‘He could get you in trouble. He might have you and Grim sent away.’ Mistress Blackthorn had taken a big risk telling her the story. She had trusted her with it, knowing how dangerous it might be. Even after what had happened with the secret document.
‘I doubt he has the authority to do that, though he might attempt to influence Prince Oran on the matter,’ Blackthorn said. ‘Don’t let that part of it bother you. It’s the least of my worries right now.’
‘The thing with the document . . . those men . . . Are you in serious trouble, Mistress Blackthorn?’
‘Let’s just say that matter is very pressing for both me and Grim. But extremely private, Cara. Not to be mentioned anywhere.’
Cara nodded. Her thoughts were whirling about, trying to add up the passing of time between her mother leaving Wolf Glen and coming back, trying not to remember the look in the wild man’s eyes that day when he spotted her up in the tree. ‘I can’t be his daughter,’ she said. ‘I can’t be. He’s a sort of . . . He . . .’ She fell silent. What was it Gormán had said to the wild man that day, while she was being ushered quickly away? In the name of all the gods. You’re alive.
‘Bardán and his wife lived in Longwater, up on the hill. He worked as a builder long before your father hired him. His wife had kinsfolk in the district. But . . . his mother was half-fey. And his father was raised in the Otherworld, though he was human.’
‘How do you know so much? Who told you that? And why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘That part of the story is not a secret. It’s well known in Longwater.’
‘But . . . he’s crazy.’
‘He’s different,’ said Blackthorn. She didn’t need to add, and so are you.
Then there was a long silence. A long, long silence. Outside it was getting dark; it must be supper time, and they were supposed to go over to the main house for it. Over there everyone would be getting on with their own business. It made no difference to them that Cara’s world had been turned upside down. Father. Gormán. Wolf Glen and the forest. If this was true, none of it was hers. None of it. Your whole life is a lie.
‘When you showed me your talisman,’ Blackthorn said quietly, ‘you gave me a list of birds, for the feathers you’d used. I believe that list of birds may be part of a lullaby Bardán learned from his mother. The song was a charm of protection he used to sing to his baby daughter. He would visit her in the evenings, after his day’s work was done. Feather bright and feather fine, none shall harm this child of mine.’
Cara felt hot tears spilling down her cheeks.
‘Bardán is still at Wolf Glen,’ Blackthorn said. ‘Wild, yes, but a man who can feel love and grief and pain like any other man. He’s the way he is because on the night his daughter was said to have died out in the forest he fell down a hole and ended up in the Otherworld, and the fey kept him for fifteen years. That’s why the heartwood house was not finished. When Bardán came back his mind was scrambled; he had forgotten a great deal of the past. When he looked at you, perhaps he was reminded of his wife or of his mother, who knows? Grim has befriended him; been his protector, as far as he could. And Grim shares my suspicions about the official story of what happened that night and afterwards. Here.’ She handed Cara a clean handkerchief. Cara wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
‘Cara.’
‘What?’
‘This calls for cool heads. You should give yourself thinking time. By all means keep looking for the heartwood house story in the library. Whether it can cast further light on this I don’t know. Consider what I’ve told you, and decide whether you want to talk to your father about it. If you don’t, I will respect that choice, as I said. But don’t forget your other father, who loves you just as dearly. It seems he has been very badly treated. Grievously lied to. If you decide to do nothing, he will never know that his daughter survived. And . . . I think Grim would find it hard to keep the truth from him.’
‘I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to believe.’ She wanted it to be back before this happened, when all she’d had to worry about was Aunt Della fussing about muddy skirts and leaves in her hair. But everything Blackthorn said was making the bizarre story truer. He – the wild man – had fallen down that hole, that same one, she knew it was, and he hadn’t had the birds to help him, and those fey creatures had taken him, stolen him away, and kept him for fifteen years. Nearly the whole of her life. That was truly terrible. ‘Why are they so wicked, Mistress Blackthorn? The fey, the Fair Folk? In the tales they’re noble and good.’
