Silvermay (27 page)

My body began to go numb with cold, as though I'd stripped off my dress and walked outside into falling snow. Somehow I found myself in a chair beside him at the table, with Lucien's arm stretched out like before. Poor Lucien; he knew what this meant and he'd already begun to cry.

‘Hold his arm still,' said Miston. To Lucien, he cooed softly, ‘Now, little man, this won't hurt as much as you think it will,' and for a long moment he held Lucien's eyes with his own until I felt the little body relax in my grip.

The needle began its work. Lucien wailed and bucked but not as badly as when I had made my clumsy jabs. After a while he settled to fitful sobs, seemingly prompted more by watching Miston's rapid fingers at work than the sting each movement was surely causing him. Every few minutes, Miston stopped piercing Lucien's skin and dabbed ink from the pot onto the tiny
wounds using a cloth. Then he returned to his intricate task.

I looked at Miston's face and was assailed by a new shock. His eyes saw only Lucien's arm and the needle he guided into the skin, jab, jab, jab. His face, his cheeks, the mouth that I expected to be drawn back in a grimace of horror at what he was doing, all were as unmoved as though he was stroking a cat's fur.

 

I would not put anyone through such torment again for all the riches in Athlane. But there was the tattoo on Lucien's arm, the talisman that would change his life. By the time Mrs Wenn came back, weighed down by a heavy sack but unburdened of her gossip, no doubt, Lucien had stopped crying. Hidden by his sleeve, the tattoo was complete in every detail and, for better or for worse, would remain on his skin as long as he lived. If I could get him to Erebis Felan, he would live a long time.

There would be no hope of that different life if not for Miston Dessar. What would I have done without him?

Having worked the needle with a face of stone, Miston now watched over Lucien like a doting grandfather.

‘I said I was grateful before,' I reminded him when Mrs Wenn retired to the kitchen, ‘but even more now, a hundred times more.'

He waved my sentiments away as though they would make him blush and continued to watch, fascinated, as Lucien explored the room. He had mastered the art of crawling by now, and, unsatisfied with this feat, was learning to pull himself upright using the leg of a chair. How long could it be before he was walking? Such a thing was unheard of at this early age and an ominous reminder to me of why we needed the sorcerers of Erebis Felan.

I went to the window and asked Miston, ‘Can you show me the boat we'll be sailing in?'

He took his time to answer. When I turned, he seemed so absorbed in Lucien's antics I thought he hadn't heard me.

‘The boat, oh, yes,' he said, coming to himself. ‘A ship that size can't moor in the harbour. It's lying at anchor in a sheltered bay just round the point. By the time we walked round to the bay, it would be dark. Don't worry, it will be standing offshore waiting for you in the morning. I'll row you out to it myself.'

And that will be the end
, I said to myself.
All the protection he has given Lucien and me will row back to shore with him and we will be in the hands of a captain I've never met
.

‘I hope you've found a man I can trust,' I said, then immediately regretted betraying my uncertainty.

‘You may trust him as you've trusted me, Silvermay. Have no doubt of that.'

A silence fell between us until I said, ‘I haven't always known who to trust.'

‘No, well, so far your mistakes haven't proved fatal,' he said in the wry tone of a father marvelling at a youngster's good fortune. Then he sat forward and looked into the fire. ‘I've been thinking, Silvermay, about the task you have taken on. I've been privileged to help you along part of the way, but the job seems … unfinished … yes, that's the word. I don't think my part is over yet. If all goes well, you will reach Erebis Felan before much longer, but it would be a tragedy if you fell short for the want of a little help. I'd be honoured if you would let me come with you.'

It was what I wanted, even though I hadn't quite put the need into words.

‘Yes, I'd like that,' I said, afraid to say any more in case my relief turned into the embarrassment of girlish tears.

S
ilvermay, where is my kiss? Why didn't you wait in Ledaris like we agreed?

Even as the words rang so playfully in my head, I knew it was a dream.

Leave me alone
, I said, but when the demand pained his beautiful face I relented. If he'd appeared at Mrs Wenn's door, I would have gone to him and rested my foolish head against his chest.

