Firebrand (Rebel Angel Series)

by Gillian Philip

  The raven crooned hoarsely, tilting its head, and Branndair snarled back at it, his hackles up. Leonora half-smiled.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said coolly, ‘for being slow.’

  She turned on her heel and stalked outside, and the raven took off into the sky, soaring and turning till it was a scrap of black on the wind. Raineach released a breath, and a shiver rippled through Sionnach. He shook himself in annoyance.

  ‘That’s as good as you’ll get from her,’ he muttered.

  ‘Better than he might have expected,’ said Raineach crisply. ‘Go to your brother.’

  The girl followed me, again, but this time I turned on the stone steps that led to Conal’s rooms and told her to stay where she was. I told her it in the same voice I told Branndair, only harsher. Giving me a dry look, Sionnach stayed with her, murmuring reassurance as she watched me go. I wondered, idly, if he wanted her. It would be a strange sort of wanting if he did.

  There were guards on Conal’s door, but I didn’t even have to speak to them; they stood aside and one of them jerked his head to tell me to go on. Inside, Conal lay on his side, his fingers clutching the pillow and his hollow eyes closed, but he opened them as soon as I closed the door. He stared at the wall.

  ‘Seth,’ he said, still not looking at me.

  ‘You should sleep,’ I said.

  ‘I will. I wouldn’t let them give me sleep till I’d seen you.’

  ‘The gods know why you’re even awake.’

  He turned his head at last, shaven and hacked and bruised, and dragged himself up to look at me, propping his weight on one trembling arm. I swallowed.

  ‘Lie down,’ I said, ‘for gods’ sake.’

  ‘Get your disobedient arse over here.’

  I did. I sat down on the edge of the bed. He gripped my head in one hand and hugged me against him. It was too much of an effort for him, I could feel it, so I put my arms round him and held him fiercely.

  ‘I wanted to check,’ he muttered. ‘I wanted to make sure. I thought I might have imagined you. I don’t remember coming home.’

  ‘Aye. Your mind’s going. That’s why.’

  ‘They told me they’d got you. They said they were going to kill you. But not for a while.’ His arms tightened around me; his stubbly beard scratched my cheek and I could feel his warm tears trickling into my hair. ‘I thought you were worse than dead.’

  ‘They lied,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Now.’

  We held one another in silence. I was remembering. He was trying not to.

  ‘Catriona,’ he said. ‘Did she make it over? Is she all right?’

  I drew away. I was still angry with him about that. ‘I could have taken you out of there that night, if you’d left her.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Like you left Ma Sinclair.’

  I couldn’t think of a retort, so I made a face.

  ‘You couldn’t have got me out, Seth. And you know I couldn’t leave Catriona.’

  ‘She wasn’t even worth the risk,’ I grumbled. ‘She won’t live much longer anyway. Twenty years at most? That’s if she’s lucky.’

  ‘Their lives are short,’ said Conal. ‘It means a lot to her.’

  ‘And she means nothing to us.’

  He sighed, and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Sleep,’ I said. ‘You haven’t got the strength to hit me.’

  He gave me one of his old looks, and smiled. I put my hand against his scarred head and pressed it gently back onto the pillow. He was asleep in seconds.

  I left my hand against his face, stroking his sunken temple and the beard growth that was longer than his hair. For a second, I shut my eyes and saw the might-have-been.

  You could be Captain of this dun, Leonora had said. Captain of this dun, and the heir of Griogair.

  Witch.

  24

  ‘So who’s your shadow?’

  I squinted up into the evening sunlight. As Eili sat down beside me we both glanced at Catriona. She was sitting twenty yards away, her arms locked tightly round her knees, watching the life of the dun go on around her.

  ‘That’s the girl,’ I said shortly. ‘She was with Conal.’

  ‘She doesn’t say much.’

  ‘She doesn’t say anything.’

  ‘Strange,’ said Eili.

  ‘Not really. They tortured her and then they tried to burn her. What do you want?’ I couldn’t help sounding bitter.

  Eili looked at the ground. ‘I’m sorry, Seth. I’m sorry I was horrible to you this morning.’

