Silence and Stone (3 page)

Alida looked through the crack in the stone and saw Gavin gathering flowers again.

When he finally brought the tray, the flowers were soaked with rain.

“I thought you would like it,” he whispered. “But I can dry the petals off if you want me to.”

“I am so glad you didn't,” she whispered. “I've missed rainwater almost as much as I have missed flowers. And the sky. And talking to someone.”

He didn't answer, but she didn't hear him walking away, either.

Alida tried to think of something to more say,
but she was too hungry to think. She nibbled at one of the lilies.

It was delicious.

The drops of rainwater made her sigh.

Eating real faerie food reminded her of her family, her home, of everything she loved. And it made her feel a little stronger every day.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I am so grateful.”

She heard the door creak and jumped back. Was he leaning against it?

“If I help you get out of here,” he said quietly, “will you help my grandmother get well?” Before she could answer, he went on, “My parents died of the fever when I was a baby. She is the only family I have.” She heard him take a long breath, then he said, “Please don't lie to me.”

Alida lifted her wings, then folded them tight again.

If she told Gavin the whole truth, she might stay here forever. And she
could
help his grandmother,
she would just have to find her mother first.

“Yes,” she said, barely breathing the word. Then she forced herself to say it so he could hear it. “Yes! I can help her.” Alida held her breath.

“I'll come back tonight just before moonrise,” he whispered. “Be ready.”

Alida couldn't hear him walking away because she was dancing. She whirled around and around until she was out of breath. Then she walked on her tiptoes, feeling fluttery.

When she finally calmed down enough to look around the chamber, she realized that the only thing she had to carry home with her was her blanket.

She folded it in half, then rolled it up, very carefully. Her mother had woven it for her. It was magical, like her dress; it wasn't faded or dirty.

It weighed less than a hummingbird.

Faeries' looms were strung with spider silk.

The weft threads were spun from thistledown.

Alida sat on the edge of the too-big bed for a
while, then got up and walked along the wall, sliding her fingers along the cool, gray stone.

She had been here so long, it would be very odd to leave.

Her mother would be so happy to see her.

Her sister would dance and sing.

Her whole family—and everyone else—would celebrate.

Alida imagined the feast.

Her family would let Gavin stay because he had saved her.

He might be too big to sit at the table.

Maybe she could sit beside him on the grass.

She closed her eyes and imagined the faerie lights, drifting in the air, the singing and the laughter. It would be
wonderful
to be back with her family.

5

Alida refused to lie down. She sat upright, listening, scared Gavin would come and she wouldn't hear him.

When she finally did hear his footsteps, she was so excited she jumped off the bed, fluttering her wings. She glided for an instant before her feet touched the stone floor.

“Are you ready?” Gavin whispered.

“Yes!” she whispered back.

She heard a soft, grating sound.

Gavin was sliding the heavy wooden bar that held the door shut.

She stood very still, hoping he was strong enough not to drop it.

A loud noise might bring a guard to come and look.

She heard a small clunk, no more than that.

The door creaked a little.

And then, suddenly, it swung wide open.

Gavin held a little box lantern in one hand. He raised it high. His eyes were wide and his hair looked even lighter in the candlelight. He was staring at her. No. Not at her—at her
wings
.

“I can't believe it,” he whispered. “You
are
real.”

Alida had never seen a human boy this close before—but she knew
he
was real.

“Why haven't you ever seen a faerie?” she whispered.

Gavin tilted his head; then she saw his expression change. “You don't know about Dunraven's law, do you?”

She shook her head.

“It's the reason you're here,” he whispered. “Sixty years ago Lord Dunraven's great-grandfather forbade faeries to see or speak to humans. It still isn't allowed—not ever, for any reason. It's the same for unicorns and dragons.”

Alida was too stunned to say anything.

Gavin lowered the box lantern and gestured for her to come out.

She took the first step, then the second.

She was feeling scared, joyous, grateful to Gavin, and furious with the old Lord Dunraven, all at once. She looked around. The little lantern was bright enough to cast dim light on the walls. The outer room was even bigger than she remembered.

She stared upward at the painted ceiling while Gavin set the heavy wooden bar back into place.

“I brought a shawl for you,” he whispered as he turned, untying a length of cloth from around his waist. “To hide your wings.”

Alida frowned and clutched her bundled blanket.

“You have to,” Gavin insisted. “If anyone sees us, they should think we're a brother and sister—farm children.”

Alida shook her head. “I can't,” she whispered. “It's too heavy, and it will hurt my wings and—”

“No it won't,” he interrupted. “Hurry!”

Alida took the shawl from him. It weighed almost nothing. The yarn had been spun from spider silk and thistledown and it was the perfect size. She looked up at him, amazed. “This is faerie cloth,” she whispered.

Gavin didn't answer. He pointed at the stairs and led the way.

Alida counted two hundred stairs as they went down, down, down, and out of the tower.

They turned into the first wide, echoing hallway and kept walking, quietly and quickly.

The castle was bigger than Alida could have imagined. It would have been easy to get lost, but Gavin knew the way.