‘I suppose they are like us. Some good, some bad. Some downright evil.’ Blackthorn got up and stretched. ‘We should go to supper. I don’t suppose you feel like eating, but a hot meal will be good for you. What I was saying before, Cara – promise me, please, that if you decide to go and talk to your father you’ll tell me first. You should take me with you, and we’ll have to take one of the Island men as a guard, perhaps two.’
‘Why them?’
‘Ségán’s new rules for me.’ Blackthorn grimaced. ‘But it’s common sense; if you confront him with this, your father will be . . . unhappy. It’s best if you speak to him in my presence and probably Grim’s as well. Promise, please.’
‘I promise.’ Cara could just imagine it: herself and Father opposite one another in his council chamber, and the room full with Blackthorn and Grim and two guards. Maybe the wild man would be there too. The man who might be her real father, the man with the sad, crazy eyes. She would open her mouth to speak and the words would dance away like sparks from a fire, leaving her mute and helpless.
34
~Grim~
Happy to see Blackthorn. Wish it had been longer. Tóla made sure she left quick. What I said once, about this place being a den of wolves – nothing’s changed my mind on that. Gormán’s as bad as the master. Rushed her off before we had time to talk properly, didn’t he? Nice enough fellow, but he’s in Tóla’s pocket, does what he’s told. Might have a few secrets of his own that he doesn’t want coming out. My guess is, the master’s got some sort of hold on him.
After what she said, Blackthorn I mean, I’m half minded to tell Bardán the truth. If it is the truth. If Cara’s his daughter, it’s cruel to keep it secret. I mean, he’s been thinking his child is dead. Worse, he’s been thinking it’s his fault. All those years. If she’s still alive and well, how can I not tell him? Thing is, though, telling him would be like touching a flame to a stack of straw. It’d be the blow-up of all blow-ups. That’d be the kind of shocking news that stayed with you for life, like a scar. The girl’s only fifteen. Wouldn’t want to do that to her. Be worse if she found out later, though. What if it came out after she married and had children of her own? Or worse, just before she married? She might be all set to wed some young man she liked, and when he found out she wasn’t Tóla’s daughter he’d say, sorry, changed my mind. Couldn’t inherit then, could she? But what’s Bardán got to offer her? Some folk would say love was enough. Sounds good. But a girl of that age wants a home and security. She wants a future. Bardán can’t work. He can’t earn a living; he can’t support a daughter. She’d be the one supporting him.
Late afternoon, rain comes pissing down and I call a halt for the day, tell the crew to head off home. Put covers on where we can and hope for dry weather tomorrow. The build’s going well. Another reason not to say anything to Bardán. Fact is, I miss Blackthorn, I miss the cottage, I miss working for the folk down around Winterfalls. But mostly Blackthorn. It was good seeing her. Nearly shed tears when she had to go. And I’m tired. Nights, I sleep mostly catnaps. In between, I’m awake, on alert, can’t help myself. Keep my body strong with the exercises. Wish I could fall asleep quick and stay asleep long, but it doesn’t work that way. Every little sound startles me: a mouse in the thatch, a door creaking in the wind, the trees blowing about outside, the rain drumming on the roof. And when I’m awake I’m thinking of the past,
seeing the bad things. Faces of the dead and the lost. Twisted, broken bodies. If I’m asleep I dream, and it’s the same. I dream of Mathuin and the lockup. I dream that Blackthorn’s a prisoner and I’m chained up and I can’t help her. I see the folk I care about being tortured and killed. Over and over again.
Means I’m often snappish with tiredness. In the day, if the fellows are taking a break from work, I’ll sometimes sit down to eat and fall asleep right where I am. Catch Gormán looking at me once or twice. Don’t know what I’m supposed to say.
Anyway, today it’s too wet to work any longer, so I head for the living quarters to stir up the fire and make a brew. Hoping Blackthorn got safely down to Winterfalls. Hoping she’s back in the prince’s house, dry and warm. I’ll have a wash, change my own clothes, help with the cooking. Leave the heartwood house to think about itself for a while. Supper, then an early night. Wouldn’t hurt any of us.
