Icefall (9 page)

‘There will be,' she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘I can always find one if I want to. That's nothing but … administration. Let's assume it's done, shall we?'

‘Of course.' He bowed his head.

‘Far more to the point: There are three things I want right now, Cluaran. I want Rory. I want the witch back, to give her one last chance. And of course, I want Murlainn destroyed.'

‘Consider it in hand.'

‘It won't be properly in hand till they're back on this side of the Veil.'

‘Murlainn's clann won't return easily.'

‘I didn't say they had to do it easily.' The temperature of her voice dropped a few degrees. ‘That's quite enough duty of advice, Captain.'

Turning her back on him, she seized her mare's reins; Cluaran knelt and cupped his hands.
Good.
In these circumstances and after such a conversation, it was best to mount with some regal elegance, if not actual divine grace.

‘I've trusted you with my life and my future tonight, Cluaran, and we've shared more than enough words. I've one final test for Rory; when it's done and he passes it, I want him in my hands immediately. A boy, not the promise of one.'

And my damned tongue will not slip again till you bring him to me.

 

Jed

He loved the buzz of the razor against his skull. Every image that plagued him, every memory that stung, they were all soothed away for a while like hurt muscles. Leaning forward on the bedcovers, he wrapped his arms round his knees, shut his eyes and felt the tingle of pleasure creep down his spine and spread across his shoulders. Iolaire's hand pressed his head forward and the razor purred against the nape of his neck.

‘When I see how much you like this,' said Iolaire, ‘I'm tempted to let you shave mine, too.'

Jed gave a growling laugh, his eyes still closed. ‘You leave your hair where it is. If you want a neck rub I'm here for you.'

‘It's the easiest thrill I ever had to give,' said Iolaire. ‘You're such a cheap turn-on.' He clicked off the razor.

Jed rolled over and pinned him against the sheets. ‘But it
is
a turn-on.'

‘No you don't.' Iolaire shoved him off. ‘We need to talk.'

‘
Right now?
'

‘Right now. Caorann insists.' Iolaire tilted a rueful eyebrow.

Jed grunted. ‘Finn MacAngus can kiss my arse.'

‘Oh no, she can't.' Iolaire gave him a sweet smile. ‘But we'll get to that later.'

Jed flopped back, defeated. ‘What, then?'

‘She's worried about you.' Iolaire traced a fingertip across his temple. ‘We all are,' he added before Jed could fire back a retort.

‘I'm fine.'

‘No,' said Iolaire, ‘you're not. I was there, Jed. I watched what you did to that thug the other night.'

‘There's your operative word.' Jed swung down off the bed and examined his shaved head in the mirrored wardrobe. ‘The
thug
. He asked for what he got.'

‘That's not the point. The point is, you gave it to him.'

‘That's right. And he won't be doing it to anyone else. Not ever.'

‘And I'm glad.' Standing up, Iolaire put his arms round Jed's waist and watched his eyes in the mirror. ‘But the look on your face, Jed. I saw that, too.'

You saw it. Well, mate, I felt it.
That rictus of elated joy, like a mask that had melted onto his skin and fused with his flesh. And the best and worst of it was, he wasn't even sorry. He'd watched the blood spurt from the stump of a wrist and he'd felt no shock and no horror. More like hunger.

‘Jed. It's not only a witch that can take your soul. Don't give yours to Laszlo.'

‘He's already got it.'

‘That isn't true…'

‘It might as well be. And he's dead, so he ain't giving it back any time soon.' He turned into Iolaire's arms and cupped the man's face in his hands. ‘I'm joking.'

‘Some of your jokes I do not like.' The corner of Iolaire's mouth twitched effortfully. ‘Jed.'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘There's something you've never told me.'

Christ. He knew what was coming. He was surprised it hadn't come sooner, except that he'd been lulled into thinking it was long ago now, that no-one could possibly care. He knew he didn't. He turned in his lover's arms to face the mirror again.

‘I'm sure there's lots of things I never told you. Uh. I stole a bottle of blond hair dye one time, and I—'

‘Jed. What did Laszlo say to you?' Iolaire stroked his shoulder lightly, staring at his spine. Jed felt the vertebrae tense and contract under his lover's gaze.

