Rebel's Cage (Book 4) (38 page)

The sudden silence inside was almost frightening after the icy gale. He climbed the stairs slowly, stripping sodden leather gloves from his hands, pushing his hood back to brush crusted snow from his hair. When he arrived at the landing he almost smiled. His door was open, the room lit with candles and the deep yellow glow of a blazing fire.

He stepped inside, closed the door and waved a warning over it from habit. Trust was something he’d long ago sacrificed in favour of survival. Barely suppressing a groan, he pulled his cloak from his shoulders and dropped it over a chair, then made for the fireplace and the man who stood waiting for him, a cup of steaming wine held out.

DeMassey said nothing as he took it in both hands. He sipped, swallowed, not caring that the liquid was hot enough to burn his mouth and sear his throat. Spices assailed his senses and he breathed them in, welcoming the fragment of comfort. Only when he’d drained half the cup did he turn to face Gilbert.

‘Better?’

‘A little,’ DeMassey answered. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were headed back to Karakham for the winter.’

‘Oh,’ Gilbert placed his hands behind his back and turned it to the fire. ‘Nash decided that I would be more useful here, though he’s given me precious little to do.’

‘Which bothers you not at all.’

‘I manage to keep busy.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ DeMassey did smile a little then, putting
the cup down long enough to draw off his damp jacket and pull out another from a chest under the window. He’d known Gilbert Dusan all his life. They’d grown up together at Karakham and though the man undoubtedly kept his own secrets, he had been a friend these long years and had certainly never betrayed DeMassey. Nevertheless, he did work for Nash, in his own way. As grandson to Aamin, leader of the Malachi, Gilbert held a unique place amongst his people, though he appeared happy to report to Nash on the workings of the Chabanar without a single squirm of conscience.

Like most men in this farce, Gilbert played his own game and shared it with no other.

Just as DeMassey did.

‘What happened?’

The question speared into his drifting concentration. He pulled on the jacket and returned to the fire, his face almost hurting with the heat. ‘Kenrick’s men picked up two Salti children. They managed to kill the boy before we discovered what they were. Then Kenrick tried to bleed the girl, but he claims she was rescued by the Douglas brothers.’

‘Claims?’

DeMassey shrugged.

‘By the blood! If those two are around again, trouble can’t be far off. He said
both
brothers?’

‘Yes. Why?’

Gilbert frowned. ‘Kenrick didn’t tell you anything of what was said?’

‘And why would he tell me something like that?’ When Gilbert rolled his eyes, DeMassey added, ‘I was thinking that perhaps it was a trap, but they left Kenrick alive.’

‘Or perhaps it was a trap to see if these law changes were in earnest.’

‘Possibly.’

Gilbert said nothing for a moment, then leaned into the fireplace to pick up the long-handled pot sitting on a grate above the flames. He poured more wine for DeMassey, then filled his own cup. ‘I think you need to be very careful, my friend.’

Turning, DeMassey surveyed his friend. Gilbert had been an ungainly child. Never handsome, he’d grown positively ugly as an adult, with thick black eyebrows hovering over eyes of deep amber. With skin marked from a childhood disease and a nose that dominated almost every expression, Gilbert was as oblivious to his looks as DeMassey was proud of his. The long rust-red hair had always been kept in a plaited braid, though now there were swathes of white in it, enhancing the confusion of colours about the man’s face.

There were too many things he didn’t know about Gilbert any more, too many distances between them, too many things he had to hide for safety’s sake.

‘Careful?’ DeMassey radiated innocence in every aspect of his stance. He’d had eight years to perfect it, after all. ‘In what way and with whom? Is there trouble with the Chabanar?’

‘No,’ Gilbert said, ‘it’s not Aamin. I’m talking about Nash. You need to tread very carefully with him.’

‘Why? What have I done now?’

‘That’s a good question.’ Gilbert tilted his head to one side, smiling enough to reveal hopelessly crooked teeth. ‘A question he wants answered.’

‘You’re talking in riddles.’

‘Which is the only way to deal with this, I fear.’

Showing more than a little irritation, DeMassey turned away. He pulled up a chair and sat, kicking his boots off towards the fireplace. His feet instantly ached. ‘Just say whatever it is, will you? I’m too tired for games tonight.’

