Rebel's Cage (Book 4) (44 page)

Andrew held his breath. He’d seen her do this a number of times before, but never quite like this. Slowly the crystals collected together and formed a shape, suspended in the darkness. The shape shifted again and again until it became a face.

He stared up at eyes he knew so well, though they were so different. A grin split his face, but before he could say a word, the illusion cracked and shattered, disappearing into nothing.

Andrew wrapped his arms around his mother and gave her a big squeeze. ‘Thank you! That was … Can we look upstairs?’

Laughing a little now, Jenn agreed. ‘Just be careful. I can’t afford to make any light. We’re too close to the village and you know how suspicious people are nowadays. If they think they’re seeing ghosts, there’ll be big trouble.’

Andrew sprang to his feet, holding his hand out for hers, no longer afraid of the dark. ‘Let’s go to the top and see what the view is like.’

*

Finnlay brought out the smoked ham he’d purchased that morning and busied himself with beans and vegetables until he had a pot of something delicious simmering over the fire. Just sitting close to it made his stomach rumble. Occasional plumes
of steam would rise from the pot, drift and dissipate into the night air, urging him to have just one more cook’s taste.

It was good to give himself something constructive to do. He wanted to keep an eye on Micah, but the man had busied himself gathering more firewood until there was a pile at the edge of the clearing big enough to last them a week. When the pile drew almost to Micah’s eye level, he’d come to a halt and turned back for Finnlay’s fire, drawing a couple of moss-covered rocks close by to use as seats. He’d even gone to the trouble of cleaning them off so they could dry before Jenn and Andrew got back. When he appeared ready to find some other constructive thing to do, Finnlay handed him a cup of ale, sat him before the pot and ordered him to stir.

And then, quite deliberately, Finnlay had told him all about the runaway children – and Robert’s timely intervention.

Micah had kept his head bowed a little, the flash of firelight dancing in his pale eyes, but there was no mistaking the gleam in them, nor the studied stillness in his body. Though he pretended disinterest, underneath, he was just as hungry for news as Finnlay.

By the gods, it was so hard to sit back and watch this. Robert and Micah had once been so close, the very best that friends could be to each other. They would disagree and voice opposing positions, they would even occasionally have their silences, but Finnlay had believed that their loyalty to one another was utterly unshakable. Finnlay had even been jealous of it on occasion.

Yet, for the last eight years, they had both done their best to ignore the very existence of the other, neither admitting to the split, nor the pain it so obviously had caused.

And what would happen when they once more faced each other?

Finnlay got up and began scraping snow, leaves and twigs aside to make space for sleeping. Jenn and Andrew would return soon, and Micah still hadn’t said a word.

‘Where is he now?’

The low voice almost made Finnlay jump, and he forced himself to keep working, rather than turn. ‘I don’t know. He
said he was going home – but the gods only know where that might be. Possibly over the border again, maybe Bleakstone?’

‘How did Murdoch know where Robert would be?’

‘I didn’t ask him.’

‘Why not?’

Finnlay did turn then, to find Micah’s gaze on him, flat and impermeable. ‘There are rules, unwritten, perhaps, but they’re there nonetheless. Murdoch tells me what he can without breaking Robert’s trust.’

Micah looked away. ‘Of course.’

‘Being bitter won’t help.’

‘I’m not bitter.’ The voice was easy, but the words were forced. ‘I’m … disappointed.’

Finnlay could say no more to that, for it was written all over Micah’s face. He returned to his ground-clearing, but stopped when he heard a soft noise to the east. Micah was on his feet in a second, but Finnlay held up his hand.

Then a face appeared in the shadows, followed by another, and Micah relaxed. By the time Jenn and Andrew reached the clearing, Micah had returned to the pot, picking up the wooden spoon as though it was all that separated him from madness.

And as he watched, Andrew walked over to him, placing a hand on his guardian’s shoulder. ‘Mother told me about … about your father. I’m so sorry.’

Micah froze, then got to his feet, gave Andrew a wan smile, and murmured something about going for a walk. All they could do was stand there and watch as he walked away down the hill towards the river.

