If she was even able to reach the Iron City on her own. She didn't seem to be having very much luck so far. Wherever she went, Tabitha seemed to attract the attention of the worst of the fae, she thought miserably. Apart from her sprites, of course. And she hadn't been able to defend herself properly against any one of them. Even the brook horse had managed to trick her. How was she supposed to defend her village if she couldn't defend herself?
Tabitha reached up to the stone she wore around her neck and ran her thumb over its contrasting rough-smooth surface. She wondered whether her mother would be proud of what she was doing, whether the people of the Iron City would remember her when they saw the necklace, and whether that would be enough to convince them to help Tabitha.
Tabitha eventually fell asleep clutching the stone, but had fitful dreams of being trapped underground in the endless dark.
25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When Lysander awoke the next morning he was riddled with damp from having left the tent to Tabitha, his head ached, and his heart was full of the unwanted weight of guilt.
He hadn't slept well, being so full of adrenaline from the fight with that creature – the kelpie, as the sprites had called it. His fists clenched as he thought of the sprites, and a flash of pain ran over his right eye as his headache worsened. He was convinced that they had been involved in Tabitha's run-in with this kelpie of theirs. There had been something in their faces, insectoid though they were, which had reeked of guilt when Lysander had asked them why they hadn't helped Tabitha. And Lysander was trained to notice these things. He wasn't often wrong. And he was certain, in this case, that he was right.
Only Tabitha, of course, had rushed to their defence. Lysander scowled, and rolled over onto his side. How was it possible that the ground could be both hard and damp at the same time? It made his bones ache. His thoughts returned to Tabitha.
How could she have defended them? Was she really that stupid? And now... now Lysander was back in exactly the same place he had been in before, trying to decide what to do about Tabitha. He could not shake off the strange, protective instinct which had made him rush to her aid when he had first seen her with the sprites, and which had led him to unthinkingly charge the kelpie when he had seen her stranded in the middle of the river. It should never have happened with someone he had been sent after, and Lysander dreaded to think what would happen if anyone from the Iron Court ever found out; but the fact of it was that Lysander liked Tabitha. If she had been from the Iron City, then without a doubt they would have been friends, maybe even joined forces on some special projects...
But she wasn't from the Iron City.
Lysander groaned and sat up, his head swimming. He had been acting as if he didn't have a decision to make, as if drifting around Bretan with Tabitha was out of place and time and could go on forever. But ultimately he knew that he needed to choose. He couldn't like her, not if he wanted a future with the Iron Court. And as furious as he was not to have been given a full explanation about why they were so desperate for the hagstone Madeleine had left to her daughter, ultimately his duty lay with the Court.
Lysander suddenly had a thought. The Iron Court's interest was in the hagstone, not Tabitha. They hadn't any idea who she was – would probably never know her, in all honesty. Lysander had been sent alone to find her, so his word would be everything... if he took them the hagstone, and just told them that Tabitha had been dealt with, perhaps that would be the best thing for everyone? He couldn't continue to entangle himself with Tabitha any longer, with the guilt he felt both towards her and the Iron Court growing steadily worse. Lysander didn't think he could hurt Tabitha, not now, but he knew that he couldn't help her, either.
What he could do was to take the hagstone and leave her as she was. The Iron Court would never know.
Lysander got stiffly to his feet, his head clearing a little as a plan slowly became concrete in his mind. He would steal the hagstone and return to the city, leaving Tabitha alive.
Tonight.
26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The evening arrived, and then darkened to night, and to Lysander's frustration there was the first clear sky there had been in weeks. It was a beautiful moonlit night, which lit up the countryside with a soft silver glow that reminded Lysander of the night that it had first all happened, when the shift had occurred which had changed everything. The moon had been unusually bright then, too.
The night it had all begun, Lysander had thought the moon beautiful. He had been sat outside his tent, musing over what it was about this strange girl, the strange riverside village, that had so captivated him. He had sat in the pool of moonlight, admiring how the light had outlined everything in silver, and Lysander had thought how sad it was not to be able to see stars like this from within the Iron City. He had admired the brightness of it, how easily his eyes adjusted to the night when the moonlight was so generous. He had thought it magnificent.
Tonight, Lysander found the giant white coin beaming above him to be a nuisance. It was going to make sneaking back into Tabitha's campsite much more difficult with everything so illuminated.
Lysander muttered one of the learned words he had not yet discussed with Tabitha, which cloaked him all in shadows, and advanced towards the campsite. Although he already had left it behind once before, as he approached the campsite Lysander thought again how irritating it was that he was going to have to leave his tent behind. Even one night without proper cover had been extremely uncomfortable, and he was extremely resentful that he was going to have to do it again.
Lysander had checked back here earlier in the day, and found that they were still camping where he had left them. For a moment when he had seen this, Lysander's heart had leapt, thinking that Tabitha might have remained in the hope that he would return to them. Then he had realised that her leg must still be in too bad a state for her to walk, the guilt had returned, and Lysander had kicked himself for thinking that Tabitha might have missed him. He had to stop thinking like that. They were not companions any longer.
