The Poison Throne (42 page)

It was still very dim, but the air was beginning to shimmer with pre-dawn light. They were rapidly running out of time.

Christopher was calm now and he showed no trace of his earlier distress. He glanced at Wynter, shifting the saddle higher on his shoulder, and waited patiently as she shut the trapdoor and hid it again under loose straw. She took the handle of the trundle from him and followed behind as he led the way to the big double doors. They peeked out. It was very hard to see in this shifting non-light and they carefully scanned the exercise yard, before slipping into and moving along the deeper shadows of the walls until they got to the stables. Wynter wished that she had worn darker clothes; she stood out like a moonbeam in her white robe and shift.

She kept watch at the alley while Christopher tacked up his horse. The sturdy little animal had whickered and snorted happily when they entered the stalls, and Christopher quietly smacked his lips and made breathy noises to her in reply. Wynter glanced back at him; he worked quickly and with the ease of familiarity. The horse nipped his tunic and lipped his hair, snuffing fondly down the back of his neck as he tacked up. He scrubbed between her eyes, murmured gently to her in Hadrish and led her out into the alley between the stalls. He brought the horse to where Wynter was peering out the door and the two of them stood, nervously waiting.

It was very quiet, the sky starting to pale. Christopher’s horse moved behind them, stamping gently, blowing hot breath down their backs. The air was chilly and Wynter began to shiver in her shift and robe. She hugged her arms tightly around herself and hopped from foot to foot.

Oh God
, she thought,
where are the pack animals? Where are the extra horses?

Razi had promised that they would be ready, he had told Christopher to wait here, that everything would be set to go. Christopher should be leaving
now
. Wynter looked up at the roofs of the barns: they were starting to show against the sky; it was beginning to get light. Christopher
had
to leave before dawn, had to catch the gate sentries by surprise. He had to hand over his egress papers and be gone before anyone knew he was out of his rooms.

Jonathon would want to control every inch of this journey, would want Christopher in his power for as long as he could manage to keep hold of him. Soon the hall guards would be hammering on the suite door, seeking to escort him to the stables. It wouldn’t take long for them to discover that his rooms were empty. Christopher had to be well gone by then, out of the complex, well on his way to losing himself on the little winding roads leading south. Wynter started to shiver in earnest, the misty air and her growing fear combining to chill her to her bones.

Without saying anything, Christopher moved behind her and gently put his jacket over her shoulders. Wynter found herself unexpectedly engulfed in Christopher’s spicy scent and the delicious warmth of his body. She was about to say
thank you
, when he drew her to him, wrapping his arms and the jacket tightly around her and holding her close. He casually rested his chin on the top of her head, and resumed his surveillance of the alley.

Wynter found herself completely overwhelmed by the tenderness of this gesture, and to her horror, and without any warning, she sobbed loudly. Christopher’s arms tightened around her in surprise and he said, “Oh girly”. The quiet protectiveness in his voice cracked something inside Wynter’s chest and the tears that had been threatening all morning finally forced their way to the surface. Mortified, she lifted her hands to her face and tried to pull away. But Christopher tightened his arms a little more, and, as Wynter’s tears streamed down her face and soaked the dark sleeves of his tunic, he began gently to rock her to and fro.

Christopher would not release her. He held her against his chest with gentle, insistent strength and, quite suddenly, Wynter realised that she had nothing left to fight with, she had no energy left with which to pretend. She stopped struggling and slumped against him in defeat.

“All right,” he murmured. “It’s all right…”

Wynter leaned her head back against his shoulder and gave in to her tears.

Christopher bent his head forward and rested his cheek against hers. His skin was smooth and cool against her face. “Shhhhh,” he crooned, cradling her against his chest, “Shhhhh. It’s all right, sweetheart. I promise. Everything will be all right. Don’t worry…”

She twisted in his arms and burrowed against him, pushing her face in against the warm skin of his neck, snaking her arms around his waist, pulling him closer. He continued to whisper in her ear, telling her it was all right, everything was all right, and then his lips were moving in her hair as he spoke, and against her neck, murmuring reassurances. She inhaled his scent, her tears drying against the fabric of his tunic, and his words lost meaning and the sound of his voice was all that mattered.

