Rebel's Cage (Book 4) (54 page)

He lost track of the route back to the street. His nose knew the path, even if his eyes weren’t paying attention.

It was dark outside, and too cold, but it was enough to hide them from prying eyes. Nobody would ever believe that he would come back to Marsay – even in secret. Not even Nash.

He stepped into the street, pulled up his hood and dodged around a pair carrying a shrouded stretcher between them. He was on his way again when he realised there were no footsteps behind him.

Andrew stood by the wall, his cloak pulled around him, his eyes following the deceased as it was carried down the dark street, towards the city walls where it would be slid through Dead Man’s Gate and into the river, aided by a few rocks sewn into the shroud. A beggar’s burial.

‘What’s wrong?’ Robert asked, in no mood to be gentle.

Andrew started, then replied, ‘Nothing.’

‘Good. Try to keep up.’ Robert didn’t wait for him to follow. He just took off, keeping his pace steady but purposeful, unhurried, but quick as he could. Dark or no, there were some places in this city he dared not go without heavy disguise, even after so many years.

But there were also some places he did dare, and he made for one of them, keeping to the shadows, and climbing to the hayloft above a stables that shut down at night. He pulled his cloak around him, stood at the tiny window and checked the street to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

He chose his words without any care at all. ‘So I was right to doubt your loyalty.’

‘What?’ Andrew’s voice was hushed, confused and slightly breathless. Hay rustled beneath his feet as he approached from behind, but he stopped before he reached the window. ‘How have I—’

‘Nash has been a month back to court. You left here, what, three weeks ago? Are you going to tell me you didn’t know?’

‘I didn’t!’ Outrage split the air. ‘How could I possibly know? I’ve never even seen him—’

‘Are you sure?’ Robert spun around and grabbed the boy’s shoulder, exerting more than a little pressure, enough to make Andrew wince. ‘He and Kenrick are close, very close. How can you have lived so many years at court and not seen Nash once in that time?’

Andrew’s mouth opened to cry forth another denial, but no sound came out. There was enough streetlight bleeding through the window, enough strength in Robert’s sight to see the deep blue eyes wide and afraid – and devastated.

For a second – a very brief second – Robert softened a little, convinced that Andrew had to be innocent.

But he’d been fooled before – and by this boy’s mother, at that.

‘And were you ever going to tell me,’ he began again, his voice softer this time, but just as harsh, ‘about the rumours of prophecy?’

Horrified eyes widened again, giving Robert a glimpse of something. Then they squeezed shut. Andrew dropped his head and Robert let him go. Stunned, surprised, and …

The boy
had
been telling the truth about Nash. Robert had seen it in his eyes. He
knew
this with a certainty he’d never felt before, and instead of scaring him, it—

‘Tell me,’ he said quietly. ‘Tell me what you know of the rumours.’

Before Andrew could say a word, Robert turned, sat on a bale of hay, pressed back against a wall and pulled the rest of his cloak around him. He’d make supper soon. He needed answers first, however, before he could stomach eating.

‘I’m … sorry,’ Andrew whispered, his voice full of wretchedness. ‘I didn’t mean to … I just forgot about it with everything else … you and everything …’

In the face of such dejection Robert said, more kindly, ‘Sit, boy, before you fall down. Just tell me.’

Andrew sat, more from the desire to obey an order than from need. ‘I never saw or heard of Nash being anywhere near Marsay. Ever. Not ever in my whole life. And I would have said
something to Mother if I had, because if nothing else, even if I don’t understand the Prophecy or anything, or where my mother fits into it, I
do
know that he wants to kill Finnlay and I couldn’t be on his side for that reason alone.’ Andrew still didn’t dare to look up. Instead, his fingers played with each other. ‘About two weeks before I left to go home, Kenrick appeared without the scars he’d had on his face.’

Robert sat forward. ‘Two weeks? But that …’

Slowly, Andrew looked up. ‘What?’

Robert studied the timidity in Andrew’s hunched shape, in the timbre of his voice, in the tentative question. How much of it was an act, and how much could he afford to let the boy keep?