Sometimes Alida could hear faint voices.

Once, in a long corridor, she saw barred doorways, one after another. And behind two of the doors, she heard angry shouts that echoed off the walls. Guards arguing? Or prisoners?

Gavin walked faster, and she had to run to keep up.

The voices faded when they turned a corner into another stone corridor. Gavin stopped suddenly and pulled her into the shadows near the wall.

There were guards ahead of them.

They were carrying torches, their polished armor shining.

None of the guards looked back. Gavin and Alida stood still, barely breathing, until they were out of sight. Then Gavin led Alida up the corridor and around another corner.

She was glad when he finally stopped and pushed open a huge door.

There was nothing but darkness beyond it—and the smell of a forest.

Alida followed him outside.

“See the stables?” he whispered.

She nodded. There was just enough starlight to see the shape of a long, low building. Carriages were lined up along one side.

As they got closer, she smelled hay and the sweet scent of horses' breath. She heard a chicken cluck, soft and sleepy. Then footsteps. Heavy ones.

“Is that you?” It was an old man's voice, and she knew it instantly. He was the one who had brought her here.

She spun around and ran.

Gavin chased her and managed to grab her hand. He pulled her to a stop.

“That's the man who—who—,” she stammered.

“I know,” Gavin interrupted her. “John brought you here because he had no choice. He will help you now. He'll carry food up the stairs every day so no one realizes you're gone. He's lending us his own mare to ride too, so no one will notice a horse is missing.”

“Why?” Alida demanded. “Why would he?” She jerked her hand free. “I can't trust him.”

“I'll explain as much as I can later,” Gavin interrupted. “We have to leave now.” He was watching her closely. She could tell he was ready to grab her again if he had to.

Alida heard the soft clopping of a horse's hooves.

“Get up, boy,” the old man said to Gavin as he led a snow-white mare into the moonlight. “I can help the faerie-child.”

Alida stared at him, her wings folded tight against her back.

Gavin swung up onto the mare's back.

“I know,” John said quietly. “I will be very careful of your wings.”

Alida backed away, but the old man was quick. His big, weathered hands swooped her up and set her on the mare before she could react.

There was no saddle.

Alida settled her rolled-up blanket between
herself and Gavin and arranged the shawl.

“Be alert, boy,” Old John said. “Care well for her.”

“I will,” Gavin told him. Then he looked over his shoulder at Alida. “Hang on,” he said.

Alida put her hands around his waist.

She had never ridden a horse before.

It felt very strange.

Gavin started off slowly, keeping the mare to a quiet walk, guiding her off the road and into the woods. Alida knew why. He didn't want anyone to hear them leaving, and they had to make their way around the town at the bottom of the hill without being seen.

She looked back at the castle and counted ten towers.

They all had little windows high on the walls.

She had no idea which of them had been hers.

For a long time, they kept to the shadows and let the mare pick her way. Neither of them said a word. Alida was excited, breathless. The forest smelled
sweet and clean. It was so wonderful and strange to be outside that for a long time, she kept hoping it wasn't all a dream.

Once they were a good distance from the castle, and long past the little town, Gavin guided the mare back toward the road.

Alida looked through the trees and saw the moon coming up.

It was plump and lovely, the color of hens' eggs.

The mare's hooves made a clopping sound on the hard-packed dirt of the road. “Hold on,” Gavin warned her, looking at her over his shoulder again. Then he leaned forward, and the mare rose into a rocking-horse canter.

Alida found her balance and matched the mare's rhythm.

It was scary, but only at first. The sound of the mare's hooves on the road was graceful, musical.

The moon rose higher.

The stars moved across the sky.

The night passed, moment by moment.

When the sun came up, they found a thick stand of trees close to the road.

The mare grazed.

Gavin sat down and leaned against a tree trunk and fell asleep. Alida wrapped herself up in her blanket and stared at the limbs overhead for a long time.

Then she slept too.

They woke up midday and went on.

Alida asked about the law again, and Gavin repeated what he had told her.

“But my family lives in a forest not far from the town of Ash Grove,” she said. “We often see humans.”

“That's where we're going. But your family isn't there anymore,” Gavin said. “The faeries moved far away from people when the law was made.”

Alida felt almost dizzy. “How will I find them?”

“I know someone who can probably help you,”
Gavin said, and glanced back at her. “Don't worry.”

Alida nodded, but she felt lost and sad. Her home was no longer her home? The big meadow and the huge, smooth rock?

All the sleeping nests high in the trees, all the faerie lights she remembered, the forest . . . Was the meadow near Ash Grove empty?

She wasn't going home, after all.

That afternoon they found a creek and washed their hands and faces. Gavin had a piece of bread in his pocket. Alida found flowers. The mare grazed again while they both napped. Then they went on.

The next day, Gavin kept the mare at an easy jog through the woods. When the sun went down again, he guided her back to the road, so she wouldn't stumble over brambles or fallen limbs in the dark.

“We're more than halfway to Ash Grove,” Gavin told Alida.

As the moon rose, he nudged the mare into a canter again.