She turned her face against Christopher’s neck and moved her cheek against the cool smoothness of his cheek. His hand was in her hair then, cradling the back of her head, and his lips were on her lips. Soft, unbelievably soft, his mouth moved against her mouth. She pressed up into his kiss, her lips parting, and for a moment, that was all there was. His warm mouth moving against hers, the scent of him, the encompassing safety of his arms.

A soft cough in the alley shocked them apart, and then Christopher was pushing her behind him, reaching for his knife, a growl in his throat. But it was only Marcello Tutti, his eyes soft, his cheeks pink, as he led the pack mule and spare horses up the alley, trying hard to pretend he hadn’t noticed their kiss.

Wynter hid herself behind Christopher for a moment, wiping her eyes and trying to get her knees to support her weight. Christopher’s jacket began to slip from her shoulders, and she absently shrugged her arms into the sleeves. She heard Marcello whispering as he came up the ally.

“
Buongiorno, Christi. Mi dispiace ma
…”

Christopher replied softly, “
Ciao, Marcello. Non importa
…” As he spoke, Christopher reached behind him and took Wynter’s hand in his. She stepped to his side and they stood pressed together, hand in hand as Marcello brought the horses to a halt before them.

The little Italian bowed to her, his eyes gentle. “
Buongiorno, Signora Della Protezione
.”

She smiled faintly and bobbed her head.

“
Marcello
,” said Christopher, “
Dov’è il Signore Razi?
”

Marcello spread his hands and shrugged sympathetically. “I am sorry, Christopher. Il Signore, he can’t get away… his father, you know. He keep… ah… the eye?”

Wynter felt her heart twist, and Christopher’s face creased in sorrow and disappointment. He hesitated and looked away a moment before nodding, his lips tight. “Can’t be helped,” he murmured.

“I, too, must leave you,” said Marcello regretfully, “The guards, they keep the eye on all Razi’s allies, in hope that they will be catching you in your escape. I must make myself to be scarce.” He handed the lead rope to Christopher and bowed, “Take good care, Christopher. Be safe.” He backed quietly up the alley and then turned and hurried quickly from sight.

They stood for a moment, hand in hand, looking blankly at the empty air where Tutti had been, the animals shifting gently in the narrow space. Then Wynter shook herself to life and turned to press her hand urgently to Christopher’s chest. “You must go now!” she insisted, looking up into his face. “The cockerels will begin to crow soon!”

He moved slowly, turning his head in a daze and then suddenly he, too, snapped awake and turned quickly to secure the lead rein to his horse. Wynter nervously rubbed her arms and kept anxious watch up and down the alley. She huffed in exasperation as, instead of mounting his horse, Christopher hurriedly crossed to the barn door and began scooping out a hollow in the earth with his fingers.

“Christopher…” she hissed, but stopped as he took the remaining piece of cake from his pocket and dropped it into the shallow hole. She blinked as he carefully covered it and patted the earth back down. He bowed his head, his lips moving, and then straightened.

“Here,” he said, crossing swiftly to her and withdrew a package from under his shirt. He pressed it into her hands and she looked down at it in surprise. It was a sheet of paper, folded many times, stiff and bulky. “I meant to give it to you in your rooms. It’s a map of the secret passages.” She looked up at him in amazement. “You might need it,” he said, “but
don’t
try to use it as you go along. Memorise your route
first
, it’s too dark in there to try and use a map.”

They looked at each other, his eyes gravely holding hers as she held the map to her breast. Then Wynter pushed him gently to his horse. “Go,” she said. “Go.”

Christopher broke away from her with a cry of desperation and whirled, putting his foot in the stirrup and hopping to gain momentum for the rise into the saddle. He began to mount, but he never swung his leg across the horse’s rump. Instead, Wynter saw his eyes lift to the end of the alley and he froze, standing straight in the stirrup, staring at something out of her sight. His face hardened, his brows lowered, and he curled his lip into a dangerous snarl.

Slowly Christopher lowered himself to the ground and lifted his strange knife from his belt. Wynter immediately unsheathed her dagger and crouched, ready to fight or flee. Christopher pushed his horse aside and Wynter saw what had set him on alert.

