Rebel's Cage, page 10
part #4 of Elita Series
‘Do I really need to go to sleep now, Mother? I’m not that tired and I’d like to see what Arlie says about Henry.’
‘I know, love,’ Jenn leaned forward and kissed his forehead. ‘But you and Micah leave very early tomorrow. You need your rest.’
She went to rise, but he caught her hand before she could move. ‘You are still coming to visit next spring, aren’t you? You promised to meet me at Elita so I can see it. I know Aunt Bella would like you to visit at Maitland. It’s been a year since you last came and sometimes …’
‘What?’
‘Sometimes she gets upset that you stay away so much.’
Jenn sighed. Her relationship with her sister had never been great, but Bella had taken in Andrew with open arms and loved him as her own; she had given him a home and the life Jenn, tied to the Key as she was, couldn’t. But Bella knew enough about Jenn to disapprove heartily of what she was doing, though she’d never tried to poison Andrew’s mind, as many in her place would have.
‘I understand how she feels,’ Jenn began gently, ‘but you understand why I’m here, don’t you? You know that I’d have you with me all the time if I could? You do believe that, don’t you?’
He gave her a blinding smile, one which reminded her so much of Robert it hurt, but was also entirely his own. ‘Of course I understand, Mother. I couldn’t have a normal life if I lived here, could I? I miss you and Finnlay and everyone else – but I also like living at Maitland. Sometimes I just wish you and everyone else here could live like that as well, so that nobody had to live inside the protection of the Key.’
Jenn smiled and gave him another kiss. ‘That’s what we all wish, my love. Now you get some sleep. I’ll send Lady Margaret in to say goodbye, as you’ll be gone before she wakes in the morning.’
She rose then and went back into the main room, where a fire burned brightly and a lamp on the table gave further warmth to the room. Margaret was just pouring a cup of brew for them both.
‘He’s waiting for you.’ Jenn picked up her cup as Margaret smiled and went into the other room. She could hear soft voices, but wandered instead to her desk and the pile of books she had stacked there. She’d barely had a chance to look at her work since Andrew had arrived for this visit, and with everything else that was going on, she wasn’t sure when she would be able to get back to it, even though it called to her.
She would have to tell them about it soon.
The bedroom door clicked behind her and she turned to find Margaret smiling. ‘That boy … I don’t know where he gets his sense of humour from.’
Jenn didn’t answer that.
‘And are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?’
Looking up, Jenn found a pair of deep brown eyes watching her. Margaret had aged beautifully over the years; getting older had only enhanced the person she was. Though her hair was peppered with white and the lines around her eyes clear, her smile, her openness and obvious caring only embellished her beauty. Finnlay had got his brown eyes from her – but Margaret had told her many times that both her sons favoured their father, Trevor, a man who intrigued Jenn, though he’d died more than thirty years before, killed fighting Selar.
‘Well,’ she answered with an attempted smile, ‘I’m worried about Henry, and about this Guilde business.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
Margaret picked up her mug of brew and drifted over to the desk. ‘And you’re worried about something else. I can tell. You’ve hardly spoken two words to anyone since the meeting. It’s not good for you to keep things inside, you know that. You used to say as much to Robert.’
Jenn looked away at that.
It was impossible to escape him. It was impossible to forget that he’d been right, or that she’d lost him, or how much she still needed him, despite everything. It made her feel pathetic that even after eight years, such thoughts could still catch her like this.
Swallowing hard, she replied, ‘I didn’t handle that meeting very well today. I should have kept more control over the discussion. If I had, perhaps Henry wouldn’t have had such reason to get so upset.’
‘Oh, my dear,’ Margaret put an arm around her shoulder, pressing a light kiss to her temple. ‘You silly girl. You know Henry’s been ill for a long time. His temper has never been good. You can’t blame yourself for this.’
