Arrow (Knife) (7 page)

‘Oh, come now,’ said Martin. ‘Don’t look so shocked. You ate that sandwich I gave you readily enough.’

So he had stolen their dinner, too. Rhosmari felt as though she had swallowed a handful of dust. But what could she do? The food was gone now, and she had no idea where it had come from. She pressed her lips together and looked away.

Martin gave a short laugh. ‘Are you really so virtuous? How it must gall you to serve the Empress. Or…do you?’

Rhosmari glanced at him warily. ‘Do you?’

‘What do you think?’ He raised his brows at her. ‘Would the Blackwings be trying to kill me if I did?’

‘Kill you! Why?’

‘Because the Empress commanded it,’ he said. ‘Why else? She ordered me to kill someone. I told her I would rather not. And when she tried to force my obedience and found she could no longer do so, she declared me a traitor and a spy.’

Rhosmari’s fingers tightened on the arms of her seat.
Could no longer do so.
If Martin was free of the Empress’s control, then he must have touched the Stone of Naming. But how, and when? Did she dare ask, or would that be giving too much away?

‘I have a question,’ said Martin. ‘Why did you help me? Are you not afraid of what the Empress would do to you if she found out?’

‘I have a question first,’ said Rhosmari. ‘How did
you
defy the Empress?’

Martin studied her closely, as though weighing her with his gaze. At last he said, ‘Have you heard of the Stone of Naming?’

Even if she had been capable of lying, she could not have brought herself to do so. ‘Yes.’

‘Then you must also have heard about the Battle of Sanctuary, where Rob and his fellow rebels fought the Empress. You know Rob?’

‘A little,’ said Rhosmari cautiously. Rob was the one who had first told Linden and Timothy about the Stone of Naming, and urged them to look for it. Though if she remembered the story correctly – and after viewing the loreseed so many times, she ought to – Rob had not known where to find the Children of Rhys, and neither did any other faery on the mainland. Timothy had figured out that part all on his own…

No, she was not going to start thinking about Timothy again. In a firmer voice Rhosmari said, ‘Go on.’

‘I was at Sanctuary when the battle took place,’ said Martin. ‘After the Empress and her followers fled, Rob offered the Stone to anyone who wished to be free, and of course I accepted the offer. But I was not ready to join the rebellion, so I struck out on my own.’ He gave a rueful shrug. ‘You can see how well that succeeded.’

‘She captured you?’

‘In a sense. She believed that I was still loyal to her, and I decided to play along, thinking I would soon find another chance to escape. But when I refused to kill Rob, she realised her mistake…and I have been running from the Blackwings ever since.’

Rhosmari was silent, mulling over his words. So the Stone had last been seen in London, with Rob and the rebels. But that had been days or even weeks ago. Where was it now?

‘I thought at first that if I could find the rebels again, I would be safe,’ said Martin reflectively. ‘And I heard a rumour that they had gone to a place called the Oak, so I decided to look for them there. But by the time I arrived…well.’ He grimaced. ‘You know the rest of that story.’

Apprehension flickered in Rhosmari’s chest. ‘What story?’

‘About the Oak, and what happened to it.’ He gave her a curious look. ‘You really have not heard?’

Her pulse was racing now. If Garan had gone to the Oak to help Linden and her people, and then Rob had followed them there with the Stone… ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Please.’

Martin spread his hands, as though to apologise for what he was about to say. ‘The Empress attacked the Oak a few days ago, and burned it to the ground. A few of the rebels and Oakenfolk escaped, but many were captured, and the rest…are dead.’

‘No!’ The word tore out of Rhosmari before she could stop herself. ‘The Oak destroyed? That can’t be!’

‘I understand,’ said Martin. ‘I could hardly believe it myself. With Rob and his rebels there, I would have expected more of a battle. But when I got to the Oakenwyld, it was already over.’

Rhosmari’s hands were shaking. She pressed them against her thighs to still them. Had Garan been killed? Her fellow scholar Broch? Or Llwynog, whose common name meant
fox
, but who was so mild-mannered that everyone called him
Llinos
, a harmless little bird, instead? What of Linden, and her human friends? Timothy, and Paul, and Peri – had the Empress killed them too?

And what had become of the Stone of Naming?

