhaps it was excessive, but I knew that excessive force was the only way to keep the council from descending into chaos. I had witnessed what happened when Cyranea first joined and started voicing her opinion--a hellish gauntlet of insults about her intelligence and virtue, insults that had only ended when Merius and I had made it clear we were her protectors.

"But Mordric, surely you don't agree with her?" Halbert asked after a long moment. He chuckled weakly. "I mean, if we had all voted as she did, we would have set a dangerous precedent for women to claim custody of their sons . . ."

"Whether I agree with her or not is irrelevant. She's free to voice her opinion without being interrupted by the likes of you, especially since you're the one who saw fit to call attention to her vote and force her to defend it in the first place."

He huffed a noisy breath but didn't say any more. Eden's eyes flashed in my direction, a rapid blink that expressed gratitude--and likely apprehension. She knew we would be discussing this later in the privacy of our bedchamber.

"Before I say anything else, I would like to make clear that I feel sympathy for Sir Colmer's plight and fear there may still be others who share it," Eden said. "As you all know, Merius was Sir Colmer's comrade on that campaign in the Carnith Mountains, and I remember him being distraught over Sir Colmer's disappearance--Merius knew him to be a fine commander and steady soldier. As Commander Herrod has testified," she paused and nodded in Herrod's direction. He nodded back, then winked at me--he admired Eden a great deal. Perhaps too much. I cursed to myself--it had already been hell having a wife half the council wanted to bed and other half wanted to strangle. And then I, the fool, had thought it would be a good idea to put said wife on the council in the very thick of things.

"Because of the harshness of the terrain in the Carnith Mountains and the failure of the slave traders to demand a ransom for Sir Sirus of Colmer, his fellow soldiers assumed that he had perished. Certainly men like Merius with first-hand knowledge of the conditions on that particular campaign would be the least likely to be mistaken about Sir Colmer's fate. However, mistaken they were. If his comrades in battle could be mistaken, how can we blame his young wife Tyra for assuming she was a widow and free to marry Sir Halford? She waited two long years for some word of Sir Colmer, the natural father of her son, and all she heard from those around her was that he was dead and that she should secure some protection for herself and her child by remarrying. Should she be punished by having her son taken from her now that Sir Colmer is back? Should her son be punished by being removed from the only parents he's ever known? Lady Tyra and her son are as much innocent victims in this bizarre twist of fate as Sir Colmer, and I propose that we devise a different solution to this problem then simply handing the boy over to Sir Colmer like an errant sack of potatoes, no matter what King Cainwulf wrote a thousand years ago." Eden sank back in her chair and drummed her fingers on the edge of the table, a distinctly catlike slant to her eyes, a sign she was pleased that she had had her say.

Chairs creaked, punctuating the murmur of whispered conversations as the councilors debated amongst themselves about what she had said. Cyranea shifted beside Eden, and they exchanged glances, Cyranea's spectacles winking in the afternoon sunlight. As Halbert had implied in his slur, I knew Cyranea had cast the other nay vote. Likely she and Eden had cooked this up between them, a test to see how much they could influence the council with their words alone. It had seemed such a cut and dried case a mere few minutes ago. The law spoke clearly--fathers always held custody of their children, no matter the situation. It was the only way to establish precedence and the rightful inheritance of property.

Of course, the law had spoken clearly about the treatment of suspected witches and warlocks, and Safire's transformation had rendered that law to meaningless ashes. Change sparkled in the air, the crackle of revolution, and I yearned to crawl under a rock somewhere with a flask of whiskey until it was over. Leave the righteous battles to the young--they had the passion and blithe ignorance to fight for such universal causes. Much as Eden understood me in ways no other woman had, she didn't understand how old I felt sometimes. The only emotions that could stir me to battle were my desire for the security of my family and my longing for vengeance against Peregrine, the private quests of a pragmatic man. An old man. For all her seeming youth, Safire was the only one who had ever understood how truly old I was. That was because she was old herself, older than me. Ancient. Her recklessness had actually been the hallmark of a soul too old to care for its own safety because it knew that safety only mattered in the physical realm and that the physical realm was an illusion. My temples gave a sudden twinge, and I rubbed them absently. My head often hurt when I started thinking about such things, particularly when I started thinking about Safire and the failure of my earthbound common sense to protect her and Merius.

"So, Lady Landers, what different solution would you propose?" King Segar asked then, and I shook myself, the twinge growing to an ache as I returned to the reality of my wife making a spectacle in the council chamber.

"I propose that we leave the boy in his mother and stepfather's care and allow Sir Colmer to visit him as often as he can. When the boy is old enough to grasp the particulars of his unique situation, he should spend part of the year with his father on the Colmer family estate so he can learn how to properly manage his inheritance."

Cyril harrumphed into his straggly mustache before he said, "I move that we hold another vote on this matter tomorrow and take into consideration Lady Landers's revisions to the original claim then. We have other matters before us today, and the western light grows long."

I silently thanked him for his tidy tying up of what could have turned into a raging debate that consumed the entire afternoon. Eden arched one brow and narrowed her eyes to slits--she was aware Cyril had acknowledged her proposal not because he approved of it but because he knew doing so was the only way to shut her and Cyranea up temporarily and move on to other matters. I groaned to myself. Even if Cyril and Eden would never like each other, they needed to cultivate a better show of outward goodwill. Ronceval Devons had already noticed their enmity and remarked on it. What if something happened to me? The nobility's position on the council would fall apart in a year with Eden and Cyril carping at each other.