‘Oh, I know he’s been ill, but that doesn’t excuse my shortcomings,’ Jenn said. ‘I just don’t think I’m very good at this leadership business. Some days I’m too cautious, others I’m too reckless. I feel so … uneducated, and so I read all the hours that I get and still there is so much I don’t know, that I don’t understand, and I need to.’
‘Why?’
Jenn looked up. ‘Because then, when days like this come, I would know what to do.’
*
The Enclave was quiet as Jenn stepped out into the corridor. Most people had gone to their beds, more than a few concerned about what the next day would bring.
She kept her footsteps even, listening to the noises she’d grown accustomed to over the years, things that marked this place as being so different to any other. Taking one turn in the passage brought her to the door of Henry’s rooms. It was open and inside, sitting by the fire, was Finnlay, chin resting on his fist, ankles crossed carelessly, gaze buried somewhere in the flames. Micah sat at the table, paper before him, pen in his hand. One after another, he scratched words down, a small frown on his face, concentration focused on his task.
He was writing a letter to his family, who were now forced to live in Flan’har. Grant Kavanagh, Flan’har’s independent Duke and true friend of Lusara, had welcomed them, and for the last ten years or so, Micah’s five brothers, two sisters and both parents – not to mention a host of nieces and nephews – had resided in the peace and civility of that country. Exiles, perhaps, but at least they had not been executed because of their unwitting connection to Robert via Micah. These letters Micah wrote were his only contact with them, sending them via Enclave couriers his only safe means of delivery.
With a brisk movement, Micah finished the letter and signed his name. Jenn waited until he began to fold the paper over before speaking.
‘I meant to ask how your father is now.’
Micah looked up, his pale blue eyes glinting with unhidden concern. ‘My sister’s last letter didn’t elaborate very much. She says he’s well enough – though I have no idea what that means exactly. She does insist that he’s not at death’s door and that I shouldn’t worry.’
‘But that doesn’t stop you.’
He gave a wry shake of his head. ‘No.’
Jenn glanced at the door leading to Henry’s bedroom, then at Finnlay, who barely noticed that she’d returned. ‘Is Arlie still with him?’
‘Aye,’ Micah said, putting his things away. ‘We’ve heard nothing more since you left. Seamus and Desta have just gone to supper. Both feel a bit guilty, though Arlie assured them it wasn’t their fault.’
Jenn sank into a chair opposite Finnlay. Slowly his gaze left the fire and landed on her; his face was framed by his dark hair and beard, and eyes which reflected nothing at all.
‘Did you ask him?’
She said nothing for a moment, but didn’t look away. Then, clasping her hands together on her lap, she shook her head. ‘I told you I wouldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Osbert’s actions have nothing to do with Andrew. I don’t want him involved.’
‘Isn’t he already involved? Isn’t he the best means we have of finding out what’s really happening at court? Or are you unsure of where his loyalties lie?’
Jenn was not in the mood for another argument. ‘You don’t honestly think that—’
‘I no longer have any idea what I should think. And it appears nobody would believe me anyway.’ He looked back at the fire then, his gaze narrowing, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. ‘Are you planning to bring him back here to live permanently?’
‘No,’ Jenn replied, a little surprised by the question. ‘Why?’
‘Just curious. I thought perhaps it might encourage his powers to develop. Forget about it.’
Jenn gently shifted the subject anyway. ‘Besides, we do have Father Godfrey at court. I know we don’t get direct reports from him, but Murdoch does. It’s better than nothing.’
Finnlay nodded vaguely, as though there were matters of far more weight on his mind.
Micah left the table then, crouching down before the fire to put another log over the flames. He took a cup from a hook over the mantel and poured Jenn some of the brew simmering on a shelf within the fireplace. Curls of smoke drifted up into the chimney, heading for places Jenn couldn’t begin to guess.
‘Are we going to be able to keep it a secret?’
Jenn shook her head, knowing he wasn’t talking about Henry. ‘I don’t know. Probably not, especially now.’
‘It is a trap, you know.’