No, Lysander told himself as he crept back towards the campsite, he should see this as a blessing. Even if the bright light of the moon betrayed him, as long as he could retrieve the hagstone tonight, Tabitha would be unable to follow him.
Lysander was nervous about how difficult it was going to be to actually take the hagstone. He had only seen a few glimpses of the stone, but as far as he could tell, Tabitha always wore it on a string around her neck. He was assuming she didn't wear it at night, but there was a risk that she might. And if she didn't, it was likely to be buried in the depths of her pack, so at the very least Lysander was going to have to enter her tent unnoticed.
He had decided that the best approach was to retrieve the pack from the tent first, and then to search through it well away from the campsite. If he found the hagstone within, he would return the pack to outside Tabitha's tent, and then be on his way. If it was not in her pack, he would have to return to the tent to check whether it was around Tabitha's neck. But he would worry about that if it happened. As a first step, all he needed was a quick retrieval of the pack from Tabitha's tent. That sort of basic thieving work should be well within his abilities. Even if he would prefer it if the night was a bit darker.
Lysander stole around to the back of Tabitha's tent. At least the fire was out, he thought. With another pang of guilt, he realised that since he hadn't finished teaching her how to light a fire using magic herself, it was probably that she had been unable to light one the traditional way. Moreover, she was unlikely to be able to keep lighting fires on her own if it stayed as damp as this. But that wasn't his concern, Lysander told himself firmly. If it came to it, she would have to find a village where she could earn her keep for the winter.
Taking a few deep breaths to focus his mind on the task at hand, Lysander remained stock still outside the tent, listening for the sound of any movement within. When he was confident that Tabitha must be asleep, he slipped unde
r the material of the tent, and remained crouched just inside.
Pulling up the side of the tent had allowed a flash of moonlight inside it, and as Lysander waited, he prayed that it hadn't disturbed Tabitha's sleep. He remained very still, keeping his breathing low and even and allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark of the tent after the bright night outside. There was no sound from Tabitha, and Lysander relaxed a little. He hadn't woken her.
As his eyes adjusted, things slowly came into focus. Tabitha was lying to one side with a blanket wrapped tightly around her. Even so, he could see the slight quake of her shoulders in the cold, and Lysander felt a stab of guilt again. The word to light a fire leapt to the front of his mind, eager for him to use it. But Lysander resisted. He couldn't afford to worry about her anymore.
Still not moving from his position at the edge of the tent, he slowly looked around for where Tabitha had left her pack. But as far as he could see, the tent was empty apart from where she lay sleeping. His brow creased as he frowned. She always slept with her pack in here. So where was it? Had she been expecting him? He looked around the tent again, but in vain.
Lysander's mind raced as he rapidly tried to calculate what was his best option from here. Presumably the pack couldn't be far away. If they had remained camped here because Tabitha was unable to walk, then she wouldn't have taken her pack somewhere else... why would she have done? No, probably she had just accidentally left the pack outside. Taking another slow, even breath to calm himself, Lysander slipped back out of the tent as quietly as he had entered it. Again he waited for a moment to confirm that he had not disturbed Tabitha, but when there was no sound from within he relaxed again.
It was so incredibly bright outside, he thought as he slipped around the tent, trying to keep to the side away from the moon so that Tabitha wouldn't see his shadow if she awoke. He peered around to the front of the campsite, where the cold remains of the fire were. He remained close to the tent, looking around for any sign of Tabitha's pack – and there it was, the far side of the fire.
Lysander frowned again. Tabitha's clothes were spilling out of the top of it. Why would she have left it like this? Then he realised what was happening. The clothing rustled, and a tiny, insect-like hand shoved it out of the way.
The sprites were rootling through Tabitha's bag, methodically emptying it of all of her possessions. Lysander watched as they silently removed the first item of clothing, then the next, then A Compendium of Faerie, another item of clothing, and so on. As each item was removed from the bag, it was shaken out and examined before being discarded and moved aside as they returned to the bag to retrieve the next item.
Lysander felt white-hot rage slowly building in the pit of his belly. How dare they go through Tab's things. How dare they, when she was injured and sleeping inside her tent, unable to defend herself against such a betrayal. Lysander was furious with himself for not thinking that they would try to hurt her again after he left her; he was furious for having not done a good enough job of trying to protect her; and he was furious that they had got to her pack before he had. Lysander slowly reached for the iron knives that were always at his side.
They hadn't spotted him; his concealment was good enough or their concentration was serious enough that the sprites hadn't realised that they were being watched. Lysander assessed the situation. When he had first encountered them they had not been the easy defeat he had hoped for, and he had surprised them then, too. But then he hadn't been using magic, and Tabitha had distracted him, intervening before he could really get into the swing of the fight. And he could hardly just allow these fae to carry on as they were.
Lysander stepped slowly out from beside the tent.
“I knew I was right not to trust you,” he hissed, and the sprites spun round to face him in surprise.
