Daughters Of The Storm (54 page)

The door flew inwards, and Heath was there. Heath, the only person in the world from whom she could draw comfort.

He looked startled. ‘Why are you back before your sisters?'

‘Oh, Heath,' she started and began to cry. ‘It's such a mess.'

And he folded her in his arms, against his broad chest, and she let her body shake with sobs. The smell of him was intoxicating: rain and damp earth and his own musky perspiration through his woollen tunic; his stoked heat, his body's reality, his Heathness. She breathed huge lungfuls of it, wishing that time could stop and this embrace would be the last of all events in the world.

But already he was pulling away and indifferent air was pushing its way between them and time continued on its way towards loss, and age, and death, and he asked her to tell him what had happened. Through choking sobs, while he held her hands clasped in his own, she unfolded her story. His sea-coloured eyes were full of love and compassion, but he winced when she told him Wengest had vowed to kill him if he discovered his identity. When she had finished, he pressed her against him again and she could hear the rapid beating of his heart.

‘My only hope is that Bluebell will somehow force Wengest to give Rowan back,' she said.

He hesitated before speaking, and Rose sensed his doubts. ‘You must remember,' he said carefully, ‘nothing is more important to Bluebell than the peace between Ælmesse and Netelchester.'

Rose pulled back and looked at him, the black fear creeping once more into her heart. ‘But Rowan's our blood.'

Heath rubbed her shoulder softly. ‘Perhaps you are right, Rose.'

The defeat in his voice was too much for her to bear, and she collapsed against him and wailed. ‘My baby, Heath, where is my baby? What if I never see her again?'

He made circles on her back with his palm and shushed her softly, but she drew little comfort. The inescapability of her situation was a hot, heavy thing in her brain. When his voice rumbled in his chest, it took her a few seconds to comprehend what he was saying to her.

‘I'm sorry?' she said.

‘I said, you are released from your marriage now, Rose. We could leave. Together.'

Her heart hammered and her knees felt weak. She opened her eyes. Beyond the deep red wool of his tunic she could see the hearthpit smoking, a finger of light from beyond the door, the closed entrance to her father's bedroom. Everything tensed as though waiting for her to respond.

‘We could go and find my father's family in the north. You wouldn't have to be Queen Rose or Princess Rose. Wengest wouldn't know, Bluebell wouldn't know. We could disappear and have the life together we've always dreamed of.'

She stepped back, pressed her palms into her forehead.

‘What do you say, Rose?'

‘I feel as though you have just handed me the sweetest fruit, wrapped in poisonous leaves.'

‘I don't understand.'

Of course he didn't understand. He may be Rowan's father by nature, but he shared no bond of the heart with her. It was nothing for Heath to let Rowan go and run away to Bradsey.

‘Heath, I must stay in this life and fight to have Rowan back.'

He nodded, his expression softening with understanding. ‘I see. Well, then I shall stay in this life too, as you say, and I will do whatever I can to make that happen.'

Wild happiness, which had veered so close, now fluttered off on its mad wings. Always beyond her fingertips. She allowed herself to be comforted, but felt the sting of knowing that Wengest loved Rowan more than Heath ever could.

Willow woke in the night, and listened for a moment. Something had woken her, some soft dreamlike noise.

It was coming from the main room, where Heath and Rose slept. She sat up and was about to rise to check on them, when she recognised the noise. She had heard Ivy and William Dartford make those noises, in the bed right next to hers back home in Fengyrd. Willow had pretended to sleep, but really she had watched from under her eyelashes, horrified and curious all at once, as Ivy applied herself to the puzzling task with more bounce and vigour than Willow had ever seen her muster.

Willow listened to Heath and Rose until they grew silent, and then her mind turned to Wylm and to the dream she'd had, and a soft shifting feeling began to tickle between her legs. The shame of it. She tried praying. Praying for the ability to control her thoughts better, while allowing her hand to stray down to rub at the tickle.
Stop, stop, stop,
she said in her mind. She wasn't a bitch in heat like Ivy. Why was this happening to her?

Maava, help me. I am succumbing to sin.
The tickle grew to a violent ache under her fingers.
Please, Maava, I don't want to be like my sister. Make this feeling go away.

Oh, the feelings that shuddered through her then. Her breath sucked back into her throat and her legs flipped around like the tail of a fish drowning in air. Then stillness. And guilt.

What was wrong with her?
What is wrong with me?
Silent angels.

She rose, cracked the door to the main room open. Heath and Rose slept by the dying light of the hearth. She crossed the room
on silent feet and went outside. On the dewy grass she sat, pulled out her knife and inched up her skirt to reveal her white thigh, luminous in the moonlight. Here. She would cut here. And the blood that flowed would tell the angels she was sorry.

‘Heathens fornicate, trimartyrs spawn dynasties.'

The voice came to her just as she pierced her own flesh. Her heart slammed, she cut further, longing for the voice to continue.

‘Maava made the love act pleasurable so children might be born.'

Children? Willow remembered the number of times Ivy had gone to the village witch for abortifacients after her dalliances.

She pushed the knife against her flesh once again.
Tell me more. Tell me everything I need to know, angels, for the love of the great Maava. I will do whatever you ask.
She scored three lines on her thigh, but the angels had stopped talking. She breathed deep, letting the warm blood drizzle down her leg and set her mind to the angel's words.