She looked back to find Finnlay watching her again. ‘Yes, I know.’
He stared at her a moment, then let out an obvious sigh of relief. ‘So, why now?’
‘I have no idea – though Henry seemed to think the timing was significant. You know Kenrick’s negotiating with Mayenne for a marriage. It might have something to do with that. Or … perhaps something important has changed.’ She couldn’t look at him then and instead chose to watch the twists of steam rise from her cup, feeling the eyes of both men on her. She knew they were both thinking about Robert, and about his absence from the Enclave since the Battle. Was he behind this in some way?
‘Does it need to be something important?’ Micah murmured eventually. Micah had been the truest friend Jenn could have had, especially the way he acted as guardian over Andrew. ‘From what I’ve seen, each wave of this … thing has started with some small, inconsequential event. I’d hardly call changing laws inconsequential. Things are always changing.’
‘Are they?’ Finnlay grunted. ‘It probably looks that way to you.’
Micah had a faint smile on his face. ‘Things are changing here now, as we speak.’
The gentle barb drew Finnlay’s brows together, but he said nothing more. The silence lingered this time as Micah drifted from the fireplace, wandering over to where Henry’s formidable collection of books were arranged along shelves attached to the cave wall. Jenn watched the broad shoulders, read the underlying tension in them.
What was he thinking? Most of the time he was his usual easy-going self, ready to smile, as happy as he could be, considering the life he’d chosen. But some days, he seemed so … full of something, so overburdened with disappointment and some deep sense of betrayal.
And it was all because of Robert.
Micah had been only five when his father had sent him to Dunlorn to work for Robert’s father, Earl Trevor. He and Robert had become the closest of friends, despite the seven year age difference, and from that time until the Battle of Shan Moss, Micah’s loyalties had been firmly and wholly with Robert and his struggles for Lusara.
Then something had happened and, with Robert lying abed, clinging on to life, Micah had left as though banished from his side, travelled half the country to take up residence in a small cottage on the edge of Maitland estate. For the last eight years, he’d lived there alone, keeping watch on Andrew, accompanying him wherever he went, anywhere except court, and staying clear of anybody who might recognise him. He’d talked to the boy, taught him skills he’d learned from Robert, and not once given away the secret of Andrew’s parentage.
The loyalty he’d once given the father, he now gave to the son, without question, without reserve – and yet, there was still something in Micah anchored to Robert, as though it didn’t matter how many years had passed, he would still, at some point, want satisfaction, want … an answer. His open idealism hadn’t changed a whit, despite the disappointments he’d faced.
They were all so bound up together in this, all equally trapped within the same spider’s web. They looked to each other for answers, but after all this time, she wasn’t so sure there were any.
With a creak, the bedroom door opened and Arlie emerged, looking tired and pale. Jenn got up and Arlie met her halfway.
‘How is he?’
‘It’s bad, I’m afraid. It’s his heart.’ He ran a hand through his fair hair. ‘It will be hours, no more. I’ve given him something to help him sleep and eased his pain. I’ll be back shortly. I just need to get some air. Celia’s in there with him at the moment.’
Jenn gave his arm a squeeze as he moved by her. As Arlie disappeared, Jenn turned to Micah. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve got an early start, remember?’
Micah looked once at the bedroom door, then said, ‘Call me if you need anything.’
As his footsteps receded into the distance, Jenn returned to her seat by the fire, picking up the book she’d brought in with her. Though she could barely concentrate, there were questions that needed answers and, for good or ill, she was the one expected to find them.
‘Do you ever get the impression Micah’s hiding something?’ Finnlay was closely studying the cuff of his jacket, as though he’d just found something growing there without permission.
‘Don’t we all have something to hide?’ she replied.
‘Not me,’ Finnlay said. ‘I don’t have time for secrets – at least, not my own. What are you reading?’
‘A Discourse on Arcane Origins.’