  I hesitated, a little too long. ‘That’s all right.’

  ‘I know you couldn’t have come, the time might have slipped. We could have gone to him right then, and found he’d been dead for months.’

  ‘Years,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. I know that, and I didn’t mean to be so short with you. I was worried about Conal, that’s all.’

  ‘So was I.’

  She flushed a colour that clashed with her hair. ‘Yes. I know. We treated you badly.’

  I opened my mouth to say No, you didn’t. Instead I said, ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘I know what you did for him. Everyone knows.’

  ‘Including Leonora.’ I gave a short laugh. ‘I wonder what it is, precisely, that she’ll never forgive me for?’

  Eili shrugged. ‘Being born.’

  There was no answer to that.

  ‘It’s pretty ironic,’ she added. ‘I mean, her own daughter wasn’t Griogair’s. That never bothered Griogair. Why would it?’

  I blinked. ‘Leonora has a daughter?’

  ‘Reultan. Didn’t you know?’ I couldn’t miss the way her eyes lit up with stars.

  ‘Anything like her mother?’ I said scornfully.

  ‘She’s nicer. She’s beautiful. She’s very brave. And she’s a fantastic fighter.’

  ‘You could say all that about Leonora.’

  Eili wrinkled her nose. ‘Yes, but Reultan isn’t a witch.’

  ‘It runs in the family.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ she said crossly. ‘It’s a choice.’

  ‘All right. The potential runs in the family.’ I hesitated. ‘Does Leonora scare you?’

  ‘Of course she does. Doesn’t she scare you too?’

  ‘No.’ That was a lie. The truth was she terrified me, and that made me angry. ‘Where is this Reultan then? I’ve never met her.’

  ‘You probably have. She’s in Kate’s court.’

  I wondered which of the beautiful cold-eyed hard-faced courtiers she was. ‘That figures.’

  ‘Stop it, Murlainn. Conal’s very fond of her. He saw a lot of her when he was one of Kate’s captains.’

  ‘Aye, and where was she when he was exiled?’

  Eili took out a dirk and a whetstone, and intently began to sharpen the blade. ‘Do you like it?’ She held the dirk out for my admiration. It was light and slender, the hilt elaborately carved but comfortable in her grip. ‘I’m apprenticed to Raineach. She says I’m good.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ It was. ‘Why didn’t Reultan object when her brother was exiled?’

  ‘Look, she was away fighting. She’s not like Lilith, she doesn’t just give her precious opinions. She fights too.’

  ‘How do you know what she was doing?’

  Eili sighed. ‘I asked about her. I’d wondered the same.’ She added belligerently, ‘And she’s my friend. I like her.’

  All right. I bit my lip to stop myself making any more cattish remarks, but I couldn’t let it go. ‘So what did she think about the exile?’

  ‘She was very upset. That’s what I heard. But she can’t be disloyal to Kate.’

  ‘Seems nobody can,’ I muttered.

  ‘Murlainn…’

  ‘What did she think of the reason for the exile?’

  Eili scraped the whetstone too hard along the knife edge, her fingers trembling.

  I was growing angry too, so I pushed it. ‘You blame my mother, don’t you? It was Kate who cut hi
m, Eili. Not Lilith. Kate.’

  ‘Lilith would have gutted him!’

  ‘So would Kate, if she thought she could get away with it!’

  ‘Seth, don’t you…’

  ‘She knew she couldn’t do it but she wanted to. She’d have had him gralloched if…’

  ‘Shut up!’ She snapped her head round to glare at me, and the knife slipped off the whetstone, slicing open the base of her thumb. Blood spurted.

  ‘Eili!’ Swearing, I grabbed her hand, pressing my fingers against the cut. ‘I’m sorry, I…’

  ‘I’m all right. I’m all right!’ She wrenched her hand from my grasp. ‘Don’t make a fuss.’

  She scrabbled backwards and turned away from me but I saw her quite distinctly. I saw her touch the gash with tentative fingertips, then grasp the ugly lips of the wound and squeeze them hard together. When she’d done it she turned back, her palm clasped over the wound. Her hands were wet with blood but it had stopped flowing. I reached for her hand and yanked it away, taking her so much by surprise that she didn’t resist.