Perhaps when Merius returned, he could help them work peaceably together--when his temper was in check, he had a skill for diplomacy that I lacked, especially where that old goat Cyril was concerned. I kept hoping for a message from Merius, though I knew he might not be able to send one--the last thing he would want to do is alert our enemies which ship he and Safire traveled on or that they were even away from Cormalen. Somehow we had managed to keep their absence a secret thus far--I had let the rumor stand that Merius had come down with lung fever and he and Safire were at Landers Hall for his convalescence.

It had been two and a half months since they had departed, long enough for Eden to discover she was with child. I looked at her to find her watching me. Our eyes slid around each other, as intimate as a caress before she gave a delicate little cough and glanced at Segar, who droned on about land grants. At least four months gone, she thought she was. Perhaps that was why she was so edgy lately. She would have to be off the council several months for her confinement. Also, she had been far more sick in the mornings with this one than she had been with Evi. Even if she deserved a tongue lashing for today's display, I resolved to go more easily on her than I might have otherwise. A mere lecture, if that--after all, she had likely already learned what she needed to from this debacle. She was quicker than Merius in that regard.

I hoped he and Safire returned soon, for Eden's sake if nothing else. Safire had helped Eden through her pregnancy with Evi, had been there for the birth, and even though she was a wild creature now and couldn't assist in any ordinary way, I still saw her as our family touchstone and trusted her presence to ensure the well-being of us all. Damn it, I hadn't meant to get Eden with child again, not now. She'd only weaned Evi scant months ago. It seemed like taunting fate to expect another healthy babe so soon.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Midnight. The flickering dance of shadow, cast by the single candle we had left lit. To distract myself and buy more time before the end, I briefly measured my rhythm by the distant tolling of the cathedral bell, tried to picture its solemn tremble instead of Eden's shiver of naked delight, the feel of its cold metal instead of her warm curves. It worked until she arched under me, pulling me deeper into her, and I lost all sense of anything beyond this bed. Beyond her.

Eden's hair a dark cloud against the pale pillow. Her sobs for breath in my ears as we clutched each other. I rocked over her, the red sparks at the edge of my vision warning me that I'd soon lose any semblance of control, any sense of myself as a separate being from her. Then she erupted in a long, shuddering cry, her nails digging into my back, and I knew she was already there, already cleaved to me until death and beyond. I continued on with a dogged determination, rewarded by her twisting her head from side to side, the glimmer of tears leaking out of her sealed eyes before she muffled her scream against my shoulder, the bite of her teeth in my flesh, the heat of her gasps triggering a red explosion inside, a flaming tidal wave of pleasure that obliterated all other sensation until I heard my own harsh pants and felt the tickle of sweat between my shoulder blades and knew it was over.

We kissed, a slow ebbing of carnal passion as our breathing eased to gentle sighs. I rolled off of her and snuffed the candle between my fingers before I sank into the pillows and feather tick, contented exhaustion seeping through my body. She laid her head on my shoulder and combed her fingers through my chest hair. I slid my arm around her, blinking at the red twinkles I still saw before me in the darkness.

"And to think, I meant to lecture you about council tonight," I said drily.

She laughed softly. "I always seduce you out of your good intentions, don't I?"

"Wicked wench." I paused. "You shouldn't have done it, you know. You shouldn't have voted nay. And you especially shouldn't have made that scene today."

Her fingers tightened against my chest. "Mordric, you realize that under that law, if Whitten was still alive and knew Sewell to be his get, that he could have laid claim to him and the council would have upheld it . . ."

"That would never have happened. Merius or I would have killed the craven cur first. Besides, he took advantage of Safire . . . "

"In the context of a legal marriage. We know that he raped her, but we would never have been able to prove it to the council, especially years after the fact. That law needs to be rewritten, to take into account the unique circumstances of each situation, to take into account what the child needs . . ."

"You don't have to convince me. I understand why you voted the way you voted. But you still shouldn't have."

She lifted herself up--even though we couldn't see each other in the dark, I could still feel her eyes on me. "Why not?" she asked finally.

"Because it's dangerous, with Safire gone. We don't need to draw any more attention to ourselves until she comes back. Eden, I told you before--if some of those men knew she was away from Cormalen . . . we'd have a civil war in a heartbeat." I ran my hand up and down her soft skin, traced the curve in of the small of her back, the curve out of her rump. "Besides, you shouldn't deliberately stir yourself up, not in your condition."

"What do you call what we just did, if not deliberately stirring me up?" She lowered her mouth to mine, a feather of a kiss. "See, sir, I'm fine," she murmured before she settled her head on my shoulder and curled against me, twining one leg around mine. We lay like that, as close as we could get to each other, until we fell asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Since King Arian's demise, there had been even more of these godforsaken court functions to attend. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and ran my hand around the inside of my collar--it felt too tight in this stifling press of people. I was probably the only courtier who missed the pall King Arian's presence used to cast over these crowds--it seemed that people had been quieter then, less drunken. Or maybe it was me--maybe I had lost what little tolerance I had possessed for noise and bustle.

