The Eighth Court

by Mike Shevdon

  She was exhausted but somehow too gunned to sleep. She felt wired, as if she’d drunk one of Sparky’s boosters and was now so full of caffeine and stimulants that sleep was impossible. Her mind kept turning to the wild ride through the forest, the brutally violent encounter they’d observed, and the promises she’d made to Tate.

  But when she slept, her dreams were full of trees flashing past in the dark.

  Amber near enough dragged me through the Ways without pause for thought. I was already dreadfully tired and instead of the usual elation, I felt drained and slightly sick. I wondered what happened if you threw up on the Ways. Did it spew vomit out over you when you were finally ejected? That thought held my stomach together until we were back at the courts.

  She supported me as far as the door to the rooms that Blackbird and I shared. I leaned against the wall, hatching an ambitious plan to sneak in, grab a shower and change out of my blood-soaked clothes before Blackbird discovered I’d been shot. That plan was rather undermined when I discovered Blackbird and the baby with Angela and Lesley in our rooms.

  “You can do the explaining,” said Amber, as she helped me inside.

  Blackbird almost did a double take. “What on earth happened?” she asked, passing the baby to Lesley and taking in the dark stains spread into my shirt and trousers, almost black against the Warder grey.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” I said, the words tripped on my tongue as I tried to play down the situation.

  Blackbird pulled open my jacket for a better look. “This is blood! For goodness sakes, Niall, you’re covered in it. What happened?”

  Now that I was safe, my reserves were suddenly spent. I put an arm out to the door to steady myself and missed my handhold, dropping my sword and stumbling so that Amber half caught me. Instead I slid slowly to the floor, half supported by her. My eyes felt suddenly heavy. “It’s OK,” I said. “Amber was there.”

  “You’re wounded,” said Blackbird. “Angela, get me a towel soaked in cold water. Amber, help me get him out of this jacket.” Between them they eased me out of the jacket, and Blackbird inspected the holes where the bullets had entered.

  “Amber helped me…” I mumbled.

  Blackbird collected some scissors from the desk, addressing Amber. “I suppose you have some explanation for this?” she asked her.

  “It’s not my doing,” she told Blackbird. “This is all his own work.”

  I roused myself in Amber’s defence. “If it hadn’t been for Amber, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “What happened to looking out for each other,” asked Blackbird, cutting me out of the shirt. “Dump those on the bath, Angela. They’re ruined anyway. I need to clean some of this blood off.”

  “We are looking out for each other,” said Amber. “He’s here isn’t he?”

  “This isn’t Amber’s fault,” I said. My words sounded slurred, even to me. “I underestimated Sam. He picked his moment.”

  “Can you stand?” she asked me, “Walk as far as the bathroom?”

  I nodded, though I was far from sure.

  Between Blackbird and Amber they manoeuvred me into the bathroom. I had a moment of modesty, but Blackbird overruled me, stripping out of my blood-soaked trousers.

  “She’s seen it all before,” she claimed, but Amber made her excuses and retired gracefully and left Blackbird to clean me up. She inspected the newly pink skin over the wounds in my side where Sam had shot me, probing them gently with her fingers. Taking a wet flannel, she cleaned off the dried blood while I told her about the missing horseshoes, the flat, the message left on the fridge and the rendezvous with Sam.

  “I guess Sam knew one side of the story,” I said, recovered a little now I was sat down. “I was going to try and explain the rest.”

  “It sounds like he’s already had an explanation, reached a conclusion and acted upon it,” she said. “Hold onto the edge of the edge of the sink.”

  “What for?”

  “Just do as you’re asked for once.”

  I did as I was bid and she placed her hands over my heart and the wound in my side. The air in the bathroom chilled, the lights dimming as a gentle warmth spread out under her palms.

  “Should you be doing that?” I asked. “You’ll upset Garvin again.”

