A Thousand Glass Flowers (The Chronicles of Eirie 3) (37 page)

He stood, a dark tower of a man and she longed for him to soften, to sm
ile and accept her abjectness.
But he nodded – almost contemptuously, and her stomach writhed.
‘Your apology is noted.’
He brushed past.

‘Finnian,’ her voice wavered and she swallowed on a tear, furious with her wayw
ard emotions for betraying her.
She dared not look but was sure he stood at the gate of the stable yard and she knew she had only one chance now and so she walked to him, touched his back and then reached for his hand, lacing her fingers in his, taking confidence from the way he let them slide through and from the way his own curled and locked, imprisoning her hand
in his grasp.
He turned and looked down at her and the tear ro
lled and she allowed it to run.
His finger came up and he caught it and then he bent and kissed her.

‘Is Isabella what you thought? Was she worth your trouble?’
Finnian sat beside her, one leg stretched out, the other with his arm hooked over.

Lalita stared at the garden as if the infant should come toddling around the corn
er on her little dimpled legs. ‘Yes. Unequivocally.
She’s an incarnation of my brother.’

Finnian plucked daisies from the grass and began fashioning a chain, his fingernail slicing a narrow eye in the stem through which he poked the next stem, the chain growing, a small pile of snowflakes falling on eac
h other in a pile at his side.
Every now and then he would glance beyond the fog, shifting when th
under rumbled in the distance.
‘Isabella reminds me of what I
have missed with no childhood.
A mo
ther’s arms, a mother’s words.
What it must be to hear a mother’s voice whisper loving nonsense as one drifts into sleep as
Isabella does.
I swear if I ever have a
child it will have such love.
It’s the difference between Heaven and Hell and I’ve known both.’

This is the moment… but I cannot.

Some perverse streak held her back from sharing her condition, some notion to do with the thre
at beyond them and the charms.
She knew if she told him, that he would be capable of locking her in a room where she and his child would be safe from danger.
He shall know but not yet.
‘Finnian,’ she said.
‘You have your own family n
ow.
What does it feel like?

‘
Odd. 
Different to Isolde, for sure.’
He looked at the daisies scattered around.

‘I keep forgetting that she is yours
and
Phelim’s grandmother.’
A trickle of fear slid down her back.

‘You know what they say – one is at lib
erty to choose one’s friends.
One doesn’t however, have the same liberty to choose one’s family.’

‘And which am I now, Finnian?
Your friend or your family?’

‘As the aunt of my step-n
iece, you’re family I suppose.
As my lover, you must be my friend.’

The arrogance was un
mistakable but she let it pass.
‘I owe you so much for my life – apologies, gratitude.’

‘That’s the stuff of acquaintance, not friendship.’

‘I
miss your affection, Finnian.’
It was a mere whisper and she kept her eyes down, still not wanting to beli
eve they were each other’s yet.
There was
still too much acid and irony.
But his fingers moved to finish the daisy chain and loop it over her head so that she was forced to look at him.

‘And I yours,
muirnin
.
There’s been a vast measure of d
istrust, hasn’t there?’ He stood and pulled her up.
‘Let’s go further t
o the orchard away from here.’
They wandered until they found a secret place.

‘F
innian, will she kill us all?’
She pulled at the clover around her, trying to find the lucky one – for only then would she truly believe in good fortune and her child’s safety.

‘She will try to kill me without doubt and
if you get in her way she will kill you. But Jasper has a care.
You must not be afraid.’  He looped the chain from around her neck to place it twice around her head.

She played with a three-leaf clover, slipping in a leaf from another to make i
t four, trying to create luck.
Sh
e felt no ease from his words.
‘The charms, Finnia
n.
They must go and soonest.’

He nodded.
‘I think it is beyond Jasper, Lalita.’

She tried not to look at him because she knew that he would say he would run with them, far from here and
with Isolde behind.
The clovers blurred before her, but surprisingly he changed the subject, holding the idea
of the charms at arm’s length.

He dug in his pocket. ‘Lalita, this is for you.
I stole it from Curiosa beca
use it struck a chord with me.
The crescent moon is the Moonlady and I saw the two stars in an entirely fanciful way,
deciding they were you and I.
I want you to thi
nk of us when you look at it.’
He took her hand and folded the fingers out flat, laying the nightime paperweight on her palm and it sparkled as her eyes filled, tears creating a faceted illumination of the striking glass ball, the pair of stars gleaming in their folds of night and the quarter moon drifting weightlessly in the surreal little world.

She remembered back to the seraglio when she had girded herself with the courage of a queen and drew on that now, knowing deep in her heart that something she could not lay her f
inger on might be short-lived. ‘I have a poem, Finnian.
One
that matches the paperweight.
Shall I tell it?’

He nodded.

Injecting levity into her voice, she began.

‘The lady moon came down one night,

She did, you shouldn’t doub
t it.

A lovely lady dressed in blue, I’ll tell you all about it.

They hurried my sister and I to bed, and Auntie said well ma
ybe

that love
ly moon up overhead will bring you down a baby.’