Eden finished chattering with Neils of Ghet's wife, a bony, long-nosed creature who liked to sniff and rap her fan on things, including men's shoulders--I likely had several bruises to show for this odd habit.

"Thank God, finally," Eden said under her breath as the Ghets wandered away. "She's as odious as her husband."

"If she hits me with her fan one more time, I'm going to break it. Why does she do that?" I hissed, as if Eden could somehow answer for her entire sex and their strange proclivities.

She smirked. "I think it's a compliment, rather like a cat sinking its claws into you to show ownership."

"Oh." The light faltered, first too dim, then too bright, as if the hundreds of candles in the chandeliers and candelabras had bowed simultaneously in the same rogue draft. I rubbed my eyes, the dull roar of too many voices like waves of water crashing against the insides of my skull.

"Are you all right?" Eden touched my arm.

"I'm getting a headache," I answered shortly, even though it wasn't strictly true. My head didn't actually hurt--yet.

"We should stay at least a half hour more, until Queen Esme introduces the new Marennese ambassador."

"No--if we stay that long, then we'll have to stay even longer to hear him speak." I grimaced at the thought. Another half hour of this hell, and then that trussed Marennese buffoon, massacring the cadence of our tongue with his high-pitched voice and sharp-edged accent. I far preferred his predecessor, a good swordsman who had always enjoyed a turn around the practice floor. This new one didn't know the difference between a rapier and a cut-and-thrust sword. And he collected antique snuffboxes of all things.

"You're the one who insisted we come tonight," Eden reminded me, most unhelpfully. When she noticed my expression, she quickly added in a low voice, "It's just that we've left early several times in a row now. I know you don't like these events, but it doesn't look good to leave early every time. It would be like leaving council before a major vote. I don't understand it--I know you've never enjoyed company, but you used to tolerate it better."

"That's because Merius and Safire attended most of these for me." A memory shot through me like an arrow, a memory of Safire's arms around me, her witch touch drawing away the tension in my muscles. "And when I did come, Safire used to soothe me with her witchery."

Any other wife would likely have been taken aback by the thought of another woman using witchery on her husband, but Eden understood what I meant. The hard topaz gleam of her eyes softened to a liquid gold, and she rubbed my shoulder.

"Why don't you go upstairs for a few minutes? I'm sure there's no one up there this time of night, and Safire's paintings are still hanging in the queen's gallery. It might do you good to look at them."

"I don't want to leave you--you should have an escort." Visions of her alone in this throng plagued me. Gerard of Casian was here tonight and would be more than happy to claim the place at her side.

Her eyes narrowed, and she held up the hand adorned with the heavy circles of my rings before she lowered it to clasp the growing swell of her middle. "As if any man would dare. You challenge them to duels for interrupting me in the council chamber, for God's sake."

"That's different." I didn't say aloud that the reason it was different was because I was in the council chamber with her. She would think I didn't trust her, and that wasn't the case at all. It was all the lustful jackals circling whom I didn't trust.

"I don't know whether to be irritated or amused," she snapped. Then she started as if I'd pinched her. "Why, good evening, Sir Somners," she said coolly.

"Lady Landers, Mordric." He nodded stiffly and clasped his hands before him. As usual, his wife was not in attendance.

For God's sake, observing him and Eden, one would think they had just been formally introduced for the first time. At least he didn't want to tumble her.

"Cyril, would you stand here with Eden for a few minutes? I need a respite from the crowd," I heard myself say. Well, why not? It would be good for our rivals to see them together, being polite to each other if nothing else. Then I caught Eden's glare, her thin-lipped fury, and knew the balance between her amusement and irritation had just slid sharply against my favor, though I didn't quite understand why. Damn moody women. What was so wrong with Cyril taking my place for a moment or two? Eden and I would discuss it later in private, and then I could tell her in no uncertain terms that she needed to be more outwardly solicitous of Cyril if we expected to maintain our alliance with the Somners. We couldn't always depend on Merius to be there to smooth the rough edges.

For his part, Cyril shrugged and grasped Eden's elbow in the typical courtly gesture of an escort, the soul of equanimity. He seemed to understand what I was trying to do. He also understood I'd punch him if he said anything untoward to her--after all, he wanted to keep our alliance on good terms just as much as I did.

"Thank you," I said. Trying to ignore Eden's wasp sting look, I turned and headed for the stairs. As soon as I felt the marble steps lifting me above the crowd, I took a deep breath. The heat of hundreds of people and candles melted away, the ascent into cool quiet soothing me. I had never been one to enjoy crowds, perhaps because I had been to battle at such a young age and had had more than one attempt on my life in the market square since then. Crowds meant hidden daggers and men dying en masse from volleys of arrows before they could even raise their blades or shields to defend themselves.