I was still warm with the feel of him when Mrs Wenn woke me.

‘Is he here?' I asked, sitting up too quickly.

‘Not yet, but the light is growing stronger. He won't be long.'

To Mrs Wenn, ‘he' meant Miston, of course, while I had asked about a man she knew nothing of.

Awake now, I gave thanks that it
would
be Miston Dessar who came for us and not Tamlyn. The first would see us to Erebis Felan, while the second would cast me aside like a tool he didn't need any more and turn Lucien into a monster. A surge of indignant anger spurred me out of the warm bed.

‘It's cold,' I said, shivering in the nightdress Mrs Wenn had lent me.

‘It's the mist,' she replied. ‘Always seems coldest when the fog rolls in from the sea. Not a breath of breeze out there this morning. Take a look for yourself.'

She pointed me towards the window, where I could just make out the nearest boats moored at the edge of the harbour and an outline of the stone jetty. The opening to the sea was entirely hidden.

‘A shroud,' I whispered, remembering her comment of two days before. Was it that word or the cold that made me shiver?

Mrs Wenn was in the same clothes as yesterday, complete with an apron dusted with flour. ‘Didn't you go to bed at all?' I asked.

‘Oh, plenty of time for sleeping after you're gone. You have a long voyage ahead of you and that baby will need more than fish. It's all ready for you when you come downstairs,' she announced, and off she went to do as she promised.

Lucien was as floppy as a rag doll when I picked him up and so warm I couldn't help standing there sharing that warmth for a full minute before following Mrs Wenn. She was waiting with a shawl in her hand, the one she'd made me take during my walk around the harbour.

‘It's yours to keep,' she said. ‘And I think these will fit the boy.' She held up a pair of woollen leggings. ‘They were going to be for my grandson but he can wait while I make another pair.'

There was a little vest and socks to keep his feet warm, too. I hugged her in thanks and stripped Lucien out of the lengths of cloth I'd been winding him in for weeks now because clothes didn't fit him for very long. These gifts wouldn't, either, but I didn't tell Mrs Wenn that.

Miston tapped on the door. He took his turn thanking Mrs Wenn for the supplies she kept bringing from the kitchen; so much he would have trouble carrying them all to the rowing boat waiting for us at the jetty.

‘It's time to leave. We must catch the tide,' he said at last.

‘The tide — oh, you have hours yet,' said Mrs Wenn, but I think she just wanted to delay our departure.

Miston wasn't in the mood to dawdle and became impatient when I let Mrs Wenn hug Lucien and then me one more time.

‘I'll come with you to the jetty,' she said.

‘No,' Miston insisted. ‘Better to say your goodbyes here, where it's warmer. We won't want to stand on the jetty for any longer than we have to,' and he pulled a coat he must have bought from someone at the inn closely around him to remind us of the cold.

Finally, we freed ourselves from Mrs Wenn and her farewells and left her weeping on the doorstep. I carried Lucien in my arms, rather than in the harness on my back, and he clung tightly to me, hugging my neck, as though he had detected the urgency in what we were doing.

‘Don't worry, Smiler,' I told him. ‘I've got a good hold on you.'

He wriggled a little so he was nestled even closer against me.

We were halfway to the jetty before I turned my attention from him and truly took in our surroundings. ‘The world has turned to silver,' I gasped.

Even the houses that lined the harbour were blurred by the mist that had already begun to bead our clothes with the finest pearls. Cats called mournfully to one another, water lapped lazily at the harbour's edge and our shoes clicked and clacked on the cobblestones. On foggy mornings in Haywode, I'd sometimes go out into the stillness to enjoy the sense of standing in an empty
world, as though not being able to see the things around me meant they weren't there at all. I had the same feeling, that final day in Greystone.

‘I hope the ship is out there somewhere,' I said. ‘Will you be able to find it?'

‘The rowing boat is tethered near the end of the jetty,' Miston replied, urging me on.