Rhosmari squeezed her eyes shut, breathing hard. She could not afford to fall apart. She had to concentrate. She had to
think.

‘I’ve upset you,’ said Martin. ‘I apologise. But I thought every faery in Britain must have heard the news by now. Where have you been, not to know about all this?’

She shook her head, too distracted to answer. The Oak was gone, the rebels scattered. She had no idea where the Stone had gone, or whether she had any hope of finding it in time to forestall her mother’s plan. Perhaps she should just give up now, and turn back?

But if she returned to the Green Isles empty-handed, that would only prove to everyone that Lady Celyn had been right, and the only way to retrieve the Stone was to send the Children of Rhys out in force…

‘Well,’ said Martin, ‘I know at least one thing about you now: you do not serve the Empress. And I could almost swear that you have never belonged to her, unlikely as that seems.’ He leaned closer. ‘So why leave the safety of your Wyld, if you have managed to avoid the Empress until now?’

Rhosmari kept silent, but Martin persisted. ‘You obviously wanted the Oakenfolk and the rebels to succeed. Was that why you were travelling this way? Were you hoping to join the rebellion, and fight with them?’

‘Fight? No!’ Of course she felt sorry for the Empress’s slaves, and would like to see them freed. But only the Stone of Naming could do that, not violence and bloodshed.

Although, if she found the Stone and took it back to the Green Isles, the mainland faeries would never have the chance to use it…

Rhosmari rubbed wearily at the bridge of her nose. Why did everything have to be so complicated? ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘I only wanted to find someone who left our Wyld to join the rebels, and ask him for – for help.’

‘Ah, that makes more sense,’ said Martin, settling into his seat again. ‘I was finding it difficult to imagine you as a soldier. I have no love for fighting myself, particularly in what seems to be a losing cause.’ His gaze flicked to the window. ‘Yet I am not ready to surrender to the Empress, either. Perhaps…we can help each other.’

‘How?’ asked Rhosmari.

‘We can look for the rebels together,’ he said. ‘I know Rob well enough to guess where he and his people would be most likely to hide. I know how to get almost anywhere in this country by train, which is a good way to stay ahead of the Blackwings, or anyone else who might follow us. And we each have magical skills that the other does not, so the two of us can protect each other better than either of us could do alone.’

He did have a point, Rhosmari had to admit. And he was in her debt, so he had good reason for wanting to help her. ‘And once we find the rebels?’ she asked.

‘Then I’ll go my own way,’ said Martin. ‘As I said, I have no interest in martyrdom. But if you need an escort back to your home Wyld…’ He gave a shrug that was not quite indifferent. ‘I would be glad to do that, too.’

Now she understood. He must be thinking that if he helped Rhosmari, her people would give him refuge from the Empress. But the Elders would never allow a thief and a deceiver to set foot in the
Gwerdonnau Llion
, unless they were certain he had repented of his ways.

‘All right,’ she said at last, ‘it’s a bargain. But no more tricks. If we need food, or lodging, or transport, we pay for it honestly.’

‘Then you’ll have to pay for both of us,’ said Martin. ‘I have no money at all. But if it means so much to you…’

‘It does.’

‘Then I accept your terms.’

The train station at Cardiff was the noisiest, most confusing place Rhosmari had ever seen. Humans hurried in all directions, laughing and arguing and embracing one another, shouting into little boxes they held in their hands or bobbing their heads to rhythms that they alone could hear. Though most faeries – Rhosmari included – were chary of touch, she was grateful for Martin’s steadying hand on her elbow as he steered her through the commotion.

‘I know this city,’ he said, as they emerged into the brightly lit hall at the end of the corridor, a place lined with booths selling food and merchandise and swarming with people of all colours and ages. ‘I have friends here, and I know a place we can stay.’

His confidence surprised her. Faeries did not often speak of having
friends
, even on the Green Isles. ‘Where?’ she asked.

‘This way,’ said Martin. He plunged through the crowd to the station entrance, dodged a pained-looking human couple with a trio of squabbling children, and led the way outside. ‘Cardiff,’ he announced with satisfaction, spreading his arms to the looming buildings and the darkening sky.

Rhosmari had never been in a large city before, and ordinarily she would have been fascinated. But right now she was too tired to do more than squint and nod.

