The Innocent Mage (34 page)

‘I never knew that. You never told me.’

He pulled a face. ‘Figured it were easier all round „, kept that to myself. Nobody but Gar needed to know.’

She wanted to slap him. Wanted to scream, 1 did. She said, ‘And if he says no, you can’t leave?’

‘He won’t. I got his word. I can leave whenever I want to.’

‘And now you want to.’ There was a pain in her chest like hot coals, burning. ‘I can’t believe you’ve never told me, I thought we were friends.’

‘We are,’ said Asher unhappily. ‘You and Matt, you be the best friends I ever had, along with Gar.’

She lifted her chin. ‘And this is how you treat us?’

‘Don’t be angry, Dathne …’ Asher brushed her cheek with his fingertips.

She took him by the arm, ungently, and hauled him through the dancers and the drinkers, heedless of the catcalls and the laughter, outside to the empty street which glowed gently in the golden light from the distant, magic-soaked mountains. Dominating the night sky, Barl’s Wl soared effortlessly upwards, losing itself amongst the stars,

‘You can’t leave,’ she said fiercely. ‘Gar needs you.’

He pulled his arm free. ‘My da needs me more.’

She took a deep, steadying breath and let it out. Careful handling, always careful, that was the key to Asher. For many more reasons than one. So she calmed her frightened heart and sweetened her voice and said, persuasively, ‘You can’t be sure of that. But even if it’s true, your father has other sons. Gar has only one of you. How will he get on if you leave? You’re his strong right hand, Asher. The most important Olken in the kingdom. If you’re worried about your father, send for him. You can look after him here as well as there.’

Asher shook his head. ‘He’d hate it here, away from the ocean. AJ1 this dry land, no salt air, no rolling waves. It’d kill him.’

‘You can’t just walk away!’

‘Watch me,’ said Asher, eyebrows knitted, jaw tight. Stepping close again, she rested her palms flat to his chest. ‘Please. Don’t go.’

He stared down at her, his broad and weather-beaten face clouded with unhappiness. His mouth opened and she could see the denial in him, the rejection, the stubborn, ignorant undoing of them all … and then he looked at her hands, resting on him, and his expression cleared, vivid as a crack of lightning. Suddenly there was hope in him, and wonder, and a kind of terrified joy.

‘Come with me,’ he countered, and covered her hands with his own.

Noise and light spilled through the alehouse’s open door and windows, painting the cobblestones and the cool night air. His hands were warm, the skin callused, working hands, a man’s hands. His unexpected touch goosebumped her, shivered the tiny hairs on the back of her neck and stoked the fires banked low and deep within. Harshly, with a piercing reluctance, she pulled her own hands free. ‘Asher, be serious.’

His face was eager now, smiling. ‘Just listen, eh? Hear me out. I know you’ve got the bookshop and all, and they don’t be much for reading down Restharven way, but you could change all that. I’m pretty nigh riph now. I could set you up all fine and dandy with another little bookshop and I reckon it’d be only a month or two afore you’d have ‘em all eatin’ out of your hand, just like you do here.’

She stepped back again, shaking her head. ‘You’re drunk.’

‘Or, or,’ he continued, heedless, all tangled up in his bright and futile dreams, ‘you could just come for a visit. For a while. And if you like it, and I know you will, then you could stay.’

‘Oh, Asher,’ she said, torn between tears and temper.

‘You work too hard, Dath, and you’re always so serious. As if the weight of the Wall rested on your shoulders. It don’t. That be King Borne’s problem, and Fane’s after him. Come with me. I … I … care for you, Dathne. I don’t want to leave you behind.’

‘You’re drunk,’ she said again, and pressed her fingers to her face. ‘Or I am. Or I should be. Are you mad? I can’t just drop everything and run away to the coast with you, even for only a week or three. What are you doing? Why are you asking me this now} What possessed you to say it at all?’

He was blushing. How boyish. How charming. The pillock. ‘Don’t know,’ he muttered, staring at his expensive shoes. ‘Been wanting to for a while. Just never could get up the nerve.’

She could have hit him. Her fingers clenched to her palms, making fists. Oh, how she wanted to hit him. ‘I’d say you’ve got plenty of nerve, Asher of Restharven! I can’t come with you. Not next week, or the week after, or the week after that. Not ever?

‘Why not?’ he said roughly. ‘Ain’t I good enough for you?’

Good enough? Good enough? Oh, if only he knew. She gentled her voice. ‘That’s not the point. I have work to do that can’t be done anywhere else. My place is here in this City, Asher. I’m sorry. I can’t do what you want.’

