Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1) (31 page)

Smashing things
did seem like a wonderful idea to him at that moment. It did not occur to him to question
why
his friends were destroying the tea-things; he merely gathered an armful of his own and began flinging them into the trees. They made such a satisfying, splintering noise as they hit the trunks and exploded into shards. He continued throwing things until there was nothing left to throw.

Silence descended, a brief one; then a roar of noise erupted as every member of the assembled company began talking at once. They were saying nothing of any import and Aubranael quickly lost interest in the proceedings. He turned his attention back to Lihyaen, who had slid forward onto her elbows in the absence of his aid.

There followed a painful conversation. She began to question him in turn, and he was obliged to relate to her the pattern of his life since her apparent death. Her eyes kept returning to the twisted mess of his face, and he read guilt as well as horror in her stricken expression. Heartsick, he did his utmost to soften the misery of the past twenty years as he spoke, and represent a balanced picture of his life. But she was not fooled. She read his every look and gesture, and her eyes told him that she understood perfectly.

Now it was her turn to make apologies, and his to dismiss them. In the midst of this ritual, an insistent noise began to intrude itself upon Aubranael’s inner world, and he frowned.

‘AUBRANAEL! CRAZY LADY! I’M WANTIN’ AN ANSWER HERE!’

He looked up, noticing absently that night had fallen. Balligumph stood some way down the table, waving his arms and roaring in his direction.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he said.

‘I said,’ the troll repeated in a more reasonable tone, ‘does one of ye two crazies have any notion at all what in the blazes is goin’ on here?’

It fell to Aubranael to repeat Lihyaen’s story, and his own; Lihyaen was patently exhausted by the unaccustomed exertions of the afternoon, and lay motionless against his chest. He kept his eyes averted from those of his audience as he spoke: he could not bear the shock, horror, revulsion and pity he knew he would see there.

At length he reached the end of his tale. Nobody spoke; silence stretched on, broken only by the rustling of the leaves in the night breeze.

Aubranael noticed two things.

Firstly, Felebre sat beside Lihyaen, leaning against the princess’s legs.

Secondly, Hidenory—restored to her youth and beauty now that night had fallen—had approached during his tale, and now stood only a few feet away. She was staring at Lihyaen, her beautiful face twisted with a horror far beyond that of her companions. And Aubranael would have sworn that he saw remorse somewhere in her eyes.

His own narrowed as he watched her. ‘Hidenory,’ he said softly, ‘is something amiss?’ His arms tightened around Lihyaen in a protective gesture: he did
not
trust Hidenory anywhere near his princess.

But Lihyaen straightened in his arms, her thin body turning rigid. ‘
Hidenory?
’ she repeated, her eyes searching the witch’s face. ‘Nurse Hidey?’

Hidenory said nothing, only stared impassively down at Lihyaen.

‘No, no,’ said Lihyaen, slumping down over the table once more. ‘You cannot be: you are nothing like her.’

Hidenory smiled sadly, and as Aubranael watched her pale, blonde beauty slowly vanished. Her skin darkened until it was similar in shade to his own; her hair darkened to almost black; and though her eyes remained blue, her features began to change. At length the slow transformation was complete, and Aubranael saw before him an Ayliri woman of middle years, her face and figure pleasing but by no means so stunning as the enchantment she usually wore.

‘Hidey,’ said Lihyaen in wonder. ‘How…?’

At the same time, Aubranael said: ‘
Hidey
? What is your involvement with this tale?’

Hidenory groaned and covered her face with her hands. ‘I was in charge of Lihyaen that day,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘And I… I agreed to be absent, if—if he would—’ She sighed and removed her hands, her fingernails leaving red marks on her skin as she drew them away. ‘I made a bargain,’ she said, straightening her spine and lifting her chin. ‘For Glamour! I wanted it so badly! And he gave it to me, in exchange for a half hour’s absence—no more. I swear,’ she said sadly, ‘I had no idea of the extent of his plans… though it can be no defence. I knew he could have no good purpose in seeking the bargain.’

Lihyaen was staring at her former nurse, her face a mixture of stricken dismay and confusion. She made to speak, but Hidenory held up a hand and said: ‘It can be of no use to apologise: I can never express to you the extent of my regret, nor will I ever be able to repay the debt I owe you.