He was shocked for a moment by the difference on their faces. The pretty, butterfly-like, playful demeanour they had always presented when Tabitha was present was gone. There was no kindness left in their faces at all. Now there was only coldness, hardness, and with these new expressions their very features seemed to have changed. They looked darker, spikier somehow. It was as if they had been replaced by fouler versions of themselves – but Lysander knew that these were the same sprites that he had known before. And they knew him too.
Wicked smiles crept dangerously across their faces.
“Poor, stupid boy,” Corida said in a cruel voice, utterly unlike the one he had ever used before. “Do you think you can face us?”
“We held back before so that we didn't anger the river witch,” Bellida said with a devilish grin, “but there's nothing stopping us now.”
“And faery magic is a thousand times more powerful than human magic,” Ani sneered. “Didn't you know?”
“Pity you don't know how to use yours,” Bellida said, licking his lips.
And before Lysander could respond or even think about what that last comment meant, they had leapt for him, razor-sharp claws extended, their lips pulled back to reveal rows upon rows of pointed black teeth.
Lysander whipped out his knives, but next to the sprites he felt painfully slow. The speed they moved at was frightening. Lysander was quick, quicker than any other person he had ever met, but the sprites simply laughed as he lunged for them, darting aside so that he fell clumsily forward, and he couldn't land a single blow.
Panting, Lysander whirled around to face them with a growing sense of dread. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were barely even trying. They were just toying with him. He was reminded uncomfortably of a cat playing with its food, and he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He began muttering words under his breath, for speed and stealth and dexterity, but as soon as they heard him murmuring the old words, the sprites simply laughed again. They exchanged gleeful looks.
“Is that everything you've got?” Corida said, picking at his claws. “And to think that we thought you might be a threat to us! We can wait if you need longer to get to full capacity.”
“It makes things so much more interesting,” Ani panted, barely able to contain herself.
Lysander was revolted. Any trace of humanity he thought he might have seen in the fae had gone. How stupid he had been to let Tabitha talk him into putting so much as an ounce of trust into them!
But before he could lament this any longer, the sprites were racing at him again, and this time they weren't just avoiding the whirl and slice of his knives. They darted in and out of range, every so often flying close enough to run a cruel black claw over his skin – just deep enough to make him bleed – until Lysander was covered in scratches that bled and stung. The sprites targeted the most painful areas, his lips and fingers and the skin around his eyes, each time digging a little deeper, no doubt trying to prolong the fight.
Lysander continued swinging his knives, changing tactics over and over again, but whatever move he made had no effect upon the dancing, biting faeries.
He yelled as Bellat landed on his wrist and bit deep into one of his fingers, gnashing his teeth so that he ate through Lysander's flesh, aiming for the bone. Lysander made a split-second decision, and sliced one knife across his hand, cutting deep into his own skin but removing Bellat's wings at the same time.
The sprites screamed in unison, and Bellat fell to the floor, writhing around and clutching at his back. His paper-thin wings lay useless beside him, and he sobbed with pain and anger. Black blood seeped from the stumps on his back, and the flash-fast elegance which had characterised his movements as he had fought was replaced with an agonising slowness. He whimpered, flung his head back with a terrible moan, and his body seemed to go into spasm.
The thought flickered through Lysander's mind that perhaps the iron his knife was made from was having an effect after all. This was, of course, the reason for the existence of the Iron City, who had always held that iron was fatal to the fae. Lysander had little time to contemplate this, however, as his hand was now wet and slippery with blood. He wondered whether it was any use kee
ping that knife out. He would in all likelihood barely be able to handle it.
But then Ani and Corida turned to Lysander with their black eyes narrowed and furious, their teeth bared once more. They flexed their claws and moved into position ready to attack, and Lysander decided that he had better keep both knives out after all.
The sprites flung themselves at him once again with renewed rage, and Lysander did his best to parry their attacks. He gasped each time they ripped into his skin, and several times his knife almost slipped from his injured hand as a fresh wound was laid open and the pain ripped through him. Lysander tried as hard as he could to defend himself, but he was becoming increasingly aware that he was not winning this fight, was not remotely an even match against the two faeries who were so incensed by the injury he had inflicted on their brother Bellat.
For the first time in his life, Lysander began to feel very afraid. He was not going to win this fight.
But in the commotion of battle, both he and the sprites had forgotten about Tabitha.
27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Tabitha was woken by an unearthly scream. She sat bolt upright, wincing as the sudden movement sent a ripple of pain down her leg. She blinked, struggling to urge herself into consciousness. It was still dark; so what had woken her?
Shrieks and the quick stamp of footsteps outside the tent sent a tremor of fear through her, and Tabitha's body began to tingle as the sense that she needed to get away returned in an overwhelming rush.
But Tabitha knew she couldn't get very far even if she wanted to. Her leg was too painful still. And some part of her – the part that had ignored the warnings of the river, and that still wanted to know everything – was urging her to take a look outside and see what was going on. She put a hand up to the stone around her neck. Her mother was with her. She could do this.
The River Witch Page 19