His tone level, he asked, ‘Nothing. Did Kenrick say anything about what had happened to his scars?’

‘Just that it was a miracle. He had a thanksgiving mass said in honour of the occasion. The … rumours started after that.’

‘And?’

‘I tried to find out as much as possible, without drawing attention to myself. People kept asking me questions because, well, Kenrick’s my cousin. But he told me no more about his scars and all I could find out about the rumours were just what Osbert told you, that some great evil had come to Lusara and that a man had been born to fight it. But’ - Andrew paused for a moment, then continued - ‘I think perhaps Kenrick is trying to make it look like
he’s
that man.’

‘So,’ Robert asked when Andrew met his gaze, ‘Can I trust you or not?’

‘You can! I promise you!’ Andrew’s reply was instant and passionate.

‘I take it,’ he replied with a smile, ‘that means you
want
me to trust you?’

Andrew paused, frowned in thought a moment, then said, ‘Yes – but that doesn’t mean I’ve committed to anything.’

Robert just stared at the boy for a moment, this boy he would make into a King. This confused, ill-prepared, immature, sensitive yet still powerfully promising boy would
soon sit on the throne of Lusara. For the first time, Robert could actually
see
it.

Lusara
would
be free.

As relief threatened to overwhelm him, he deliberately looked away, keeping his voice dry, his heady thoughts to himself. ‘No, heaven forbid you should trust me in return. Stay here. I’m going to get us some supper.’

He was almost at the ladder and ready to climb down to the stable when Andrew called after him, ‘What about the book?’

The book: the one that hadn’t burned. It was impossible for it to have survived the fire, especially as the second blast had been smaller, but twice as powerful. Which meant that—

Robert spun around so fast, Andrew almost crashed into him. He strode back to the window and prayed as he never had before in his life.

For it to survive his power like that, the book had to be shielded.

He’d tried Seeking for things with properties similar to the Key. He’d let the Key fill his mind, opening up every memory, every experience he’d ever had with it, every word they’d exchanged, every dark, twisted game the orb had played … and he’d found the books.

In a library gathered together from the time when sorcerers were openly a part of the Guilde, where their knowledge and learning were welcomed, where they had felt comfortable and safe. A library that had, by Osbert’s admission, contained many, many powerful works on sorcery.

A library that had remained virtually untouched and undiscovered for hundreds and hundreds of years.

A library in
Marsay.

He could hardly draw breath. With trembling hands, he reached inside his jacket and gently withdrew the book, two inches thick, big enough for him to hold comfortably with one hand.

It certainly felt like a book. He opened it up, found words written there – in Saelic, which could be a positive sign, or might mean nothing at all. And yet.

With a gentle hand on Andrew’s arm, he pushed the boy back enough to give him some space. Then he put the book on the hay-strewn floorboards. He smoothed down the thick, worn leather covering of the book in a childish gesture of good luck, then he straightened up.

Last time he’d tried something like this, he’d had an
ayarn.

He concentrated, struggling to still his excitement, pulling his thoughts down to a single point, place and second, then reached out and touched the book—

And saw it flash gold, brilliant, jewelled, carved, bowl-shaped, intricate designs just like the silver rod made by …

And the swirl of inscription along one side, set into the metal.

And he heard something powerful, pounding in the background, like the Basilica bells, only louder, overwhelming, deafening, like the Key when it awoke, painful, shuddering—

Nothing.

Stunned, Robert breathed in, feeding lungs suddenly starved. The book looked unchanged and he glanced up quickly to see if Andrew had witnessed the same. One look at the boy’s face told him this had been no dream.

This was real.

Reverently, he picked up the book, holding it like the treasure it was.

He brought it to his lips, like a saint’s relic, breathing in the essence of more than a thousand years of secrets.

This was victory.

And he held it cradled in his hands.

This was the Calyx!

‘There they are again.’

Jenn immediately put out her small light, shut the book she’d been reading and joined Finnlay at the tiny window which looked down at the lakeside and the old road leading into the village of Fenlock. ‘What are they doing?’

