by Grace Martin
I’d thought it must be very late, but from the sound of the conversation going on outside my door, it was only the end of the evening. The King and Queen were just retiring from the festivities celebrating the Queen’s resurrection.
‘Conal, I just want to check on her.’
‘No, my dear, it would do no good.’
‘She’s my daughter, Conal, I need to see her.’
I heard a noise I thought was him patting her hand. I knelt to put my eye to the keyhole and they were perfectly silhouetted beyond it. Saoirse was lovely in a rich gown, emerald green this time, her hair bound up into a style that anyone from my time would have recognised as a style favoured by the White Queen, wreathed with diamonds and silver. Umbra’s heirs were handsome rather than beautiful, but Saoirse had the bearing of a Queen. No wonder the King believed her.
‘Darling, you do not do well to get yourself overwrought. She is safe. She is guarded.’ Here, his lips turned up in a quick smile. ‘Guarded from without, see? Our finest guards at her door. Also guarded from within. Andras, even in his hour of dishonour, would never allow harm to come to any of us.’
Saoirse’s lips compressed. ‘It’s her emotional wellbeing I’m concerned about, Conal. She’s so excitable. I’m worried she’ll do something… foolish.’
The King kissed her tight mouth. I wondered if he could see her distaste as clearly as I could. ‘Darling, why do you think Gwydion chose to incarcerate Andras with the Bach Chwaer? Even as gaolers, we are not unkind. Emer’s emotional needs will be aptly seen to by Andras, I assure you. Didn’t you see the way they looked at one another this morning?’
‘Looked at each other?’ Saoirse’s eyes were blank. I don’t think it occurred to her that I really had any emotional needs. She was not as well suited to this role as she considered herself. Any and all emotion shown by her was a facsimile at best.
The King laughed. I heard one of the guards standing at my door stifle a chuckle and glared through the wood at the man I couldn’t even see.
‘My dear Saoirse, are you blind? Have those long years in the Library closed your eyes altogether? You used to be so perceptive. Couldn’t you tell that the only way Andras could take his eyes off Emer was to turn his back to her? And didn’t you see the way Emer kept looking at him, silently begging him to turn around?’
I sat back on my heels for a moment. How could a man with so much insight be so taken in by the White Queen?
‘But… dear… Conal… stop it.’ I rose back up to press my eye against the keyhole again. Saoirse was just taking step back from the King. ‘What if Emer isn’t as comforted by Andras as you think? What if she tries to hurt herself? The window is high, she could suffer serious injury — or worse — if she fell.’
So that was it. She didn’t want to come in to gloat. She wanted to make sure I couldn’t get away.
‘Saoirse, we are not lacking in compassion, but we are also not stupid. Of course the window is shielded. No mage may pass through it. The Bach Chwaer is positively humming with magic. The only way she could pass through that window is in a featherskin and I doubt she had one of those in her pocket.’
I smiled grimly. I’d wanted to be accepted by my family in Ce’Branna, but I’d had my doubts, been riddled with fears. Eliann had seen that. She’d understood, and had made sure I had a way out.
I left the door where Saoirse and the King were still arguing mildly, Saoirse wanting to stick me in a cage — in the nicest way, of course — and the King wanting to forget all about me and go to bed. Their voices began to recede. There was little Saoirse could do to contradict him without revealing her deception.
I went to the window. The moonlight was full on it now. I had to stand beside it to remain in shadow as I lifted my hand to the aperture, ready to snatch it back at a moment’s notice. I pulled my hand back before my fingers could be burned. The King had bespelled the window with the same enchantment Lynnevet had used to imprison me in Rheged. Good.
Still naked, I turned to watch Andras, lax beneath the sheet, as I stepped into the puddle of moonlight.
My skin prickled everywhere the moonlight touched me. I turned, so the moonlight could caress every part of me, and everywhere the moonlight lit my skin, I sprouted feathers. When my entire body was covered in a sleek layer of feathers, the rest of my shape changed. I watched Andras, as my eyes changed from human to hawk.