  ‘Eili,’ I said.

  ‘What? Get away! I told you, don’t fuss.’

  ‘Who’s fussing?’ I was as angry as she was. ‘No need to fuss, is there? You’re not going to bleed to death when you’re a healer. A true-born healer.’

  Her pale skin reddened again. ‘Don’t tell anyone, Seth. I swear, if you do…’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I tell anyone?’ My eyes widened. ‘You’re not saying nobody knows?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. Keep your mouth shut.’

  ‘But Sionnach must know…’

  ‘Sionnach knows how to keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘Sionnach has trouble doing anything else,’ I snapped. ‘What’s your problem?’

  ‘Just don’t tell!’ She jumped to her feet and stormed off towards the stables. I wasn’t letting her get away with it, so I followed. For once the maddening full-mortal girl stayed where she was, though she watched from her quiet corner.

  In the coolness of the stable I grabbed Eili’s shoulder, and she flung me off, but not before I’d seen the tears in her eyes. I backed off as she slumped down onto a haybale, ducking her head.

  ‘Eili,’ I said more gently. ‘What are you ashamed of? You’ll be the toast of every detachment. It’s a wonderful talent.’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’

  ‘When did you find out?’

  ‘Too late,’ she said.

  And I realised that of course she was thinking about Sionnach. I sat down beside her, risking an arm around her, and my heart floated when she leaned miserably into the hollow of my shoulder.

  ‘There’s nothing you could have done,’ I said.

  ‘How do you know? Maybe there was. Maybe it was there all the time and I wasn’t paying attention. Maybe my head was too full of swords and horses and…’ She clamped her lips tightly together.

  And Conal, I thought, but I wasn’t angry enough now to let her hear it. ‘Don’t be daft,’ I said. ‘It comes when it comes. Grian didn’t know till he was ninety years old, I heard him say so, and he’s the best healer in the dun.’

  ‘Not any more,’ she said.

  I didn’t know what to say to that kind of certainty. ‘Well. That healer of Kate’s couldn’t do much for Sionnach.’

  ‘I’m better than him,’ she said, and despite her misery there was an undercurrent of pride in her voice. ‘I’m a hundred times better. It’s so strong in me, Seth. If it had happened today I could have healed Sionnach and he’d barely have a scar.’

  I doubted that, but I didn’t say so. ‘It didn’t happen today. It happened two years ago.’

  ‘I could have helped my brother,’ she insisted stubbornly. ‘If I’d known.’

  ‘Eili. He’s not that bothered, you know.’

  ‘I am.’ To my horror she started to weep.

  I didn’t know what to do. I stroked her hair, first lightly and then more strongly, and she pressed her face to my chest, mortified by her own tears. I felt her body convulse as she fought to get a hold of herself and master her rage. At last she calmed and stilled, and she sighed and pulled away a little. She managed to glance up at me. ‘Thanks, Seth. Don’t tell anyone.’

  About the healing, I wondered? Or about the crying?

  ‘About either,’ she said.

  Her face was tilted towards me, her eyes still misty from unfamiliar tears, so I kissed her.

  I couldn’t not kiss her. I sensed her shock, but that I could understand. When she drew back I twisted my fingers into her chopped hair and held her, desperately keeping her close and kissing her again. My hand brushed her breast, though I swear that was accidental. Then she jerked back and cuffed my cheekbone, knocking me away.

  It was a light blow, the kind you might give an annoying puppy, but it hurt me more than many a blow since. I can still feel it, sometimes. My fingers were still caught in her hair and though I tried to free them, she wrenched away with such ferocity it tore free at the roots. There were red strands still tangled in my fingers when she shoved me away, and staggered to her feet.

  She didn’t run, and I couldn’t stand. She stood there in disbelief, and I just sat and stared back at her like the fool I was.

  ‘I thought…’ I stammered. ‘I thought you … that I…’

  ‘How could you?’ She shook her head, calm and steely. ‘How could you think anything of the sort?’

