TWENTY-TWO
Her arms wrapped around her knees, Ayla huddled in the corner of the chaise longue and watched the flames leaping in the fireplace. Even in the height of summer, when it wasn’t needed for practical purposes, it was amazing how comforting a fire could be. That in itself made this place a thousand times better than Caraway’s old lodgings, let alone the availability of a proper water closet. She wasn’t sure about the communal bathing room, but she supposed she could sneak in there early tomorrow morning before anyone else was around. She couldn’t decide whether it would be worse to stay dirty or have someone in the building catch her with no clothes on. Caraway didn’t appear to have any such dilemma; he was down there at this very moment having a much-needed wash. This place must be like paradise to him, after what he was used to.
Ayla had to admit that Caraway had been useful to her, much as she longed to despise him. Without his contact in the fifth ring, she never would have found out about the possibility of another Changer in Arkannen. If he hadn’t come back in time to help her, she would have been captured by the Helm the day they found her alone. And today, if she’d gone storming up to the fourth ring without him, she could have ended up in even worse trouble than she was in now.
Isn’t it possible that the child is Myrren’s? His words still whispered in her mind, circling round and round like vultures waiting to swoop down on her weakness. That he and this unknown Changer colluded in your father’s death so Myrren could regain the throne that was going to be taken from him – and that Myrren let you out on the night of the murder deliberately to cast suspicion on you? She didn’t want to believe it. Myrren had always been her friend, the only person she could turn to in the dark days after her mother’s death when her father had been too wrapped up in his own grief to concern himself with hers. But she had to allow that it was a possibility.
‘Are you all right?’
At the sound of Caraway’s voice she looked up, only to find that she was regarding him through a blur of tears. She blinked them away and gave him a curt nod.
‘Of course.’
He didn’t answer straight away, just stood there looking down at her. His hair was damp from his bath, and he was wearing a clean – though equally worn – shirt in place of his old one. He’d even shaved properly for the first time since he’d found her on the streets of the first ring. If she ignored the new lines at the corners of his eyes, she could almost see him as the same young man she’d admired five years ago.
‘You know, I didn’t get much out of Sorrow, but one thing that seemed clear was that Lord Myrren is on the same trail we are,’ he said finally. ‘It seems he went there today looking for answers, just as we did. So all we can do now is wait and hope he finds them.’ He sat down at the other end of the chaise longue – tentatively, as though he feared she might tell him to go away – and gave her an apologetic look. ‘Which means my speculations earlier today were wrong. I’m sorry.’
I hope so. I really do. Ayla studied his face. ‘You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?’
‘Not at all.’ He smiled at her. ‘By this time tomorrow, you could be back in Darkhaven.’
She nodded. ‘And then you can have your life back.’
‘Yes …’ A shadow entered his eyes; he turned his head away, gazing into the fire. ‘At least … I hope it won’t be exactly the same life. There isn’t much about the past five years that’s worth holding on to.’
Watching his profile, Ayla realised for the first time that her mother’s death had had an even greater impact on him than it had on her. She pushed that thought aside; it came dangerously close to sympathy. Really she ought to leave him here and retreat into the bedroom to get some sleep. Yet she wasn’t tired. She felt the need for company and conversation, and talking to Caraway didn’t seem such a terrible prospect as it once had.
‘How did you come to join the Helm in the first place?’ she asked him. He glanced her way, eyebrows drawn together in surprise and doubt.
‘You really want to know?’
She shrugged. ‘Why not?’
‘All right.’ He addressed his words to the fire, hunching his shoulders as though her sudden interest had made him uncomfortable. ‘There’s not much to it, really. Being part of the Helm was my childhood dream, my sole ambition. I never had another.’ The corners of his lips turned up in a self-deprecating smile. ‘At least I achieved it before I threw it away. Not everyone can say that.’
‘But why the Helm?’ Ayla asked, and the smile became wistful.
