Banished (8 page)

He’s too distracted to notice my blank look so I sigh and ask him. ‘What is a King’s Rider?’

Thorn turns to look directly at me and I notice how his bleak expression intensifies during his explanation. ‘A King’s Rider is dispatched only during state emergencies. They are
messengers, directly from the king. Their word is the king’s word.’

‘What was the message this one carried?’

‘That the Citadel had been attacked. That the king and my mother had escaped through the quick thinking of their chamberlain, Istvan. They’ve gone into hiding, with three of my
brothers and some of the Privy Council. Part of the Citadel was destroyed in the attack and one of my brothers, Kieran, has been confirmed captured. Two of my other brothers were on patrol in the
North with their regiment when the attack happened. No one’s heard of them. They could be alive, or dead.’

What do you say to that? I open my mouth but he cuts me short, holding up a hand. ‘The Rider gave me a sealed message. The ring you had me take off was the only thing I could use to open
it. It was a note from my eldest brother, Petur, urging me to leave Alba with all speed, to find help here, at Blackhart Manor.’

‘So you took your bodyguard and travelled to the nearest gateway . . .’

‘And we got attacked by a group of outcasts and redcaps. We rode for days, from one gateway to the next. Every gateway we visited had been destroyed. We were hounded by group after group
of goblins and redcaps. Finally, we found the gateway I used last night. The rest you know.’

‘Do you know who attacked the Citadel? Do you know who the enemy is?’

The brief shake of his head makes me want to shout in annoyance.

‘Do you know what happened to your friends? What changed them?’

‘Dark magic.’ His gaze meets mine. ‘I don’t know how the magic they used on my guards works, but it’s not anything I’ve heard spoken of by anyone in
Alba.’

‘Okay.’ I stand up and gather our dishes. ‘I think we need to try and figure out what’s going on, but before we even think of doing that, we need you cleaned up and
dressed. I’ll do the same but in the meantime I’m going to try and get hold of my cousins or my uncles and see what they think we should do.’

I lead Thorn up to Marc’s room and open the doors to the wardrobe. ‘You’ll find stuff to fit you in here. Marc won’t mind. I’m not sure about shoes, but we’ll
find something.’ I look at his riding boots and at the torn trousers he’s wearing and am relieved that I have several boy cousins and uncles whose wardrobes we can raid.
‘Let’s have a look at the cut on your arm first. The bathroom is through here.’

Thorn takes a seat on the side of the bath and shrugs out of the button-up shirt. There’s definitely been some bleeding but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. The cut looks
surprisingly good, with the edges starting to knit together, and my stitches look clean and neat. There’s bruising too, along his ribs, but the bruises look a few days old already, not fresh,
as if they had happened a few hours ago.

I look away to find those blue eyes watching me closely. I’ve seen boys look at Megan like that in the past but personally I’ve never had to deal with anything this intense. And to
be honest, I’m not entirely sure I dislike it.

I clear my throat, lean back and attempt to ignore my suddenly pounding heart.

‘It looks okay,’ I say lamely. ‘How fast exactly do you heal?’

‘Here, a few hours, maybe a day at the longest. By tomorrow morning the cut will be a pink scar. In the Otherwhere it’s faster, depending how close I am to the songlines.’

I’d only read about the Fae’s ability to heal rapidly. It is what gives credence to rumours of their immortality. I am also charmed by him using the term ‘songlines’.
It’s another word for the earth’s energy, the ‘leylines’ that criss-cross the world.

‘You can definitely die, then?’

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. ‘Why, are you planning something?’ When he sees the shock on my face his lips curve into a smile. ‘Sorry, that was a stupid joke. But, yes,
if the damage done to our physical bodies is severe enough, we can die.’

Now that’s really interesting. The magic and energy from the songlines in the Otherwhere must be linked to the Fae’s longevity. I wonder what would happen if I ever visited there,
how my magic would react. Would my lifespan become longer? Would I become tougher to hurt and kill?

‘We have some books in the library at the Citadel that will help explain it,’ Thorn says, watching me with curiosity. ‘It’s clearly something that interests
you.’

I smile. ‘I promise to look after the books,’ I say. ‘I won’t even drop them in the swimming pool or anything.’