Gilbert was silent a moment, then said, ‘He suspects you of something. He doesn’t say what, but he is sure you are up to … something he wants to know about. Are you?’

DeMassey laughed a little. ‘Nash sees enemies in every shadow. I’ve never worked against him.’

‘Haven’t you?’

He looked up at that and a wave of discomfort brushed over him. Was it possible that Gilbert knew? Had followed him? Found out something?

Friendship or no, if that were the case, Gilbert would have to
die, no question about it. DeMassey couldn’t afford another person to know, not even one he trusted this much.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You remember my niece? Sairead?’

‘Of course.’

‘She told me,’ Gilbert paused, ‘when you were injured and about to flee from Shan Moss—’

‘That was years ago,’ DeMassey tried to dismiss this with a wave of his hand, but Gilbert persisted.

‘She was there, with you and Valena and you said things.’ Gilbert lifted his chin. ‘You and Valena were planning to kill Nash then, were you not?’

DeMassey didn’t answer. He just sat back, stretched his feet out and laced his fingers across his stomach. ‘What’s that got to do with warning me now?’

Gilbert didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watched DeMassey, appraising and evaluating without blinking. Then abruptly he drained his cup and placed it down on the table. He collected his cloak and swung it about his shoulders. Only then did he reply. ‘I don’t expect you to trust me. I understand why you can’t. I just thought I’d ask, in case you thought you might. Even so, my warning is valid. Nash is having you watched. He has questions about your activities that seem to have no answers. If you
do
have something to hide, I suggest you curtail your behaviour enough to allay his suspicions. Either that, or do something about them. I don’t think he’s going to wait much longer.’

Gilbert didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he made for the door. With his hand on it, he paused, turning slightly. ‘My guess is you have perhaps until spring before he demands answers. And then he’s going to ask you where Valena is. You’d better have an answer prepared.’

*

‘You did what?’

Kenrick clenched his jaw, determined not to flinch as Nash stormed up to him, fire-spitting fury surging through him, filling the room.

‘You idiot!’ Nash bellowed. ‘You had a Salti child in your
hands and you let the Douglas take her away from you? And why? Because you couldn’t wait to get the little girl’s blood, was that it? Or did you plan to use her for some other purpose? By the blood of Broleoch, she was a Douglas! If not his daughter, then certainly his niece. Her blood would have been enough for me! I could have regenerated fully – but no, you had to get your childish revenge, didn’t you! Had to get your filthy paws all over her and destroy the only chance we are ever likely to have! You fool!’

With that, Nash raised his hand so fast, Kenrick didn’t see the blow until he staggered back against the desk, eyes wide at the force, the power behind it.

Nash wasn’t as weak as he made out, that much was certain. A wave of horror surged through him, intermingling with his fear.

The old man pursued him, grabbing his collar, hissing into his face with a visage torn and mangled by his fight with Robert Douglas. ‘I trusted you with that orb – and now
he’s
got it! Do you have any idea the damage he could do with it? Damn it, I knew it was a mistake to give it to you! And now it’s too late!’ With a disgusted grunt, Nash threw him off. He straightened up and turned away, pacing hard and fast without the aid of a stick.

Shaking, Kenrick steadied himself on the desk and straightened up. Be afraid of Nash, Douglas had told him. He’ll use you and throw you away.

But only if I let him.

He held himself in, containing the desire to strike down Nash where he stood. A simple blade would be enough and if he wasn’t warned, the old monster wouldn’t be able to stop him.

How had he managed to give this man so much power over him?

‘So he’s moving about now,’ Nash threw words about the room like seeds in a fallow field. ‘He’s well recovered from
his
injuries and moving about, doing things, paying attention to what
you’re
doing. But he didn’t kill you. He could have, but he didn’t. Why?’

Kenrick blinked as Nash turned to him, demanding an answer. Quickly, Kenrick dredged up the words, deliberately ignoring what Douglas
had
said. ‘DeMassey and the rest of his Malachi were almost at the ruin. He didn’t have time—’

‘Time? He could have killed you in a second, no more. About the same amount of time it would take
me
to do it.’ Nash turned and resumed his pacing. ‘No, he didn’t kill you because of something else – but what? Oh, but of course, he wouldn’t do it, would he? He’s a man of strong principles and beliefs. A man who wouldn’t stand against your father because he’d made a foolish oath of allegiance when only a boy of seventeen. But still, surely he would have made some attempt to …’

Nash came to a halt and Kenrick could see part of that ravaged face in profile, firelight dancing across the scars, enhancing the ugliness.

