Trial of Fire (51 page)

‘Are you going to question every order I give you?’

‘No, I—’

But Robert was gone, his figure a dark splash against the damp cobbles. Then there was stillness, and silence. He listened hard, hoping for a miracle, but it seemed the Guilde was more interested in trying to save the grain than catch the culprits.

Robert came back across the square, already mounted up, hauling Andrew’s horse behind him. Without pausing, Andrew vaulted up into the saddle, but before he could even kick his horse into action, Robert had his say.

‘When I need you to treat me like an invalid, I’ll tell you. Until that day, you follow my orders without question. Understood?’ He didn’t wait for a
reply. A moment later, they were galloping across the square, heading for the edge of town and the open country beyond.

It wasn’t until they’d left the road an hour later that Andrew was able to get the reins to stop burning his hands, and for the trees all around them to stop appearing like blood-spattered ghosts every time he blinked.

*

Jenn tipped out the bowl of water, rinsed it from the well, then refilled and took it back to the stable where the wounded were being treated. It was dark, but they had two lamps burning; a luxury these days, like the loft they were sleeping in tonight, and the fresh bread the farmer had promised them for breakfast. Sometimes the generosity of these poor folk made her weep with admiration, considering the risk they took hiding and helping a group of condemned rebels.

Robert was waiting for her, sitting on a mounting stool, shirt off, yet another scar bleeding from his shoulder, one more on his calf. At least the old wound in his side was looking much better, despite all the stress he had been putting on it over the last few months.

In one way, she could see and appreciate why the Key had done what it had, to prevent both of them from ageing. Robert was forty-five now and should be slowing down. But no: the Key had interfered in some way she had never been able to discern, and instead of greying hair, Robert’s was still a mane of near-black, his face without lines, his body as strong, and his gaze the same clear green as it had been the day she’d met him almost seventeen years before.

But in another way, she wished the Key hadn’t touched him, because he
was
forty-five and he
should
be slowing down now, not still riding hard, fighting harder and working like the demon inside him to win a war begun thirty years ago. Though the country had known peace in that time, Robert never had.

‘It’s not bad,’ he said, twisting his neck so he could see the cut on his shoulder.

‘Really?’ Jenn asked quietly. ‘I just don’t understand why you won’t wear mail. Is that too much to ask?’

‘Oh, come on,’ he laughed softly, just for her. ‘You think the Key is going to let me die from some small cut with a sword? No, it has much more important ways for me to expire.’

‘Don’t joke about it!’

He caught her hand, turning his body to shield the movement from the others in the stable. As usual, Robert and Andrew were almost the last in, so the others were on the point of going to their beds.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, his gaze catching hers, holding it, giving her
something to drown in. ‘I can’t move properly in mail, not for these missions, at least. I have to make a choice between armour and flexibility. I’m not being reckless, I promise.’

And she could see the honesty in his eyes. So many times he
had
been reckless, not caring if he died, because at least then he wouldn’t be plagued by the Prophecy any more – but this was different. Now he was working towards the end of the Prophecy as though he still believed he could defeat it.

‘I know,’ she said, and he let go her hand. She dipped a clean cloth in the water and washed the wound. He didn’t flinch, but instead, watched her face, making her blush a little. ‘You shouldn’t do that.’

‘But I love doing it,’ he murmured. I
love you, and I miss being able to say it to your face.

And one day when you do, I’m going to shock everyone by kissing you in front of them – and where would that leave us?

He didn’t answer that, and when she finished washing the wound, she looked up to find his eyes sparkling and a cheeky grin on his face. She had to bite a lip and turn away quickly to stop herself from laughing out loud.

‘Here, hold that,’ she said as she came back with a dressing, taking his right hand and pressing it against the wound. Then she busied herself with looking at his calf. This wound was smaller but deeper, looking like a pike had stabbed into it rather than a sword.

Such a wonderful skill to have, the ability to recognise which weapon had caused which wound. Fortunately, this one was clean and no longer bleeding. Her Healer’s Sight told her all she needed, so she wrapped a bandage around it and let him put his boot back on. She wound another around his shoulder, knowing full well he’d take it off in the morning before the next mission.

