Arrow (Knife) (11 page)

Rhosmari slid the window open and gathered him in. She set the little bird down upon the edge of the bed, then stepped back as Martin transformed with a groan back into his faery self. He wore trousers but no shirt or jacket, and the wound on his shoulder was bleeding freely. Rhosmari clapped her hands to her mouth.

‘Don’t just stand there,’ said Martin in a faint, irritable voice. ‘I can’t heal myself, you know.’

‘I can’t heal you either,’ Rhosmari told him shakily. She had not seen so much blood since her father died, and its hot, metallic smell was making her queasy. But she had no talent for magical healing, even if she dared to try.

‘Water,’ Martin told her flatly, one hand pressed to his shoulder. ‘Soap. Bandages. Go.’

Rhosmari hurried to the tiny sink. Obeying Martin’s orders, she poured cupfuls of water over his shoulder and patted the wound with a soapy cloth until the worst of the mess was gone. Then she took the case off the pillow and tore it into strips to make a bandage. By the time she had wrapped the deep gash in several layers of cloth, the bleeding had slowed.

‘Good. Yes,’ said Martin, and then he eased himself onto his good side and lay still. Faeries usually appeared ageless, but the pain etched into his face made him look like a human of forty. Rhosmari pulled up a chair beside the bed.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ she whispered. ‘Byrne might have killed you.’

‘Ha,’ said Martin, though his laugh sounded feeble. ‘What else should I have done? Flown off and left you there?’

‘You could have.’ And for a few horrible moments, she had believed that he would. Not until the binding spell he had put on her dissolved had she realised it had all been a ruse to make the Blackwings think she was helpless…and that he had risked his own life to give her a chance to escape.

Martin’s eyes met hers, weary but unflinching. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t.’

Rhosmari looked down at her hands, knotting and unknotting in her lap. ‘I…was wrong not to confide in you,’ she said. ‘I was worried that…’ She stopped and took a deep breath. ‘I was worried about a lot of things. But I think you have a right to know.’

Martin did not answer, only watched her with his heavy-lidded gaze. The blood was seeping through the bandages on his shoulder, staining the white cloth dark. She had to look away before she could go on, ‘You asked me about the Wyld I came from. Well, my home is a place we call the
Gwerdonnau Llion
, or the Green Isles of the Ocean…and my people are known as the Children of Rhys.’

When Rhosmari had finished telling Martin her story, he was quiet so long that she feared he had fallen asleep. But then he said, ‘So your people have never known war. Not even the oldest ones?’

‘None that are still living,’ she replied. ‘The first generation of Rhys’s followers were warriors, but their chieftains had abused the gift of their true names by—’

‘Wait. They
gave
their names to these chieftains?’ Martin’s face contorted in disbelief. ‘How could anyone be so stupid?’

‘They did it out of loyalty,’ said Rhosmari defensively, though deep down she agreed with him. ‘In those days it was considered an insult, and an act of cowardice, for faeries not to give their true names when swearing fealty to their rulers. It was proof of their devotion, and of their faith in the good character of their lord or lady. But when the chieftains became greedy for power and began forcing their followers into battle after battle, that gift became a curse.’

‘Until this Rhys showed up with his Stone of Naming, and led your people to a magical land where their chieftains could no longer find them,’ said Martin. ‘How convenient. So what is it like, this
Gwerdonnau Llion
of yours? It sounds peaceful, but a little dull.’

‘Not at all,’ Rhosmari said. ‘We have as much to do as any faery on the mainland. We work and play and learn, we marry and raise children. And if we lack anything, we send out a party to visit the human world, and trade with them for whatever goods or knowledge we need.’

‘So you can come and go from the Green Isles whenever you please?’ asked Martin. ‘And talk to any other faeries you wish, even if they are not of your people?’

Rhosmari hesitated.

Martin gave a thin smile. ‘I didn’t think so. You Children of Rhys may think yourselves rich, but you lack the most important thing of all – freedom. You talk about how Rhys and the Stone rescued your people from bondage, but it seems to me that you only left one form of slavery for another. Even if your Elders do not hold your true names, they still control you, as surely as the Empress controls the rest of us.’

