The Fire Star

by A. L. Tait

  ‘If I must do this, then I will go to the altar with my head high,’ Cassandra says now, a faint blush on her cheeks.

  I let a beat pass. ‘Now that you have spent time with Sir Garrick, I wonder if you have changed your mind about the abhorrence of the marriage,’ I offer, taking another small section of hair to work.

  Cassandra exhales sharply. ‘It is true that he is an . . . interesting man. Marriage to him is a very different proposition than it was to Sir Alfred.’

  I stifle a chuckle. Given that Sir Alfred was eighty-seven years old, this is something of an understatement.

  ‘But the fact remains that he is not my social equal,’ Cassandra continues, her reflected face looking thoughtful. ‘Marrying him will not bring me the status that will lift me above my sisters. Which is something I cannot overlook . . . can I?’

  I say nothing, but inside I feel a tiny sinking sensation. As I had thought last night, there has been a distinct softening in her attitude to Sir Garrick. Will she still choose to run if the Fire Star appears before the appointed time of the marriage tomorrow?

  I suspect that if I ask her outright she will pooh-pooh me and tell me that she will, but the truth is that marriage to Sir Garrick is a much less risky proposition for a lady like Cassandra than fleeing across the water to a foreign kingdom. No matter what her sisters might say.

  And if Cassandra stays, so must I. I have not the means to take flight by myself, and have not yet attained the age at which the Beech Circle will help me. Rules established over many generations of trial and error deem seventeen to be the youngest age whereby girls are able to truly live independently. The Circle would help me to go now, but would place me in another household somewhere in Talleben until I turn seventeen. Why swap one cage for another?

  ‘Have you heard from Myra?’ I ask, again changing the subject and concentrating on the pattern of the braid as I work down the length of hair. ‘Has she any news of the Fire Star?’

  Cassandra sighs again. ‘Not a peep,’ she says, and, in her reflection, I can see her tears. ‘It seems it is truly gone for good, and with it our chances of freedom. Now, I must hope that the Airl goes ahead with the wedding regardless, or we are lost to the nunnery forever.’

  She pauses, her fingers playing with a brass hairpin on the dresser. ‘I can’t believe it was only days ago that we were flying towards Rennart Castle with wings on our heels, thinking that our plan was foolproof.’

  I loop the plait before taking the hairpin from her to fix it to her head, saying nothing until I have begun to braid the other side. ‘We could not foresee murder,’ I say, as I work the strands of hair. ‘How could we, when the only people who knew of our plan were we two, Sully and Myra?’

  Her eyes narrow in the reflection. ‘Someone knew,’ she says. ‘The question is: how?’

  The question is: how?

  ‘Someone saw,’ I say, knowing that I am repeating Myra’s words, just as I have done in my mind over and over. The repetitive action of weaving Cassandra’s hair seems to unlock a different, reflective part of my mind, and I continue to speak my thoughts out loud in a way that I have not yet done with her. ‘Someone in that courtyard saw Sully catch the stone. They murdered him for it.’

  Cassandra half turns to face me. ‘But the Airl said that everyone in the castle has been accounted for. Lorimer reports that the stone is nowhere to be found, and says that no one left suddenly after it went missing – even that other squire has not been seen since the night before. You would think, wouldn’t you, that if someone had murdered Sully and taken possession of the Fire Star, then they would want to make themselves scarce as soon as possible?’

  I reach the bottom of the length of braid before I answer. ‘Unless,’ I say, carefully taking a hairpin from the dresser and slipping it into place, ‘they don’t have it.’

  Her lips twist with disbelief. ‘What do you mean?’ she says, her brow furrowed. ‘They killed Sully and took the stone from him.’

  But now my mind is racing as I stare at my own reflection in the mirror. That Sully was murdered and the stone missing were two irrefutable facts. But what if they were actually separate events?

  What was it that Reeve had told me about the stables when he’d asked me to send a message to Myra about directing a drunkard to visit her? Something about the other squire, Neale, and all his questions . . .