He senses that it’s a joke and grins at me, standing up. ‘Well, that’s good. They are very old books and the librarian is very fierce.’

For a second the awkwardness kills me as he’s very close, but then I remember why he’s here in Marc’s en-suite. ‘Shower is right there, clean towels, soaps. If you need
anything, just shout.’

He gives me a grateful smile and I click the bathroom door shut behind me. For the briefest second I lean against the door, listening to him moving around behind it.

What have I let myself in for? This is going to be big. I can feel it in my bones. The banshee’s words come back to me, the smug way he spoke of darkness and not being able to cope with
what’s coming my way. I almost regret not hurting him more.

My shower takes longer than I would have liked. I felt tired and had trouble getting redcap blood from underneath my nails and resorted to using a spare toothbrush to clean
them. Soon enough I find myself in Kyle’s room, dressed in jeans, a clean T-shirt, hiking boots and my spare hoodie. The place is as immaculate as a dormitory. The bed is made with hospital
corners and looks pristine. An old large floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, triple stacked with well-thumbed paperbacks, is propped up against the one wall. It contains everything from spy novels,
political journals to heavy computer coding to contemporary literary fiction. There are also books in Latin and a scroll that looks very fragile, and I wonder if he had to fill in forms to get
permission to take it out of the library.

I send off a series of urgent emails to everyone in the Blackhart registry that I know, hoping to get help from anyone and soon. Next I check the database that Kyle’s built up to satisfy
Aunt Letitia’s obsessive record keeping. I find the folders on Alba easily enough and after half an hour of rapid reading I’m not really much wiser. King Aelfric came to power six
hundred years ago through a series of wars and deaths in his family. I skim back and my eyes cross over when I see the long line of his lineage. They seem to have always ruled Alba, since a time
called the Sundering. Aelfric is a modern king, well thought of, and he’s a firm and fair ruler, having managed to prevent out-and-out bloodshed between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, which
are, even at times of peace, forever at each other’s throats. He is progressive and has gone out of his way to strengthen ties with the human community, negotiating intricate business deals
in both realms. He maintains strong relationships with various politically powerful families known as the Free Fae who have long ago decided to declare themselves ruled by no sovereign.

He entertains lavishly at his Court at winter, inviting the rulers of all the countries of the Otherwhere, and uses the festivities to network and sign new treaties for trade and continued
peace. Spring is the time when he strengthens his ties to the human world. I sit back in surprise, remembering Marc, Megan and Kyle’s parents coming back from the States to attend the Spring
Equinox Ball held in Hyde Park shortly after my nan’s funeral. I thought I was adjusting to my new life but when the detachment of Fae bodyguards turned up at the front door to accompany
Uncle Andrew and Aunt Jessica to the ball, it felt as if I had been dropped into the middle of the filming of
Lord of the Rings
.

They were dressed in armour that fascinated me. It was made of metal of some sort but it looked more as if the blacksmith had taken large leaves from oak trees and moulded them into protective
armour, covering the guards’ chests, torsos and backs. Their great helms, shields and even their weapons repeated the leaf design. The horses they rode looked as if they were made from sea
foam and moonlight, until you got too close and saw the fire in the depths of their dark eyes and the sparks their hooves struck from the ground. When my aunt and uncle left with the Fae guards I
watched them ride into the forest and knew that this was just one more thing signalling the end to my pre-Blackhart life.

I drag myself back to the now and open the folder Kyle created for each of Thorn’s siblings. They are all exceptionally attractive specimens. Very Viking-esque with strong shoulders, thick
blond hair and handsome faces. I flick through their files but don’t see anything interesting. Six of them are married and five of them already have their own kids. I find Thorn’s file
and open it. The first thing I notice is a photo of Thorn. It must have been taken a few years ago. He looks maybe fourteen and there is an arrogance there that I don’t recognize in the boy
that’s having a shower only a few doors down. In the photo he’s wearing a black tunic and loose-fitting black trousers that resemble karate trousers. His hair is tousled and he looks a
mess, as if he’s just come away from a sparring match. There is blood on his face and he’s standing with his fists clenched. The expression in his eyes is one of anger and dislike. I
have no idea where the photo is from or how Kyle even has it in his database. There isn’t much info about Thorn, except to say when he was born (using our timeline) and so, yes, that makes
him nineteen now, with his birthday having been on the summer solstice in June.

