I follow.
The woman leads me off into a maze of even narrower alleys, nothing more than walkways between the tenements. It must be nearly midday, but down here it’s twilight. At least the permanent gloom prevents me from seeing exactly what I’m stepping in. A few more minutes, and she stops in a dead end, pointing up at a soot-stained building rising above us on three sides. ‘Crowsnest.’ She leers at me. ‘So pretty you are. What business have you here?’
‘I’m searching for someone, by the name of Deeks Flayfeather. He lives here, I think. Or used to.’
‘Searching for someone, is it?’ She shouts something up at the building – I don’t catch the words – and a moment later a red-headed, thickset man appears from one of the doorways, quickly followed by a younger man with a woman clinging to his hand. They both look half-starved, and the woman has a black eye. My guide summons them nearer. ‘This fine lady’s looking for a man name of Flayfeather.’
As the people close around me, my heart begins to race. I don’t know why I’m scared – if I touch them, I’ll burn them – but still, nerves jangle my stomach. ‘I can pay you.’ I hold up another coin. ‘I just want to talk to him.’
The older man holds his hand out for the coin, looking me up and down as he does so. ‘I heard as there was a fellow lived here by that name, a good five years back, maybe more. A fellow from Olorys. But he went off one day, up Farne –’ he jerks his head in the direction of the upper city – ‘and he never come back.’
I catch my breath: Olorys again. And possibly around the time of my mother’s death.
The man steps nearer; there’s greed in his eyes. ‘Now, maybe I can tell you who he was going to see up there. Maybe I can even tell you what happened to him.’
I check my pockets: empty, apart from my key. ‘I’ve no money left. But if you tell me what you know, I’ll send a servant with payment later.’
‘What about that ring you’ve got there?’ He points at the gold Protector’s ring.
I shake my head. I’m doubtful that the man has the information he’s trying to sell, but even if he did, I would never give him my mother’s ring. ‘Payment later, or not at all.’ I straighten up, trying to look braver than I feel; as I do, there’s a tug on my skirt. The elderly woman has got a piece of the fabric between her hands.
‘Fine silk – worth a lot of silver. We could take this instead.’
I snatch my skirt away from her. ‘Thank you for your help. I’m going to leave now.’
The man laughs. ‘Are you? Think you know your way?’
He’s right – I have no idea how to get out of these alleys, let alone back to the main part of the city. As I turn around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Citadel, I realise that a crowd has gathered at the entrance to the courtyard.
I’m trapped.
‘I’m warning you …’ I hold up my hands. ‘I’m a noble. I don’t want to hurt you –’
The elderly woman cackles. ‘Noble, is it? To tell such lies, with such a pretty face. Whoever heard of a noble on foot, and in Lower Farne?’ Her smile disappears. ‘Whoever heard of a noble caring whether we hurt? We rot here, and die here, and they do nothing. And if you don’t give me that ring, you’ll die here too –’
She makes a grab for my fingers and screeches in shock and pain when her skin touches mine.
The other people – there is a crowd gathered around us now – back away a little, but they don’t run. The red-headed man has produced a knife and a hammer from inside his clothing; he passes the hammer to his younger companion. But the woman holding his hand tries to drag him away.
‘Let ’er go, Moss, please …’
‘Stand your ground, Moss,’ the older man shouts. ‘If we let her go, she’ll bring the guards down on us.’
‘I won’t, I promise –’ I fling my arms wide, cursing my inability to transform, hoping I’ll be able to grab one of them as a hostage, hoping I can do something to protect myself before Moss smashes my bones with the hammer.
Shouts, from the entrance to the court. The noise distracts me, and as I turn back I see the older man, his face full of hatred, his knife raised –
Five
Seemingly from nowhere, the axe spins through the air and buries its blade in the man’s back; he drops the knife, groans faintly and collapses at my feet. Silence, for a heartbeat, followed by screams as two Dark Guards begin hacking their way through the crowd, and the flightless inhabitants of Crowsnest Court trample each other in their panic to escape.