Jed raised his eyebrows at Iolaire's reflection. ‘Does it matter?'

‘It seems to. What did he say as he died? Just tell me. Please.'

Jed coughed a laugh. ‘It was nothing.
Nothing
.'

‘No, it wasn't.'

‘All right.' Jed shrugged. ‘He said, “Welcome to my world.”'

‘Is that it?' Iolaire took a step back, frowning. He bit his lip. ‘Look, Laszlo was winding you up. He knew your weak spots. He knew how much Skinshanks riled you, he knew how you felt about that. He was just trying to—'

‘I know what he was trying to do. I'm not stupid.' Jed shook his head. As if that bothered him any more. It almost amused him to remember the angst he'd suffered, knowing the Lammyr had a soft spot for him, knowing Skinshanks had seen something in him worth nurturing. Knowing that every Sithe thought him Lammyr-turned and evil.

And sure, as Laszlo had bled out in his arms, as the life in him had drained out down Jed's blade, the man had said what he'd said in the hope of sending another poisoned dart into him. Jed knew perfectly well what Laszlo had intended by that remark. What a waste of a man's last breath, when there was so much more to be said.

Iolaire was watching his face, bewildered. ‘I wish you'd let me in your head.'

‘I know.' Jed sighed, then drew his lover close to kiss him gently.

Iolaire gave him a wry grin as he pulled away. ‘Sometimes I could kick Seth hard in the balls for what he did to you. Messing with your brain. You'll never trust any of us again, will you?'

‘Of course I will. I do. And I don't think, you know…' Jed chewed his lip. ‘I don't think that was entirely Seth's fault.'

‘Say
what
? Catch me before I fall.'

‘It's as much to do with me, I think. I don't think Seth planned it. It just happened. 'Cause he could feel my mind without even trying, really. He's told me so.'

Iolaire shrugged. ‘So you have a little Sithe blood. Who doesn't?'

‘Not much. Maybe a little bit, way, way back.'

‘And even then, Seth had no business screwing up your mind.' Iolaire's brow creased. ‘
What
?'

Jed blew out a breath and slumped onto the edge of the bed. ‘Can I make a confession?'

Iolaire sat down beside him, silent.

‘I might have
asked for it
,' Jed told him, avoiding his eyes. ‘Seth always said my mind was sort of … leaky. He said he could hardly help what he did.'

‘Aye. Excuses. Sometimes Seth makes me—'

‘You don't get it.' Jed shook his head sharply.

‘No, I don't, and I never truly will, because you won't let me near your head. So, you know, that kind of makes it your responsibility.' Iolaire spoke through his teeth. ‘To fucking
tell me.
'

He could have said nothing better suited to making this a hundred times worse. Jed put his head in his hands. ‘The times Seth was in my head. The times I was in his. That wasn't the last … it's not the last time my mind's gone, uh … walkabout.'

Iolaire turned. There was a light of unbearable hurt in his eyes and Jed wished he hadn't been the one to put it there.

‘Not deliberately. That's the thing. It's a bit, kind of, out of control. Just once in a while. Like when—'

‘Oh Jesus,' said Iolaire, paling. ‘No. Not him. Not
him,
Jed, when you won't let me—'

‘Like when Laszlo died.' Jed raised his voice, drowning out Iolaire's intolerable hurt. When Iolaire subsided into silence, Jed could only stare rigidly at the cheap print on the wall. It was a cheap and boringly common old etching you saw everywhere in town: the ruined local cathedral. ‘Laszlo, he kind of … fell into me. Or vice versa. I lost control of my own head.
Again.
I couldn't help it. That's what happened.'

Iolaire was studying the print now, too. ‘No wonder you didn't want to tell me.'

‘Are you angry?'

‘How can I be angry?' Iolaire's tone was clipped. ‘It's not your fault, you said so.'

‘It hasn't happened since. I don't go around seeing people's minds, I promise. Nobody sees mine. Honest.'

‘It's okay. I understand.
Honest.
' Iolaire managed a smile. ‘So you've been in Laszlo's mind when you've never been in mine. I mean, so what?'

‘I really am sorry.'

‘Don't apologise.
Goddammit.
No. Don't.' Iolaire took his hand and threaded his fingers through Jed's.