‘Can’t?’ he echoed. ‘Or won’t? You’re a bookseller, Dathne. You could sell books any ole place. If you wanted to.’

She was filling with furious tears. He’d weakened her, damn him. Made her vulnerable in a way she’d never been before. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said harshly. ‘I don’t mean to be unkind. I don’t want us to part in anger. I don’t want us to part at all! But what you want is impossible.’

He nodded, slowly. Stared thoughtfully through the Goose’s open door. ‘Is it Matt then? Are you in love with him?’

That surprised her into laughter. ‘Matt? Now you’re being ridiculous. Of course I don’t love Matt. Asher —’

‘Then it’s me.’ His eyes hardened, and he stepped away from her. ‘Go on. You can say it. I’ll not break to tiny pieces and run screaming into the night. Say it.’

And now she’d hurt him, truly hurt him. Oh, why hadn’t she seen this, as well as all the other things? What should she do? Lie and say he meant nothing to her? Or should she defy Prophecy? Break her vow, her solemn oath, and tell him the real reason behind her refusal of him? Tell him the terrible truth of himself, long before it was time for him to know? Risk everything, risk a kingdom and everyone in it, all for the sake of one man’s bruised heart? Even if the man was Asher?

Or was she supposed to go with him? Jervale’s Heir will guide him, Prophecy said. Did that mean she should abandon her shop and Matt and traipse all the way to Westwailing with him? She would if she had to, but it made no sense. Asher’s place was in the Usurper’s House; In the Tower, the palace. He didn’t belong on the coast, not any more. Restharven was his past, not his future.

Closing her eyes, she looked into that hidden part of herself that all her life had guided her, ruled her, brought her here, to this place, this time, this terrible moment… Let him go. He will return.

A hesitant voice behind them said, ‘Eh up. “What’s going on?’ Matt.

She turned, eyes wide, willing him to go away. ‘Nothing.’

Asher said, ‘I’m leaving.’

‘Already? You only just got here. What’s the rush? There’s a barrel of ale in there with your name on it, you know.’

‘I mean I’m leaving the City,’ said Asher, and his expression was cold and distant. ‘Going home.’

Matt was staring, aghast. Joining them in three swift strides he said, ‘For good? No, you can’t. Asher, you can’t leave. Dathne, tell him, tell him he can’t —’

She sank her fingertips into his arm, making him wince, ‘It’s his life, Matt. His choice. There’s nothing I can say that will make any difference.’ She looked again at Asher and managed a smile. ‘I’m sorry. Truly I am.’

He didn’t smile back. Just turned on his heel and walked away.

‘DathneV said Matt explosively. ‘What are you doing? Go after him! Tell him!’

She stared up the street, at the shrinking shadow that was Asher. Felt the knowledge in her, the certainty, the sorrow yet. to come, and slowly shook her head. ‘It’s not time.’

With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, Matt pointed one scarred, accusing finger at the shimmering mountains and lowered his voice to a scalding whisper. ‘I think it is. That damned sorcerer’s Wall is all that’s standing between us and chaos, Dathne. When it goes, when whatever it is waiting beyond those mountains comes crashing down on all our heads, our only hope will be Asher. He has to know.’

‘And he will,’ she said steadily. ‘But not yet.’

‘Really? Seeing as how he’s leaving for good? Dathne, you’re wrong. He has to know. And if you won’t tell him, I will,’ Reckless with fright he turned and stamped his way up the rising cobbled street.

Oh, Matt. Dear Matt. Often blind and sometimes foolish Matt. She raised her voice and snapped it at his heels. ‘Don’t.’

He stopped, as she knew he would. Waited for her to join him. ‘He thinks he’s leaving for good, Matt, but he’s not,’ she told him. ‘What he wants isn’t there. He’ll be back.’

Matt’s inner turmoil reflected in his face. ‘Who says? Dathne the bookseller? Or Jervale’s Heir?’

‘Both of us.’ She said it quietly, confidently, hiding the hurt. ‘Matt, just trust me, all right? He will be back.’

‘Trust.’ Matt raked his fingers through his close-cropped hair. ‘It’s a little word for a big thing, Dathne. Sooner or later we’re going to have to trust him, you know. With the truth. With us, and himself.’ With a jerk of his dark-stubbled chin he looked up the empty street that led to the rarefied air of the palace, and the Tower, and Asher. ‘With Prophecy.’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, knowing it in her bones and in her aching heart. ‘But not yet.’

‘Not yet! Not yet!’ he shouted in sudden rage, fists clenched. ‘You keep saying that! You’ve been saying that for a year now, Dathne! We’ve been lying to him for a whole damned year! When is it going to stop? When will not yet become right now}’

If she cried nothing would ever be the same again. Her own hands fisted, the blood in her veins on fire, she stared at him. Said coldly: ‘Not yet.’

