Tamlyn (21 page)

M
iston's cellar was built to keep things cool — his wine, his turnips and onions, sacks of flour and a ham that hung on a hook from the rafters. It was dry, and the floor was scattered with fresh straw, but it seemed especially cold that morning.

We had been so close to a daring triumph — I had even held Lucien in my arms as I'd dreamed of doing. We should be on our way to Erebis Felan by now. Instead, I was as far from taking Lucien there as I had ever been. Our failure had sent us scuttling back here with our tails between our legs.

Ryall sat beside me, our backs against the stone wall, knees folded up. My chest sagged forward almost onto my thighs, but he sat with his head resting against
the wall, his eyes closed. Geran had remained upstairs to speak with Miston. Perhaps she had fallen asleep at the table, for she hadn't come down to join us on the straw. On the other side of the cellar, Tamlyn nursed his own sour thoughts. He was seated on the only chair — the only stick of furniture, in fact, that had been brought down from above.

I watched Tamlyn with a steady stare. If he knew I was inspecting him, he didn't show it. Was he thinking of the same things that played again and again in my own head? He had broken his pledge to me. When the moment had come, when we'd almost achieved our aim, he had thrown it away to confront his father. Then, when I had lain stranded, my foot caught and boulders smashing to the ground around me, he'd deserted me for the foul pleasure of revenge. I wasn't sure that I could ever trust him again. I wasn't even sure he would stay a part of my life.

Footsteps from above made us look up. Miston's legs appeared on the stairs, followed by Geran's lighter tread. The others hadn't yet discovered that Geran was a woman.

At the bottom step, the two of them hesitated, uncertain where to go next, it seemed. It was a fair sign of what we had come to. What could any of us say? What new plan could we devise, when it would surely
fail for the same reason that this first attempt had? It wasn't Coyle's strength that had beaten us, it was Lucien himself. He had chosen his father over me. This was the body blow I felt in every aching muscle and, worst of all, in my mind. The fighting, the blood, the suffering of others that Coyle had instilled in him — it was the Wyrdborn magic inside Lucien that welcomed such horrors. It seemed that all the love I had showered on him since his mother's death hadn't been enough. He'd spurned me, and although I found many ways to forgive him, I could not dismiss the hurt or the truth of his rejection.

Into the solemn silence came the voice of Miston's servant. ‘Master, there is a caller at the door.'

‘Send him away, whoever it is. Tell him I am ill.'

‘But, master, it is … I don't think I can.'

‘What is he talking about?' asked Miston, becoming annoyed. He moved back to the base of the stairs, then paused to survey us. ‘If it's Coyle's men …'

‘Coyle's men wouldn't knock politely at the door,' said Tamlyn. Although his sword lay in the straw beside him, he didn't reach for it and I wondered why.

Before Miston could start up the stairs, I saw movement at the top: the visitor was coming down. His progress was slow, as though he felt unsteady on the steps — an elderly man, perhaps. I expected the visitor
to be one of Miston's scholarly friends and looked for a walking stick and dusty shoes. I couldn't have been more wrong. The feet that appeared were small, too small even for a woman's. They descended one step at a time, both feet firmly together before moving to the next. It was the way a child would come downstairs. It
was
a child!

I jumped to my feet and hurried to the bottom step. There was only one child I could think of, only one I wanted to see. And there he was — my Lucien, here in Miston's house.

Despite my delight, I held back. When I had last gone to him, arms outstretched, he had kept his distance. Had anything changed?

‘Lucien,' I called instead, and he broke off his careful descent to search out my face. His own face broke into a smile and then I knew. This wasn't the callous grin of the monster I had glimpsed while Coyle and Tamlyn slashed at each other. There was joy in his features, a real delight in finding me waiting for him.

‘Maymay,' he said. Not Silvermay, but the childish shortening of my name that he had first uttered in the harbour at Greystone. ‘I want to be with Maymay,' he said more definitely.

He was within reach now and, brushing past Miston, I lunged for him and took him into my arms.
This time, he welcomed my embrace and wriggled his little body to fit himself more easily against me.