‘Your Grace, this way –’ A third guard is in front of me, waiting.
‘But …’ I wave helplessly at the mayhem around me.
‘Your Grace – now, if you please.’
I follow him. At the entrance to the court we have to step over a body. It’s the young man the others called Moss, the hammer still clutched in his hand.
A minute’s running and we are back on Long Ship Street – it seems wide and filled with light, compared with the maze of alleys behind – and Aron is waiting for me, sitting astride a tall chestnut horse, more Dark Guards around him.
‘I can’t help you up.’ He is using his one hand to hold the reins. ‘You’ll have to put your foot in the stirrup.’
I clamber awkwardly onto the horse, careful not to touch the animal with my bare hands. Settling myself behind him, I put my hands on Aron’s waist as he wheels the animal about and sets it trotting back up the street.
I’m safe.
A wave of nausea and exhaustion makes my head spin; I cling on to my cousin more tightly and close my eyes.
‘You can get down now.’
I look around. We’re back at the stables behind the Citadel. Aron has brought the horse to a halt next to a mounting block; I swing myself down. Manage, just about, not to stumble, despite my shaking legs.
Aron jumps down and hands the reins to a waiting groom. ‘Come,’ he says to me. ‘You’ve provided enough entertainment for one day.’ He gestures up at the windows of the castle; I guess there are other nobles watching, and shame makes me feel sick. ‘Come and have something to eat.’
I keep my gaze lowered and follow him inside.
Aron leads me to a part of the castle I’ve not yet been to, one of the upper turrets, I think. There are Dark Guards either side of the door, but Aron knocks and is quickly admitted by a servant into a sort of tiled entrance hall. More stairs, winding up inside the tower, and then I’m in a circular sitting room, all silver gilt and fine white lace, ringed by tall glazed doors.
Odette is there. She jumps up as we come in. ‘My dear cousin, what were you thinking? Come and sit down.’ She leads me to a sofa and pushes a cup of warm chocolate into my hands. All of me is trembling now, but the sweet liquid soothes me a little.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble.’ A lump rises in my throat and I dash away a tear. ‘And those poor people –’
‘You mean the ones who were literally about to kill you?’ Aron’s voice is dry.
‘Only one of them really wanted to kill me, I think.’ I shudder as I remember the hatred on the red-headed man’s face. ‘If the Guards could have just scared the others away –’
A disbelieving shake of the head. ‘Did you not want to be rescued? If you like, I can take you back there …’ He laughs at my silence. ‘Don’t worry, cousin. I enjoyed being useful, for once. Today is the anniversary of my removal from the succession, and your little escapade was just what I needed. Besides, they were flightless and they threatened you. They broke a Decree. I’ve asked the guards to take no further action once the crowd has been dispersed – no point in adding more grist to the gossip mill – but by law every one of them should hang.’
A statement of fact. I can’t tell from his voice whether or not he thinks that outcome would be desirable.
‘Aron, don’t.’ Odette pours me some more chocolate and passes a plate of biscuits to her brother. ‘It was lucky I mentioned to Aron where you’d gone. Though I suppose the D
ark Guards would have reported what had happened. Eventually.’
I almost choke on my chocolate. ‘They were following me? Then why didn’t they intervene?’
‘Oh, they wouldn’t, not without a direct order from the king. Or from Aron, because they like him.’ She flashes her brother a smile. ‘But really, cousin, what were you doing in such a place?’
I glance from Odette to Aron. I’d like to tell them the truth. They’ve both grown up here, just like my father did. They might be able to help.
But I can’t ignore Lucien’s warning. Trust no one, he said …
‘I was looking for a place my father talked about. From when he was a prince here. But I got lost.’
‘Your father mentioned Long Ship Street?’ Aron is frowning at me. ‘What could have possibly taken him there?’
I think quickly. ‘A theatre, he said. Though I may have misremembered the street name.’
My cousin shrugs. ‘You must have done. There are a couple of theatres in Upper Farne that I suppose your father might have visited. Though I can’t imagine our father going with him …’ He pauses, considering. ‘You could ask Lord Hawkin. He’s lived here his whole life. And he loves to talk.’