Doesn’t work out that way. I’m halfway out of my wet clothes when a serving man raps on the door. Master Tóla wants to see me down at the big house. Rain still pelting down out there, but the fellow says it can’t wait. I throw on some dry things, cloak over the top. Head out after him. What can be so urgent? Hope something hasn’t happened to Blackthorn. Hope she hasn’t had an accident on the way home. Can’t help seeing her lying in the rain somewhere with a broken leg or a broken head.
By the time we get to the big house and go indoors I’m wound up tight and in no mood to talk to Tóla, not calmly anyway. The fellow takes me to the council chamber, knocks on the door, then goes off and leaves me. Tóla calls out something which I hope is Come in, and I do.
The master’s got a couple of men in the chamber with him, fellows I’ve seen working around the farm. No idea why they’re here. The two of them are standing near Tóla, sort of an embarrassed look about them. They’re big men, one nearly as tall as me, the other one a bit smaller.
‘You asked to see me.’ I come in. Door shuts behind me.
‘Grim.’ Tóla’s got cold eyes at the best of times. Wintry now. Only time I’ve seen a soft look on his face was that night we brought Cara home, and it wasn’t there for long. Bit sad when you think about it.
I wait. Remind myself that I did help save his daughter’s life. And I’m building his wretched heartwood house. Can’t wait till the day I put the last touches on that nine-course thatched roof. Happy day, that’ll be. Wish I’d never agreed to this.
Tóla moves his hand in a sort of shooing gesture and the two men move away. One stands by each door. Looks like he’s using them as guards. Can’t see a weapon on either of them. Doesn’t mean they don’t have any.
‘Your friend went down to Longwater after her visit here,’ Tóla says.
I want to say, Speak ill of her and I’ll get angry quick as quick. And if I get angry it takes more than a jumped-up landholder and a couple of farm hands to hold me back. I try to breathe slow. Don’t let the red rise up in me. ‘Mistress Blackthorn, you mean. Her work takes her all over. She went to visit a woman called Fann. The one that gave birth not so long ago.’
‘Mistress Blackthorn’s activities are of some concern to me. It’s come to my notice that she visited two households today. The woman you mention lives in one of them. The other, I’m given to understand, does not currently house any person in need of a healer’s services.’
‘You got someone following her around, then?’ Should shut my big mouth, maybe. But the man’s annoying me. What business is it of his where Blackthorn goes or what she does? And how am I supposed to know anyway, seeing as he hardly gave us time to say a word to each other?
‘Why would I do such a thing, Grim?’
‘You tell me. I’ve got no idea who she visits down there. That’s her work, and right now, building your heartwood house is my work.’
‘What did you say to her earlier? What did you talk about?’
Anger’s bubbling up, getting near the surface. ‘This and that,’ I say, trying to stay calm. ‘Nothing much.’ Couldn’t say what I wanted, could I, with everyone so close there was no privacy at all? Why’s he asking, anyway?
‘I hope that is true,’ Tóla says. Jaw’s tight, eyes cold. ‘When you took on this job, you agreed to my conditions. No gossip. No spreading of tales, whether you believe them to be truth or wild rumour. No talking about my daughter.’
I can’t help myself. ‘That’d be the daughter Gormán and me rescued out in the forest that night, yes? The one we saved from down that hole?’
‘Watch your words!’ He’s losing his temper now, and I’m holding on to mine, just. ‘I have not forgotten that you brought Cara home. I gave you thanks at the time, along with an appropriate reward. I’m aware that your friend visited Wolf Glen today only because certain items had to be fetched for a . . .’
‘A luck charm,’ I say. ‘Yes, she told me.’
Tóla scowls. Looks like he doesn’t want anyone knowing about anything. Not without his personal say-so. ‘Then she should learn to keep her mouth shut,’ he says. ‘That’s nobody’s business but mine.’
‘And your daughter’s,’ I say, quiet-like. I want to say, if she really is your daughter, and I come a hair’s-breadth from doing it, but I hold the words back.
‘Are you deaf? Don’t speak of her!’ He’s on his feet now, fists balled. The two farm lads take a step closer. Eyes on me. Looking more nervous than anything, like they’d rather run away than try to fight me. Fair enough. If I was them I’d be feeling the same.