Only a few candles lit the queen's gallery. I picked up one and walked around the perimeter, relishing the lonely echo of my footfalls. The bright oranges in one of the paintings caught my eye, and I paused before it. My candle flame swayed, its reflection gleaming against the edges of the moving paint swirls. At first I thought it was a rendering of differently sized and shaped bottles on a shelf in an apothecary's shop and wondered why such a subject should be moving at all. Then I realized, squinting at it, that each bottle contained one of the four elements--earth, water, air (represented by silvery swirls so violent I could almost hear the sough of wind through a pine forest), or fire (the flames were the orange blotches that had attracted my gaze in the first place.) Each bottle also contained a ghostly face, and these faces were moving, captive in their respective bottles and elements. Some seemed to be talking or singing, others laughing, a few even weeping. Odd subject for a painting, but the witch had never picked ordinary subjects, unless one counted her portraits, and even those moved. A faint whiff of charred cedar filled my nostrils, and I heard distant laughter, the eerie familiarity of Safire's slightly mocking, merry chortle. I glanced around at the shadows, my scalp prickling and my heels itching, but there was no one else here. Likely it was some woman laughing downstairs.

I glanced back at the painting, one of the bottles containing water capturing my attention. Some of the bottles of water frothed in gale-force waves, but in this particular bottle, the water only rippled a little, the calm water of a pond in the forest, the sort of pond that lured hapless deer with its deceptive peace so that a patient hunter like me could catch his prey off guard. The face in the bottle neither laughed nor wept nor spoke. Instead it regarded me with somber gray eyes and a slight smile.

*Your and Eden's next daughter. Little Nora. She'll be here someday. Don't despair. Safire's voice said clearly in my mind, and I started.

"What the hell?" I whispered. A whiskey warmth tingled through my veins, how I used to feel when the witch took away the tension in my shoulders.

"Mordric?"

I spun around, almost dropping the candle before I paired the voice with the tall, spare man standing there, the gentle stoop of a scholar apparent in his shoulders. Lord Artemious of Rankin--how I could not have recognized his voice immediately was beyond me. And how I could be so easily startled was beyond me as well. If I had been this jumpy when I joined the king's guard, my commander would have kicked me out in a week.

"Sorry," I muttered. "These damned paintings," I gestured around, the candle light dipping, "seem to have put me under some kind of spell. Little witch."

"Yes, I think their effect has grown since Safire's transformation." Artemious stepped forward and leaned closer to the bottle painting. "Narie sees the movement all the time now, and I could have sworn I smelled cedar burning when I looked at that one last week." He pointed to one hanging on the opposite wall--from what I could see it in the shifting shadows, it was the painting of a girl crouched in a nest, the one Eden thought looked like Evi. "I'll be interested to talk to Merius about it when they return. I imagine with the mind bond, he may be able to sense more than any of us."

I kept what I had heard to myself--the last thing I wanted was Artemious prodding me with his questions. Good man, Rankin, one of the best men in my acquaintance actually, but his scholarly curiosity knew no bounds.

"So, how did you find me?"

He straightened. "Eden told me. She thought you might be up for a chess match."

"If we play long enough, maybe we won't have to listen to that buffoon."

Artemious smiled in his mild way. "It appears no one wants to listen to him. Narie, Eden, and Cyril got pulled into a game of commerce."

"Cyril plays commerce?" I exclaimed. "I've known him forty years, and I've never seen the man place a wager."

"I believe the ante was two coppers."

"Oh--that's not even real gambling." I started to walk toward the door, Artemious beside me.

A jingle of spurs greeted us as I set the candle on the side table where I had found it. Ronceval Devons strode through the doorway, drawing up short when he saw us.

"Mordric, Ede--your lady wife said you'd be up here. I have to talk to you."

"Yes?" My body slipped instinctively into battle stance--feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent, back straight as I faced him. It wasn't that I expected him to attack me--for all his rowdy exterior, Ronceval was a canny courtier, probably the shrewdest merchant I had ever met, and an honorable man. It was just that standing to attention had been drilled into me since boyhood, and it was my most comfortable, natural stance when dealing with men I didn't know very well. Always ready for a fight was my wry thought.

"It's news of Merius." He shot Artemious a sidelong look, suspicion apparent in the lowering of his grizzled brows.

"Lord Rankin is in Merius's and my confidence. Whatever you have to say can be said in front of him." I looked around--I was certain there were no spies in this room. Still . . . "Let's move away from the doorway," I said in a low voice.

After we had grabbed several candles and shuffled over to the far corner from the door, Ronceval pulled a scrolled bit of parchment from inside his generously cut doublet. "One of my captains brought this back with him from the SerVerin Empire," he whispered.

I took the scroll and slit the blank seal with my dagger. Merius's dark, splotchy script slanted far rightward across the page, so hastily written that the words looked ready to take flight.

 

Tree serves shade we might Marenna she go from fifty two Midmarch . . .

"Damn him, why is he going there?" I hissed to myself, then realized Ronceval gaped at me and Artemious read over my shoulder.

"Did he devise that code?" Artemious asked.

"Yes." Deciding I would finish it later when I didn't have an audience, I rolled the scroll back up with a snap of parchment and pinned Ronceval with a stare. "What did your captain say about the SerVerin Empire?"

"That it's in absolute chaos. That Safire has been sighted--and heard--in every major port city. That all the slaves are revolting, the slave traders are falling on their swords left and right, and pirate ships are being blown up. So you convinced him to do it--I knew you would. I knew you wouldn't let a weapon like her go to waste." Ronceval rubbed his hands together and cracked his knuckles, excited as a boy winning a battle with his toy soldiers.

I drew a deep breath and silently counted to five before I exhaled. "Ronceval, this captain, his crew--where are they now?"