‘I grew up in a small town to the east of Arkannen. My father wanted me to join the family trade, but I had no aptitude for it. The time I should have spent learning about buying and selling, I spent practising swordplay with a stick, or reading the big book of Changer legends my father kept in his study. I was always fascinated by the Changer gift – it seemed so wonderful that such a thing could exist in the world, that real people could have such awe-inspiring power. I read about Darkhaven and the dedication of the Helm and the prowess of those trained in the fifth ring, and I wanted nothing more than to be part of it all. To serve the very heart of my country. And so, as soon as I was old enough, I left home for the city.’
‘And the weaponmasters let you in,’ Ayla said. There was no incredulity or sarcasm in the words – they were intended purely to keep the conversation going – but Caraway shot a quick sideways glance in her direction.
‘Yes, they let me in,’ he agreed. ‘All youngsters who arrive at the fifth ring wanting to be trained as warriors – and there are plenty of them – undergo several weeks of testing to determine their aptitude. Boys who wish to join the Helm are also subject to further and more rigorous testing after a year of basic training.’ He shrugged. ‘It was a hard life, but I loved it. I was fulfilling my dream and I never looked back.’
‘You miss it,’ she said softly. In response, an expression of such sadness settled over his face that she could hardly bear to look at it.
‘Always.’
She said no more, just sat still and watched the memories in his eyes. After a time he took a deep breath, shrugging his shoulders as though to shake off the past, and turned his head to fix her with a steady gaze.
‘May I ask you a question in return, Lady Ayla? The Changer gift … is it as wonderful as I always imagined?’
Swept up in his previous honesty, she answered without stopping to consider her words. ‘Sometimes I think it’s the only thing in my life that’s worth having.’ Then she bit her lip, unsure whether she should have said as much; but his face showed no judgement, and so she tried to explain. ‘More than anything, the gift is one of freedom. The children of Darkhaven spend their lives within its walls. To have the freedom of the skies …’ She offered him a twisted smile. ‘You may have spent your life dreaming of getting into Darkhaven, Tomas, but I’ve spent mine dreaming of getting out.’
‘Then not being able to Change, now … it must be like losing one of your senses. A fundamental part of your life that’s no longer accessible.’
How strange, that he understood that so well. Ayla nodded. ‘I was imprisoned for a month before I left Darkhaven, too, so it’s been a long time. Though I was never allowed to Change much anyway. My father …’ She looked down at her hands. ‘He was ashamed of the form I take. It isn’t one of the five elemental creatures. He always used to say that Myrren and I between us barely made half a real Changer.’
‘Lord Florentyn was a strong-willed man,’ Caraway murmured, and she gave a short, humourless laugh.
‘That’s one way of putting it. The Nightshade line was everything to him. Certainly much more important than any of the individual people in it. And the Helm … well, they say the Helm are the mirror of Darkhaven’s overlord. I suppose that’s why they ended up with a captain like Owen Travers.’ She sighed. ‘My father and Travers both hated the fact that I and not Myrren was the one to inherit the gift. When my father decided to give me the throne instead of Myrren, i
t went against both his heart and his will. He knew it would be better for Mirrorvale to have a Changer on the throne – even a hybrid one like me – but he didn’t want to do it. I think that’s why he was so ready to believe the worst when news came of the attack on that priestess. It gave him an excuse to change his mind and lock me up.’
‘Do you really think he would have imprisoned you for good?’ Caraway asked.
‘I’m not sure.’ Ayla realised she was biting her lip again and stopped, not wanting to reveal how much the question agitated her. ‘Maybe he would have let me out, once I’d agreed to obey his commands. Because that was the other thing …’ She looked up, forcing herself to meet Caraway’s gaze. ‘Florentyn was determined that Myrren and I should have children as soon as possible. He hoped our offspring would have the gifts we lacked. We’d resisted it for years, but sooner or later we would have had to give in. Because that’s how it works. The Nightshade blood has to be kept strong.’