‘Did he say anything to you?’

The question was asked lightly, as though it bore no particular weight, and yet, for all the temper he’d displayed since Kenrick had entered the gallery, these words struck him most deeply.

Feigning nothing, for that would give him away, Kenrick answered with his own question. ‘No. What could he have said to me?’

Nash listened, said nothing for a moment, then turned his back, facing the fire squarely. ‘Get out of here before I forget why I need you alive. And if by some bizarre miracle, you ever get your hands on another Salti, you bring him here, to me, immediately. Do you understand? Do you?’

Rage and fear seething within him, Kenrick deliberately didn’t reply. He just turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

*

Washed, changed, fed and exhausted, DeMassey climbed into bed leaving only the remaining glow from the fireplace to light the room. As he settled back, his gaze returned again to the door, to the memory of Gilbert standing there, his words echoing in the soft darkness, soaking into the floorboards, gathering in the cracks.

Panic sat in the background of his mind. It shadowed his every thought, every attempt he made to avoid going near the subject Gilbert had mentioned.

His time was almost up. He had perhaps a few short months, no more. And with the weather, there was little opportunity to do much in the meantime.

He should have moved before, years ago, when it would have been possible to do it and get away with it. But back then, they’d had no idea just how imperative it would be.

They’d both been blind. Equally stricken, equally to blame. Even so, the solution still fell on his shoulders. He was, after all, the only one who could do anything about it.

He settled further into his bed, pulling the covers up against a cold that would steal into the room like a murderer. He had no options. He had little time. The panic could wait until morning before it overtook him.

*

Deep snow damped everything, even the sounds of the morning, of Kenrick’s soldiers trooping out of his gate, of their calls to one another, of their relief to be leaving. Cushioned by that all-encompassing white, they escaped in flat grey light, turning east, making for safety in Marsay.

Nash watched from his bedroom window as row after row of liveried men, their horses and the others that had accompanied the King – others such as DeMassey – moved off.

As always, his behaviour had been immaculate. Nash’s spies had reported nothing in recent weeks to engender more suspicion. There was nothing in his actions that Nash could pinpoint, and yet, there was still that underlying feeling that DeMassey was up to something, absences he could not account for, questions filled with evasive answers. Unfortunately, there was a limit to what Taymar could discover. He had no powers of his own and had to rely entirely on stealth – skills too fragile to succeed with a man of DeMassey’s abilities. Not only that, but the Baron had a host of highly trained D’Azzir at his beck and call: men and women who had volunteered to work for Nash’s cause, but who would follow only DeMassey’s orders.

A problem that seemed to have no solution: getting to
DeMassey required he risk the wrath of the entire D’Azzir, if not the whole Malachi nation. It was a risk he wouldn’t be willing to take normally, if he didn’t already have an idea of what the man was hiding. Proving it was one thing – doing something about it another matter entirely.

The last of the soldiers below filed through Ransem’s gate and the enormous barbican was lowered behind them, a faint tremor beneath his feet indicating that it was closed. Immediately the silence became almost palpable. Cloud drifted down lower and everything, it seemed, came to a slow, steady and numbing halt.

Robert Douglas had come back.

The shadow had stepped back into the light where Nash could almost see him, almost touch him. Close, but not close enough. And healed, too; certainly enough for him to move around as Nash could only dream of.

And if he was moving like this, content to show himself to Kenrick in such a manner, then he was much more advanced in his plans than Nash was!

He gazed into the snowy morning, his eyes burning with the glare.

He’d run out of time.

It was entirely possible that he had overstepped the mark with Kenrick. That boy lived on an edge of fear that normally thrilled him and previously, Nash’s temper had served only to keep them wary and alert to each other. He had two choices, find a way to woo the boy back to him, to keep him happy, to keep him willing to remain allies – or he could wash his hands of the entire mess and begin looking for a replacement.