"Back on the high seas--I didn't let them go home or even leave the ship. I paid them all double wages and made them swear to secrecy for the next two months, on pain of losing their jobs."

"Thank you. Dear God, though, if your ship returned, there must be other captains, other crews sailing home from the SerVerin Empire as we speak. I doubt Neils of Ghet will pay his men double wages and swear them to secrecy."

Ronceval, who detested Neils, immediately grasped the direction of my reasoning. "But if my ship was docked in the Bay of Lights at the same time as Merius's ship, it stands to reason that if my ship has returned, Merius and Safire shouldn't be far behind. My captain said it was smooth sailing, only a little rain on the fifth day out from the Bay of Lights . . ."

"Yes, that would be so, if Merius hadn't decided to turn this into a pleasure cruise and take a detour," I spat. "Thrice-damned fool . . . " My fingers curled into a fist around the scroll, crumpling the parchment. I dimly realized that I was about to lose my legendary calm. I sternly commanded myself to take long, deep breaths, but my heart continued to flutter erratically, a sharp pain in my chest.

Artemious touched my shoulder then. "Mordric, even if Merius and Safire are delayed by several weeks, it will take some time for the news to circulate that the firebird is away. By the time most hear of it, they'll be back, I'm sure. And no one aside from us three knows that Merius even took a side trip and may be delayed. No matter their desire to overthrow King Segar, men like Neils will be hard-pressed to effect any lasting rebellion. As far as they know, at any moment Merius and Safire could dock in Corcin harbor. And who knows? They may--Merius understands the need for haste, likely better than any of us."

My head jerked in a nod. "That sounds sensible," I managed, my voice thick. "I just don't understand why he has to take such insane risks . . ."

"Ronceval, would you mind fetching His Majesty?" Artemious asked. "He should hear the rest of this."

"Of course." His spurs jingling, Ronceval trotted from the room. As soon as his footfalls had faded, Artemious turned to me.

"Now that he's gone, do you mind if I have a look at that letter?" he said.

I handed it to him. "The sequence is four, four, three, one, two, five, one . . ."

"Slow down a moment." He smoothed the parchment out on the marble-topped table, anchoring the edges with the candlesticks. Then he counted, his mouth moving soundlessly as he tapped each word with his fingertip. "Clever," he muttered. "He used t-w-o for t-o, and I see he did the same down here with t-h-e-r-e and t-h-e-i-r and f-o-u-r and f-o-r . . ."

Before he could mention every deliberate misspelling in the damned letter, I said, "You know Merius--always has to complicate things."

"What's the full sequence?"

So I told him, and he read the rest of it before he rolled it back up and handed it to me. "Seems he's going to get those books from King Rainier. He mentioned daughter, so it must be something to do with Avreal--I'm sure he'll tell you everything when he returns."

"If he returns. Trust him to walk straight into the spider's lair."

"Safire won't let anything happen to him or Avreal. Really, Mordric, if he has to go to Sarneth, this is the ideal time. He has Safire with him, and our enemies here don't know either of them are gone."

"Yet," I added. I appreciated Artemious's cool logic--it had helped calm me down--but now all I really wanted to do was curse and then tell Eden the news. Artemious and his wife Narie had become our closest allies and friends, but still--it wasn't their son who had turned into a weirhawk. It wasn't their son who had undergone the strangest tragedy to befall a husband and father in the known history of Cormalen less than a year ago. It wasn't their son who was a reckless madman. It was mine, and I was tempted to lock him in the attic with his bird wife when he finally returned, except then I would worry that they would find a way to fly off together, never to be seen again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Evi, no," Eden's voice echoed from the hall. "No, don't touch that. Come back here." I glanced up from Selwyn's letter as I heard a metallic crash and then a patter of small feet followed by Eden exclaiming, "Oh, you naughty thing."

I lowered my spectacles and gazed at the door, which was slightly ajar. It swayed as if caught in a rogue draft, then Evidee poked her head around the edge. When she saw me, she giggled, then pranced into the room, holding aloft a dripping sunflower from the bouquet on the hallway table like a parade flag.

Resisting the urge to go scoop her up before she could fall, I didn't exhale until she made her way across the floorboards, the rug, and then around the edge of my desk without incident. She walked and even ran fairly well now that Eden had taken her to the cobbler for some stiff-soled shoes that helped her keep her balance.

"See pretty, Papa." She presented me with her prize.

"Thank you," I said gravely as I took the flower and set it on the ink blotter. Then I grasped Evi around her sides and sat her on my lap, noticing that water from the vase had soaked the front of her pinafore. Thank God the vase was metal instead of glass or ceramic--if it had broken . . .

Eden pushed the door open then and came into the library, Dominic and Sewell trailing behind her. Her skin had a sallow cast I didn't like, and dark shadows bruised her eyes.

"Are you all right?" I demanded. Evi tipped her head back against my middle and stared up at me, frowning as she stuck her index finger in her mouth. She didn't understand most words, but like the other children, she had already mastered tone of voice.

"Just a little tired." Eden leaned against the door jamb. Dominic's chubby hand fisted around a fold of her skirt while Sewell hung back, clutching a book, his gaze unblinking as he regarded her. Then his head turned in my direction, his eyes widening, and he hugged the book to his chest as he backed against the door.