‘Come on,’ said Martin. Unlike her, he was practically springing with energy – but then, he had slept on the train. Before Rhosmari could protest he caught her hand, fingers snaking through hers in a way that made her shiver, and dragged her towards the street.

As they came out onto the main road, Rhosmari winced and shielded her eyes. Everything hurt to look at: signs blazing above shop windows, streetlights glowering overhead, the headlamps of vehicles blinding her as they rumbled past. ‘Is it far?’ she asked. ‘I—’ Then a wave of smog assaulted her and she doubled up coughing, unable to finish the sentence.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Martin told her, looking more amused than sympathetic. ‘And we’ve a few streets to go yet – but we’ll be there soon enough.’

Minute after dreary minute they walked, while the night closed in and the air turned from cool to cold. Rhosmari was numb all over by the time they stopped, in front of a narrow door whose painted sign read
BARDHOUSE THEATRE COMPANY
. There was a button beside the doorway; Martin pressed it and waited.

‘Shh,’ warned a hoarse voice, as the door cracked open and a tousled head poked out. ‘They’ve already started. If you want to audition, you’ll have to—’ The man straightened up, eyes rounding with surprise. ‘Mad Martin! I thought we’d seen the last of you! Who’s this, your girl?’

‘Not so much, I’m afraid,’ said Martin. ‘We met on the train. Good to see you again, Toby. Mind if we come in and watch for a bit? I thought Rhosmari might enjoy—’ his voice dropped into a mocking drawl— ‘a
unique cultural experience.
’

‘Oh, you’ll have that here, all right,’ sighed Toby, pushing his hands through his hair until it stood on end. ‘I’ve never seen such a dismal lot of amateurs, and Lyn’s been carving them up like Christmas geese. But if you’re up for the punishment, I won’t stop you. Watch the ladder—’ and with that, he backed inside.

Rhosmari stared after him, weariness forgotten in the astonishment of discovering that Martin’s friends were human. But she had little time to dwell on it, because Martin had already stepped over the threshold, and she had to follow.

They emerged into a narrow entryway, with a paper-littered study just visible to their right and a staircase heading upwards on the left. A battered stepladder stood to one side of the corridor, with a striped cat sleeping underneath. Martin slid past it without so much as a glance, but Rhosmari crouched to look at it more closely. There were no cats on the Green Isles, and this was her first encounter with one. Was it tame? Would it let her touch it?

‘Come on,’ Martin hissed over his shoulder, and reluctantly she rose and joined him. They stepped through a curtained arch into a deep, windowless room half lost in shadow. Rows of chairs filled the space from top to bottom, angling downwards to a starkly lit platform at the front. With a nod to their human guide, Martin slipped into a seat, and Rhosmari sat down beside him.

‘What is this place?’ she whispered. But Martin only pointed to the stage, where a drab-looking woman stood clutching a book to her chest. Her gaze was fixed on someone in the front row, her expression full of nervous hope as she asked, ‘How was that?’

‘It was bloody awful,’ said a laconic female voice. ‘Not this time, love.’

The woman wilted and slunk off the platform. ‘Next,’ said the bored-sounding woman, and a girl with frizzy brown hair scraped back into a knot climbed up to take her place. She gave a wavering smile, cleared her throat, and began:

‘The quality of mercy is not strained; it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: it blesseth him that gives and him that takes…’

Unlike the woman who had come before her, she held no book in her hands; she seemed to be reciting the speech from memory. Unfortunately, she was concentrating too hard on getting the words right to put much expression into them, and Rhosmari felt an unexpected flash of sympathy. She leaned forward in her seat, willing the girl to relax and not be afraid.

The result was startling. At once the girl stood taller and began to speak with more confidence, investing the speech with such passion that it almost seemed the words were her own. Her eyes shone and her gestures became eloquent as she urged her unseen hearer to consider her argument, examine his heart, and choose compassion over the letter of the law:

‘I have spoke thus much, to mitigate the justice of thy plea; which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice must needs lay sentence ’gainst the merchant there.’

She finished with a little bow, then stepped back and waited. The stark lights picked out the freckles on her skin and the flush in her cheeks; she was breathing quickly, and Rhosmari felt her nervousness as though she were on trial herself.