  I watch my reflection frown as I think.

  If the drunkard had noticed Neale and all his questions, had Sully? And what were all the questions about? Had Sully seen something or someone that made him wary? And if that were the case, what would he do?

  ‘I think,’ I say out loud for the first time, walking to the window to look down upon the courtyard, ‘that Sully hid the Fire Star.’

  Cassandra twists again in her seat. ‘Hid it?’ she says, and her cheeks are flushed with excitement. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Think about it,’ I say. ‘He was to meet Myra and me at the bottom of the road. I think he came empty-handed to keep it safe. That’s why he was killed. Not to cover up the theft of the Fire Star, but because he didn’t have it on him and wouldn’t say where it was.’

  The courtyard below me is a hive of activity, as always. The knights are practising jousting, thundering towards each other on horses, before pulling aside at the last moment, whooping and yelling.

  Anice strolls around the practice ring with a tight knot of her companions, their brightly coloured gowns fluttering like butterfly wings in the light breeze. Apparently recovered from her headache, Anice whispers with her friends, not close enough to the male activities to be improper, not far enough away for a girl whose reputation – and future – rested on a knife’s edge only hours ago.

  I cannot even rouse enough feeling to despise the girl, even though she has survived her unwise decisions unscathed while I am confined to Cassandra’s room. I know I have done my duty where Anice is concerned, not that it will ever gain me anything but disdain from her.

  I am not interested enough in fashion and flirting to earn Anice’s respect.

  Sometimes, in quiet moments, I wish that I were different. I wish that I could be like other girls and laugh and flirt and not think about much at all. It all seems to be so much easier when you can just be like everyone else. But I have never been that way, and my father understood it while my mother despised it. Perhaps because she knew how difficult life would be for me. Perhaps because she recognised how difficult it could make life for her.

  A flash catches my eye as the sun hits a window near the kitchen door. Lorimer’s window, I realise, glad to be drawn from the mire of my own thoughts, and he is framed within it, watching over proceedings in the courtyard. I wonder just how much he sees from his lair? He cannot see all I can see, because he’s on the ground floor, but he has a clear view of the comings and goings of the kitchen staff in and out of the door. As I watch, he turns from the window, his attention caught by someone in the room behind him.

  I turn away.

  ‘What can we do?’ Cassandra is saying, her face alight, and it takes me a moment to realise she speaks of the Fire Star. ‘Can we find it?’ She is on her feet, pacing excitedly. ‘Do you realise what this means? If we can find it, Maven, we can still run.’

  I watch her for a moment before responding. ‘My lady, do you still want to?’

  Cassandra stands stock-still, one hand over her mouth.

  ‘Forgive me,’ I rush on, moving towards her. ‘I do not mean to question you. It’s just that you seemed so very happy with Sir Garrick yesterday afternoon, and he had eyes only for you this morning. It could be that this marriage, with a man who seems open to you pursuing your interests, may be the answer to your prayers – no matter what your sisters think.’

  ‘I –’ Cassandra sinks upon the bed, her gown settling around her like autumn leaves falling to the ground. ‘I want to say “don’t be silly”. But I am not entirely certain that I can say those words honestly,’ she admits.

 
She looks down at her feet, clad in satin slippers. ‘I am not like you, Maven. I am not strong, and smart and inexhaustibly resourceful, unbound by what others think of me. I want to be that way, and had Sir Garrick turned out to be the slovenly oik that I had thought him, perhaps I would have found it in me to be so . . . But the truth is that he is . . . interesting to me.’

  I manage a smile at Cassandra’s words, wondering if she understands how much easier it is not to care for what others think of you when the truth is that people rarely think of you. ‘My lady,’ I say instead, ‘you are falling in love. There is no greater strength in any person than being open to a new direction.’

  These are the words my father gave me when he told me he’d secured a position with Cassandra for me, and I’d hated him for them. I acknowledge the irony to myself of using them to bind myself further to that position.

