Arrow (Knife) (16 page)

Later that morning, Rhosmari watched from her bedroom window as the grocer’s lorry came crunching up the drive and wheezed to a stop by the kitchen. As the driver unloaded Sarah’s groceries and carried them into the house, Rhosmari clasped her hands together and mouthed a silent prayer.
Please let him be willing. Please don’t let Sarah change her mind…

The man stayed inside for what seemed a very long time, and Rhosmari began to feel nauseated with worry. But Sarah must have persisted, for in the end he went back outside with a bundle of banknotes in his pocket and Isadora’s carrier under his arm. As he climbed into the lorry and drove away, Rhosmari held her breath. If the Empress had seen…if the wards alerted her that something was wrong…

But when the lorry reached the end of the drive and turned onto the road, she knew with a leap of her heart that she had guessed right: the Empress took little account of dogs – or humans. And when it was safe to go downstairs again, Sarah’s tearful gratitude was all that Rhosmari could have wished for.

‘You did it!’ she whispered, clutching Rhosmari’s hand in her soft, blue-veined ones. ‘She’s safe! Oh, thank you, thank you…’

Rhosmari was glad to see the old woman so relieved. Yet to hear those sacred words, even from a human who did not know any better, made her squirm inside. She did not deserve to have Sarah so indebted to her. Especially since she had used Isadora’s rescue as an opportunity to send her letter to the rebels, and not even told Sarah what she was doing…but then, that was for Sarah’s own protection.

Or at least that was what Rhosmari told herself. But deeper down she knew the real reason: she did not dare to rely upon anyone now, even someone as well-meaning as Sarah. If the rebels came to rescue them, Sarah would share in her joy; but if not, Rhosmari would bear the disappointment, and the consequences, alone.

One day passed, and then another, and another. By the fourth day, Rhosmari had begun to lose hope. At the end of the fifth, she pressed her face into her pillow and wept. And on the sixth, when the Empress summoned Rhosmari and announced that they would leave for the Green Isles tomorrow, she could only bow her head in resignation. She had done her best, but she had failed. And now she could think of only one more way to thwart the Empress’s plan.

That night, when the house was still, Rhosmari walked softly out of her bedroom and down the steps to the kitchen. She felt no fear, only a black and roaring emptiness, as she took Sarah’s carving knife from the block and poised it against her heart. She would grip it with both hands, like so, and…

But the knife would not move, and neither would her body, no matter how much Rhosmari willed them to come together. She wrestled against herself until sweat broke out on her forehead, then dropped the knife with a clatter and reeled back, gasping and spent. When the Empress had told Rhosmari not to leave the house by any means, she had meant it. Even the door of death was closed to her now. Rhosmari stumbled back up to her bedroom, and fell into exhausted sleep.

When she woke it was mid-morning, and the sunlight slanting through the curtains seared her eyes like a brand. But her limbs felt too heavy to move, and what was the use of getting out of bed anyway? She rolled over and curled in upon herself, wishing she could go back to sleep and never wake up again.

Dimly she registered the sound of tyres crackling over gravel as a vehicle came up the drive. The grocer again, no doubt…but if it was his lorry, it did not make any of the usual noises. Nor did the muffled voice – no, voices – drifting up from the yard sound familiar. Rhosmari clambered out of bed and pressed her ear to the window, straining to make out their conversation. It sounded as though some human family had come by to see the estate, and Sarah was turning them away.

‘No, we don’t give tours any more,’ she said. ‘Waverley Hall is no longer open to the public. I’ll have to ask you to—
Oh!
’

Ice shot through Rhosmari’s veins. Someone was hurting Sarah! She whirled and dashed out into the corridor – only to collide with Martin, who seized her by both wrists and held her there.

‘Cleverly done, my lioness,’ he said, raising his voice as shouts and splintering noises resounded from the floor below. ‘So you learned a few tricks from me after all.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Rhosmari demanded, struggling to see past him. ‘What’s going on?’

‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘The Empress summoned me to keep an eye on you, because your rebel friends are attacking the house. Somehow they got past the wards – and now they’ve broken inside. How did they manage that, I wonder?’