I could have done with a reply to my concern, some reassurance, but for once the calm that I envied in him had disappeared and he seemed as anxious as I was. I wondered whether he'd heard news of strangers in the district, or of the king's men come looking for Lucien. Best not to ask. Once we were in the rowing boat, no one would stop us.

Miston led me onto the jetty and along its narrow path. A shape began to emerge from the mist, a dark and brooding smudge that unsettled me until I remembered the little hut. Its rectangular lines soon showed themselves and the tension in my body eased.

‘Here it is,' said Miston when we were twenty paces short of the hut. He pointed to a dinghy at the bottom of a short flight of steps.

While I watched, he loaded Mrs Wenn's generous supplies against the stern board and returned to the jetty to untie the rope from the stout iron ring set into the stone. Then he stepped aboard again, holding the dinghy
steady with an oar while I descended the steps, ready to join him. The boat rocked a little from side to side, unnerving me, especially when I had Lucien's weight to balance as well as my own.

‘Step across. I'll catch you,' he called, freeing one hand from the oar and reaching towards me.

I needed only to grab hold with my free hand while the other arm held Lucien tightly to my hip. I was about to lift my foot when a call came from far away.

‘Silvermay!'

Amid such curtains of grey it was difficult to judge direction, but my first response was to drop my arm and retreat a step up the stone stairs so that I could search without slipping on the wet surface.

‘Come aboard,' Miston called. ‘Quickly, before he can stop you.'

Before who could stop me? I turned towards the village, which had so far watched us slip away with an expressionless face. A lone figure was running along the edge of the harbour and, as I strained to see who it was, he reached the start of the jetty. But my heart already knew, well before any other part of me. When he called my name again, that same dogged heart leapt about in my chest. To placate it, I climbed another step away from the water.

‘No, Silvermay, come aboard before Tamlyn snatches the baby from your arms,' cried Miston. ‘Hurry! We have to be gone into the mist so he can't find you.'

It
was
Tamlyn. He rushed towards me, shouting and waving his arms frantically. Why didn't I step into Miston's boat? He was right, after all. Tamlyn called my name, yes, but he was coming for Lucien, he was coming to make everything happen that I was determined to avoid. He had cheated me, tricked me, played me for a fool, and I hated him for it. So why didn't I hurry to the water's edge and step into the safety of the boat? Why did I want to run back towards the houses, towards Tamlyn, to look into his face and convince myself that Miston was wrong?

Because my heart had not surrendered him to the Wyrdborn. That was why. In my mind, all the dreadful accusations made sense, they were real, they were the truth, but such things meant nothing to the one part of Silvermay Hawker I couldn't control. I had to hear from his own lips that he felt nothing for me, that it had been a sham to get his hands on Nerigold's baby. Only then would my heart let him go.

I knew before Tamlyn was halfway along that jetty that I would stay and confront him, even if I lived only long enough to see him draw the sword that killed me. If he granted me just a few seconds' reprieve, I would
demand he tell my stubborn heart that it had wasted its love on a worthless wretch.

‘Silvermay, you must come now!' Miston shouted, becoming desperate.

The cry from close behind me dragged my eyes away from Tamlyn. There was Lucien in my arms, a helpless baby. Didn't my pledge outweigh the duty to my wayward heart? I retraced my steps to where I could easily step aboard. Miston waited, his arm outstretched like before, but the decision was already made and I wouldn't change it now. I would rather die.

Miston knew. He had guessed what I was going to do. ‘The baby, at least. You must still save Lucien even if you're determined to die yourself.'

‘Here, take him,' I said, holding Lucien out towards Miston. ‘Get him to Erebis Felan, like we planned. He's yours to care for now.'

Miston didn't argue, he didn't hesitate. He reached across the gap and accepted Lucien into his arms like the grandfather I'd imagined him to be.

‘No, Silvermay! Don't let him go,' came Tamlyn's cry.

He was seeing his chance slip away. He'd come so close to catching us, but, with a powerful push against the steps, Miston forced the little boat away from the jetty and the silver mist was already swallowing them up as the gap grew to ten yards, then twenty.