Then he was standing and thanking her and moving away and instantly she missed him, as though somebody had carved a piece out of her. How had she lived so long without him? Why was it that the more time they spent together – especially now that they
were
together – that each separation was a terrible wrenching she didn’t think she could bear?

She busied herself with cleaning up, making sure that nobody else needed help, trying to ignore the look from the Bishop and the way her eyes stung as she tried not to think about the man who had just walked away from her because he had to.

‘Jenn?’

She swallowed hard and looked back at McCauly, who was finishing the last of his own bandaging for the night. ‘Do you need help?’

‘I wanted to make up a tonic for this lad here. I left my medicines bag on my horse. Would you retrieve it for me?’

‘Of course.’ Jenn left her things where they were and headed outside, and around the back of the stable—

Where she was caught by arms she knew so well, swept up into the darkness where they both belonged.

‘This is crazy,’ she whispered against his lips. ‘If somebody should walk by—’

‘They won’t.’

‘You’ll be missed.’

‘Not for a few minutes, I won’t.’ And then he didn’t give her the opportunity to object further. Instead, he kissed her and she tasted the rich warmth of him, felt the love in the arms that held her fast against him, in the way he breathed in time with her, the way he shielded her body against the stable wall in case she was cold.

It was impossible now to remember what it had been like in the awful years when she hadn’t seen him at all, when he’d hated her, or she’d hated him. But had they ever really hated each other? Or had it just been this, in some other, isolated, frustrated, convoluted form?

No, they had always been like this. Even before they’d acknowledged it, and seventeen years of heartache hadn’t changed it. Not even Nash could destroy this.

That thought alone was enough to make her smile. He felt the movement and shifted back a little. It was completely black where they were, but she knew he could see her.

‘You smile. Why?’

‘You brought me back here to talk?’

She felt his laughter and joined in again until he kissed her, more deeply this time, drying up the laughter, but leaving joy behind.

‘When this is all over,’ he murmured, holding her close again, ‘I will marry you no matter what you say.’

‘What makes you think I want to be a Douglas?’

‘The fact that you’re not exactly squirming to be let go.’

‘I can squirm if I want to.’

‘Oh? Well, go ahead.’

‘But you won’t let me go, will you?’

He kissed her hard then, his whisper fierce and hot against her throat. ‘I’ll
never
let you go, Jenny. Never.’

‘Oh, I see,’ the Bishop’s voice came to them, purposefully louder than it really needed to be. ‘I’m pretty certain Robert went off to have a scout around the farm, but he’ll probably be back in a few minutes. Why don’t you talk to him about it then?’

Jenn sprang back from Robert. A moment later, the voices were gone,
leaving them alone again. But this time, she didn’t go into his arms. This time she could only cling to the memory of his warmth and of what he was fighting, the darkness inside him more whole than this night. If only she could do something to stop it.

‘Robert, you can’t hold on for ever.’

‘I can,’ he whispered back, knowing exactly what she was talking about. ‘I can hold on for as long as it takes.’

‘But the demon is growing again. I can see it.’

‘Then stop looking.’

‘But—’

‘Please.’ And then he pulled her close again. ‘I can’t fight with you any more. I can barely stand to be apart from you. Don’t—’

She could only kiss him and hold him. They were both lost, both found, both as trapped as they could be, and just as free. Words weren’t going to change anything.

Then she said, ‘You’d better go and ensure the Bishop wasn’t lying. I’ll go get his medicine bag.’

He vanished into the darkness like a wraith.

This time the wrenching almost tore her in two.

*

Micah moved through the quiet loft and collected together the water-bottles each man carried with him during the day. Most of the men were here, asleep, exhausted, or wide awake with the agony of their wounds. Robert had already been amongst them and deadened what pain he could, but this feeling went bone-deep, and Micah couldn’t ignore it.

For his own part, he had received little more than scratches, and he’d worked as best he could towards the success of each mission. For the rest, he kept his thoughts to himself and the remainder of him out of Robert’s sight.