Thumps and hoarse cries echoed from downstairs, followed by a crash of furniture being overturned. Rhosmari tried to twist free of Martin’s grip, but he only said, ‘The study, I think,’ and began to drag her along with him.

‘Timothy, don’t you dare!’ shouted a furious female voice from below, and Martin stopped. ‘Aha,’ he said. ‘So that’s how they did it. The Empress really must learn to stop underestimating humans.’

But even as he spoke footsteps pounded up the stairs, and a slim, dark-haired boy leaped up onto the landing, brandishing a fireplace poker like a sword. Cold iron ringed his fingers, braced his wrists, swung in cross-shape from a leather thong around his neck – an armour no faery spell could penetrate.

‘Let her go, Martin,’ he panted, levelling the poker.

A talented young human
, the Empress had called Timothy,
but regrettably prone to violence
. Rhosmari knew it was true – and yet her heart at the sight of him, just the same.

Martin shoved Rhosmari behind him, so hard that she tripped and fell. Then with a gesture he spelled a vase off its pedestal, and hurled it at Timothy. Rhosmari cried out – but Timothy ducked and it shattered against the wall above him, showering him with china fragments. He shook the dust from his hair and advanced again.

A painting leaped off the wall behind Timothy, threatening to bludgeon him with its heavy frame. But he twisted sideways and it skimmed past him with a hand’s width to spare. Martin was forced to dodge it, and Timothy sprang forward, closing the gap between them. ‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘Let her
go
—’ and he swung the poker at Martin, who leaned back just in time to avoid being hit.

Rhosmari scrambled backwards, glancing around for something she could use to help. She did not want to get in the middle of this fight; she did not want to fight at all. But she had seen the feral gleam in Martin’s eyes and the answering glare in Timothy’s, and she knew that if she did not intervene, someone was going to end up badly hurt…

Rhosmari! Leap to me at once!

The command exploded into her mind, obliterating every other thought. In a blink she left the corridor, and materialised in the Empress’s study.

‘So you too have betrayed me,’ snapped the Empress. In her fury she had lost control of her glamour, and for the first time Rhosmari glimpsed her real face: grey-black hair threaded white at the temples, and features that had once been striking grown haggard with age. ‘You will pay for this – but there is no time now. Take these.’ She snatched up an armful of papers from the desk and thrust them at Rhosmari. ‘Meet me in—’

The double doors crashed open and Timothy burst into the room, followed by a lean, ice-blonde woman who moved like a hunter. The woman’s arm whipped out, hurling an iron horseshoe through the air – but before it could strike the Empress, she vanished.

Leap to the village and await me there!
The Empress’s last order rang out in Rhosmari’s mind, and automatically she cast the spell to obey. But before she could fade Timothy lunged at her, and his iron-ringed fingers closed around her wrist.

Agony seared through her. The spell broke, all her magic extinguished in an instant. As Rhosmari’s knees buckled, Timothy caught her in his arms – but then her cheek brushed the cross upon his chest, and everything went black.

Rhosmari woke at the touch of fingers sliding into her own, pressing something cool and hard against her palm. She closed her hand around it, feeling its smoothness, its rounded shape.

It was the Stone of Naming.

She gripped it fervently, willing its magic to work as she had never wished for anything in all her life. Light filled her mind, burning away the darkness, and the true name that the Empress had stolen vanished from Rhosmari’s memory, erased as though it had never been.

Yet she felt no emptiness, no regret. No sooner was the old name gone than the new one took its place, but it did not feel like a replacement; it was as though she had been meant to bear that name all along, and she could not imagine anything more fitting or more beautiful.

And in that moment, Rhosmari swore to herself that she would face any peril, endure any torture, even fight to the death if she had to, rather than let anyone –
anyone
– find out her secret name again.

‘Feeling better?’ asked a voice, and slowly she opened her eyes.

She was lying on the sofa in the Empress’s study. But it was not the Empress’s any longer, for all the curtains had been flung back and the once-shadowed room was washed in light. Dust motes tumbled through the sunshine, winking like tiny jewels, and through the open window came a gentle breeze and the sound of a bird calling
hweet, hweet
.

And Timothy was standing there, watching her.

He was even taller than she remembered, his skin more tanned, his eyes greener. There was a smear of blood high on his forehead where something had cut him, and he was wearing the fireplace poker like a sword through his belt.