‘Ah,’ Finnlay steepled his fingers together. ‘Forfau’s adventure into the philosophy of sorcery. I would have thought that kind of thing beyond your interests.’
‘Hey, I’m still playing catch-up, here. I missed out on fourteen years of education, thanks to Nash.’
‘Even so, this isn’t the kind of thing you usually read, is it?’ Finnlay was watching her, as though expecting her to take flight at any moment. ‘I understood you to be researching the history of sorcerers and the Cabal. Why philosophy suddenly?’
Jenn put the book on her lap and laced her own fingers together. ‘Let me ask you a few questions. Why can’t Robert and Nash Seek each other, despite the fact that they’ve met, fought, and should know each other’s auras inside out?’
‘You don’t know they can’t.’
‘Would they both still be alive now if they could?’ Finnlay didn’t answer that, but gestured for her to continue. ‘And how does the Key’s protection of the Enclave work, exactly? So that nobody can Seek somebody inside. Is a Seal related to that protection? When a Seal stops us from talking about the Enclave to anybody who is not also Sealed, is the Key operating that power from a distance, or has it been lodged within us?’
Finnlay’s continued silence drew one final question from her. ‘How complacent have we become because we have the power of the Key to protect us?’
One corner of his mouth lifted up in something of an ironic smile. ‘You know, a few years ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about that.’
‘But now?’
His gaze shifted back to the fire. ‘Now I find that I wish Desta and Seamus were right. I wish I could ignore the existence of Nash and Kenrick, perhaps take my daughters to see Dunlorn, teach them about my part in their heritage.’
‘But you’ve never been happy living here, Finn.’
‘No.’ Flames danced and haunted his eyes. ‘But until last night, it never really hit me that I could be here forever. That I might … die here.’
A chill ran through Jenn at his words, but she refused to settle there, on that note. Instead, she shifted until she was comfortable, sipped her cooling brew and said levelly, ‘Then let me give you another question to consider: what will become of us, of our ways, our schools and training, our history and traditions, when the day finally comes that we can live out there, in safety. What will we all become then?’
Finnlay snorted at that, but there was more humour in his eyes. ‘Free, Jenn. That’s what we become. Free.’
*
Inside his cave bedroom, it was so totally dark Andrew could see nothing, no matter how long he kept his eyes open. His mother had left no light on in the other room, so nothing crept under the door to give the shapes in his bedroom any identity. As a child, he’d had nightmares about the Enclave, dreaming of walls crushing in on him, of the roof developing cracks and of being buried alive. He’d asked and asked and lost count of the number of times he’d been reassured that the caves were perfectly safe – and yet, the nightmares had continued for years.
Sometimes when he came to the Enclave, he felt so at home he didn’t want to leave again. And then there were trips like this one, when almost every word said to him reminded him that he didn’t really belong here, no matter how hard he tried.
And not having any powers didn’t help at all. At least the others would accept him then, instead of looking at him as though he were either a traitor for living outside, or some kind of spy for his mother.
Would there come a time when he wasn’t welcome to come back to the Enclave? Isn’t that what had happened to Duke Robert? He’d never been a sworn member of the Enclave, but he’d been welcome for twenty years, and then suddenly the Key had banished him. Was that why he’d gone on to become a rebel?
Oh, the questions he would ask if he ever got the chance. Like what did it feel like to use the Word of Destruction and how had he discovered he had powers as a boy and how had he learned to mindspeak and what had it been like to face Selar on the battlefield at the age of fifteen – and hadn’t he been afraid to fight Nash at Shan Moss?
Hadn’t he been afraid of anything?
Fear worried Andrew. A lot.
He rolled over, breathing deeply as Lady Margaret had taught him, willing his body to sink into the bed and draw him into sleep. Still the walls groaned under the weight of the mountain, just as they did in his dream. Now it was no longer the dream which kept him awake, but an aware, conscious feeling that something was wrong. Something terrible. Something was creeping along the dusty floors of the Enclave, seeping under doors the way the light should have.