Finnian tilted her chin to press his lips against hers, ro
lling her underneath his body.
The day passed into evening and she loved every minute of it and fell asleep exhausted, content that their joined hands lay on her belly where their child grew.
I will tell you, Finnian.
Soon
.

.

Chapter Twenty Three

The path to the lake wound like a river in and out of the orchard and thr
ough a densely wooded coppice.
The trees hid the stretch of water from on-comers – indeed the shadows were so deep and intimidating as to
surely house eldritch beings.
Finnian had left Lalita unwillingly and his last sight of her had been a soft form covered in falling white blossom, a sight as pretty and memorable as any he could have.

As he entered the grove, eyes follo
wed him but he was left alone.
He cloaked himself in glamour and wa
s another shadow amongst many.
The fog parted about his body as he walked, his heart clamouring, hoping that Jasper’s enchantment stretched so much further, just till he, Finnia
n, had time to find an answer.
The oaks, elms and ashes hung over him in a whispering canopy and the harsh beat of wings, like applause from a solitary onlooker, caused him to glance up and spot the snow-white owl leaving its perch.
You follow me, do you?
And why is that?
What sight do you have, bird?
What would you tell me if you could?

The lake almost sang to Finnian, as if it were a roane, a veela,
or a selkie – drawing him on.
Something intangible seemed to waft on the night air, something other than the ribbons of mist that wound amongst the trees, looping over his
shoulders and around his legs.
He knew he had made the right choice to leave the softness of Lalita’s side – tonight an answer would unfold now there was so much at stak
e.
He sat on a log as bleached as the moon, detritus of wind and flood and which could have revealed a life-story of
the silken swathe before him.
He was glad the fog stretched so far, farther than he could see and for a moment he wondered at the depth of frustration that Isolde must be feeling for he knew wh
at she was like when thwarted.
Nothing moved near him and an unnatural silence pervaded, giving him a moment to ponder further.

A door had opened in his life allowing all manner of things to enter – th
ings he’d barely countenanced.
Things lik
e hope, companionship, family.
He gave a grunt, almost a guffaw but soft in the dark air, a small explosion of wonder.
Is
this what you wanted, Moonlady?
Is this what you meant when you said find something to value and therein find self-worth?

As he sat on the shoreline, foam rolled in and out where a breeze rubbed waves against the banks, a ruf
fle of beige revealing itself.
Bubbles of froth glittered and tiny spheres rose to burst in a shower of minute luminosity, lit only by a small moonbeam
that broke through the mists.
He lifted his hand and a bubble settled on it and as he turned it in the weak lunar light, he thought he could see the image of a dark-haired mother, a babe across her lap.
Fanciful,
he mused and blew on the bubble gently, watching it float away to be swallowed by the dark over the lake.

The stretch of water rippled in the welkin wind as he endeavoured to see what lay beyond the
shadows of the further water.
Still he felt the resonance a
nd contrived to see why.
Lighter and darker ripples lay across the lake’s surface and as he studied the patterns in the distance, he saw something else.

Another shadow altogether.

The lake mist parted, revealing a magnificent shoreline frosted with tree
s touched silver.
Two shapes stood i
mmobile, dark, unrecognizable.
An
arm moved in a distant salute.
Finnian jumped up and strode to the water’s edge but the miasma returned, enfolding the far-off shore, the
figures disappearing into it.
He was left alone again, a familiar
sense of deep regret returning.
But at last the puzzle unrolled before him like a precious scroll and with an unambiguous message.

He turned to go, loss settling as a bitter aftertaste in his mout
h with the profound discovery.
Now he knew with unequivocal certainty what had to be done.

‘Finnian.’
A familiar voice spoke and he wanted to keep walking for he knew whatever
she said would cut him in two.
‘Finnian, you have the answer.’

The Moonlady’s silver hair fluffed and flirted in the welkin wind and her midnight garments blew around her in rustling folds, the galaxies of stars flicke
ring in a cascade of glitters. ‘Come sit, just for a moment.’
She held out a pale hand.

He went unwillingly, as if she represented all that was unnervin
g and displeasing in his life.
‘Let me go,
Moonlady,’ he pleaded with her.
‘There is nothing to be said.’

‘But there is, Finnian.’

He sighed. ‘She and I…
’

‘I know.
Which makes your choices all the harder, I imagine.’

He sat by her on the log.
‘I would do this to protect her, to protect my brother and all that I have found to respect of late.’

She took his hands in her own, her palms cool and smooth, running her fingers down the bones as if she
played some ivory instrument.
‘It is a wise decision, my dear.’

‘Are you telling me I could only ever have made the choice in one way?’

‘It is not for me to
tell you anything of the kind.
Celestial spirits are only eve
r mentors and sounding boards.
In the end you make your own decision, I have told you this before.’

‘Then I choose what I must.
And will leave a path of destru
ction and it sits in my craw.’
He lapsed into a momentary silence and
then, ‘But tell me of Lalita.
What of her?’

‘It is her Fate to have bittersweet joy in her life.’