*

For all that he often complained about it, Finnlay wasn’t a bad cook if he had enough time to prepare and a good fire to work with. Andrew was almost too hungry for words and went back, not only for seconds, but thirds. He did, however, make sure there was enough for Micah when he came back.

Andrew peered again into the darkness, but he could see little except for the faintest trace of shallow moonlight glittering off running water.

He couldn’t imagine how Micah was feeling right now. He got to his feet, his eyes once more searching the darkness.

‘He’ll come back when he’s ready,’ Jenn said quietly. ‘You know his feelings for his father were complicated.’

‘Yes,’ Andrew said, ‘but he might have gone home when instead he stayed—’ He pulled up short then. Micah had not chosen to go home simply because of Andrew – but also because of Sairead.

Micah had kept her a secret from him – and now he had to keep her a secret from his own mother.

He turned around with what he hoped was a smile on his face. ‘This is near where you were abducted, isn’t it? Down by this river? You were playing by the old mill, weren’t you?’

A flicker of something flashed in her eyes. Then the mysterious expression was gone. ‘Yes. If you follow the river along about fifty paces, you can’t miss it.’

‘May I go and take a look? I promise I won’t go further.’

Jenn gazed steadily at him for a moment, then started, ‘Just …’

‘Be careful, yes, I will.’ With that, he headed down the hill, stepping carefully around thick tree roots hidden by crusty layers of ice and snow. It wasn’t as cold tonight as it had been since he’d left court, but even so, his fingers felt it, along with the tip of his nose and the tops of his ears. He’d stay warm if he kept moving, which he did, finding the river and the trace of a path along it, overhung with bracken and brush, naked of snow.

Micah had come this way.

He knew he couldn’t say anything to make it better. He knew he couldn’t do anything to fix it. He knew Micah wanted to be alone. So why was he out here, looking for the ruined mill, but keeping an eye out for his friend?

He saw nothing but more shadows, the silvery thread of bare branches above and the trail of moonlight on the river beside him.

It had been so interesting walking into Elita for the first time, though. So … very real. Hearing about his grandfather in the place that had been his home, walking into the empty
room where he’d been born, treading the keep looking down at what had once been a mighty castle had all struck up odd and exciting images in his mind that filled him so that he knew he would never get to sleep.

And if he kept on this path, if he watched where he was going, he would find the mill where his mother, at the age of three, had been abducted by Nash, setting the whole chain of events in motion.

Although, of course, if the Prophecy were to be believed, that chain had been begun a thousand and more years ago.

Some shape took on form in the darkness ahead, something square and solid with what might have been the remains of an arch. His step quickened, dodging boulders and fallen branches and ice puddles until he came to a halt before the remains of a wall, encrusted with moss cold to his touch.

A smile warmed his face and without a qualm, he stepped inside—

Something didn’t feel quite right. Something about this place. There was no roof and the walls closest to the river were almost gone completely. And the shadows were thicker here, as though …

He shivered. This was silly! How could this place be different inside than out? He was being childish!

And yet, there was an urge, deep in his gut, that called to him to leave, to just move out beyond the door.

He deliberately took a step forward, then another – but the fear rose in him, strangling the breath from him. As carefully as he could then, he turned and stepped back through the archway and only then did his breathing slow.

The odd feeling vanished.

Obviously he’d been imagining it. There was no other explanation – especially since he didn’t have any powers of any kind. But still, it had been worth it just to see the mill, though so little of it still stood. Best he get back now, before he got too—

A faint brush of air behind his ear and suddenly the ice cold of steel pressed against his throat. Another arm, terrifyingly powerful, pulled his hand behind his back, almost lifting him
off the ground. Between the two, he could hardly breathe, though his pounding heart insisted he should.

‘Finnlay?’ It had to be him. He was trying to teach Andrew something, surely …

‘No,’ a harsh whisper, little more than a suggestion of breath. ‘And if you say another word, you’ll die.’

Icy cold air burned Andrew’s breath, making it steam into clouds as it left him, hard and harsh. He wanted to move. He wanted to see. He wanted to know.