When she didn’t acknowledge him, Dominic kept tugging on her skirt, persistent as an impatient master yanking a bell pull to summon a servant. "Evi-ma," he said. "Evi-ma!"

She looked down at him finally, shaking her head as she extricated her skirt from his grip. "What?"

"Evi-ma hurt?" he asked, reaching up to pat her rounded middle.

Eden's shoulders jerked as she drew straight. She stared at Dominic for a moment, then leaned down to tousle his hair "No, I'm not hurt." Then she glanced over at me. "I haven't said anything to them," she whispered hoarsely. "Spooky imp."

I shrugged. "He comes by it honestly. I just hope he doesn't turn into a bird too."

Evi grunted, her small body taut against my arm as she seized the sunflower stem. She whipped the flower against the desk, golden petals fluttering everywhere, seeds scattering all over my papers, and water drops landing on Selwyn's letter, splotching the ink. Upon witnessing this destruction, she laughed, dropped the ruined flower on the floor, and clapped her hands.

"Remarkable. She could be both the jester and the audience at the same time--look how well she applauds her own misdeeds. All right, you--time to go back to the nursery." Eden stepped forward to claim Evi. Dominic grasped her skirt with both hands and clung to it, even after he fell on his rump. Before I could say anything, Eden stopped, apparently feeling his weight as she dragged him.

She frowned down at him. "Dominic, let go."

"Evi-ma take nap now," he said, his mouth pressed in a straight, narrow line as he stared up at her. "Evi-ma hurt."

"Why, you bossy little wretch--I'm the one who tells you when to take naps, not you tell me."

I snorted. "You did say you're tired. Maybe he has a good point."

She touched the small of her back as if it pained her. "But Elsa, Bridget, and Birdley went to market with Randel as a bodyguard. There's no one else in the house to watch them . . . well, Jared and Greit. But Greit's practically deaf, and Jared has no sense."

"I could watch them," I said.

"But you're working."

"It's not like I haven't kept them in here before. The girls should be back from market soon, shouldn't they?"

"They should be." Eden looked from Dominic, who still stared up at her, his mouth puckered in a scowl, to Sewell, who still hunkered against the door, gaping at me. "Can you boys stay here with Grandpapa and Evi?"

Dominic continued scowling while Sewell slowly shook his head back and forth. "Evi, Evi, Evi!" Evi screeched. "Evi, Evi, Evi!"

"Good God." I found myself scowling now. "Shut up, Evi."

Her little mouth snapped closed, and she tilted her head back and regarded me with wide amber eyes. My face had to appear upside down to her at that angle, but she continued watching me, not blinking. Using Eden's skirt, Dominic pulled himself to his feet before he went over to stand beside Sewell, both of them staring at me now, waiting to see what I would do next.

"They're quiet and still--we're off to a fine start," I said to Eden.

She grinned, but her usually full lips looked strained over her teeth. "Thank you--it should only be a few minutes." Then she left.

Sewell started to run after her, halting in mid-step as I said, "No, Sewell. You stay here."

He immediately returned to his spot by the door and resumed his scrutiny of me, his book clutched to his chest as he swayed back and forth. At least he was obedient. Evi, deprived of her favorite pastime of yelling her own name, started wiggling. When she saw the plume of my quill pen, it was too much temptation for her, and she grabbed for it. At first I started to stop her, then thought the better of it.

"Here, let me show you something." I dipped the quill in the ink well and drew a line, then a circle on the blotting paper.

Evi sat up stiff as a wax doll, entranced. The she twisted her head around and met my gaze. "Evi want, Papa!"

Gripping her hand between my fingers, I guided her movements. She squealed as first a wobbly line appeared under the straight one I had drawn, then a crooked circle. Both boys abandoned the door and came over to see what Evi's fuss was about. They peered over the edge of the desk, their nostrils flaring before their breath made misty ovals on the polished surface.

"Would you like to try?" I asked Sewell, holding out the quill to him. His head swiveled slowly back and forth. "No--why not?"

In answer, he lifted the book. Then he inhaled deeply with a long snuffle, apparently working up the courage to speak to me. "Wead stowy please," he said finally.

"Troll story," Dominic added.

So that was how we all ended up on the settle, the children piled around me as I flipped through the book. "Where's the troll story?" I asked, glancing at Dominic over the tops of my spectacles. I held out the book, and he turned the pages, crinkling the parchment between his dimpled fingers. I had begun to wonder if he had understood me when he smacked his palm down on a particularly lurid ink drawing of a dark cave, lit only by a spiny dragon breathing fire.

"Dis one." He met my gaze, his mouth set in that thin line again, an unnervingly adult expression for a toddler. A brief vision of Merius slapping his palm on his high chair and demanding more cake came to me then--aside from the fair, straight hair, Dominic looked just like his father had at that age. And acted like him too sometimes--the same comically imperious manner, though Dominic was far quieter than Merius had ever been.

"This one?" I examined the illustration. "Are you sure? This story looks like it's about dragons, not trolls."

"This stowy have twoll and dwagons-es," Sewell explained happily, his usual shyness in my presence completely forgotten.