  Cassandra bites her lip, suddenly looking much younger than her twenty-five years. ‘You give me far too much credit, Maven. It feels to me that I am simply stepping onto a well-trodden path.’

  I sit beside her on the bed. ‘More foolish to run away from something that will bring you contentment, my lady, and I think that this will do that – more so than being cut off in Talleben from the only life you’ve ever known.’

  She takes my hand. ‘But what of you?’ she says softly. ‘I do not forget the comfort and support you have given me, and I understand that the decision I make now is for both of us.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘I am used to changes in direction, my lady,’ I say, straightening my shoulders. ‘This is not the first time for me, and look how well the last one worked out.’

  At least I will give my father that.

  Cassandra manages a smile. ‘You are wise beyond your years, and a great solace to me, Maven. Whatever happens, I will ensure your security.’

  I jump to my feet so she cannot see the tears that might well up from the hard lump of disappointment I swallow. I will find the Fire Star, for it will secure Cassandra’s future, one way or the other.

  It will also help Reeve of Norwood to fulfil his ambitions of becoming a knight and, given his knowledge of our secrets, it will be safer to keep him close. What it is that Myra holds over him I do not know, but I cannot count on the fact that it will be enough to stay his tongue if the Fire Star does not turn up and he is ordered from the castle.

  He is a charming boy, but his willingness to pull out the chessboard yesterday shows that he is also canny and strategic. If it will save his knighthood to throw Cassandra and I under a cart, I cannot guess at what he will do.

  No, working with Reeve to find the Fire Star is the safest course for both of us.

  ‘Maven?’ Cassandra’s voice is tentative. ‘Do you know where the Fire Star is?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I say, resting my face against the cold, hard window where I have a clear view of dark roiling clouds building in the sky beyond the stables. ‘But I do know that we’re going to need the Beech Circle.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A long, hard ride. Truer words were never spoken, Reeve thought as his charger barrelled along the road beneath him, apparently impervious to the rain that lashed them both in the face. Reeve drew his cloak up over his head more tightly, wincing as his sodden breeches slipped around on the saddle.

  He could hear the thunder of Sir Garrick’s mount’s hooves ahead of him, which was a good thing for he could barely see beyond the end of his own horse’s ears, so thick were the sheets of water falling from the sky.

  ‘Reeve!’ Sir Garrick shouted over the drumming of both rain and hooves.

  ‘Here!’ Reeve shouted back, as he’d done every few minutes for the past hour. When the rain had begun, Reeve had quietly hoped they’d take shelter under a tree. But that was not how the Knight Protector of Rennart Castle operated.

  ‘Let’s get it over with,’ Sir Garrick had said to Reeve. ‘The afternoon wears on, and the sooner we get home, the better.’

  And so they’d ridden, the miles disappearing beneath the galloping horses, leaving Brantley behind on the Cleeland docks, four hefty soldiers on hand to ensure he boarded the ship that was leaving at midnight.

  ‘Not long now!’ Sir Garrick shouted again. ‘We’ll see the castle soon enough. They’ll have lit the torches early.’

  Only a cat would see torches in this soup, thought Reeve, trying to snuggle further into his saturated cloak, hoping to find a dry spot somewhere.

  But suddenly there was light. A lantern that seemed to swing onto the road, its brightness startling in the sodden darkness. Reeve blinked, pulling hard on his reins, even as he heard Sir Garrick’s horse come to a skidding, splashing halt ahead of him.

  ‘Who goes there?’ Sir Garrick bellowed, not so much a question as an order for a response. Reeve didn’t need to be able to see his master to know that his hand was on the sword buckled to his side.

  Reeve squinted, trying to see beyond the dazzling light to the dark figure beyond.

  ‘Stop in the name of the King,’ came the strident response, and Reeve blinked. The voice sounded familiar but he couldn’t quite place it. What was very apparent, however, was the shrill note of anxiety underlying the words.

  Sir Garrick’s horse danced under him, shifting on the spot. ‘Well now,’ the knight said, and Reeve sat up straighter at his friendly tone. ‘It’s good to see you, Neale. Where the devil have you been, boy? We have been worried.’