I set my cup down on a little silver table nearby and catch sight of the dirt on my skirts. ‘I should change. Thank you. Both of you.’
Odette returns my smile. ‘I’m glad Aron found you. And I’ve noticed you don’t have your walking stick with you any more.’
Perhaps I discarded my prop too soon. ‘My ankle is much stronger now.’
‘So would you come flying with me? I know you said you don’t care for it, but perhaps if we went together?’
Is this a trap? But Odette looks excited more than anything else, and I wonder whether she’s lonely, despite having her brother here. ‘My back.’ I touch the bare skin at the top of my shoulders. ‘It’s the scar tissue, you see. I mean, I can transform, of course. But it hurts. I prefer not to.’
‘Oh. Of course.’ The excitement has gone, replaced by pity.
Aron sits forward in his chair, as if he’s actually interested in what I’ve just said; his usual demeanour is one of boredom, or contemptuous judgement, or both. ‘Too bad, sister. She’ll have to come riding with me instead. If Rookwood allows her, that is.’
Lucien. It’s impossible he won’t find out about my ‘escapade’. I take leave of my cousins, wondering exactly how angry he is going to be …
The answer is – not surprisingly – very angry indeed.
‘I really cannot understand it, Your Grace. We are not in Atratys. This is not Merl Castle. And we’ve only been here two weeks. Two weeks! I can’t believe you would put yourself in such danger.’ Lucien was waiting for me upon my return from Odette’s apartments. Now he is pacing up and down my sitting room, casting furious glances in my direction. The glances are a substitute for words; I have shamelessly refused to dismiss Letya – I know very well that Lucien won’t say everything he really wants to say in front of her – so my clerk is having to control his tongue. Clearly, he’s struggling. ‘And you tell me you just went for a walk, and got lost?’
He doesn’t believe me. But I stick to my story. ‘Exactly. Perhaps, my lord, if you had allowed me a single moment of leisure in the last two weeks, I would not have been driven to such an extremity.’ I lift my chin and give him back glare for glare.
‘Well.’ He scowls. ‘Perhaps, Your Grace, you should have mentioned your concerns to me before deciding to sneak out of the castle.’
‘Or perhaps,’ Leyta observes, ‘you should have thought a bit more of my lady’s comfort before filling all her time up with meetings.’
Lucien flushes. But though he clearly heard Letya’s words he seems determined not to acknowledge her, and looks only at me. ‘You could have been killed. What would have become of Atratys? Would you betray your mother’s legacy so lightly? And what of the flightless that did die this afternoon, all because you wanted to take a walk?’
His words – and the disappointment in his eyes – sting me. I can’t tell whether I’m angrier at myself or at him. ‘You forget yourself, Lord Rookwood. Whether you like it or not, I am Atratys’s Protector.’
He opens his mouth, and I can almost see his retort forming: Then perhaps, Your Grace, it is time you behaved like it. But the words remain unspoken. He bows and leaves the room.
Letya draws breath. ‘Well –’
But I interrupt her before she can give vent to what I suspect will be some fairly astringent criticism of Lucien. She sits in silence while I explain the real purpose of my visit to Lower Farne, only pressing her lips together and shaking her head slightly when I tell her how close I came to disaster. She’s still silent when I finish.
I wait.
‘Well,’ she says eventually, ‘I suspect there’s no point in me scolding you. But Lord Lucien is right, you know. You want to find out why your mother was killed. All well and good. But you’re Protector now. Surely she would say that was more important?’
She would. But I can’t be the Protector – I can’t look to the future of Atratys – until I’m able to let go of the past. Not really. And to do that, I need the truth about my mother’s murder.
The truth, and maybe something more.
As I see again in my mind the red-headed man dying in front of me, Letya sighs and plucks at the skirt of my dress. ‘It’s ruined, I think.’ Neither of us mentions the fact that some of the stains are blood.