I couldn't stand there until Lucien disappeared. I recalled my fantasy on those solitary mornings in Haywode: things that became invisible in the mist were not there at all. I wanted Lucien to live, that's why I'd given him into Miston's hands. No, I wouldn't watch him slide out of view until there was no trace of him. I turned to face Tamlyn.

He'd come to a halt at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving after his wild race to reach us in time. His eyes were locked onto the boat receding behind me and his face was desolate, furious and defeated. And why wouldn't it be? What he'd lied and tricked and killed to possess was gliding into the mist where no Wyrdborn power that I'd ever heard of would help him find it.

Finally, his eyes dropped to look at me. ‘What have you done?' he said in a voice edged more with despair than anger. ‘Of all men, Silvermay, why did you give the boy to
him
!' And with this final word, he flung his arm wide to take in the harbour behind me.

He'd spoken as though he could still see the boat carrying Miston and Lucien towards the unseen ship. I turned quickly and saw that it was true; the boat hadn't moved any further from the jetty than when I'd last looked. Miston stood there with Lucien in his arms, making no effort to row the boat into the safety of the mist.

‘Go, get out of sight,' I shouted to him.

He didn't move.

A noise drew my attention to the end of the jetty. The door of the hut slowly opened and first one man emerged, then another and a third. It was the fourth and final man who made me suck in a frightened breath. Hallig.

All the more reason for Miston to hurry. But when I swung round to shout at him again, the first terrible doubts prickled across my skin. Far from taking fright at the sight of these men, he was smiling. It was the first smile I'd ever seen on his face, yet one I recognised. I'd seen it too many times on the faces of others to mistake it for anything else. It was the heartless smile of a Wyrdborn.

Steel slid against steel. I tore my eyes from the water and looked up at Tamlyn who had drawn a sword from his belt, one he must have stolen, like the clothes he wore. He wasn't looking at me. His eyes were on the four advancing men. Hallig might have been the last to leave the hut but he had taken the lead now.

What have you done?
Tamlyn's words reverberated ominously in my ears. What had I done?

Of all men, why him?
Then who was he? Who held my precious Lucien in his arms?

‘Tamlyn,' I called. ‘The man in the boat — did your father send him?'

He was reluctant to take his eyes from the men who had now drawn their own weapons, but his ears had heard and his lips made their reply. ‘No, Silvermay, my father didn't send him. He came himself.' And in case I didn't understand, he dared take his eyes away long enough to glance over my head towards the boat. ‘That man
is
my father.'

I turned one more time to the boat, still stationary only twenty yards from where I stood. There was no Miston Dessar, cousin to the kind Arnou and adviser to the king. I had given Lucien to Coyle Strongbow. I had passed the hapless boy from my hands into his, just as the mosaics had shown. Worse still, I'd asked him to take the child into his care. Those were my words, freely spoken, the words foretold in stones pressed into place a thousand years before. I had played into Coyle's hands more than he could possibly have hoped for.

What happened in the moments after I finally saw what I had done is lost to my memory. Somehow, I found myself sitting on the hard, damp steps, too wretched even for tears. ‘Tricked.' That was the only word I could mutter. How cleverly my trust had been won and how cruelly it had been betrayed.

‘Get up, Silvermay,' cried a voice close by.

What?
I looked up, barely able to take in my
surroundings. The shock of what I'd done robbed me of the power to think, to respond, to care.

‘Get behind me! Hurry, or I won't be able to protect you.'

It was Tamlyn urging me to move. He wanted to protect me. But he was the one who had cut my heart in two; the one who would do the same to my body.

I looked towards the four men approaching Tamlyn. Hallig wasn't the only Wyrdborn among them. Beside him stood the man who had battled Tamlyn on the fallen pine tree while Nerigold and I escaped across its makeshift bridge.

Hallig called to his brother, something foul and humiliating, but I didn't take it in because at that instant I saw the dagger hanging at his belt. It was Tamlyn's, the same one he had given to Ryall when we'd parted on the way to Ledaris.