I push back from the screens before me and check the main inbox. Nothing. No emails from anyone. Where is everyone?

I close my eyes. What do we do next? Do we stay here, where we are relatively safe and protected by the wards on the house, or do we leave, travel to London to try and find help there? What do
we do? I lean back in the chair and prop my ankles up on the desk, knowing Kyle would have a fit if he saw me putting my feet anywhere near his precious computers. I adopt a thinking pose –
fingertips steepled together – and close my eyes to think.

There is someone in London who will be able to help; her name is Olga Kassan. She’s a friend of the family and I’ve met her a few times now. Marc calls her a witch, a
bruja
,
which is Spanish for witch, but when he says it, he definitely means more than just a witch. At each equinox she travels down to the Manor to help Jamie and Marc (and now me) refresh the warding
around the house. In return, they pay her a lot of money. The more I think about it, the more I think that getting to Olga’s is definitely our best option and because I can’t find any
info on her in Kyle’s database, and therefore no number, we’ll just have to head to London and track her down at the shop she runs for her grandfather. I have the address in my phone so
I’ll be able to set the satnav to navigate us there.

I hear a noise in the passage and turn to find Thorn standing behind me. He’s found a pair of jeans that fit his long legs and he’s wearing one of Marc’s well-worn surf
T-shirts but it sits a bit tight at the shoulders.

‘Better?’

He closes his eyes in an expression of bliss. ‘Much, thank you.’ He looks past me and I’m tempted to swing around and turn the screens off, but it’s too late. He’s
seen the photo of himself on there. ‘Research?’

I nod, finding it interesting that he doesn’t cross the threshold into Kyle’s room to come closer and inspect the computer set-up. ‘Yep. Just trying to see if there’s
anything in our files that can help us.’

‘Any luck?’

I swing back to the screen and jab a finger at the photo of him. ‘No, but this guy intrigues me. He looks like a bit of trouble.’

I’m favoured with a full smile. My heart actually stutters and my insides all do on-the-spot breakdancing. No one should be allowed to be this dangerously cute!

‘Oh, he was. I reckon if you had met him last night, instead of me, you would have left him to be redcap dinner.’

‘Seriously?’ I look at him doubtfully, then back at the screen. ‘He’s very young, though.’

‘Youth is no excuse for arrogance and stupidity.’

The way he says it makes me think that maybe those aren’t his words. They sound as if they’ve been drilled into him. Maybe by a tutor? Or his father?

‘Regardless, I would have saved his butt. No one that cute is allowed to suffer at the hands of redcaps.’

This time I get an actual chuckle. ‘I’ll remember that. Now, what can we do about shoes?’ He points at his bare toes and wiggles them. And even they are attractive. ‘My
boots are great for riding but not really fit for everyday wear in the human world.’

‘Let’s see what we can find.’

Because we are such a big extended family, we always have people leaving bits of clothing behind. So, unless it’s underwear (
ech
), we tend to dry clean it and hang it in one of the
spare bedrooms. This is where I lead Thorn and after a few minutes of rummaging he comes away with a pair of trainers and a pair of solid hiking boots. We also find him a few more T-shirts and a
pair of jeans. On our way downstairs, I grab a rucksack from Kyle’s room and stuff Thorn’s new clothes in there.

‘Now you at least own something that’s not covered in blood,’ I tell him as we head back downstairs to the kitchen. I’m embarrassed to admit this but I am hungry again. I
make some toast and smear it with peanut butter and, without asking, I make some for Thorn too. He accepts the plate without commenting and for a moment everything is quiet as we eat.

‘Coffee?’ I ask, heading for the filter machine, but he shakes his head.

‘No, thank you,’ he answers politely; I swear he’s blushing. ‘I’m allergic. I’d prefer some tea instead.’

‘Wow, seriously?’ I’d heard of this, but had never met someone who was actually allergic to my own personal rocket fuel.