At least, so Sorrow had always thought.
But now, she found herself looking at it through new eyes – and she didn’t like it. Because although it was difficult to stumble across by accident, if anyone did find out where it was and who lived there, it was the perfect place for an ambush. The dense forest meant that the cottage could be approached and surrounded without its inhabitants noticing. And while the track might pose an attack team with a problem, being too rough and narrow for any large vehicle, Sorrow knew that the top of the hill was bare. A small airship could land there easily enough, releasing its occupants to sneak down through the trees.
‘You’ll need to be careful, Elisse,’ she said, interrupting what the other woman was telling her about the harvest. ‘If you see anyone coming you don’t recognise, get out of here. Don’t stop to chat.’
Elisse nodded. ‘I thought we’d hide in the hay store till they’re gone. No-one’d find that without knowing where ta look.’ She grinned. ‘No need ta look so surprised. S’only sensible ta think about it.’
‘Jump!’ Corus yelled. He’d climbed up onto one of the low walls that bordered the vegetable plots. Sorrow grabbed his hands and swung him back down to earth. Elisse tousled his hair, but her expression was serious.
‘How long d’ya think it’ll take, Naeve? Ta get the information Captain Caraway wants?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sorrow said. ‘As long as it takes. So you think I should do it?’
‘Yeah.’ Elisse dropped a kiss on her son’s head, then straightened. ‘I don’ want Ayla Nightshade ta take Corus from me, but she’s his sister. Like it or not, I have ta do everything I can ta keep her alive.’
‘Funny, isn’t it?’ Sorrow said. ‘I didn’t think I had any loyalty to Mirrorvale. Not having loyalty to anyone is one of my specialities. And yet …’
‘And yet,’ Elisse echoed. ‘That’s the problem, isn’ it? We’re like pigeons.’
‘Why pigeons?’
‘Well. ’Cos no matter where we go, we can’t help but return home in the end. And if there weren’ any Nightshades …’ She shrugged. ‘I s’pose there wouldn’ be any home left ta go ta.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Sorrow said. ‘I’m not so attached to the idea of Changers that my world would end without them.’
Though Elisse did have a point, she allowed privately. After all, she herself had always gone back to Mirrorvale, even after weeks or months spent in other countries. Or at least, she had before she met Elisse. Maybe it wasn’t ever possible to pull oneself up by the roots. Maybe a person’s country always had a place somewhere deep in their heart – in their bones – whether they admitted it to themselves or not. And Mirrorvale was its overlords. Mirrorvale meant Arkannen, and Arkannen meant Darkhaven, and Darkhaven meant Changers. Everyone knew that.
Maybe in another life, Sorrow would have joined the Helm.
But that idea was so far-fetched that it made her laugh aloud. She was far too good at breaking the law to want to keep it. Let Tomas Caraway fit himself to the shape the Helm required. Naeve Sorrow would rather bend the world to fit around her.
‘What’s funny?’ Elisse asked.
‘Nothing. You still have my spare pistols?’
‘Course I do.’
‘Then let’s do a bit of target practice before I go.’ Sorrow smiled grimly. ‘You might need it.’
Dear Sirs –
You asked me to keep you updated with respect to the Goldenfire business, and so I must inform you that Darkhaven is on alert.
Perhaps I should have expected it, but I didn’t. You have, after all, conducted this affair with the utmost secrecy; no reason to suspect the tower would be on guard. And yet, somehow, a hint of the truth has whispered its way here.
As a result, the Gate of Death admits no-one. Every visitor is turned away, no matter their purpose. The Helm control access to Darkhaven and the creature within, and they view the rest of the world with suspicion. I don’t yet know if they comprehend the nature of the threat, or its source, but either way it makes my task more difficult.
Nevertheless, I believe I have found a route past the watchdogs. It will take longer than I hoped, but as long as it culminates in the eventual completion of my goal, I feel sure that we will all be satisfied. So I have set it in motion, and we shall see where it takes me.
Be assured that I will send this letter as soon as I find the appropriate means of doing so.