  Blackbird explained what Garvin could do with his objections while the heat in my side intensified. It became almost painful, and I gripped the side of the sink hard. I could feel her warmth spreading through me, knitting together the damage that had been done.

  “There,” she said, “that will help, but you’re going to be taking it gently for a few days. We’re going to have to rethink a few things. If Amber has been shadowing you then Garvin probably knows more than we anticipated. That has implications for whoever he’s sharing that information with.

  “Amber knows about the horseshoes, but I think that’s as far as it goes,” I said.

  “Unless she’s been spying on us all along,” suggested Blackbird. She helped me sit and then returned to the bedroom. I could hear her thanking Lesley and ushering Angela out, telling them that I needed rest and that she would deal with matters in the morning. When she came back in, she was holding our son, who reached out his hands to me. “He wants you,” she said.

  I took him from her gingerly, conscious of the tenderness in my newly healed flank. As I took him from her it sent shooting pains down my side, but it was bearable. Whatever Blackbird had done had definitely helped. He was only in a nappy and vest and as I took him he laid his head on my shoulder. It seemed to me that he’d picked up some of his mother’s anxiety and wanted to see for himself that I was OK. I held him while Blackbird tossed the rest of my ruined clothes into the bath and soaked the flannels she used to clean me up in a sink of cold water. She shook her head as she watched the water change colour.

  “This life…” she said, addressing my reflection in the mirror. “It’s not what he needs. He needs stability and love, room to grow.”

  “We’re getting there,” I said.

  “He needs a father that comes home, preferably not soaked in his own blood,” she said, looking down into the spreading cloud of pink water in the sink.

  “I’ll be more careful in future,” I said.

  “While you work for Garvin, there will always be risks,” she said.

  “Everything is a risk. Crossing the road is a risk, taking a taxi is a risk. I could be struck by lightning.” She frowned. “OK, that was a bad example.”

  “Taking a taxi doesn’t get you shot, though,” she pointed out, not unreasonably. “And while crossing the road may be hazardous, the drivers aren’t usually actively trying to kill you.”

  “Amber says I’m doing better than some,” I said. “I can only do what I can do.”

  “Pity Sam didn’t try and shoot Amber instead,” she said. “Amber would have killed him.”

  “He’s not himself. He’s still torn up about whatever was between him and Claire, and now there’s no chance of a getting back together.” I said. “He blames me for Claire’s death, and there’s little I can say to convince him that I didn’t kill her.”

  “And so you let him shoot you. That seems very even-handed, I must say.”

  “You’re not usually so keen on me killing people,” I pointed out. My son started shifting and grizzling against my chest. “Now he’s upset because you’re upset,” I said. “He’s picking up on your emotions.”

  “And I’m upset because you could be dead.” She lifted him from me and cradled our son against her chest until he subsided into a low grizzle. “He’s just tired. I wanted to spend some time with him today, but it feels like it’s just slipped by without pause for breath.” She rocked him against her, shushing him slowly.

  “He’s not the only one,” I said.

  “You’re cross with yourself for letting Raffmir get the better of you,” she said. “You feel guilty at letting him kill Claire under your nose when you were supposed to be protecting her, but you’re for
getting that there were likely two of them and they had the advantage of surprise.”

  “I’m a Warder, Blackbird. They’re not supposed to be able to surprise me.”

  “Your problem is that you’re a good man,” she said. “You don’t think like they do.”

  “Then perhaps I should learn to,” I said.

  “No. It’s better that you don’t think like them,” she said. Our son nuzzled into her breast. “You can’t really be hungry,” she told him, “It’s just comfort you want, isn’t it?” She kissed his head and held him close, resting her head next to his and stroking his hair.

  I shrugged, making my side twinge again. “I’m not sure any more. This is getting out of hand. People are dying because of us – because of what we’re doing.”

  “And if we do nothing?” she asked. “How will that be better? Should we stand by as the courts select who will live and who will die from the few gifted humans that come forward?

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Why can’t they just let them be?”