He could hardly think, he was shaking so hard.

But the blade at his throat kept him as still as the threat whispered by the man holding him and then his breath came harder, the air not going in properly or out properly and dizziness threatened …

‘Don’t panic,’ the half-voice came again. The grip on him shifted, fractionally, keeping the dagger edge against his skin, but no longer pressing. ‘Do as I tell you and you’ll live.’

A big hand clapped over his mouth, cutting off his air completely. For a second, Andrew thought he would suffocate, but then his vision cleared, his heartbeat slowed a little and the hand dropped.

‘This way.’

Andrew had no choice as the man turned him, steered him around the ruin through thick black shadows to where two horses stood in a thread of moonlight.

If he could just call out. Jenn and Finnlay weren’t far away … and Micah. He would be close by, wouldn’t he? They could overpower this …

A rustle in the bushes and the man holding him froze. Andrew nearly cried out with relief as Micah came striding towards them, his sword already drawn. But then he came to a halt, his face easily visible and very pale, his eyes wide almost in disbelief.

The fear twisting inside Andrew clenched hard at that, at the
sight of Micah’s sword lowering, of the threat vanishing from his stance as he stared at the man holding Andrew prisoner.

For a terrifying moment, silence filled the winter night, then Micah shook himself, lifted his chin and asked, ‘How long?’

‘As long as it takes.’

Micah nodded at that, then his gaze met Andrew’s with an expression he could not fathom. Why wasn’t Micah doing something? Why was he putting his sword away? Why wasn’t he fighting … wasn’t that the task he’d set himself? To guard Andrew from all danger?

‘Move now,’ Micah said, stepping back. ‘Before it’s too late.’

The stranger shifted, pulling Andrew further towards the horses. Then he stopped. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t.’ Micah’s voice was nowhere near as hard as it might have been. ‘You’ve given me no choice.’

‘The choice … was always yours.’

Before Andrew could take another breath, a gloved hand brushed over his eyes and he could see no more.

*

He woke up to movement, rhythmic, pounding, unceasing. His head ached and he could see nothing, but he could hear: the forest around him, the horse beneath him, another to his right, the jangle of bit and leather, a rustle of wind through leafless trees above.

He opened his mouth and found he could speak. ‘Who are you?’ His voice was a croak and he coughed, needing to wet his throat. ‘Where are you taking me?’

There was no answer.

He tried to move his hands. They were bound to the saddle, along with the reins; though Andrew’s body retained enough control to stay on the animal’s back, he still had no power to move his own limbs, nor turn his head, nor see anything but blackness and that could only mean …

Serin’s blood – this man was a Malachi!

And Micah had just
let
him be taken!

After all those words about trust and betrayal …

‘Not far now.’

The words jerked him back to the present and he blinked
hard, clearing the odd mist that suddenly appeared before his eyes. Slowly his sight returned to him and he found he was in a different forest, with more snow, trees further apart, the ground sloping and rocky.

And then the stranger slowed the horses, walking them for a while until at last he came to a halt in the shelter of a tall rock the size of a cottage. Beyond it was a blank shadow against the sky, perhaps a cliff. He heard the man dismount, move around behind the horses and then approach from Andrew’s left.

‘I’m going to free you now, but I’ll keep your hands tied for the moment, I think.’ And then the man came to his side, unleashed the rope tied to the saddle and Andrew got his first look of the man’s face.

Sweet Mineah!

Strong, square jaw, level eyebrows, black wavy hair falling past his shoulders …

He’d not changed, not one bit, he was just as Andrew remembered him …

He looked up, and Andrew was mesmerised by eyes that looked right into him.

‘You remember me. Good. You can dismount now – but be careful, your legs have probably lost some feeling.’

Andrew wanted to move, but couldn’t. It wasn’t until a hand was placed on his arm that his body woke up. Gingerly he swung his leg over the horse and slid to the ground. His hands, however, remained tied. He looked down at them, then up back into that gaze.

‘No. I don’t trust you not to run off back to your mother, so for the moment at least, you are my prisoner. Here, drink some of this.’