Respectfully yours.
The room was small and bare, but Kai was used to that. A narrow bed, a plain cabinet, a battered old table and chair: it was all much like the preparation facility back in Sol Kardis, except that the wood was darker. No doubt military accommodation was the same the world over. But the room was clean, and the single window admitted a bright beam of evening sunlight, and that was enough.
The task ahead – Goldenfire – wasn’t going to be straightforward. It would require patience and cunning. But Kai had confidence that everything would go according to plan. There was, after all, no purpose in not believing that. Too often, doubt created its own downfall. Admitting to the possibility of failure could make cracks appear in even the strongest situation: like threads of ice through stone, waiting to break it open. Better not to let it in.
All the same, maintaining a constant façade was exhausting – probably more exhausting than the actual training would be. Outside this room, Kai wore someone else’s face, someone else’s name, someone else’s life. It was more than being an actor, playing a part on a stage; it was an act of immersion. Taking on a new character so fully and completely that the truth was no longer there to be revealed by a careless word or an accidental gesture. It was difficult that way, but it was necessary. And it had the additional benefit of subduing the past’s vicious sting.
When Kai was alone, it was a different matter. Because that was when the memories came crawling out.
The man stood alone in a desolate wasteland of stone. His back was straight, fists clenched at his sides. He was shouting something, but the words were carried away on the wind.
In front of him, the monster rose up to its full height, blocking out the sun. Vast red eyes glowed with unfathomable malice. Vast sharp teeth gleamed yellow in the shadows. A rumble like the end of the world shook the flagstones, and the man stumbled. He looked small. Fragile. Easy to snap.
A sudden flare of fire lit up the sky, dazzling and terrible. The monster lifted one giant clawed foot to tear at the screaming man. Blood sprayed in a bright arc, covering the flagstones, covering everything. Too much blood –
Kai woke in a cold sweat, heart pounding. The monster – the man –
Nightmare. It was only a nightmare.
Yet the vision of blood still lingered, colouring the faint light of dawn with a scarlet haze. Kai blinked it away, forcing it down. Fear would do no good, nor would succumbing to the relentless tugging tide of memory. All that mattered was the present. All that mattered was a single-minded focus on the task ahead – because only once that was completed would the nightmares stop. Slay a dragon, and there was no longer any need to be afraid of fire.
Of course, that monster was gone, leaving no more than ashes behind. It would be stupid to fear him any longer. But though he might be dead, another remained – and it was that one’s duty to pay for her father’s crimes. Kai might not be able to kill the old Firedrake, but his daughter …
His daughter was there for the taking.
EIGHT
Ayla stood unnoticed in the doorway to the nursery and watched her brother’s child. Marlon looked exactly as she imagined Myrren had, at two years old: slight, dark-haired, restless. As if he were constantly burning energy, even when sitting still. Not that he was ever still for long. Jumpier than a basketful of frogs, his nursemaid Lori would say. Wants to explore everything and then some.
Two years, and still Ayla felt uneasy in his presence.
It wasn’t as if his birth had been a shock – she’d known of his existence well before
that. His mother, Serenna, had sent word only a couple of months after her own departure from Darkhaven. Ayla remembered the message primarily for its matter-of-factness. I must inform you that I am carrying Myrren Nightshade’s child. Please advise. Like a merchant requesting instruction from his investors.
Yet when Ayla had visited Serenna in the Altar of Flame, she’d found something altogether different.
‘Thank you for coming to see me, Lady Ayla.’ Serenna’s voice was colourless, her eyes downcast. The thick veil covering her fiery hair made her into an effigy, remote and lifeless. Ayla couldn’t see any hint of her supposed pregnancy.
‘You sent for me.’ Ayla wasn’t sure of the priestess’s intentions, even now they were face to face, so she’d decided to say and do as little as possible until she’d worked it out.
‘Not exactly,’ Serenna murmured. ‘I didn’t want to presume. I just hoped – but now you’re here.’