‘Besides,’ she added quietly, ‘I have been punished in my turn.’ She passed a hand over her face, and in its wake her hag-like visage was restored.

Aubranael struggled with himself. His rage was building again, and he suffered a strong desire to lay all of his sufferings and Lihyaen’s at her door, and take his revenge accordingly. But to do so would serve no purpose at all; and in spite of his attempts to harden his heart, the pain and remorse in Nurse Hidey’s face touched his soul and dampened the flow of his anger.

He forced himself to focus instead on unravelling the remains of Lihyaen’s story. In a voice of studied calmness he said: ‘But who was it? Who did you bargain with?
Who took Lihyaen?
’

Hidenory stared at him and slowly shook her head. ‘I know nothing of him. I am sorry.’

Aubranael stared hard at her, but he could discern nothing but sincere regret in Hidenory’s expression. Perhaps that meant nothing; she was, after all, the very mistress of pretence. But for the present he must satisfy himself with this unhelpful answer.

Lihyaen shook her frail head, growing agitated in the circle of Aubranael’s arms. ‘But I do not understand,’ she said fretfully. ‘How came you all to be here, all of a sudden, on this day? Aubranael and Nurse Hidey together? It is the most improbable of coincidences.’

No one had any ready answer to this—until Sophy spoke up. ‘I do not believe it is any coincidence at all,’ she said calmly. ‘Such a thing is very unlikely, is it not?’

A brief smile touched Aubranael’s face. That was so very like Sophy: a voice of cool reason in the midst of chaos. It took him a moment to realise that her gaze was settled meaningfully upon Felebre, who had jumped up onto the table.

‘Felebre?’ he said in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Felebre has been very busy, has she not?’ said Sophy. ‘She has been keeping company with Aubranael for years, so I understand, and also with Hidenory.’

Hidenory nodded her assent.

‘I do not know what her intentions have been throughout all this, but that she is the means of bringing us together there can be no doubt.’ Sophy regarded Felebre in silence for a moment, and then added: ‘And she has shown far more affection for Lihyaen in the past half-hour than I have ever seen her show to anyone.’

Aubranael stared at Felebre: her unusually large frame; her sleek, purple fur; and her enormous golden eyes. Not for the first time, it struck him that there was a hint of royal majesty about her posture and bearing.

But Lihyaen was trembling in his arms, and he sensed that her exhaustion had reached a crisis. She simply had not the strength for the demands of the evening.

‘All further reflection must now wait,’ he said hastily. ‘Lihyaen is in sore need of rest.’ He stood up and made to draw her with him, but she stared up at him in despair.

‘Do you imagine it can be as simple as that?’ she said sadly. ‘If I could simply rise to my feet and go, would I not have done so many years since?’

Aubranael stared at her in dismay. ‘But—but how can you be liberated?’

‘It is the easiest thing in the world,’ she said promptly. ‘When another willingly takes my place at the head of the table, then I may go.’ She blinked up at Aubranael and said: ‘You may imagine the eagerness of my guests to volunteer themselves.’

A clamour went up as—to Aubranael’s astonishment—at least half of the assembled guests spoke up at once, and a chorus of ‘I will!’ and ‘I pledge myself!’ scattered across the clearing like birds.

But no one stepped forward, and nothing happened: Lihyaen did not appear, by any miraculous chance, to be liberated from her servitude.

Grunewald’s acid tones broke the silence. ‘You have to
mean it
,’ he said dryly. ‘When has an empty promise ever broken the chains of a curse?’

Aubranael looked at Lihyaen. He had failed to protect her years ago; he had nothing at all to offer her now. But here was the means to make amends for his various failures.

He opened his mouth to commit himself—and hesitated. His eyes strayed to Sophy’s face. She looked steadily back at him, her face calm, her expression grave. She
knew
what was passing through his thoughts, he felt sure of it, and she neither condemned nor encouraged it.

To serve one, he would have to abandon and neglect the other. He looked from Sophy’s dear face, devoid at present of the sunny smile he loved, to Lihyaen’s exhausted countenance as she leaned against him, her eyes shut. How could he possibly choose?

‘I will take the chair.’

The words were spoken loudly and firmly, sent forth into the still air with all the resolution of a bold character and a wilful mind. The voice was Hidenory’s.

She stood nearby, looking down at Lihyaen with an indescribable expression on her beautiful face. Holding out one slim, youthful hand to the princess, she said: ‘Shake hands with me.’