  “Like they let Eve be? Or should we wait until the next angry teenager gets hold of something they shouldn’t “ she said. “It’s got beyond that, Niall, and we both know it.”

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “A sanctuary,” she said. “We need somewhere that the gifted can be, away from humanity and away from the Feyre. We need to find our own way,” she looked down at our son, “and come to terms with what we are. When we have the Eighth Court, Niall, I want you to think about retiring.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to think about resigning from your post as a Warder. I think Garvin would let you go, and if you have a court of your own then you don’t need to be a Warder to receive the protection of the courts.”

  “You forget, at the moment, as far as the Eighth Court is concerned, I am the protection of the courts.”

  “Garvin places you in harm’s way. One mistake and… I don’t want to think about it, Niall. We’ve come so far together. I can do this alone if I have to, but I don’t want to.”

  I stood, making it as confident a move as I could, and wrapped my arms around her and my son, kissing him, and her. “You won’t have to,” I said.

  She rested her head against me. “I wish I was as confident.”

  After a moment, she stirred. “Let’s put this one to bed. You need to rest or you’ll be good for nothing tomorrow. Your body needs rest or you won’t heal.”

  “I feel better than I did,” I said.

  She gave me a look that implied that wasn’t saying much. Taking our son through to the adjoining room, she settled him down while I crawled into bed. I felt wrung out and literally drained. I wondered whether I should drink some more water before I slept, but I was too exhausted to get up and get some. I lay in bed until she turned out the light and crawled in beside me, nestling into the crook of my arm.

  I heard her breathing slow, but now that I had the chance to rest, my body resisted. I shifted under her until she turned onto her side away from me. In moments I was too warm and pushed the covers down to get cooler, but seconds later I was shivering. I found myself hunkering down, trying to get warm. I was shaking and my mouth felt dry. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and my throat felt sore. Thinking I would wake Blackbird and ask her to get me some water, I tried to turn over, but the bed was huge and empty. I called for her. My hand twitched with the effort of reaching for her, but wouldn’t move. My entire body felt like it was being slowly pressed into the bed, layered in lead, leached of life.

  “Why didn’t you call me earlier?” It was Garvin’s voice and he sounded close. I couldn’t see anyone.

  “He wasn’t like this earlier, ask Amber,” said Blackbird. He was injured, yes, and tired, but nothing like this. It must have started after he came to bed. It can’t be infection, and he’s not being drawn away by someone else. He keeps mumbling things but I can’t make them out. Did Amber say anything?”

  “Nothing conclusive. She said he’d been shot, and that once she showed him what to do, he healed himself. The injury was purely physical. This is not Sam Veldon’s doing – there’s something else at work.”

  “The Seventh Court?” Blackbird asked.

  “Not within the wardings of the High Court. They would bring reprisals back on themselves and they know it. No, this isn’t magic. Poison?” he suggested.

  “It’s possible, but his glamour should protect him. One moment he’s burning up, the next he’s deathly cold. I’m at a loss, Garvin. His wounds were healing, but this…?”

  Her voice faded and the dark became a comforting blackness holding me suspended. I drifted between consciousness and oblivion.

  After a while I felt something tug at my attention and I found myself being drawn upwards. It was a house – I recognised the style of the study as being from the same sort of era as the High Courts. Was it Georgian, or before that? I wasn’t sure. Two men were there, one standing and one kneeling on the floor before him. You could immediately see why, as the standing man had a pistol aimed at the kneeling man’s head. The kneeling man was begging for his life. The big desk had been overturned, and the chairs were strewn about as if there’d been a fight.

  “Please, Your Lordship, you’re not well. We can call a doctor. They’ll give you something to calm your nerves.”

  “You’re one of them, aren’t you? Admit it!”

  “One of whom, Your Lordship? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man on the ground was older, dressed in plain clothes with mud on his boots.

  “You’ve been telling them everything!” the standing man accused. The hand with the revolver was trembling.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Your Lordship. I’ve served you faithfully, I swear.” His voice trembled as he stared up at the pistol pointing down at him.