‘Maybe what you should be doing is talking to Cara,’ I say. ‘Lot of secrets in this place, don’t speak of this, don’t speak of that. I’ve done what you wanted so far. Not because I need the work. Not because I want your bags of silver. I’ve stayed because I don’t like seeing a man mistreated. I don’t like seeing a man who’s addled in his wits and can’t use his hands left to look after himself in a cold, leaky old hut. I don’t like seeing a man kept on for his skills but treated like dirt –’
‘Shut your mouth!’
Tóla’s arm comes up as if he’s going to smack me in the face. I grab his wrist hard, push him away. The two lads move a bit closer, look at each other, look at me. I glare and growl, and they back off. What now?
‘Take your hands off me,’ Tóla says. Sounds like a king talking to the lowest scullery boy.
The way I’m holding him, I could snap his wrist without much effort. Give him a taste of how it feels not to have the use of your hand. ‘Send your boys out and I will,’ I say. ‘You won’t want them to hear what I’ve got to say. They can wait outside the door.’
‘Go!’ says Tóla, and they do, quick. I let go his arm, and he rubs his wrist with the other hand. ‘You should lose your job right now,’ he says. ‘How dare you lay hands on me?’
‘Thing is,’ I say, ‘if it looks like a man’s going to take a swing at me, I like to stop him before he does it, not after. And I’m quick for a big man. Isn’t that why I got the job? Build the house and keep your wild man in order?’
Tóla’s at a bit of a loss. Not sure what to say, from the looks of it. Fiddling with the things on the table, not meeting my eye. ‘This should not have come to blows,’ he says. ‘I need you for the job, yes. I expected you to guard him and you have done that. I did not expect you to appoint yourself his champion. I did not expect Mistress Blackthorn to stick her nose into my business. She’s been seeking out information, hasn’t she? Information she might pass on to my daughter.’
‘I can’t answer that. Seeing as you don’t want me to mention Cara.’
He makes an impatient, angry noise. Sweeps his hand across the table, fist clenched. Knocks a cup, an ink pot and some sheets of parchment to the floor. ‘Don’t try to be clever,’ he snarls. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’
Next thing he’ll call me Bonehead and I’ll really snap. Breathe, I tell myself.
‘What is it you have to say? W
hat is so particularly private? Spit it out.’
Wishing I hadn’t said that bit now. Trouble, this is. Trouble for everyone. ‘I promised to stay and see the job finished,’ I say. ‘Agreed to the conditions, yes – no days off for rainy weather, no going home until it’s done. Hard conditions, when a man can’t enjoy a visit for long enough to draw a breath or two before his friend’s whisked away again. But I said I’d do it and I’ll do it. One thing, though. Any harm comes to Mistress Blackthorn, one ill deed, one bad word, and I’m off like a dog after a rabbit. You can keep your payment. I don’t know who she visited today and I don’t much care. She’s a healer. Goes everywhere. Sees everyone who needs her. You think that’s suspicious, you’re out of your mind.’
He doesn’t say a word. Can’t tell what he’s thinking.
‘I’m a good worker,’ I say. ‘I get the job done. I give respect where it’s deserved. I can’t respect a man who lifts a hand against his workers for no good reason. I can’t respect a man who ties up a troubled soul and throws him in a dark cellar, or a man who –’
‘Enough. Spare me the catalogue of misdemeanours. Say whatever it is you want to say.’
‘You won’t like it.’
‘I’m sure I won’t.’ He folds his arms, taps his foot.
‘Got no daughter, myself. Never had one. But if I did, I’d want her to grow up kind and honest and good-hearted. I’d want her to learn that it’s always best to tell the truth. I’d want her to understand that you can’t build your life on lies and secrets. That’s all I’ve got to say.’
There’s a long silence. Then he says, ‘Get out!’ And it’s terrible. Angry and sad both. So even though I despise the man, I feel sorry for him.
I’m opening the door when he says, ‘Stop.’
Den of Wolves Page 33