"All right, if you say so." Evi tried to grab my spectacles then, and I stopped her just in time, my hand resting on her mess of curls as I began to read. What nonsense was this? Merius surely had picked out this tale to tell them. It was just the kind of ridiculous, romantic, gory fantasy he would enjoy, with its man-eating troll, a flock of dragons incinerating whole villages right and left, an insane wizard king who kept his beautiful daughter locked in a tower, and a hero who spouted poetry like a squid spouting ink, even in the midst of fighting. Who would buy such melodramatic drivel? I resolved then to read them some real history next--they likely wouldn't understand any of it, but it had to be better for them than this. Safire's and Avreal's transformations had forced us to live in a fairy tale--we could all do with a good dose of down to earth practicality, especially the children and Merius.

Though I couldn't imagine worse torture than being made to read the troll and dragon story again, that was exactly what I did when I finally reached the end. The children clamored for it again so loudly that I sighed and started over at the beginning to get them to shut up. Normally I would never have given in to such demands, but I had the dim notion that they missed Merius, and the sound of my voice reading the same words his voice had seemed to soothe them, to the point that they started nodding off halfway through the second go-around.

I was on the verge of closing the book when I heard the hurried slaps of someone in slippers running down the hall. I looked up to see Elsa appear at the doorway, her usually pleasantly round face drawn, her usually neatly smooth hair askew. When she noticed the children, she stopped and caught her breath.

"Sir," she whispered, her voice ragged. "I think Lady Eden is having a miscarriage. Randel's gone to fetch the . . ."

But I didn't hear anything else she said, for a ringing started in my ears. I felt the rest of that day as if someone with fists the size and weight of cannon balls had punched me right between the eyes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You really should try to sleep." I sat against the headboard of our bed, running my hand over Eden's loosened hair again and again, then trailing my fingers over her hunched shoulders and down her back. It seemed I couldn't stop touching her. Her warmth, her voice, even her sobs reassured me that she still breathed.

A shiver ran through her, and she turned her face into the pillow, hiding from the light of the oil lamp I'd left burning so I could see that her chest still rose and fell. The thought tormented me that she could start hemorrhaging again, and neither of us would realize it until it was too late.

"It's because I took bloodweed when I was younger, isn't it?" she said wearily, her voice muffled in the bed linens.

I heaved a sigh. "No, sweet--if that were the case, something would have gone wrong with Evi, and it didn't."

"I should never have taken it," she continued as if she hadn't heard me. "I always tried to be so careful during the new moon, but I've never been regular. Still, I only used the bloodweed a few times, when I was scared because my bleeding seemed late. Then I used a sponge soaked with vinegar for awhile when King Segar and I . . . maybe I shouldn't have done that either. Reti said the vinegar can soak into your womb and stay there for years and if you do get pregnant, it can blind or kill the baby."

"Eden, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Is Evi blind? Since we're talking about maybes, maybe I shouldn't have gotten you with child again."

That got her attention at last. She turned over, her face still blotchy from the tears she'd shed earlier. Her hand crept out from under the blanket, finding mine. I was glad her fingers felt warm now--when I had held her hand earlier during the worst of it, her skin had been cold as a corpse's.

After a moment of silence, I said softly, "Helga says it looks like there was something wrong with the baby's heart, that it wasn't beating like it should. She says she's seen it before--she says you can tell because his skin was so blue. She also says that it'll likely never happen again, especially since you've already borne one healthy babe with no problems."

The logic of this seemed to comfort her, as her eyes slipped closed, her fingers tightening around mine. "Dominic knew," she murmured after a long moment. "Somehow he knew. Just like his mother. I wish she was here."

"Me too." I hesitated, let the silence grow long between us. Then I said, "That night at the palace, when I went upstairs to look at Safire's paintings--I could have sworn I heard her voice in my head."

"Really?" Eden sounded on the verge of sleep, her voice barely a whisper. "What did she say?"

"That we'll have another healthy daughter someday, not to despair."

"Oh--wish I could hear her voice--miss talking to her so much . . ."

"I know." I leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her hand slackened in mine, her breath deepening. I blew out the oil lamp and remained by her side in the dark, listening to her sighs and muttered half words as she started to dream. It occurred to me then that I had never sat beside Arilea like this--after her miscarriages, I had hidden in my study at Landers Hall and either drank or worked myself into oblivion. I hadn't reached for my hip flask once tonight, hadn't even thought to reach for it. I had been too worried about Eden's condition to think about anything else. What had happened to me? How could I be such a different man now than I had been then?

Of course, Eden was different from Arilea. I knew how to comfort Eden, what to say to her, whereas I had never known what to say to Arilea. My logic had never comforted Arilea--it had driven her mad. But still, it wasn't only that Eden and I understood each other better than Arilea and I had. I was different now.

Arilea and I had never understood each other, but I realized now I couldn't blame her entirely for that. If I had tried harder and been a better husband, Arilea might never have become so desperate and taken that lethal dose of bloodweed during her last pregnancy. So what had changed? Was it because I was wiser, more self-aware, perhaps even kinder? If so, why? Age did not necessarily bring wisdom or self-awareness or kindness.