Caraway said nothing, but the sympathy she saw in his eyes almost made her want to cry again. She looked away, watching shadows and flickering orange light dance across the walls of the room. She had never said so much about her life to anyone before – but after all, it was only Caraway. Soon she’d be going back to Darkhaven, and then she’d never have to see him again. And besides … it felt good, to talk to someone who listened properly.
‘I love Myrren,’ she said. ‘But he’s my brother. Neither of us wanted anything more than that. So we refused to submit to what we knew was inevitable. But once I was incarcerated …’ She swallowed over a suddenly painful throat. ‘I wouldn’t have had any choice. And who knows how long Myrren would have been able to hold out on his own?’
‘Perhaps that’s one good thing to have come out of everything that’s happened.’ Caraway’s voice was gentle. ‘Once all this is resolved and you return to Darkhaven, you and Myrren will be free to make your own choices. Marry who you want. And if the Helm don’t like it …’ He shrugged. ‘You control the Helm. They don’t control you.’
Ayla looked at him. Firelight had softened his face, making him seem younger and somehow purer, as though she were seeing him as he had been before time and disappointment took their toll. Something like anticipation stirred in the pit of her stomach: a memory, perhaps, from when she was a girl and had fancied herself half in love with him. Yes, a memory. It could be no more than that.
‘You may be right,’ she said, making her voice cool and even. ‘But now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep.’
He blinked as if she had slapped him, and for a moment she was sorry. But she’d given away too much this evening already. She had to call a halt to it, before she said or did something she might later regret.
‘Of course.’ He stood up in an awkward flurry of limbs, backing away from the chaise longue. The openness that had blossomed in his face during their conversation was fading, to be replaced by the hangdog expression she was used to seeing on him. ‘Have you got everything you need?’
Belatedly Ayla remembered that she was going to be sleeping in the bedroom – that she was the one lingering in his quarters, not the other way around. She scrambled to her feet in turn, a rare blush heating her cheeks.
‘I’m sure I will be fine.’
‘I’ll fetch you a news-sheet in the morning,’ Caraway said. ‘If the girl we saw in the fourth ring really is the missing Changer and your father’s murderer, I’m sure Lord Myrren won’t hesitate to make it widely known. Then you’ll be certain it’s safe to go home.’
‘Thank you.’ Feeling strangely guilty, as though she’d broken something fragile, Ayla retreated in the direction of the bedroom. When she reached the doorway, she turned – she couldn’t help herself. Caraway was still standing by the fire, gazing after her; she couldn’t read his expression.
‘Thank you for talking to me tonight, Tomas,’ she said softly. He nodded.
‘You’re welcome, Lady Ayla.’
Then she closed the door on him. Yet even as she did so, part of her wished she’d stayed out there; that she hadn’t brought their conversation to an abrupt end, but kept going to see where it might lead. Now that she was by herself in a cold bedroom lit only by a single lamp, she felt … lonely.
That’s stupid, she told herself. It’s just because you’re in yet another unfamiliar place. Tomorrow night you’ll be back in Darkhaven and everything will be fine. Yet even the thought of returning home didn’t make her feel any better. Because the truth was, she had been lonely for years – and although she longed to see Myrren again, she didn’t think her old life would be enough. Not any more.
She had almost drifted into uneasy sleep when a light tapping startled her back out of it. Someone was at the door to her bedroom. She sat bolt upright, reaching for her knife – which Caraway had returned to her after they’d escaped the Helm, just in case she needed it – then relaxed when she heard Caraway’s whisper. ‘Lady Ayla?’
‘What is it?’ She opened the door a fraction and peered out. Her stomach plummeted: he’d put his coat back on. ‘Is there trouble?’
‘No. I …’ He looked down at the floor, then back at her face. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. I thought – well, I’ve been thinking about what you said, and … I wanted to show you something.’
‘Can’t it wait until morning?’