‘Sorry about the iron,’ he said, holding up his ring-circled fingers. ‘But your magic should come back in an hour or so – and I figured you’d prefer a shock to going with the Empress.’

‘Yes,’ said Rhosmari, wincing as she sat up. Her wrist and cheek still tingled where the iron had touched her, and all her muscles ached. ‘Is it over already? The Empress and her people – they’re gone?’

Timothy nodded. ‘And they won’t be coming back, either. Sarah will make sure of that.’

So Sarah was all right, too. Rhosmari sent up a silent prayer of gratitude. ‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ she said to Timothy. ‘The grocer told us he’d delivered Isadora, but then—’

‘I know,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry about that, too. But it took us days just to figure out how to get through the Empress’s wards without setting them off. And then we had to make sure we took her by surprise, so she wouldn’t have a chance to summon more than a few of her people before she had to run.’ He picked a paperweight off the desk and rolled it between his hands. ‘It would have been a lot harder without your letter, though. You’re a very detail-oriented sort of person, aren’t you?’

‘I’m a scholar,’ she said. ‘We’re trained to be specific.’

‘And logical,’ said Timothy. ‘I like that in a faery.’ He put the paperweight down, hitched a leg over the corner of the desk and sat there, a curious half-smile on his face. ‘So what gave you the idea of writing to Paul and Peri? And how did you know how to find us?’

‘Linden told us where you lived,’ she said. ‘When you and she came before the Elders.’

He looked surprised. ‘You were there that day? I didn’t see you.’

‘I was sitting behind Broch,’ she said, ‘and I came down afterwards to talk to Garan. You must have forgotten.’

Timothy shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Believe me, if I had seen you…’ His mouth quirked. ‘…I would have remembered.’

Rhosmari put a hand to her unbound hair. She knew she must look ridiculous in her bare feet and rumpled nightgown, but did he have to mock her? Summoning dignity she stood up, still clutching the Stone of Naming, and said, ‘Excuse me.’ Then she walked back to her bedroom, dressed in her travelling clothes, and tucked the Stone into her skirt pocket.

When she opened the door again, Timothy was waiting. ‘If you’re feeling up to it, we should go down,’ he said. ‘Garan’s anxious to see you.’

Garan. All at once Rhosmari’s self-possession evaporated, and her mouth went dry. She had come all this way to find him – but what would she say to him now?

The ground floor of Waverley Hall was swarming with faeries, most of them strange to Rhosmari. They were busy mending the broken furniture, scorched curtains, and other damage that had happened during the battle, and few of them even looked up as she and Timothy came down the stairs. But she glimpsed Broch’s long sardonic face among the crowd, and for a moment she thought she saw Llinos…

Then Garan came running across the entrance hall, whirled her around, and pulled her into a crushing embrace.

Rhosmari went rigid, staring over his shoulder as Timothy slipped away down the corridor and disappeared. Fortunately, Garan did not seem offended by her lack of response. He loosed her to arm’s length and looked her up and down, anxious. ‘You are well?’ he said.

If she had thought Timothy changed, Garan was even more so: he had clipped his sandy hair short and let his beard grow. It ought to have heightened his resemblance to his father, but oddly it did not. It only made him look older, and more like a leader.

‘I am now,’ she said. And with that she reached into her pocket, and took out the Stone of Naming.

When she left the Green Isles, Rhosmari would never have imagined that she could ever hold the Stone in her hand, knowing what it meant to her people, and yet choose to give it up. But that was before she had met the Empress, and experienced what it was like to be her slave. She would never forget the horror of knowing that her true name was no longer secret, or of becoming totally subject to another person’s whims. Nor could she forget what a vast relief it had been to touch the Stone, and be made free.

She held it out to Garan, offered on her open palm. ‘I came here looking for this,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want it any more. The Children of Rhys don’t need the Stone. Your people do.’

‘We are still Children of Rhys, even in exile,’ said Garan. ‘But I am grateful for your sacrifice, Rhosmari.’ Then, with a courtesy that reminded her painfully of Lady Arianllys, he inclined his head to her, took the Stone from her hand, and tucked it into the pouch at his belt.