The King was right. I could not get out of here with my own magic. I couldn’t even get out of here in my own form unless I was covered with feathers. Thanks to Eliann’s potion, I would change to bird shape whenever the moonlight fell on me. I could not change my shape now unless I stood under the sunlight, or if someone else changed me back. I could not do any magic, but neither could any magic contain me.
I hopped up onto the windowsill, my feathers gilded silver with moonlight. I cast one last, regretful look at Andras. Maybe one night we would spend together, but not yet. I spread my wings and pushed off the stone, heading for the Draceni camp.
Chapter Seven
It wasn’t far, as a bird. Within an hour, I was circling the camp, listening for voices I recognised. I couldn’t find Eliann, but I could have identified Sparrow’s voice all the way from Ce’Branna. She was talking with Rhiannon. I landed outside the wagon and hopped up the steps, ready to tap on the door with my beak and cry out.
I halted on the top step, because Rhiannon was crying.
I’d never seen Rhiannon cry, and I’d seen her go through hell. I’d seen her harvested by the only family member she’d ever known. I’d seen her fall to within inches of her death. I’d seen her exhausted after a battle and still giving her all to save someone else.
Sparrow was soothing her. How could I interrupt? I flew up until I perched on the roof of the wagon and waited.
‘Rhiannon, what is it? Tell me, please. How can I help you?’
‘Oh, you wouldn’t understand.’
‘Try me. I’m the nice one. I’m very understanding.’ There was a lilt of humour in Sparrow’s voice that hadn’t been there for a long time.
Rhiannon sniffed. ‘You’ve got your sister. How could you understand what it’s like to be alone in the world?’
Sparrow didn’t speak at once. The silence drifted on so long I couldn’t stand it and flew down to perch outside the window so I could see them through the chinks in the broken shutters. They were sitting together on the bench seat at the table. Rhiannon’s face was buried in her hands and Sparrow’s hand was gentle soothing Rhiannon’s back with long strokes. I felt a moment of jealousy. I’d comforted Sparrow many times. It was pretty rare for me to receive comfort like that from her.
Sparrow’s face was set, though, watching the fire in the tiny stove opposite the table. ‘I know what it’s like to be alone, Rhiannon.’
‘Oh, really! When? When your sister was moving heaven and earth to get back to you? When Cuchulainn and Gwydion were protecting you?’
‘Hawk wasn’t always there for me, Rhiannon. Every year the Master took me on holiday. And when I was away from her, I was very, very alone.’
I thought back to those holidays. I’d hated them more than anything. Sparrow had come back home full of stories about the wonderful things she’d done on holiday, the beaches, the excitement of going out into the world and living like a normal person, if only for a little while. She’d come back exhausted from all her fun, and full of bitter words, telling me that I wasn’t the nice one.
Rhiannon sat up straight, tossing her hair back. ‘When you were on holiday?’ Her voice was bitter. ‘I’ve been alone nearly all my life. I don’t even remember life from before I was branded.’ She turned her face this way and that, so Sparrow could get a better view of the scars beneath the tattoos. ‘You think you’ve been alone? It was my own mother who branded me.’
‘You’re own mother? Rhiannon, that’s horrible!’
Rhiannon sniffed. ‘I was only a very little girl. I hardly remember it, to tell the truth, only that it hurt a
nd I was afraid. I remember the colour of the brands, straight from the fire. I remember the locket she was wearing. It was silver and white and it shone like ice in the light from the fire, against the black fabric of her dress. I thought that locket was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. I reached out for it and broke the chain. As a punishment, she branded me and cast me out.’
‘Oh, Rhiannon.’ Sparrow’s voice was low with horror.
‘I was lucky, I suppose, depending on how you define luck. My aunt found me, wounded and weak. She took me in. She raised me. She gave me a certain level of comfort. She sent me to live with the slaves occasionally, so I was grateful for what I received. Of course, I never quite fit in with the slaves, and never fit in with the household, either.’
‘And you could never get away? Make a life somewhere else?’