For long moments he glared back at her. Hated her. Then the angry resistance in him melted, as it always did, and he rubbed his large horseman’s hands over his despairing face. ‘Oh, Dath. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to question you, I know you know what’s best. I just …’ He groaned. ‘Damn. How’d I ever get mixed up in all this anyways?’

She smiled, because he needed to see it, not because she felt like smiling, and stepped close. Eased her arm around him until it lay across his defeated shoulders. ‘The same way as me and Asher, my friend. You were born for it. And in case you were wondering … yes. It’s far too late to turn back now.’

I can’t believe you’re really doing this.’ With a deft flick of his wrist Asher tipped another forkload of manure onto the muck sack. ‘Why not? Ain’t like I never mucked out horse shit before.’

‘You know what I mean,’ said Matt, and kicked the stable door he was leaning over.

Gently pushing Cygnet aside, Asher slid his fork under another pile of manure. In the yard behind him the bustle of afternoon stables half drowned their conversation. Why he’d felt the need to come down here and shovel shit he wasn’t sure. Mayhap ‘cause this was the last chance he’d ever have to do it. The last chance here, any road. In this stable. In this yard, where it had all begun. It was, he supposed, another goodbye that needed to be said. He glanced up at Matt, then kept working.

‘Aye.’

‘Have you seen Dathne since —’

‘No,’ said Asher, disposing of the manure. He didn’t want to, either. Just the thought of what he’d asked her, how she’d answered, could flood him hot with angry embarrassment. Seeing her was impossible. The faster she faded into memory, the happier he’d be.

‘Are you going to?’

There were three more piles of manure to collect. Bloody Cvgnet; the horse was nowt but a pretty silver shit-maker.

‘No.’

Another bang as Matt kicked at the stable door again. Why not? You’re leaving tomorrow. She’ll be hurt if you don’t.’

‘I doubt it.’ ‘Ashed’ Matt’s laughter was baffled. ‘She’s your friend.

How can you not —’

‘Easy!’ he shouted, glaring. ‘Because I don’t bloody want to, all right? Because — because —’ He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t make the words leave his mouth. If he didn’t say it,maybe that meant it didn’t have to be true.

Matt’s expression changed. ‘Oh.’ In his voice, a sudden understanding. ‘Oh, Asher. Why didn’t you say something?’

Savagely he scooped up another pile of manure and dumped it with the rest. ‘Because I didn’t want to. Anyway, it don’t matter.’ ‘Of course it matters. When did you — I mean, how long have you known you …’

Asher sighed and let himself collapse against the stable wall. Moodily he poked at the straw with the tips of the fork tines, and watched the lazy swish of Cygnet’s tail as the horse nibbled hay. ‘I don’t rightly know. Seems it kind of snuck up on me.’ He glanced at Matt, then glanced away, not wanting to see the sympathy in his friend’s face. ‘I asked her to come with me.’

‘Oh,’ Matt said helplessly. ‘Asher, I’m sorry. Damn, I wish you’d said something. I could’ve told you she’d never agree to leave Dorana.’

Oh, could he? ‘It’s all right,’ Asher said curtly. ‘She told me herself.’

‘I had no idea you felt that way. No idea at all.’

‘Why would you?’ said Asher, pushing away from the wall and forking up the remaining manure. He needed to ;et out of here before Matt said something they’d both regret. It looked like he was parting badly from one good friend; he didn’t want an argument with Matt to make it two. Not when he had Westwailing looming on his horizon.

‘It’s what I do,’ Matt said, almost to himself. ‘I see things.’

Asher snorted. ‘Around here, maybe, but only ‘cause it’s your job. And I ain’t a part of it, not any more. Not for a long time. Here,’ he added, and held out the fork for Matt to take. Then he gathered up the corners of the laden muck sack and dragged it towards the stable door. Cygnet huffed through his nostrils and pretended to be terrified. ‘Let me out.’

Matt opened the stable door and stood aside to let him pass. ‘Still, I wish I’d realised.’

‘Why?’

‘I would’ve said something,’ said Matt, bolting the stable door closed again.

Young Fulk scurried past empty-handed. Asher grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and gifted him with the muck sack. ‘Said what?’ he demanded, once the lad was safely on his way to the muck heap. ‘No offence, Matt, but I don’t reckon as it’s any of your business. Unless you got an idea I’d be poaching.’ Scowling, he watched Belly bone slosh water buckets across the yard. ‘Is that what this is about?’