So what is it you’re trying to tell me? Ayla screamed at her in the silence of her own mind. That you’re keeping Myrren’s child? That you’re … not? She didn’t think she could handle either option. Despite herself, she fidgeted a little on the bare stone floor. Serenna glanced up, and they stared at each other like statues until Ayla finally snapped.
‘It’s not long enough since my brother’s death for me to be able to play games, Serenna. You’ve told me you’re pregnant and the baby is Myrren’s. You must have told me that for a reason. So spit it out.’
Serenna’s eyes widened. ‘I – I just wanted to –’ She took a deep breath, shoulders lifting, and the blank expression settled back on her face as if she’d drawn her veil across it. ‘If I keep this baby, I’ll lose my whole life here. They forgave me what I did, but this – it’s too much. A baby has no place in holy life.’
Ayla said nothing.
‘And I’d be afraid for the child, growing up in Darkhaven. I saw how Myrren’s life there scarred him. Your father –’
Still Ayla said nothing. An edge of desperation coloured the monotone of Serenna’s voice.
‘So I wondered if I should call a physician. Ask for something to end it –’
Ayla clenched her fists. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’
Finally Serenna looked up, eyes brimming with confusion and guilt. ‘Because I need your help.’ A few tears fell down her cheeks, but she wiped them away with the back of her hand. ‘I don’t know what to do. I cared for Myrren a great deal, but – I knew him a week, Ayla! I’ve been a priestess since I was twelve. The choice should be simple, and yet I don’t know how to make it. I want to stay here, and I want Myrren’s child to live, and I can’t reconcile those two things.’
It was impossible to remain defensive in the face of such naked distress. Ayla sat down beside her and took her hand. ‘What do you want me to do, Serenna?’
‘I think … I think I want you to take the child. Promise to raise it as your own. Promise to love it, whether it has the gift or not. I know I have no right to ask –’
‘No,’ Ayla said. ‘But I’ll do it, all the same.’
Serenna stared at her, speechless – and in truth, Ayla was equally surprised at herself. Yet she couldn’t regret the decision, however hasty. Myrren’s child. That was all that mattered. Preserving this little piece of Myrren that still lived.
‘There are few enough Nightshades in the world,’ she said aloud. ‘I would count it a gift if you were to carry this one. And I’ll make it right with the high priestess.’
‘I’m not sure it will be that straightforward.’
‘I am the overlord of Darkhaven,’ Ayla said with some asperity. ‘I don’t expect her to object. And besides … most objections can be overcome, if the donation is large enough.’
Belatedly, it occurred to her that she’d made this decision without consulting Tomas – whose life would undeniably be affected by the arrival of a baby into Darkhaven. Their relationship was still new, and still uncertain; she’d always imagined that love would be like a dance, easy and beautiful and synchronised, but sometimes it felt more like a duel. Two of them, testing each other’s limits, trying to work out where they could dominate and where they should yield. Which wasn’t to say she didn’t love him, and sometimes she could see how the fencing might become dancing, but all the same … this was a huge decision to make without talking about it first.
She knew that, and yet it didn’t matter. Because this was Nightshade business. This was Myrren. And whatever Tomas thought about it, she was going to bring this child home.
‘Are you well?’ she asked Serenna. ‘Do you need anything?’
‘I’m fine. Sick, sometimes, but I’ve been able to hide it well enough.’ The priestess looked up, meeting Ayla’s gaze directly. ‘Are you well? You must miss him terribly.’
It was rare for anyone to talk to Ayla about Myrren so openly. Even Tomas wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Perhaps they were afraid to keep the wound fresh, but the truth was, nothing could make it worse. Certainly not skirting around the subject as though even saying his name were a forbidden act. She felt a strange rush of gratitude towards Serenna for acknowledging the simple truth: Myrren was gone, and it hurt.
‘For a long time, it was Myrren and me against the world,’ she said. ‘After my mother died, he was the only person I could turn to. It feels like I’ve lost half of myself.’
