Rebel's Cage (Book 4) (49 page)

*

The wind flew flat against his face, tossing his hair around this way and that, sweeping the breath from his mouth and the moisture from his eyes, making them sting and burn and close against the day’s sun and every single word he had just heard.

Andrew turned, crouched low, huddled, wrapped his arms around his legs and sheltered his whole body behind a brace of heather until all he could hear was the dry rustle and the eerie echo of some past he couldn’t imagine.

Why hadn’t he understood that it was the accident of his birth that kept Micah by his side, watching over him, ensuring his continued safety? Why Finnlay and so many others struggled to teach him things, to give him powers, to make him
more.
Why his mother had insisted he live his life at Maitland, when he would have rather been with her.

And now they would turn him into one of them. They would put him in a cage, feed him raw meat and know that when they finally let him out, he would roar like the wild beast they would have him become.

He didn’t want to kill. And he certainly didn’t want to kill his own cousin.

He felt the wind comb through his hair, cooling the heat that boiled inside him. He opened his eyes and looked out across the dense, empty Common.

Robert stood some distance away with the horses, waiting by the edge of a sharp slope down, some drop Andrew couldn’t see from here. Another path he would have to follow blindly. But at least this time, he understood why.

He unfolded himself and stood up, straightened his clothes, pulling his cloak around him and over one arm to avoid getting tangled in the wind and the heather. Then he began to walk, taking one long stride after another until the wind began to propel him and he started to run. He went faster until it was almost too late to stop, but then he did, startling the horses and making no impression on Robert at all.

‘What if I say no?’

‘I wasn’t asking.’

‘Then I have no choice?’

‘No prisoner has a choice.’

‘So you will make me do it, no matter what I say?’

‘I will not need to make you.’

‘Then I won’t do it.’

‘Yes. You will.’ Robert tossed him his reins, took hold of his own and swung up into his saddle. Before Andrew could say another word, he was riding away, down the path they’d originally come up two days ago.

*

It took so little for Robert to become the thing he most hated. It took so much to endure it, to set his features against giving anything away, to harden his heart against saving that innocence when so much else in this country had to suffer.

The darkness crawled in around him, cooling more than his body, less than his raging thoughts.

In the act of salvation …

This would save Lusara from Kenrick, from Nash, from the bubbling evil they would pour over the entire world. But what would his country be left with? A boy who now trusted nobody? A young King who valued himself now only by dint of his breeding?

It would be this boy, this vengeful, hurt, angry, confused, bitter, innocent boy who would ultimately prove whether Robert would fight the Prophecy, or succumb to it.

He’d known it would require patience, skill and diligence to shape the boy’s mind and attitude, to break apart what others had spent fourteen years building with pride. He just hadn’t counted on it being so hard.

*

Andrew didn’t pay attention to the night. He didn’t look up at the stars, or listen for foxes and owls and mice scurrying beneath the scrub. He just rode behind Robert, his gaze attentive enough to steer his horse down the path, but not enough to take in details.

‘Kenrick’s got powers,’ he said into the silence of hooves on crumbling rock. ‘How can I kill him?’

‘That’s entirely up to you.’

‘He’ll kill me first.’

‘Then you must be quicker and better.’

‘Well, why can’t you do it?’

‘I have no wish to be King. That throne belongs to you.’

‘It belongs to Kenrick. His father won it by right of conquest. That’s as legal as any other means.’

‘Only as long as he’s alive. Once he’s dead,
you
have it by right of conquest.’

‘But I don’t want to kill him.’

‘I know.’

Andrew kicked his horse enough to pull up alongside Robert. He had to see that face in whatever light there was, needed to see what expression was there, in the eyes which seemed to say so much more than anything else. ‘You … you know?’

‘Of course. If you
did
want to kill him, I wouldn’t let you close enough to try.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, largely because you might not want to stop at one if it meant that much to you.’

‘Oh,’ Andrew replied, not sure whether that made him feel better or not. ‘So, I get to do this because I don’t want to?’

‘No, you get to do it because of what you are.’

‘But the more I protest, the more sure you are that I’m the right person for the job?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘I suppose it’s too late to change my mind? To … jump up and down with glee at the prospect?’