Heathens fornicate.
Yes. Rose, Heath, her twin. Bluebell, if Eni's father was to be believed.
Trimartyrs spawn dynasties.

Her blood, Wylm's blood. Trimartyr blood of the royal family. Were it to be mixed, a trimartyr child might be born. One who would unite Thyrsland under the holy triangle.

She sighed, closed her eyes with deep contentment. This was why the desires of her body were so insistent. Maava
wanted her
to lie with Wylm. Their entwined destinies demanded it. Now she understood her purpose in this world. Not to bear arms like Bluebell, but to bear a child. A miraculous child. Many people wandered the trimartyr path for decades before understanding their part in Maava's great plan, but here she was, just on the threshold of womanhood, and she already knew what she must do.

How good fortune had smiled on her.

Bluebell was relieved to cross the border into Ælmesse: the lawless realm of the undermagicians was behind her, and she had returned to a place where things were as they seemed. She endured the long days pacing with very little sleep, and the strange swift night-time travel, knowing they were drawing close to the end of their journey. At the other end, a possible cure for her father waited. Sleep waited.

They took the road around Stonemantel and down towards the flower farm on the sixth night of travel, while clouds covered the moon and the air was still and smelling of damp earth. Bluebell's ribs expanded; the darkness of the last few weeks began to lift. She didn't entertain the thought that Yldra couldn't cure Æthlric: Yldra was able to enchant herself so she could walk, make the dog and horses speed like hares, and reverse the sand magician's spell. An elf-shot would be easy for her to remove.

They unsaddled their horses in the dark stable and the animals, now released from the enchantment, collapsed into sleeping heaps. Yldra herself began her walk from the stable with a smooth gait, but was limping again by the time they reached the front door. Inside, the air was warm and smoky. Sleeping bodies. Rose
had returned already, and lay encircled in Heath's arms. Idiots. The urge to lie down among them and close her eyes for blissful hours was so strong that Bluebell had to shake herself. She hadn't come on this journey to let her father languish another moment under his enchantment.

‘Father is through there,' she whispered to Yldra.

But already their arrival had woken Rose, who sat up sleepily and said softly, ‘Bluebell?'

Bluebell ignored her, opening the door to the king's bower and leading Yldra in. Willow was asleep on the floor, but scurried out with one stern look from Bluebell. A few moments later, Rose was there with them.

‘Bluebell, I need to talk. Wengest has —'

Exhaustion made Bluebell sharp. She held up a hand. ‘Not now. Father first. Then sleep, then your problems with Wengest tomorrow. I see you're taking comfort where you shouldn't already.'

Rose was about to bite back, but then she stopped and looked closely at Bluebell's face. ‘You look utterly exhausted.'

‘I have survived on an hour or two of sleep a day for nearly a week,' Bluebell said. She thought about introducing Rose to Yldra, but the older woman was absorbed in her examination of Æthlric.

Rose turned her eyes to Yldra, and Bluebell gestured that she shouldn't interrupt. ‘Go,' she said. ‘We'll talk later.'

Yldra wrinkled her nose as though she'd smelled something bad. ‘I'll need complete quiet.'

Rose withdrew reluctantly and Bluebell stood back as Yldra sat on the edge of Æthlric's bed.

‘He's very grey,' she said. ‘Too many cares, I imagine. Being a king.' She gave Bluebell a grim smile.

‘Can you feel the magic?' Bluebell asked.

‘Oh, yes. It's not even very strong. If it had been stronger it might have killed him. But I should be able to remove this easily.'

Bluebell's knees buckled. ‘Oh, thank fuck.'

‘How long do you say he's been like this?'

‘Nearly five weeks.'

‘Then it will take time.'

‘How much time? Weeks? Months?'

‘Days. And when he wakes, he will have no recollection of time having passed. It will be as though he had just put his head down to sleep, closed his eyes, and opened them again.'

‘He'll be confused then.'

‘Momentarily. But he will wake with all his faculties.'

Bluebell couldn't control her smile.

‘Hopefully,' Yldra concluded.

‘Hopefully?' The dark edge returned.

‘There's always the chance that the magic leaving will simply kill him. I don't know. Some undermagicians leave a barb inside the elf-shot, so that its removal is fatal. It depends on whether the person who gave it to him wanted him dead.'

Bluebell's gut tightened. ‘And will you be able to tell us who elf-shot him?'

‘As the magic leaves his body, it will reveal its secrets. Don't worry.'

Bluebell turned this over in her mind. If the elf-shot killed him then Ælmesse would lose its king. But he was no king in this state.

‘So, you want me to go ahead?' Yldra asked.

‘Yes,' Bluebell said grimly, ‘whatever the cost.'

Yldra's gaze held Bluebell's for a few moments. Bluebell was not good at reading people's subtle cues, but she thought she could see admiration in Yldra's eyes.

‘I'll get started then. I'll be here with him for the whole process. Go about your lives.'

Bluebell left the room, stumbling into Rose who was waiting. Willow was nowhere in sight, but Heath was preparing food in the kitchen.

‘Bluebell ...' Rose started.

‘No, Rose. No. Not you now. Sleep now.'

Rose's eyes grew glassy with tears. Bluebell might have softened under any other circumstances, but weariness had stripped her softness away. She rolled out her blanket by the fire, lay down and, while the household tiptoed around her, slept.