Finnian threw back his head and look
ed up to the cloud-filled sky.
‘But she has lost everyone that loved her,
everyone
. You say bittersweet.
Then I am sure you know what a de
adly plant the Bittersweet is.
I wonder how much more loss she can take.’

‘She will only bear as much as she can, Finnian, no more.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Hers is a path only she can tread.’

‘You sound as
if you care little, Moonlady. How do you dare?
This is a life we talk about.’
He went to stand but her hand grasped his and he shivered as she kissed his palm gently, as a mother kisses a child.

‘I do care, Finnian. Have no doubt.
But there is mo
re than just her life at stake.
It is
why you have made your choice.
And you know also that there is no going back, the choice you are making is final.’

He looked down at her and the willows and the birches wept at the sadness in his eyes.

‘Go with
grace, my dear sweet Finnian.’
She kissed his palm again and the ache in his heart eased only slightly.

All who could sleep were in bed and the house sig
hed with the somnolent rhythm.
The casement clock on the stair ticked, faithfully marking the hours and the half and quarter hours as the painted moonface slid around
a garden of lush, folky roses.
Jasper’s orreries whirred in their infinite passing of planets and galaxies and Tito twitched in his basket.

Finnian clicked the door of Jasper’s workroom soundlessly as he aga
in cloaked himself in glamour.
The room filled with a vague moonlight from the windows and he swiftly moved from desk to worktable, swearing as the objects of his searc
h failed to reveal themselves.
He moved to the bookshelves and felt along the edge, pushing books back against the wall in case the wily old man had concealed th
em behind words and knowledge.
And sure enough, a codex labeled on the spine as ‘The Divine Art of the Sphere’ refused to push back further, its front two inches overhanging the shelves.

He eased the book out, a tilt to his mouth indicating a certain irony at Jasper’s little joke –
The Divine Art of the Sphere indeed
.
Two glass globes filled with flowers lay behind and he scooped them up and thr
ust them into his coat pocket.
But there were no paper strips and he swore, running anxious hands back and forth along the shelv
es, looking high and then low.
He lit a small lamp and searched again, pulling each of the books in the shelves o
ut and then shoving them back.
Always quiet, at
pains not to wake a household.
‘Damn it,’ he whispered.

‘What is it you look for, Finnian?’

He sp
un around, the lamp teetering.
She stood in the shadows on the far side of the room.

‘Careful,’ she admonished.
‘You will knock the flame to the floor.’

He righted the lamp and set it on the table.

‘Answer me.
What is it you search for?’

‘Lalita, don’t be obtuse.
You know full well.’

She moved out of the shadows. ‘I do, you are right.
And it worries me.’

He stepped toward her, but
she eased away and he sighed.
‘Trust is a
thin thing, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Even now. After today.
But rest assured, I d
on’t seek them to misuse them.
On the contrary.’

‘Then why do you creep around the house like a shade?’

‘Because I have the answer.’

She sucked in her breath. ‘You say?
How?’

The rope that had tightened around Finnian’s throat all day pulled up another kno
tch and he could barely speak.
So much could
have been avoided by secrecy.
‘
But why would you leave her a
lone to learn the truth later?
Now or when you are gone, it wi
ll still hurt her that you go.
You owe her truth and
better when you can hold her.
It is how you place value on the feelings you
have for her and she for you.’
So Ibn would have said.

‘I haven’t long –
it must be done before Dawn.’
He knew she tired of prevarication, that she was nervous and afraid, h
er hands clenched by her sides.
‘There is a lake not far from here, the Lake of Mists an
d there’s sometimes an island.
An island when it is needed.’

‘This is ridiculous…
’

‘No. It’s the Isle of the Dead. Once there, none can return.
N
othing taken there can return. Do you understand? Nothing.’

In the fluttering light of the near-exhausted lamp, her eyes were black holes in a pale face,
like some ghastly death mask.
She moved closer and he could pick out the det
ail he never wanted to forget.
‘Do you believe me?’
Please.

‘You mean to take them to
this place and never return.’
Her eyes glittered.

He nodded his head once, knowing the time had come.

Her face crumpled and she turned it to the side, her reserve br
eaking, her remove dissolving. She held out her hand. ‘Then you will need these.’
The two strips of paper with their ruinous messages
lay in the light of the lamp.
He reached to pluck them, desperate to touch her, to sweep her into his clasp, to swear that she need not
worry, that all would be well.
Her hand trembled and the paper strips shivered in tandem and as his fingers
touched them, they flattened.
He took hold of her hand to pull
the papers off but as he eased them away
, the words etc
hed themselves into her palm. He tried to mesmer the stain but it remained
, an indelible c
ode of curse and condemnation.
She pushed at the mes
sages, scrubbing frenetically.
‘They
won’t go, Finnian. They won’t move.’
Her voice began to lift.

‘Ssh,’ he said,
touching her arm, calming her.
Inside his own heart, a horrified concern curled on the edges like burning paper.

Wiping the tears away, she whispered, ‘I told Jasper that you and I would do this togeth
er and it seems the way of it.
I’m a carrier, Finnian, and you must take me.’