Doubtfully, the princess extended her own thin fingers and grasped Hidenory’s. In a flash the two changed places: Hidenory sat in Lihyaen’s chair, her back straight and her chin proudly lifted; Lihyaen stood swooning by the table. Hastily he jumped up and ran to support her, catching her before she fell into an undignified heap among the trees.

‘Why?’ Aubranael asked the witch.

She smiled sardonically. ‘I already bear the burden of one curse; why not two?’

Aubranael merely stared at her.

‘Somewhere there is the means to destroy this cruel enchantment,’ she said more seriously. ‘Someday, somebody will discover it. And I shall, in all probability, be much asleep until that time comes. And I am very tired.’

A small, brown face popped up at the table next to Hidenory’s chair: Pharagora. The brownie had taken the chair at the witch’s right hand, and now she sat smiling at her. ‘I am tired too,’ the brownie announced. ‘And thirsty. I will keep you company awhile.’

Several others followed the brownie’s lead, though Aubranael did not recognise any of the hobs and goblins and other fae who were taking their seats at the table. But with the change of hostess and the arrival of new guests, the Teapot Society began to regain its strength: Aubranael could feel the curious pull of the well-laid table exert itself once more, and he had to fight the temptation to claim a seat and a teapot himself. He had not the time at present to think through all the implications of Hidenory’s uncharacteristic self-sacrifice: his first duty was to Lihyaen and Miss Landon, and all their friends.

‘It is perhaps time to leave,’ he said, looking at Sophy and then at Balligumph.

‘Yes,’ Sophy murmured, and began at once to collect all of her particular friends and associates together. Grunewald gathered his scattered goblins with a sharp whistle and a bellowed command; Balligumph organised the retreat. ‘All right, now, off ye go! Ahead o’ me, every one o’ ye. I’ll keep the wily table from swallowin’ ye on yer way past.’ He gave a low, rumbling chuckle, his bright eyes sharp as he shepherded every erstwhile table guest safely past him. At last only Aubranael and Lihyaen remained—and Sophy, who had turned at the last and now stood watching him.

‘Ye’ll take care o’ the lady?’ Balligumph asked him.

Aubranael nodded. ‘Will you take care of Miss Landon?’

The troll nodded gravely. ‘That I will.’ He tipped his hat, one great blue eye closing briefly in a knowing wink. ‘Be careful wi’ yerself as well as wi’ the lady, now. We’ll meet again, of that I have no doubt.’

Aubranael nodded his thanks in distracted fashion, his eyes already searching out Miss Landon’s face. She was staring at him with the same solemnity as before, and he could read none of the things that must be taking place behind her eyes. He opened his mouth, searching desperately for some parting sentiment that would express everything he felt: his regrets, hopes, apologies, desires and, above all, his affection. Would he meet
her
again? Could he truly allow her to leave without being assured of it?

But no merciful ray of inspiration graced his weary and befuddled mind. ‘Farewell, Miss Landon,’ was all that he managed to say.

She made him the slightest of curtsies and turned away. Torn, Aubranael watched her go.

Balligumph nudged him, almost hard enough to knock both he and Lihyaen over. He looked all the way up into the troll’s kindly face, uttering a long, long sigh as he did so.

The troll winked again. ‘Up wi’ yer chin, now. All will yet be well.’

Then Balligumph, too, turned and left, his footsteps sending tremors through the clearing.

‘Well then, my dearest,’ Aubranael murmured to Lihyaen. ‘Let us go.’

***

Mr. Balligumph and Mr. Green shepherded Sophy and her friends back to Lincolnshire. Balli led the way, warding off interference by virtue of his sheer size, if nothing else; though Sophy had come to realise that the name of Balligumph inspired respect in Aylfenhame, and she doubted many would dare to challenge him.

Mr. Green’s behaviour was oddly solicitous. Sophy felt excessively confused by him, and wary: that he was not as she had believed him to be was clear enough, and that raised uncomfortable questions about his friend, Mr. Stanton. As Mr. Green she had found him satirical, sardonic, careless and sometimes mocking; but on the return journey from the Outwoods he was sensitive to everybody’s comfort, and frequently circled back through the party to assist the ladies over obstructions, to pick Mary up when she tumbled, and to find room atop the goblins’ ghostly mounts for the smaller folk when they grew tired.