He laid the strap for each bottle over one shoulder and skinned down the ladder into the dark farm yard. To his left, sheltered by other buildings, was the last of the fires they’d lit and he could see familiar faces sitting around it: the Bishop, Patric, Joshi and Robert. Jenn had already gone to bed, it appeared.

Micah turned away and padded silently through the farmyard, past the house, opening one gate after another, until he reached the long lane heading north. The hedge was thick here, fresh with spring leaves and evening dew. Then the lane opened out onto a wide lake, sprinkled with dappled moonlight and very pretty. He couldn’t help but stand and stare at it for a moment, hiding in the shadows of trees pressed close to his left.

A movement by the lake made him freeze, frowning into the darkness to
make out the shape. For a moment, he thought it must be a dog or something, but the shape moved and there was enough light to see somebody crouched by the water, splashing handfuls on his face.

Micah cleared his throat. ‘My lord, are you all right?’

Andrew started, almost tumbling over. Then he almost as quickly turned back, using the crook of his elbow to dry his face. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he grunted, getting to his feet and shaking the water from his hands.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, of course.’ And the tone was almost normal.

‘You shouldn’t really be out here, not at this time of night, not on your own.’

‘I know, I’m sorry.’ Andrew’s head dropped, his voice emerged contrite. ‘I’ll go back.’

‘There’s no hurry. You can help me with these if you like.’

Andrew looked up, as though Micah had just given him some breath of hope in a wasteland of darkness. ‘Of course.’ He surged forward and took the bottles from Micah, kneeling down by the lake to refill one after the other with the sparkling water.

Micah knew he shouldn’t, but he’d been guardian of this boy for eight years; he knew him too well to ignore the signs. ‘How goes your training?’

Andrew shrugged and pushed the stopper into a bottle. His tone emerged cool and a little too calm. ‘I’m a disappointment. I should be a skilled and powerful sorcerer by now, ready to fight and kill Kenrick. Instead, I’m a weakling who doesn’t care enough about his country to try as hard as it takes in order to remove a tyrant. But other than that, it’s quite fun. What about you? How are you enjoying your exile?’

Micah blinked a moment, then busied himself with another water-bottle. ‘My best friend won’t talk to me and as a result, everybody treats me as some kind of traitor except for you, the Bishop and Jenn. I miss my wife and I worry about her carrying this child on her own, but essentially, you’re right, this is all a lot of fun.’

He finished with the last bottle and put it to one side, then looked up to find Andrew’s gaze on him, eyes wide with wonder.

‘Child? She’s … you’re going to be a father?’

Micah couldn’t help it. His face broke into a grin he was sure was half delight, half terror. ‘Yes. Seems strange, doesn’t it?’

Andrew’s own smile warmed the cool night. ‘Congratulations, Micah. I don’t care if – just – congratulations. You’ll make a good father.’

‘You think so?’ Micah stood and bent to gather the bottles together, handing half to Andrew.

‘I do. You played the father often enough with me. You’ve had plenty of practice.’

But that wasn’t all that made a father. Micah knew that much. ‘I hope you’re right. My own father was—’ He stopped, not sure whether he even wanted to think about how he’d given up his relationship with his father so he could follow Robert. But it had been more than that. He’d given up his father’s principles in favour of Robert’s friendship, Robert’s opposing principles. His father had never forgiven him that betrayal.

‘Your father?’ Andrew was standing in front of him, water-bottles forgotten, staring at him with that same shadowy need.

‘My father should have listened more. And I should have been prepared to talk.’

Andrew searched his gaze, myriad thoughts scuttling across his face. ‘My father …’

Micah held his breath. This was the first time he’d ever heard Andrew voluntarily mention Eachern, the man the world believed was his sire.

‘My father didn’t listen to anyone either. He used to … he would hit my mother if she disagreed with him.’ Andrew swallowed hard, but continued bravely, ‘My father beat everybody who got in his way – except me. Uncle Lawrence, though, he never lifted a hand against anybody.’