It was that little witch who had done it. That was when I had first felt different. Not when I had first met her--no, then I wanted to strangle her for insulting me and her father while we negotiated Dagmar and Selwyn's betrothal. No, it was later, after I had accused her of being after Merius's fortune and Arilea's ghost had tried to possess her. She had looked at me with those disturbingly clear eyes, those eyes that seemed to see through me, and had announced that I was less cruel than I pretended to be. That was when my façade had started to crack, though I didn't know it then. I had often cursed Safire for her recklessness, but if not for her wild bravery, her willingness to follow the wounded bear into its den and heal it, I would still be the embittered, unapproachable man I had been during my marriage to Arilea.

Eden shifted then, and I glanced in her direction, realizing that shadows across the bed had grayish edges. Dawn would soon be upon us. I silently rose and closed the bed curtains before the growing light woke her. Then I lit the oil lamp from the embers still glowing on the hearth--normally we wouldn't have needed a fire in August, but Eden had taken such a chill, likely because she had lost a lot of blood, that Randel had kindled a fire and then banked the embers for us before he went to bed.

I took the lamp over to the washstand, intending to revive myself with a splash of cold water, when I saw the box. It was a pine box, about the size of a loaf of bread, one of the few of my father's personal items I had kept. Some forgotten artisan had painstakingly carved a scrolled L into the lid. I had retrieved the box from the library last night, and Helga had put the babe in it. She must have left it here on the washstand.

I opened the lid, the wooden hinge sighing with age, and gazed upon the tiny body. He had been alive when he was born, but Helga had explained that even though he opened his mouth, he was too young to cry or even draw breath properly. Eden had held him until he had stopped squirming and fallen still, his skin as blue and cold as if he had frozen to death. Then she had pressed her lips to the crown of his head and relinquished him to Helga, who had wrapped him in my best handkerchief--he was too small for any other shroud.

I picked him up in my hand and held him aloft, curled on his side across my fingers and palm--he was only seven or eight inches long, the size of young kitten, his weight so slight that it felt as if I held a soap bubble that could pop or float away at the slightest breeze. It astonished me that Evi had once been this tiny, that Merius had once been this tiny, that I had once been this tiny. What miracles time wrought--but for a few mere months, he would have been twice this size. And able to breathe.

My eyes burned, and I gulped air, quickly lowering him back into his box before I dropped him. I carefully tucked the handkerchief back around him and gave him one last look before I closed the box forever.

The house was still asleep a quarter hour later when I crept through the darkened halls, cradling the box with my right arm. Snoring filled the kitchen, and I drew up short. Randel slumped forward in one of the chairs, his head and arms resting on the table. When I tried to sneak past him, he started and snorted, then lifted his head.

"Sir," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Randel."

But he stretched, probably the first time he had ever disobeyed one of my orders, and regarded me with his usual steady shrewdness. "You want some company?"

"Do you know where to find a shovel? I want to bury him before Eden or the children wake up."

He nodded and slid the chair back, following me out into the gray almost-dawn world of the yard and forest. While he got a shovel, I picked a spot near the edge of the woods, at the roots of an oak sapling.

"Sir Merius planted this tree, right before he left," Randel said.

"Why did he do that? We have a whole forest of trees." I set the box down and started digging. The earth was soft and black, good dirt for growing things. And burying them.

Randel scratched his head. "He had the children with him--some kind of lesson, I suppose. He's always showing them things, how to do things. Do you want me to do that, sir?"

"No." I dug about three feet down, then meticulously carved out the earth so that the hole was a perfect rectangle. The light around us slowly shifted from gray to a pale reddish-gold as I worked.

"My Cicelee thought she was with child once. Scared the hell out of me, after seeing what you and Lady Arilea went through," he remarked.

I grunted and leaned on the shovel for a moment. "Why have you never married Cicelee?"

He shrugged. "I asked her a few times, when we were younger. She's never said yes. I think she likes it, the way we have things. She can run the inn the way she pleases, with no husband there to tell her how to do things, and me . . . I don't know as I was ever cut out for marriage."

"I suppose what's important is that you have an arrangement that suits you both." I knelt down, lifted the box, and gently set it in the hole. The top pointed toward the oak sapling, due north. It was tradition to bury the dead in that orientation so that they wouldn't get confused and travel the wrong direction in the afterlife. The thought struck me suddenly, a kick in the gut. He was so tiny, this nameless son--how would he know which way to go? He was my seventh child to die before his life had even begun, and this was the first time such a thought had even occurred to me. How had any of them known which way to go?

"Sir?" Randel asked from a great distance.

The beating of large wings and the loud whoosh of wind through feathers made me look up, expecting to spot a giant owl returning to its roost after a night of hunting. But there was no owl or any other kind of bird that I could see.

"Did you hear that?" I asked Randel. "Sounded like a bird."

His brow furrowed. "No, sir. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." I stood up, brushing the dirt from my knees before I straightened and looked up at the sky again, shielding my eyes from the rising sun. Still no sign of a bird, at least not a bird I could see. But that didn't mean there wasn't a bird there--I had lived in this world long enough and experienced enough to know that just because I couldn't see something didn't mean that it wasn't there. My scalp tingled as a phantom wind ruffled my hair, a warmth that spread through my veins as if I'd just taken several shots of the best whiskey. The scent of burning cedar filled the air, and I knew for certain then that Safire watched over us, that she knew what had happened even though she was across the sea, and that she would look after our tiny son's spirit and show him the right way to go.