‘It’s not like that,’ said Rhosmari, but even to her own ears the objection sounded weak, and she could think of nothing else to say.

‘This is not the first I have heard of your people, you know,’ Martin said. ‘Why do you think I went to Wales in the first place? I thought that if I could find the Children of Rhys, they might give me refuge from the Empress.’

So the news of Linden and Timothy’s journey to the Green Isles had spread among the mainland faeries, and now they knew – roughly – where her people lived. Rhosmari’s fists clenched in the folds of her skirt. How long would it be before the Empress knew as well? Or had she already questioned Llinos, and found out everything?

‘But after what you have told me,’ Martin continued, ‘I think I will be better off here. And obviously your
betrothed
—’ He put a slight edge on the word— ‘felt the same, or he would not have left the Green Isles to join the rebellion.’

‘But you must understand,’ Rhosmari said, ‘that what Garan did caused great trouble for our people? And that we need the Stone, too?’

Martin lay unmoving, his gaze distant. ‘I am not much concerned with that,’ he said at last. ‘I have my freedom already. You can sort that out with the rebels when we find them.’

So he was not going to try to stop her, after all. Rhosmari exhaled, her tension draining away. If she had known it would end so well, she would have had this conversation with him days ago.

‘Well,’ said Martin. ‘You should sleep.’ He began to get up, but Rhosmari stopped him with a hand to his chest. His skin felt so hot, she feared he might be feverish – but then, she was more than a little flushed herself.

‘Lie down,’ she said. ‘You’re still weak, and you need the bed more than I do. I’ll sit up and watch, while you rest.’

Martin frowned, as though about to protest. But then he took her hand from his chest, raised it to his mouth and kissed it. ‘As you will, lioness,’ he said, and closed his eyes.

Rhosmari woke the next morning to the touch of sunlight on her face. She jumped up from her chair – only to stumble and almost collapse. Her foot had fallen asleep. She hopped over to the windowsill and leaned on it, flexing her toes to make the pins and needles go away.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered to Martin, who had opened his eyes and was regarding her blearily. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’ Or doze off when she was supposed to be keeping watch, either. She could only hope he hadn’t noticed that.

‘No need to apologise,’ he said, sitting up and swinging his legs around. ‘I’ve rested long enough. It’s time we were on our way.’

He moved more easily now, strength and energy returned. With a snap of his good arm he whisked the top sheet off the bed, and transformed it into a long-sleeved shirt. ‘Byrne let something slip last night, when he was taunting me,’ Martin added as he eased his bandaged arm into a sleeve. ‘About knowing where the rebels are. And I’m pretty sure I know the place he was talking about.’

‘Where?’ asked Rhosmari.

‘Waverley Hall, just south of London. It’s a human house, but there’s a wood nearby where the rebels could easily make camp.’ He shrugged his way into the rest of the shirt and began to button it closed. ‘I know it’s a risk. It might even be a trap. But I think it’s worth looking into.’

Could the rebels be that easy to find? After days of fruitless hunting and running from the Blackwings, Rhosmari could scarcely believe it. And yet her heart beat a little faster, just the same.

Martin muttered an oath. ‘I can’t get this button done,’ he said, flapping his loose right cuff at her. ‘Do you mind?’

They had to travel three hours by train, then another by bus, and finally take a meandering walk along a footpath before they reached the grounds of Waverley Hall. But when Rhosmari caught sight of the house, her weariness vanished. It was as big as the Hall of Judgment, a size to command respect, and its red-gold brick made it warm and welcoming, even to a faery raised among white cottages and the sound of the sea.

Yet as they walked up the drive, she noticed that the formal garden was not as well tended as it should have been. It was only March, so she knew not to expect many flowers, but still there was an unkempt look about it. Weeds had sprung up in the gravel, and the paths were littered with broken twigs and dead leaves.

‘Stop,’ said Martin. ‘Can you smell them?’

Rhosmari inhaled, drawing deep of the fresh country air – and there it was, the tingling herbal scent that marked a faery presence. ‘Yes,’ she said, and broke into a smile.

‘I thought so,’ said Martin. ‘The wood, then.’ He started across the lawn, and with a glance around to be sure no one was watching, Rhosmari hurried after him.