  ‘I don’t know … I…’

  ‘I love your brother, Seth. I love Conal. I will always love only Conal. How could you imagine I’d ever…’

  She managed to stop herself, but the unspoken words hung in the musty stable air, all but audible.

  Settle for you? That’s what she didn’t say. How could you imagine I’d settle for you?

  Shaking her head, she skewed her gaze away. ‘I’ll go to him. When I’m twenty I’ll go to him, and he’ll accept me. I know it.’

  ‘He considers you a child!’

  ‘For now he does.’ She shrugged, still avoiding my eyes. ‘But he’s already in love with the woman I’ll be. He may not know that yet, but it’s true.’

  Staring at her, I knew it was. She turned then, embarrassed more than angry, and walked away, pulling the stable door quietly shut behind her. I sat on, mired in shame and loss, aware of what I’d destroyed, and felt my heart disintegrate.

  There is nothing like shattering a heart to make it stronger. I knew better now how to armour it, that’s what I told myself as I sat there, terrified to go back out into the evening light in case the whole dun would be standing there laughing at me. I knew we’d get over it in the end: the Sithe live too long for it to be any other way. Between Eili and me it would never be quite the same again, but we’d get over it.

  That’s what happened, of course. Since we were children she’d always tried to be kind to me: now she tried too hard. Her kindness was fenced about with a deliberate distance, and I was humiliated by that more than anything. I’d never make the same mistake again, that wasn’t my way, and it offended me that she thought I might. I knew my place in her heart: a good bit above Orach and Feorag and somewhere beneath her dead father and her horse; a thousand fathoms below Conal. I’d been taught my lesson and I’d never needed teaching twice.

  All that, though, was in the future. For now I stood up and opened the stable door with a trembling hand. My clann was not waiting in thick ranks to mock me, of course, and at last I breathed out a shaky sigh. There was only a last rider nodding to me as he led his mount towards the stables, and my shadow. My shadows. Hell’s teeth. The priest had had none: I’d managed to accumulate two.

  Catriona had busied herself with a small sharp knife and a little piece of ash wood, but I knew she was watching me from the corner of her eye. I thought of walking away, and letting her follow as usual, but there was something comforting about her silent stillness. I went across and sat down beside her. She looked at me keenly, then went back to her whittling.

  I
leaned back against the wall, and stared at the armoury on the other side of the courtyard. Branndair laid his muzzle on my thigh, and I stroked his head. A sentry coughed and spat on the wall above us, a horse whinnied to its returning friend, and someone shouted an order. The sun was low and the shadows were long, the air clear and sweet. It felt peaceful sitting here. Damn, but I was glad to be back. Even though …

  ‘I just made a fool of myself,’ I blurted.

  Catriona glanced at me, smiling a very little. The setting sun gave her pale bruised face some colour, and you could see she might have been pretty before the priest got to her.

  ‘What are you making?’

  Shyly she held it out to me. It was a little wolf, I decided after a moment. It wasn’t very good, but I don’t think that was because she didn’t know what she was doing. It was like the writing of someone with a broken hand: crude and stilted, but you could see a skill had been learned and was still huddled somewhere, licking its wounds and healing itself.

  I took the hand that held the wolf. This afternoon Sionnach had looked at her, and glanced at me with a wry smile, and said She’s a strong one. I’d been taken aback. To me she was the shivering pathetic creature who’d thwarted my only chance of saving my brother.

  Now I looked at her fingers again, and this time she didn’t jerk them away. I separated them and laid them flat against my own hand. They were still swollen, the nails distorted and horribly discoloured. I realised why she irritated me so much: she made me ashamed. She had suffered with my brother and I hadn’t. She had comforted him in the darkness when I couldn’t.

  ‘The little man,’ I asked her, ‘the one they all talked about? Was it him?’

  She nodded, then shook her head.

  ‘Him and others?’

  She nodded.

  ‘One day,’ I told her, ‘you’ll show me what they looked like.’

  She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘It’s easy, I promise. One day you’ll show me, so that some other day I can find them. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

  She looked first into one of my eyes, and then the other. It was a strange sensation, as if she was seeing right inside my brain though I couldn’t quite meet her gaze. Then, slowly, she nodded.