‘I have no idea. But look, it’s not all the same people who were here last night, or the night before. The one carrying the torch looks familiar, but the others …’ He paused, looking around the large room they had used for the last week. ‘Where’s Micah?’

Jenn kept her gaze on the dozen or so folk below as they walked in solemn procession towards Elita. ‘He went to check on the horses, I think. Finn, do you suppose it’s something to do with my father? That these people worked for him and now … I don’t know, come back and pay their respects?’

‘In the dark? Every night?’

‘Well, there is a small Guilde presence in Fenlock now, since they took over the healing work from the monastery. Perhaps they’re afraid of being seen coming out here. They certainly don’t look like they mean any harm and nothing inside the keep has been damaged in any way – which I suppose in itself is a little strange.’

‘You know there are stories about this place.’

‘Of course, but that’s my point. Surely those stories would keep people away, rather than draw them here.’

‘Do you recognise any of them?’

‘How can I? It’s dark and they’re too far away.’ Jenn sighed. This was too strange. Of course, if they hadn’t been hiding out here for the last week, they would never have noticed these odd nocturnal visits to the ruins of her home. People would walk up from the village, gather together before the rubble of the old gate and listen while one or the other spoke. An hour later, they would turn about and walk home in darkness. None of them ever came near the keep, let alone tried to enter. Such regular visits made hiding out here more than difficult when there was still so much snow on the ground and too little cover between here and the forest.

‘Did you say Micah’s gone to check on the horses?’

‘Yes. Why?’

Finnlay pointed out of the tiny slit window. ‘Then I suppose that man down there must be his twin.’

Jenn almost pushed him out of the way – but he was right. Micah had emerged from the darkness, joining the village folk
and walking with them, talking to them as though he had every right, as though he wasn’t a fugitive, as though …

Jenn?

She reached out for support against the cold stone wall.

Jenn? Can you hear me?

Robert?

Yes. Why? Were you expecting someone else?

She ignored the barb.
Where’s Andrew?

Safe, with me. I won’t tell you where we are as you’ll just get all upset.

As though it would be irrational of me to get upset over the way you abducted him?

This is not the time for that discussion.

How did I know you were going to say that? With you, Robert, there’s never a right time to discuss anything you don’t want to discuss. Very well, what do you want?

I just wanted to tell you that I’m bringing Andrew back to you.

That made her pause.
When?

We’re on our way to Maitland now. I guess you’re still at Elita. We’ll meet you at the clearing near Dormund Spay, on the other side of the rock pools, in three days.

Three days.
And he was gone before she could ask him anything. Three days meant they had to get moving tonight.

But why was he bringing Andrew back at all?

‘Jenn?’

She opened her eyes to find Finnlay watching her. She gave him something of a smile. ‘Robert says he’ll meet us at Maitland in three days. He’s bringing Andrew back.’

The war which played itself out over his face was breathtaking: from surprise to disappointment, to concern, to consternation, to nothing, all in the space of a few seconds. Jenn turned to begin packing.

‘Did he say …’

‘No, Finn, he didn’t say anything else to me. Why would he? I’m the enemy, aren’t I? I’m the one he can’t trust, who’s joined to the Key and who may or may not ultimately side with the Angel of Darkness. Why in Serin’s name do you suppose he
might tell
me
what his plans are?’ She picked up a saddlebag and rolled up her blankets to place them inside.

‘You don’t know that’s how he feels,’ Finnlay didn’t disagree with her, but his voice sounded more sad than angry.

‘I do know that’s exactly how he feels. That’s how he’s supposed to feel. That’s how any man would feel in his position.’ That was how she’d wanted him to feel, so he’d be free. Amazing how much success she’d had, really, no matter how much it still hurt.

Jenn shoved blankets and her few other possessions into the bag, then stopped herself before she could do real damage. She sat back on her heels as Finnlay moved around the room packing his own things. He was so transparent, especially after all these years. ‘You know, if he tells you his plans, he won’t let you tell me?’

Finnlay looked at her, surprised.

‘And if he does,’ Jenn continued, still watching him, ‘I can’t allow you to keep your seat on the Council.’