  ‘Do not call me boy,’ Neale said, raising the lantern high so that now Reeve could see his pale, taut face. Rain had plastered Neale’s black hair to his head, and his cloak was covered in leaves.

  ‘You look as though you’ve been crawling about in the shrubbery,’ said Sir Garrick, sounding amused. ‘Why don’t you climb up behind Reeve and we’ll take you to the castle? There are many who’ve been most anxious about your absence – including your father.’

  Neale paused, and Reeve felt a prickle along the back of his neck. Something was not right.

  ‘My father knows exactly where I am,’ Neale said. ‘I rode for home directly from dinner on Wednesday. I had to let him know you and the Airl of Buckthorn for the traitors that you are. We returned together.’

  It was Sir Garrick’s turn to hesitate, and Reeve swallowed, remembering those quiet conversations he’d overheard between the Airl and his Knight Protector. Had Neale heard those discussions and taken them to his father? His father who had ridden into Castle Rennart that very day with five knights at his side?

  Sir Garrick laughed. ‘To call a man a traitor is to place oneself in the position of having to prove the claim or bear the consequences,’ he said, and Reeve was again surprised by his conversational tone. Why his master would be settling in for a chat about all this in the pouring rain was beyond Reeve.

  ‘I know what is planned,’ Neale hissed, and Reeve felt his stomach sink. ‘And what I know will soon be common knowledge. We will drag the Airl before King Bren’s throne and throw him at the royal feet.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Sir Garrick asked, idly. ‘And yet what you think you may know and proving what you think you may know are two entirely different matters, are they not?’

  As Sir Garrick spoke, Reeve thought he detected a welcome abatement in the solid rhythm of the rain. Still, he could not help but feel that this entire conversation could wait until they had all returned to the castle.

  ‘Come, Neale,’ Sir Garrick continued, as though reading Reeve’s thoughts. ‘This is no place for this discussion. Why did you not simply ride into Rennart Castle with your father?’ Sir Garrick was now sliding from his horse, hand on his sword.

  Gulping, Reeve followed the knight down to the road, despite having no weapon of his own. The rain was now subsiding as quickly as it had begun.

  ‘My father thought it better not to alert Airl Buckthorn to my visit home,’ Neale said. ‘It is much easier to take a man by surprise from within his own walls, don’t you think? He bides his time, pretending to be concerned about his mi
ssing son, drinking with your Airl, the traitor.’

  Sir Garrick’s pace slowed, but his voice remained level. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And you, Neale? What have you been doing while your father has been . . . biding? Have you been waiting for me?’

  Neale cackled, and the lantern swung. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I have been spying for King and Cartreff, sire, for it is what I am good at. Not that you would know. You have always underestimated me.’

  ‘I see,’ Sir Garrick said again, but this time he sounded angry.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what I’ve uncovered?’ Neale taunted. ‘Apart from your Airl’s treason, which is bad enough. But then there’s the fact that you, the great Knight Protector of Rennart Castle, allow a coven of witches to operate under your nose . . . even your closest allies in treason will not stand for that!’

  A slight hitch in the sloshing sound that marked Sir Garrick’s measured pace was the only hint Reeve had that the knight had hesitated. ‘Fact? You know nought of what you speak,’ Sir Garrick said. ‘There are no witches in Rennart Forest.’

  Reeve held his tongue, keeping Maven’s secret. He believed that she and Myra and the other women were not witches – he’d seen no sign of dark magic in their carved underground hideaway – but he had no doubt that most men, including the Airl and Sir Garrick if it came to it, would not bother to ask more questions if the meeting place was discovered.

  And that any suggestion of witchcraft in Rennart would see Airl Buckthorn ostracised.

  ‘Ha!’ laughed Neale, the lantern flickering with his derisive mirth. ‘How little you know, Sir Garrick. I have heard the whispers about that circle of spies in skirts, and I will unearth them.’