Serenna nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I really am. I know you blame me for his death –’
‘I don’t. Not any more.’ Serenna might have handed Myrren the pistol that killed him, but the cause of his death had been laid down a long time before that. ‘I’m glad you sent for me, Serenna.’
The priestess nodded. She was crying again. And then, somehow, Ayla was crying too. They were a relief, those tears. Maybe it was only possible to grieve for a person properly when you were with someone else who’d loved them. Whatever the reason, when the storm finally passed she felt fresher – cleaner – than she had in a long time, as if some of the dark emotions that had been lingering in the corners of her heart had been washed away.
‘I have to go,’ she told Serenna. ‘But I’ll speak to the high priestess. And … I’ll visit you again, if I may, before the baby is born.’
Serenna nodded. ‘I’d like that.’
They smiled at each other, rather tentatively. Then, as Ayla turned to leave, Serenna spoke again.
‘One more thing, Lady Ayla. Will you – would you mind calling him Marlon? That’s my father’s name.’
That made two of them, Ayla thought. Corus named for his maternal grandfather, and Serenna’s child for his. Neither Corus nor Marlon was a Nightshade name. But she’d broken too many Nightshade traditions already to mind very much about that one. More importantly …
‘What if it’s a girl?’
‘It’s a boy,’ Serenna said. ‘I just know it.’
Ironic, now, to remember that Ayla had been worried about what Tomas would think. Because as it turned out, he’d taken to Marlon as easily as if they truly were father and son. He’d been the one to collect the baby shortly after birth and bring him back to Darkhaven under escort; upon arrival, he’d presented the cloth-wrapped bundle to Ayla and said with no trace of sarcasm or bitterness, Here’s our boy. He’d made it clear that helping to raise another man’s child was no hardship to him – that he was willing to love Marlon unreservedly. And in the event, it had been Ayla who had to turn away with a lump of conflicting feelings lodged in her throat.
Even now, those feelings were impossible to reconcile.
In a way, it would be easier if the Nightshade blood hadn’t shown up so strongly in the boy. If Marlon had inherited his mother’s red hair or grey eyes, her freckled brown skin, maybe Ayla would have been able to accept him as a person in his own right and not a constant reminder of her brother. As it was, she could barely look at him when he was in her company. That was why, despite the comfort it had brought her to talk about Myrren with someone who understood, she’d failed to continu
e her visits to Serenna after Marlon was born – why the most she ever gave the mother of her nephew was a quick note informing her of his progress. Because she’d promised not just to raise the boy, but to love him as her own. And she was breaking that promise.
Marlon looked up suddenly, as if he’d sensed her gaze on him. Ayla took one noiseless step backwards, then another, before hastening soft-footed down the corridor. Guilt and misery tangled in her throat, but she choked them down. It was nearly halfway through second bell; Miles Tarantil was due in Darkhaven to talk to her about alchemy. She couldn’t linger any longer.
What could be more important than making things right with your brother’s child? a little voice inside her asked reproachfully.
For now, staying alive, she told it, and forced the subject from her mind.
Miles was already waiting in the main hall. Ayla studied him swiftly as she stepped forward to greet him. Dark hair cropped close to his skull; a long, clever face that currently wore an expression of frozen alarm, like a rabbit in a trap. Clearly not a warrior – he was wiry rather than muscular – but light on his feet, though Ayla didn’t suppose he ever exerted himself further than a brisk walk to and from the university. He had an academic’s stoop, and his ochre skin had a sallowness to it that spoke of days spent indoors. Altogether, he was about as different from his bluff, weathered partner as it was possible to be.
Once they’d exchanged pleasantries, she took him to the library. Perhaps rather an obvious ploy to set him at his ease, but it seemed to work all the same. Besides, the library was one of her favourite rooms now that she’d changed things round a bit. Her father’s desk with its single chair had been relegated to a corner of the room – she never intended to confront anyone across it like a teacher with an errant pupil – and instead, she’d installed soft armchairs that were perfect for reading in. Miles settled into one of those and looked around with some interest.
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