It was odd, how quiet this place was. She would have expected there to be at least one or two humans about, for a house and garden of this size must take a lot of care. But when she ventured to say so, Martin only shrugged.

‘Wealthy humans often go away for the winter,’ he said. ‘No doubt the owners will be back in a week or two.’

She was following Martin along the back of the house when a little dog crawled out from behind the shrubbery. It was barrel-shaped, with sandy fur and a deeply wrinkled face, and when Rhosmari bent closer, two anxious brown eyes gazed back at her.

‘It’s all right,’ she said, and the dog waddled up and licked her fingers. Yet it was terribly thin for its round shape, its ribs showing through on both sides and its belly concave. She fingered the metal tag that hung from its collar and found it engraved with the dog’s name:
ISADORA
.

‘Martin?’ she called, but he had already vanished around the corner. She gave the dog an apologetic pat and hurried to catch up with him.

‘Where were you?’ he asked.

Rhosmari explained about the dog, but he showed no surprise. ‘Dogs escape from their owners all the time,’ he said. ‘It likely broke its lead and ran off days ago, and only now decided it was hungry enough to come home.’

It was hard for Rhosmari to imagine such a squat little dog running anywhere. But Martin was walking again, and there seemed no point in arguing with him.

By the time they reached the edge of the wood, Rhosmari was tingling all over with anticipation – and anxiety. What if Garan was dead? Or, like Llinos, a slave of the Empress? At any moment one of the rebels would step out to greet them, and then she would know.

But no one came. And though she and Martin crossed the wood from one side to the other and back again, there was no sign of a faery presence. In fact, the scent of them seemed to be fading, not getting stronger.

‘Stupid!’ exclaimed Martin, startling her. ‘I should have guessed. They’re not here at all. They’re in the house.’

‘In there?’ asked Rhosmari, frowning at Waverley Hall. The idea seemed ridiculous: even if the owners were in the habit of letting out rooms to strangers, the cost alone would make it impossible. After all, she had paid for only a few days’ food and lodging, and she had hardly any money left… Did she even know how much she had?

Automatically Rhosmari slipped her hand into her skirt pocket. But when she pulled out the first bit of paper she found, it proved to be nothing but a narrow piece of card with one end torn. At first she was puzzled, and then she realised that it was her theatre ticket from last night. Except…that one had been blue, with the name of the play printed on it. And this was white, and blank.

‘The Oakenfolk are friendly with humans,’ said Martin, still looking at the house. ‘Perhaps they know the people who live here, and struck some kind of bargain—’

‘You lied to me.’ Rhosmari spoke flatly, the card clutched in her hand. ‘You’re a faery, and you lied. How is that possible?’

‘What?’ Martin rounded on her. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You told me the stage manager had given you the tickets. But the truth was, you never talked to him at all. That’s why you picked the worst seats in the theatre, to make sure no one would challenge us for them. Because you
lied
,’ and she flung the false ticket onto the ground between them.

Martin’s brows crooked, as though she had troubled him. But when he spoke, his voice was cool. ‘So? You needed a distraction; I gave it to you. And the play was all the better for our presence, so you might well say we paid for it. But if you are so offended by a bit of harmless trickery, then by all means go back to Birmingham and settle the account to your satisfaction.’

And with that he turned his back on her, and strode away.

Rhosmari stood alone beneath the slow-dripping trees, her anger receding as she realised that he had a point. They had helped the actors by being there. Perhaps it was not the straight bargain she would have preferred, but Martin had obviously wanted her to see the play, and she had forced his hand by being so anxious over money. Which of them had shown the more generous spirit?

And that reminded her of something Timothy had said to the Elders, when they refused to help any Oakenfolk who could not pass their test.
What good are your laws
, he had demanded,
if they only help people who are perfect already?
He had called the Children of Rhys self-righteous. And though Rhosmari still mistrusted humans in general, she was beginning to think that Timothy had been right.

‘Wait!’ she cried to Martin, but he did not look back. She ran to catch up with him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she panted. ‘I was just…surprised.’

And she had been. In her experience, faeries could speak the truth in a misleading way, and some could even be sarcastic or facetious. But she had never guessed that any faery could lie outright. Perhaps Martin had learned it from his human friends… But that was not important now.