‘You've come to me, you've chosen me, after all,' I whispered into his ear.

The others crowded around us. There was a smile for Tamlyn and also for Ryall, but wary glances at Miston and Geran.

‘He'll get used to you after a while,' I assured them, warning them with my eyes to stay back for the moment.

‘How did you get here?' Tamlyn asked him.

Lucien turned to face him and said simply, ‘I walked.'

Stunned silence followed, then, as though we had all been trained to respond on cue, a peal of laughter filled the cellar, so loud it must have raced up the stairwell to be heard out in the street.

‘You walked. Of course you did,' said Ryall.

The answer had told us nothing and yet it had told us everything. There was no need for heroic rescues if the hostage could slip away from his captors like this.

Since simple words seemed popular with his audience, Lucien tried some more. ‘I'm hungry.'

More easy laughter.

Miston spoke quietly to his servant and the man climbed the stairs to the kitchen, but instead of moving
about above our heads, as I'd expected, I heard him open and then close the front door.
He's gone to the market to replenish the larder
, I decided and thought no more about it.

I cuddled Lucien and squeezed another smile from him. ‘You want my hugs, don't you, not your father's miserable ways?' I cooed. ‘Comfort is better than cruelty.'

Love is a strange creature. It lives inside us and we feel it radiating out towards those that mean most to us, but its joy only warms us right through when someone we love shows how much they need us in return. That was the feeling that came over me in the cellar. All the disappointment of our failure beneath the city was turned on its head — everything I thought I had lost had now been granted me. The swing of emotion was enough to throw me off balance. I felt like falling onto the straw with a burst of girlish giggles and inviting Lucien to crawl all over me. Instead, I spoke to the others.

‘There's a lot that still has to happen, but at least there is hope now. We have to get Lucien out of Vonne, first of all, and fast. Coyle might not even know he is missing yet.'

I looked at Tamlyn as I said this and saw the hope I spoke of in his face, too. It was as if the betrayal of just a couple of hours before hadn't happened.

‘We'll find a way,' he replied, and looked at Ryall. I could tell that within minutes they would have their heads together, working out a plan.

‘Once we're free of the city, it's up to you, Geran,' I went on.

She had moved away across the cellar after the first excitement of Lucien's arrival. When I spoke to her, she started suddenly, as though my words were the last thing she had expected.

‘You will take us to your homeland, won't you?' I said. ‘To Erebis Felan?'

She held my gaze for a few moments but didn't answer. Then she nodded, and looked towards Miston Dessar. Both of them were wearing faces more serious than the occasion called for. What had they discussed upstairs that stopped them joining the celebration?

Lucien was becoming tired of my hugs by now, as any boy would. I knew it, but I wasn't ready to put him down just yet. It felt like our valiant little band of weeks before was back together again. It struck me then that there was a blood relationship in this group that shouldn't be ignored.

‘Here, you take him,' I said, and passed Lucien into Tamlyn's arms. ‘He's your brother. Play some games with him.'

‘Games?'

‘Bounce him up and down, make him laugh.'

Tamlyn stared at me, perplexed, but obeyed my words as though they were solemn instructions. He tossed Lucien up and down, bringing squeals of delight from my little Smiler. I watched them, these two Wyrdborn who were bound together by something apart from blood. I loved them both, even though I shouldn't. Somehow, admitting this to myself made the hurt both had caused me fade away, like a ghost content to leave the living in peace.

The guilt hadn't left Tamlyn, however. He stopped the game suddenly and gave Lucien back to me. ‘Silvermay, down in the mines, when you …' He didn't finish, he couldn't; and until he could, we were as far apart as ever.

Upstairs, the front door opened, announcing the return of Miston's servant. Soon we would have something to eat. Defeat had killed my appetite, but with the change in our fortunes I was suddenly famished. I set Lucien down so that he could run about and while he explored the cellar, footsteps once again began to descend the staircase. I was eager to see what the servant had brought for us on his tray.