Rhiannon shrugged. ‘Running away isn’t as easy as it sounds. I ran away once. That was when I got my tattoos. After that, she tethered not just me but all her slaves with an invisible cord. We couldn’t go further than a certain distance beyond the centre of the Spire. After that, running away was impossible. Why didn’t you and Emer run away?’
‘It was all we knew. We thought when we reached eighteen we’d be allowed to go free, and then the old Master told us to wait until our eighteenth year was completed. And the next Winter Solstice, he told us we could never be free. We would never be safe. If the White Queen learned we even existed, she would destroy us. And look what happened when she discovered us.’
‘You were bound in a featherskin and Emer was harvested with me.’
‘What do you mean, harvested?’
‘It’s what they call it when someone takes your magic. Our magic is replenished by the light of the moon. When we were harvested, the Queen took all our power until we were under the moon again. No one can take our power permanently unless they bind our bodies to one of the elements: earth, air, fire and water. That’s where the forestmaids, the watermaids of Ce’deira come from. They are bound souls.’
Sparrow didn’t reply at once, her brow furrowed in concentration. Rhiannon scrubbed her hands over her face, forcing the tears from her cheeks. Sparrow shook herself slightly, coming back to the moment.
‘You’re not alone now,’ she said firmly. ‘You have me, you have Hawk, and you’ll find that having Hawk is sometimes more than anyone would want to handle. And look how the Draceni welcomed you! I’m sure the only reason they welcomed us was because of your tattoos!’
Rhiannon’s scrubbing hands touched the tattoos tentatively. ‘Well, it’s nice to be good for something, I suppose.’ She stood up and bustled to the stove. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
Sparrow was left at the table, a little confused by the sudden change of pace. I hopped back down to the steps at the door and called out to them.
Rhiannon answered the door and allowed me inside. Her tattooed face stretched in a smile. ‘I’ve never answered the door to a bird, before.’
I cried to her. The cry of a hawk is a thing of beauty, but not in the confines of a caravan. Rhiannon winced. ‘Don’t do that again, Emer. Up onto the bed and I’ll pull the curtains to give you some privacy. There are some clothes folded in the corner for you.’
I did as I was bade. It was very cosy on the bed behind the curtain. Sparrow stuck her head and shoulders around the curtain. ‘Hello, Hawk. I’ll change you back now, are you ready?’
I nodded and she changed my shape back to my own again. I noticed my ragged nails and red fingertips and recalled how I’d wished my hands were soft, manicured and elegant to caress Andras’s skin. ‘You’re a good healer. You can’t fix my hands, can you?’ I asked, reaching for the clothes.
‘Your hands?’
‘Yes, Sparrow, my hands.’ I was exasperated. It wasn’t complicated. ‘In the last few weeks, I’ve used my hands to dig a grave for a good friend, wield a sword in battle, work as a slave in a massive kitchen and pick splinters out of a door in the dark until my fingernails bled. My hands look disgusting. Look how nice your hands are.’
Sparrow always took care of her hands and she hadn’t been through what I’d been through. She held up her hands with a touch of pride. ‘I just did them before the Solstice ceremony. I haven’t done much with them since that.’
‘Yes, I saw your life as a featherskin didn’t exactly involve mucking out the stables.’ I held out my hands and compared my red, rough palms to hers.
Sparrow snatched her hand away. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t suffer enough for you,’ she snapped. ‘Finish getting dressed and stop being vain about your stupid hands. If you wanted them to be nice, you should have taken better care of them.’
I gaped at her as she slid backwards off the bed and closed the curtains behind her. I didn’t think she’d heard a word I’d said. Sparrow only listened when it suited her.
When I emerged from the curtained alcove, Sparrow and Rhiannon were both ready to move, shoes on their feet and thick shawls over their shoulders. ‘The King and the elders are waiting for us,’ Sparrow said. ‘You’re already late.’
My mouth fell open, but the gesture was wasted. Sparrow had already turned to stalk out of the wagon. ‘What did I ever do to her?’ I asked Rhiannon, who wouldn’t meet my eyes and hurried after my sister. ‘Rhiannon?’