A huge man loomed at the end of the alley, a sword in his hand. He was nothing but a giant dark shape against the open air, but it was obvious by his size that he was one of Jonathon’s personal guard. He moved to the centre of the alley, blocking their exit, and lifted his sword.

“You go now, girly,” said Christopher, and unhooked the buckler from his belt. He stepped forward and crouched, holding the unusual knife at the ready. The ornate handle was shaped like a squared-off cup, and Wynter saw that Christopher’s entire hand fit into it. He was gripping it somewhere inside, and it covered his hand and wrist with a solid metal brace so that the blade stuck straight out from his metal-clad fist, like a wicked extension of his arm. “Go on,” he repeated softly.

The man at the end of the alley hesitated slightly at the sight of Christopher’s weapon. Wynter sidled out from Christopher’s side and crouched down, her own knife hand held out, her free hand up in a defensive gesture. Christopher hissed in aggravation at her, but said no more about her leaving.

For a moment, the three of them remained motionless, waiting for someone to make the first move. Then the big man began to advance down the alley towards them, menacingly swinging his weapon from side to side. Wynter and Christopher tensed for battle. Then they jerked and flinched as a tall figure reared out of the shadows behind the man and dealt him a ferocious blow to the back of his head. He went down on his knees without a sound and swayed there, his sword hand falling loosely to his side. The tall figure stepped forward and they saw that it was Razi, his distinctive silhouette unmistakable against the rapidly paling sky. He lifted his left arm once more, a wooden cosh clearly visible in his upraised fist, and he dealt the guard another resounding crack to the head, watching coldly as he collapsed at his feet like a sack of grain.

He looked up at them then, his face invisible, his posture contained. He pointed to his chest, made what Wynter took to be a gesture to his eyes and then made a circling movement with his hand. He was going to keep an eye on their surroundings. He pointed at Christopher, and then pointed in the direction of the gate. Very faintly they heard him whisper, “Hurry!”

Christopher took a step forward and gazed up the alley at his friend. Razi paused. Christopher hesitantly raised his hand, holding it up in farewell. Then he touched his forehead, his mouth and his chest, bowing slightly as he did so, his eyes still locked on Razi’s silhouette. For a long moment Razi didn’t move, then he repeated the action, bowing slightly to his friend and holding it for a long time. Then he grabbed the fallen guard by the jacket, dragged him into a stall and was gone, swallowed by the deep shadows of the barn.

Christopher could wait no longer. In one quick movement he sheathed his knife and hooked the buckler to his belt. Gathering the reins in his right hand, he put his foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle. His horse snorted and shook her head and side-stepped under him with a whickering neigh. Christopher clucked to her and pulled back the reins and sat down hard to make her stay easy. Wynter moved in and put her hand on the sturdy neck, looking up at him.

There were no words. What could they say?
I love you? I will see you soon? Wait for me?
What did any of that mean in this situation? He was going. He would never be back. There was nothing they could do about it.

The horse moved under him again and stepped sideways and tried to turn. A muffled shout from behind the barns made the two of them startle and look up. In the dim stalls, they heard a brief dash of metal, another muffled exclamation and a thud. They stared, straining to hear. Then Razi’s tall figure, stooped and running, shot along the back wall of the stalls and disappeared around the corner.

Wynter turned urgently to Christopher. “Go!” she hissed, and slapped the horse’s shoulder, causing it to jump forward on him. He took it as she meant it and urged the anxious creature into a trot, leading the line of animals up the alley. Wynter stepped back as the laden pack mule jogged by and watched as the line of horses got to the corner, and turned out of her sight.

She watched the dust of their passage hanging pale in the air, then she took off after them, sprinting to try and catch up.

At the edge of the exercise yard, instead of trying to follow along the horse path, Wynter cut down between the barns, raced across the paddocks and pushed through a hole in the yew hedge. She ran through the gardens, her feet flying in the dark, blind and moving on instinct, until she broke through the shadows into the wide expanse of the main thoroughfare and the gravel drive that led to the gates.