  “Then lie to me properly, dammit. Prove you’re not one of them.” There was sweat, beaded on his forehead.

  “I… don’t know what to say. I’m not lying, I’m telling the truth. What do you want me to say?”

  “Tell me who you really are,” said the standing man.

  “I’m Johnson. I collect the rents for you. You know who I am.” He reached up suddenly towards the gun and there was a sharp crack. His head snapped backwards, and he toppled sideways onto the ground. The standing man watched him for some time while a coil of smoke rose from the gun to hang in the air before him. “Disappear, dammit!” he shouted at the body. “Vanish! Go wherever you go!” The body remained resolutely present.

  After a few moments, the man staggered to a chair and fell heavily into it. He stared at the gun. “My God,” he whispered. “What have I done?”

  He held the pistol and turned it slowly until it pointed at himself. Opening his mouth, he inserted the muzzle, closing his eyes. His hand was trembling and sweat ran down his face, dripping from his nose. After a while he withdrew the gun and placed it on the floor beside him.

  “Oh God, Johnson,” he said. “They’ll hang me for this.”

  He sat staring at the body for a long while. It was only then that I noticed the crest on the notepaper scattered across the floor.

  On it was a shield, and on the shield were six horseshoes, and underneath them were the words, De Ferrers.

  Blackbird’s voice was full of concern. “It’s getting worse. I’ve tried bathing him, but these snap fevers are extreme. He was raving about being shot a moment ago. I’ve sent Alex for some ice and plain towels. If we can wrap him in them, maybe we can hold his temperature down.”

  “Should I ask Yonna or Kimlesh to come?” asked Garvin. “As a Warder he’s entitled to the protection of the Lords and Ladies.”

  “Will it do any good?” asked Blackbird.

  Garvin sighed. “I’ve no idea. I’d know more if I knew what was wrong.”

  “Do the wardings for the courts prevent dowsing?” she asked.

  “It depends what you’re dowsing for,” said Garvin. “If you’re using it to pry in
to court business, then yes.”

  “But not otherwise? It’s worth a try,” she said. “Get Alex to bring me a pendulum – a rock on a string would do.”

  “Here, use this,” said Garvin.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A keepsake. It has sentimental value.”

  “It’s not been charmed in any way? There’s no enhancement?”

  “It’s just a rock on a chain, Blackbird.”

  “Very well,” she said. “It will serve well enough and perhaps it will tell us what we need to know...”

  Her voice faded again and I felt myself being pressed down again, consumed by the enveloping darkness. I was wrapped in black velvet, numb to sense or sound, empty of all sensation. I could feel my hold on reality weakening. Something was loosening my grip on life.

  I began to hear the slow heartbeat of some great leviathan. Slowly I became aware of a great sea, stretching out to the horizon. The waves lifted, curled high and then crashed, crump, like the beat of a great drum. Then a sigh, as the black water slid over the beach and ebbed back into the deep. Slowly another wave lifted and curled, crump, it came again, and then sigh as it withdrew.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” said a voice I knew well. I turned in the darkness to find a figure outlined in fingers of white light in a nimbus glow, standing a little apart on the black sand of the beach. Now that I looked, there were tiny sparks of light in the black sand, like stars.

  “Raffmir. I might have known you’d be behind all this.”

  “Once again, cousin, you do me disservice. This is none of my doing. Do you even know where you are?”

  “Is this like the Glade, but with a beach?”

  He laughed, but it had little humour in it. “No one bathes here, Niall. We are on the shores of night, where people come before they die. You have been here before, I think.”

  “Me? No... I think I’d remember.”

  “You’d be surprised what you don’t remember,” he said. “When you had your heart attack on the underground, you would have met my sister here. She would have caught you like a fly in a web as you crossed between life and death. She stranded you here and followed the trail back to your body, hoping to inhabit it, until the witch-woman called you back.”