Sparrow was right, anyway. The Draceni were all gathered, but they didn’t appear to be waiting for me. They were singing. The moment I stepped from the caravan, they started a song that surrounded us in a swell of music. It felt momentous. Unfortunately, it was completely coincidental. I enjoyed the drama of it, anyway, so maybe Aoife knew something about me that I didn’t.
‘This is amazing,’ I muttered, mouth still agape, although for a different reason. As though that was the important thing.
A woman standing near the back heard me and turned to smile. She held out both her hands. ‘I am Maebh of the family Fiachra. You must be the Bach Chwaer that Bridget told us about.’
I nodded. The music really was amazing. They sang in harmony, above and below the main melody, accompanied by guitars and drums and flutes. I’d read about music like this, but our lives with the creepyguardians had been so secluded that we’d never been around a large group singing together like this. I’d heard formal music in the courts of the Empress and the White Queen, but it wasn’t anything like this. This was music that moved right into my heart and soul and filled spaces I hadn’t even known were empty. It moved into my heart and made it beat faster. It moved my feet, restless and joyous beneath the long, colourful skirts the women had given Sparrow.
Maebh saw the effect on me and smiled knowingly. ‘Listen to the song, Bach Chwaer. This one is of particular interest to you. We Draceni do not interrupt the songs of our ancestors. When the song is over, then you may approach the King and the elders.’
So, I listened. It was hard to catch the words. I’d never heard so many people singing together before and the rising counterpoint that wove around the melody made the tune complex and sophisticated. I was so taken by the melody, feeling my body sway of its own volition, that it was all I could do to listen to the words.
It was a narrative. It told the story of Umbra, but not as I’d ever heard it.
There had been many books about Umbra in the Library. In the year that Sparrow and I had been with Maldwyn, I had read as many books as I could, knowing that next year’s creepyguardian might not even allow us to read. While I could happily go the rest of my life without setting foot in Cairnagorn again, I cherished (probably vain) hopes that in the future I might have the time and the resources to read.
In the Draceni song, Umbra was more human than any narrative I’d ever read. They didn’t just remember her deeds. They remembered who she was. In this song, Umbra wasn’t just a great hero. She was also a mother, a sister, a wife, a friend. She was a mage, a musician, a scholar, a warrior. She was an orphan, a Queen, an exile, and finally, merely a memory and a promise to return.
As the music moved me and I swayed in t
ime to the beat, I opened myself up to it. When the song drew to a close, it felt like it was taking my breath with it. I took a deep breath, and it felt like the first breath I’d ever taken.
The crowd parted, even without turning to look at me, as though alerted to my very presence by some unknown sense. I held my head high. For someone raised in utter seclusion, I’d walked through many crowds lately. Some had jeered, some applauded, some had even run away, when I’d given them good reason. I didn’t look at them. They didn’t want to see me unsure or vulnerable. They wanted to see me strong, confident, so I gave it to them. I let my shoulders go back and stood a little taller.
I proceeded through the gap in the crowd, Sparrow and Rhiannon behind me. I felt almost as though this were a wedding and my sisters were carrying my train. I looked up and tried to show no emotion. I’ve had bigger shocks, and recently, too, but this one shook me, even though I didn’t show it.
I knew the man standing in the centre of the crowd. The elders to the left and right of him slowly rose from the benches they’d been sitting on. Behind them, the fire spat sparks into the dark sky and silhouetted the King and the elders against the flames.
It wasn’t hard to imagine any of them changing shape right then and there, shifting into their dragon forms. Every one of them was imposing, magnificent, and the King was the greatest of them all. And I’d met him before. Met him and been so terrified by him that I’d begged him, in Umbra’s name, to go away from me and never return.
Oisin.
But there I was, shoulders back and head high, because when we’d met, the moment he was freed of his chains, he’d pinned Kiaran by the neck to a tree. Oisin had nearly killed him and the only thing that had stopped him was… me. I’d told him to stop, and he’d listened. He’d said something about an ancestral duty to serve Umbra. He’d done as I’d asked and left us alone. I was nervous, because I knew how volatile he could be when he was angry, but I was also confident, because I knew he would do what I asked him to.