Robert’s mouth pulled hard in an attempt to stifle laughter, but it emerged anyway, warming the night. It did make him feel better. Not very much, mind, but a little at least.

‘So, where are we going to now? Another battlefield?’

‘Of a different nature. You need to begin paying attention to where you are. Look around for landmarks you can make out—’

‘In the dark?’

‘Especially in the dark. You don’t know when you might need to find your way here.’

‘Here?’

‘Almost here.’

‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Where’s almost here?’

A smile was flashed towards him, pale in the night. ‘Here, is my home.’

They dismounted then, turning into another gully that rose steeply, with walls so high on either side Andrew lost sight of the sky. But he did as he was told, looking around him, picking out useful shapes in the shadows, of rocks and bent trees, certain turns in the nonexistent path, until he almost crashed into Robert’s back.

‘Watch.’

Robert laid a hand on a wall of rock that stood before him, almost seamless with the mountain. Then, with a grating complaint, the rock slid sideways, revealing a tunnel beyond and air drier and colder than that outside.

‘Give me your hand.’

Andrew’s palm was pressed against the rock, hard, like he would leave an imprint. Then it was let go.

‘If you ever need to hide somewhere, if you need shelter, or rescue or some resource I have here, come. I am not always here, but come and take what you need. Place your hand on the rock and it will open for you. Once inside, do the same and the rock will seal up the cave. Go ahead.’

Andrew led the way inside, his horse trailing behind. Robert followed, then stayed back to allow Andrew the honour of closing the sorcerer’s door. With a face trying hard not to grin, he pressed his palm to the cold rock. Almost instantly, it began to shudder and slide. With a loud grating crunch, it shut off the outside world and Andrew turned in the total blackness, his face hurting from smiling so hard.

‘I’ve never done any sorcery before! That was amazing.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’ A torch flared into life and Robert took it down from its sconce in the wall.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Andrew asked.

‘Why not?’

‘No,’ Andrew reached out and grabbed Robert’s arm, holding him still. ‘Really. Why are you doing this?’

That gaze, reflecting flickering yellow inside the deep green, gave out glints of too many things too quickly. Then abruptly, they all vanished, leaving behind the now-familiar easy confidence.

‘Because I have to.’

Andrew wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but finding Robert lived in a cave buried beneath the mountains of Nanmoor was not it. And the main cave was so comfortable and full of colour. He stared, taking in the bookshelves, the rug, the corner kitchen and earthenware jars of dried foods, the ingenious ventilation system.

‘You live here?’

Robert deposited their bags on the table and turned to set wood for a fire. ‘Here as much as anywhere else.’

‘But I thought …’

‘What?’

‘Well, I think everyone thinks you live in Flan’har.’

‘Everyone? The Enclave everyone or the Kenrick everyone?’

Andrew felt his face redden for the hundredth time in two days. It was getting annoying. Still, he swallowed and did his best to meet the gaze levelled at him. ‘Both.’

Robert said nothing for a moment, then, with a casual wave of his hand, the fire leaped into life. ‘I think that’s enough for one day. You can sleep over there. There are blankets in that chest. Get some rest.’

Andrew hesitated. If he said nothing else, surely Robert would assume his silence to mean he agreed. ‘But what about—’

Robert’s voice was gentle. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow. Go on.’

With no choice, Andrew turned for the other wall, opened
the chest and pulled out the blankets to make up a bed. He kicked off his boots, laid down and huddled into the thick, warm-smelling wool.

Within minutes, he was asleep.

*

It was a grey, misty morning when Robert took Andrew outside. The top of the gully was invisible, as was the distant forest. They could have been walking through a cloud.

He’d been planning this for years. He must have listed in his mind a hundred times the things he needed to teach the boy. In the wake of Tirone’s threat, he knew exactly what he needed to achieve.

Andrew was not what he’d been expecting. More to the point, he was not what Robert had been hoping for, nor what Lusara needed. He was soft, unguarded, easily provoked. Certainly bright, yes, and very likable, but perhaps most disappointingly, he appeared wholly ignorant of the effect his cousin had had on the country. It was impossible to believe that he didn’t care.