‘I'm sor—'

‘Damn it, god
damn it.
'

Jed shut up. The perspective was all wrong in that print, and the eighteenth-century sightseers in the foreground looked stiff, their faces drawn with childish crudeness. He inspected it till he thought he must be able to replicate every line and shading. It seemed a long time before Iolaire's hand tightened on his.

‘So, Laszlo's swansong.' said Iolaire at last. ‘You see anything worth seeing?' He was smiling. Just.

Jed's heart constricted in his ribcage, and for a moment his breath ached, but he grinned anyway. ‘Tell you something: His whole life flashed before him. Always thought that was a myth.'

‘Bloody hell. I hope the replay's entertaining when my turn comes. Was his?'

‘It was interesting, for sure.' Jed smiled thinly. ‘I swear I recognised quite a lot of it.'

‘Don't start that again. You're not like him. You're
nothing
like him.' Iolaire hesitated, and bit a nail. ‘Not if you're careful.'

‘And you think I'm not being careful enough.'

‘You're good at what you do, Jed. That's not wrong. Just don't love it too much. Not for its own sake, anyway.'

‘I don't.' He had had enough of the discussion already. He did not want to take it further, and he sensed Iolaire didn't either. ‘It's not what you are, it's what you do with it.'

‘Good.' Iolaire did look relieved. ‘Because I have a suggestion about that.'

‘Have we talked ourselves in a circle here?' Jed grinned at him.

‘Oh yeah.' Iolaire grinned back.

‘That's more my kind of conversation.'

‘Mine too.'

‘Shut up.'

‘Oh yeah.'

‘Yeah…'

 

Rory

The rhododendrons were so overgrown their clawing branches met overhead, and they dripped spring rain on Rory as he walked up the drive. Turning the corner he paused, shaking rain off his neck and pushing wet hair out of his eyes. Grian was crunching across the gravel, whistling to his yellow-eyed mongrel hound as he aimed his keys at his four-by-four and bleeped the locks. Catching sight of Rory, he nodded.

Rory hoped the healer wasn't going to launch into another rant about his father's abdication of responsibility. It wasn't as if it was his fault. Some days he felt like biffing Grian for insubordination, since Seth never would.

All Rory got from Grian, though, was a smug grin and a wink, and he almost fell over his own feet. He couldn't quiz the man on his change of mood, but it had to be for the better, because Grian was whistling
Boots of Spanish Leather
as he shut the boot on his dog and climbed into the driver's seat. No accounting for that man's temper swings. Rory stared, shrugged, and went on into the house.

Rory was fond of the old place. After the clean rainy air outside it smelt of old wood and books and very slightly of damp. He liked that. He was homesick, sure, but if he couldn't have the dun this must be the next best thing. He never got round to telling Finn how much he liked it, how it felt right, and smelt right. He should. Finn was in the TV room now, he could feel her. Whistling in echo of Grian, he pushed open the door.

Perched on the edge of the sofa, Finn gave him a rueful look, and Rory kissed her cheek. Behind her, on his stomach, lay Seth, his face buried in the cushions while Finn gently rubbed his back with one hand.

She let Rory read her mind. ~
Your father quit his job.

‘Again?' he mouthed silently. He crouched at Seth's head. ‘Hi, Dad.'

‘Hey, Rory,' came a muffled voice. With a great sigh, Seth turned his head and offered him a bleak smile. ‘Did Finn tell you? I couldn't bear it any more. I'm sorry.'

Rory made his eyes huge. ‘Are we poor, Daddy?'

‘Aye. I hope you're happy about going up chimneys.'

‘Sure. I'll get to be a water-baby.'

Seth grunted. ‘And now I would like to ruffle your hair affectionately, but you'll have to imagine it. I'm too comfy in my misery.'

Finn rubbed his shoulder muscle, making him sigh with contentment. ‘We're fine for now, Rory,' she said. ‘We still have Leonie's money.'

‘And when that's gone,' mumbled Seth, ‘we can sell that dump Tornashee.' For that, he earned a pummelled spine, and he yelped. ‘Okay! Okay! Joke! Ow, Finn, give me a break. No, Rory, we're fine. It's not the money.'

‘Your father's bored,' said Finn with a long-suffering sigh.