‘Better at night, I think. Fewer people around.’ He held out her cloak and added diffidently, ‘I hope you’ll trust me, just this once.’
Ayla hesitated. But though it wasn’t so long ago that the very idea of trusting him would have been laughable, her opinion on the matter had shifted somewhat. She no longer doubted that he was doing everything he could to keep her safe. So she nodded and took the cloak from him. ‘All right. Give me a moment.’
When she was ready, he led her out of the apartment and down the stairs. But rather than head for the main door he kept going, past the communal facilities to another steep flight of steps that descended into the basement. Increasingly hesitant, she followed him down those as well – and as soon as they reached the bottom, the walls opened up around them. They were standing in a vast, cold cellar lit only by a little moonlight that spilled in through a barred window near the ceiling.
Ayla turned to Caraway. His expression was hard to read through the shadows, even with her Nightshade-enhanced sight, but she thought he looked hopeful.
‘I don’t understand,’ she admitted.
‘I – I thought it might be big enough,’ he said. ‘For you to Change.’ She made no reply, and after a moment he hurried on. ‘I know it’s not the same, because you won’t be able to fly, but I thought that wouldn’t be safe. Even outside the city, someone could see you. But in here … at least it’s private. I’ll guard the door. And since we no longer believe Lord Myrren is working against you, it doesn’t matter if he senses you. So …’
Ayla put a hand on his arm, and the flow of words abruptly ceased. She tried to speak, but she couldn’t stop smiling long enough. No-one had ever done anything that nice for her before. And to think it was him –
‘Thank you,’ she managed finally.
‘You’re welcome, Lady Ayla.’ They looked steadily at each other for a long moment through the half-light. Then Caraway ducked his head and said, ‘I’ll be outside if you need me.’
Once his footsteps had receded up the stairs, Ayla took a long, deep breath and summoned the Change. Myrren had asked her what it felt like, once, and she’d told him: fire and ice. A long, hot-and-cold wave that started at the crown of her head and swept through her bones to the soles of her feet, remaking her in its wake. Yet that description didn’t go nearly far enough. It didn’t explain the freedom of it, as though she were expanding along with her body to become more than what she’d been before. Her senses heightened still further. Strength flowed through her veins. And oh, that vast and glorious potential for flight –
Yet as the prickling sensation faded, she snorted in frustration – because she
had nowhere to go. The cellar was only just large enough. The tips of her outstretched wings brushed the walls to either side; though the vaulted ceiling was high, it didn’t leave her enough space to rear. What had been a large room to her in human form was almost as bad as a prison now. She was made for swiftness, for soaring high above the world. Though she tried to ignore it, her whole body tingled with the need to fulfil that potential and fly.
Still, it was the most freedom she’d been granted in over a month, and for that she had to be grateful. She took a few steps forward, then a few steps back, relearning her four legs – as awkward as a new colt. The shadows around her held no mystery, now; she could see every corner of the cellar as clear and bright as day. Her ears twitched, catching the sounds that had been too slight for human ears: footsteps in another street, a rat in the walls, the man breathing on the other side of the door. Small things, compared to the wide expanse of the skies, but they were enough for now. They would have to be.
She kept stretching her legs, arching her neck, furling and unfurling her wings – simply inhabiting the second self she had been so often denied – until her night vision gave way to a hint of grey daylight and she could no longer deny that morning was approaching. Then, reluctantly, she Changed back.
Returning to human form always felt so cramped, as if she were squeezing herself into a space that no longer fitted her. Stepping into an outgrown shoe. Her dress and cloak lay on the floor; she put them on hurriedly, fumbling with the buttons. She was small again, and not as strong – but her mind was bright with new memory, and that would be enough to sustain her.
Caraway was standing at the top of the steps that led up from the cellar. He turned at her approach, offering her a hesitant smile. He looked tired. It was with genuine guilt that she realised he had stayed up most of the night for her sake.
Darkhaven Page 19