Was that the boy himself, or was that his mother’s influence? Would she have deliberately blinded herself to his potential in order to protect him? If so, then Robert would have to work counter to all that she had taught her son, and he would have to do it quickly. Some time in the next three months, he would have to turn this boy into a King.

A King who was prepared to kill.

‘Come,’ he said to the boy following behind him in silence. ‘Let’s go and set up some rabbit traps.’

*

‘You said we’d talk today.’

‘Then talk.’

Andrew was silent a moment, then ventured, ‘Why do you want me to kill Kenrick?’

‘You can’t take his throne if you don’t.’

‘But I don’t want his throne, and if I don’t want it, I won’t have to kill him.’

‘But you will.’

‘Why do you keep saying that! Why can’t you just …’

Robert stopped chopping wood, rested the axe on the log he was splitting and deliberately let his eyes settle on Andrew, knowing such close attention would only provoke him. ‘Why can’t I just – what? Leave you alone? Do it myself? Come, Andrew. If you have questions, ask them. Don’t stand there waving your arms about expecting me to read your mind. Ask and I’ll answer. Be ready to learn, and I’ll teach. Be prepared to listen, and I’ll tell. Show any mark that proves to me your maturity and I’ll treat you like an adult.’ Andrew stood before him, his mouth open, his face suffused with red. Robert picked up his axe again and swung, ready to chop. ‘But I notice you have yet to ask me why I would want Kenrick dead.’

The boy flinched as the axe split the wood, but a moment later he darted forward and picked up the two pieces, placing them on the stack. Robert continued to study him subtly. There was a deep frown of concentration on Andrew’s face and he seemed oblivious to the cold and the splinters in his hands. He picked up two more shards, standing another in place for Robert to split. As Robert swung once more, Andrew said, ‘Why can’t you do it?’

Robert aborted the swing, then stuck the point of the axe into the log. With a dry glance at Andrew, he turned for the flask of water and drank deeply. He wiped his sleeve across his brow and turned back. Andrew required not only information, but to learn how to arrive at such conclusions himself.

‘Why should I?’

‘If you want him dead, then you should kill him.’

Robert almost smiled at that. ‘Since he’s your cousin, I assume that means you would stop me?’

Wide eyes stared at him a moment, then dropped, though not sullenly. This boy didn’t appear to have a mean bone in him, but this innocence would have to go.

‘Do you honestly think that if I had any choice in the matter, I wouldn’t do it myself? Eh?’ Robert dropped the flask to the forest floor, looked up at where he thought the sun might be, then picked up the axe once more. They had to move to the
more important questions, the more difficult plans. ‘Andrew, you have a mind. You’ve been well educated. You tell me. Why must I have you kill Kenrick?’

He split two more logs, but Andrew didn’t move. When Robert finally stopped, Andrew met his gaze, hesitant and sombre, a little of that innocence vanished into the grey morning. ‘You have to fight Nash.’

Robert clamped down hard on that first leap for hope. He kept his voice hard, ‘And?’

‘And … Nash is in deep with the Malachi. They’ve been working with him for years. There are always some at court. I can … feel them. If you tried to fight Nash with them around, they’d … they’d fight you as well and you’d be …’

‘Finish it,’ Robert prompted.

Andrew shook his head, taking a step back, distress flooding across his face. ‘It would be just like Shan Moss, when you were injured and then had to fight Nash. And if Mother …’ He stopped then, and looked up at Robert with horror, as though he’d just said something he shouldn’t.

The boy needed reassurance. He needed to know that his mother would not be involved, that there would be a good and happy outcome, that he would not be required to bloody his own hands. From somewhere deep inside, the urge to give him that reassurance rose in Robert, sweeping through him like a gale.

But to do so would condemn Lusara to an eternity of evil.

Robert took a step forward, deliberately intimidating. ‘I need you to kill Kenrick. I need you to survive the fight with him and take the throne afterwards. I can see you’re not ready to do that, but when the moment comes, you will be, believe me. This incessant whining doesn’t become any King, much less one
I
would put onto the throne.’