Lucien’s anger does not abate. He speaks to me as little as possible over the next few days, although he seems to take a grim pleasure in telling me of the rumours that are now spreading: either I went to Lower Farne to stir up the flightless population to rebellion, or I went because I am in fact flightless myself (my ‘burning’ of the servant on the day of my arrival apparently being part of a pre-conceived conspiracy). I notice enough sideways glances and whispered conversations to realise that my clerk is not just trying to scare me. I’m still busy; when I ask Lucien to arrange a meeting with Lord Hawkin, he tells me my diary is full for the next three weeks, and that Hawkin has in any case been away from court for the last month or more. Still, my feelings towards Lucien are softened when I discover that he has rearranged things so that I can have my afternoons to myself, though he does not give me any opportunity to thank him.
In my free time I start riding again, with Letya or with Aron. Despite the fact that he came to my rescue, my cousin still seems determined to try to make me squirm. He tells me about his childhood, and about the countryside around the Citadel, but he spends just as many hours describing the progress of the men competing to be my husband, or speculating on whether his father will find some other way of getting his hands on Atratys. Still, whenever he invites me to ride, I accept. Partly out of pity, I suppose. But also because, of all the people in the court, he is in some ways the one most like me, though I conceal my injuries and he cannot. The one thing we never discuss is flying.
When I’m alone, I try to work out what I should do next. Letya has not been able to find out for me when Lord Hawkin is due to return, and there’s no other obvious line of enquiry for me to pursue. I consider and reluctantly discard the idea of asking Lord Lancelin to write officially to his counterpart in Olorys to seek information. I’m still turning the problem over in my head when I go to the great hall one afternoon, just over a week since Aron had to come and rescue me. In honour of the arrival of a new ambassador from Ryska, the queen has invited a famous troupe of ballet dancers from Frianland to visit the court and give a performance, and we are all assembled to watch. For once, seating is not dictated by rank; at the queen’s request, this gathering is informal, and I can’t help wondering what other changes she might introduce to the court if she were allowed. Chairs and tables and sofas have been scattered about the room. The queen sits with Odette and the ambassador, a small woman with deep-purple hair and violet-tinged skin. I end up in a little group, with Lady Nyssa on one side of me and a courtier I’ve
not met before on the other – an elderly man, his sparse grey locks more feather now than hair. I have no idea where Lucien is. We watch the first half of the ballet in silence. But at the interval, when Nyssa goes to take refreshment, the man turns to me.
‘Forgive my presumption, but are you the Protector of Atratys?’
‘Yes …’ I wait, wondering whether I’m about to be quizzed on my visit to Lower Farne.
‘Ah, I thought I couldn’t be mistaken. Tried to look at the seal on your ring, but my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. You’re so like your mother though, at the same age. That’s why I took this seat. Hawkin, I said to myself, that must be Lady Diandra’s daughter, and I’d heard of course that you’d come to court –’
I turn in my seat a little, hardly able to believe my luck. ‘You’re Lord Hawkin? I was hoping to meet you. You would have known my father too, I think.’
‘I did. Not well though. Your father was a prince, as well as being twenty years younger than me.’
‘Of course.’ Disappointment dampens my excitement. I had assumed, from what Aron said, that Hawkin and my father were friends and contemporaries. On the other side of me, Lady Nyssa returns to her seat. ‘And you knew my mother?’
‘Before she was married, yes. She spent three years at court before she came of age, as everyone of quality does.’ He blinks and clears his throat. ‘I mean, almost everyone.’
‘So you were –’
‘Your Grace,’ Lady Nyssa interrupts, ‘would you care for one of these excellent little biscuits?’ She’s holding out a plate of decorated sweetmeats.
‘So kind of you, but no, I thank you.’ I turn back to Lord Hawkin. ‘You were here when my parents met?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ he continues. ‘Prince Rothbart and Diandra of Atratys. They made a very striking couple. Though of course they had to leave when they decided to marry. That’s when they ran off to her dominion.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, His Majesty wasn’t happy about it. Not happy at all. Refused his consent, though it was obviously because –’
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