There was no tray, I quickly discovered, and the first face I saw wasn't the servant's, but a man of Miston's age with the unmistakable air of a scholar
about him. Behind him followed two more men I had never seen before, both older than Tamlyn but not as old as the two scholars. Miston's friend greeted him with a shake of the hand, but the other two barely glanced his way. Instead, their eyes rested on Geran, who, like Miston, didn't seem surprised to see them, either. The first touch of unease tightened the muscles of my stomach.

‘This is Lathen, a colleague of mine from the council of scholars,' said Miston, nodding towards the oldest of the three. ‘Although you don't know him, he has been part of our plans from the beginning. In fact, he was one of those who kept the vigil outside Coyle's house through the night-time hours.'

I nodded to him to show our appreciation, even if that tactic had proved fruitless.

‘And these others?' asked Tamlyn, looking them over as cautiously as I had done.

‘Who they are will become clear soon enough,' said Geran. ‘Do you mind if I hold the boy for a moment?'

I had no reason to distrust her; quite the opposite, in fact. At my nod, she moved a few paces to where Lucien was watching a moth settled on a bag of flour and scooped him into her arms. ‘There you are, my little one,' she said with the tenderness of a young mother, and, as Tamlyn had done, she jigged him up
and down in her arms a few times, earning herself a toothy smile. ‘Come and meet my friends,' she cooed.

I had wondered how these two strangers had came to be among us, since Geran hadn't mentioned any connections she had among the commonfolk. The answer was clear now. She was a Felan, sent to keep watch on Athlane. Only now did it occur to me that she might not be the only one. This meant there would be three Felan to help us on our journey to their mystical land and surely that was a good thing? But if so, why did the muscles all over my body begin to knot and my arms itch to have Lucien safely in their grasp once more?

‘This is the child,' said Geran, still bouncing Lucien playfully as she showed him to the strangers. Then she sat him in the chair that Tamlyn had vacated earlier. The little figure looked out of place on a seat meant for a grown-up, but remained there happily at first, watching the faces around the cellar focused on him alone.
What baby doesn't like to be the centre of attention?
I thought. He
was
a baby, though, and soon became bored with sitting still. He shuffled forward, ready to slip onto the straw and run back to me, except Geran's hand pressed him back into place. He tried to force his way forward, but Geran continued to restrain him.

‘What are you doing? Let him come to me,' I said sharply.

Geran ignored me.

‘Tamlyn, what's going on?' I asked, but he seemed as bewildered as I was.

There was no doubting it now, however: the mood in the cellar had changed dramatically and Geran was not afraid to let us see it. The look in her eyes said that Lucien would stay in the chair, and her companions moved forward one menacing pace to show they stood with her.

Tamlyn had seen enough and immediately went for the sword he had left in the straw on the far side of the stairs. One of the Felan stepped in his way, a defiance that prompted an angry bellow from Tamlyn who cannoned into him with his shoulder. The Felan was thrust aside and, before he could recover, Tamlyn had grabbed the hilt of his weapon.

He was not the only one who had moved in those few moments, however. Miston had come to my side, to join with Ryall and me, I guessed. Not for the first time that day, I was as wrong as I could possibly be. As Tamlyn regained his balance and stood ready with his sword in hand, I felt the tip of a dagger at my throat.

‘Surrender your sword, Tamlyn, or Silvermay will die before you can reach me.'

The point of Miston's dagger sank deeper into the skin of my neck and, to my great shame, I yelped in pain.

Watching from his chair, Lucien began to cry. ‘Maymay,' he called.

Ryall was closer than Tamlyn and just as furious to see me used as a hostage. He might have lunged at Miston if the scholar hadn't been clever enough to position himself out of Ryall's reach.

‘Give up your sword,' Miston demanded a second time.

Tamlyn made no move to do so. In fact, his hand gripped the hilt more tightly and he shifted a small step closer.

‘Listen to me,' said Miston in a cool and steady tone that frightened me as much as the blade at my throat. ‘Don't doubt my resolve. I might not look the type for murder, but if it means saving thousands from misery and death, then to kill one innocent girl is not such a terrible act.'