Rebel's Cage (Book 4) (27 page)

‘Once we’re home.’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m never going to get this right, am I?’

‘I don’t know, are you?’

‘There’s something you haven’t told me about it, isn’t there? Some other trick to telling the weather that you’re keeping to yourself. Isn’t there?’ He couldn’t keep the note of frustrated hopefulness from his voice and he knew Micah’s smile was widening, even though he refused to look.

‘No, I’ve told you all I know.’

‘And I’m still wrong.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘And you’re never wrong.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘No, you wouldn’t.’ Andrew sniffed. ‘I would.’

‘My lord,’ Micah continued evenly, ‘it’s not just a process of learning the signs. It has just as much to do with experience as anything else. It took me years to gain the skill, and I made plenty of mistakes before I did.’

Andrew asked carefully, ‘And who taught you?’

‘My master,’ came the quiet reply.

‘Duke Robert?’

Andrew didn’t need to see Micah’s face to know there was no particular expression there. Micah wasn’t so good at hiding what he was thinking and for the most part, it was easy to guess. But whenever the subject of Duke Robert came up, Micah got this look in his eyes, this set to his face that meant he wasn’t going to be drawn.

They crested a wind-blown hill and caught the full view before them, laid out like a tapestry in muted colours. This country was all so familiar to him, within a day’s journey of Maitland. In all likelihood, he could travel through here blindfolded if need be, and not make a wrong step. The hills continued on eastwards, barely stopping before they reached the border with Flan’har. To the north, another few days’ ride
away, was Marsay, where he would be headed in a few short weeks, and to the south, the land stretched out before rising into mountains that overshadowed his family’s ancient home of Elita.

He’d never been allowed to see it. Bella and Lawrence had forbidden him to ever go there, had instructed Micah that he was never to take Andrew, despite his pleas. It hardly seemed fair, considering Andrew had been born there, moments before Duke Robert had destroyed the castle with the Word of Destruction.

Oh yes, he’d heard the story. Many times. Why, even Micah had added his few details once. So he knew there was little left standing beyond the main keep, and at this time of the year, the barren stones would be covered in snow. All the same, he longed to go, to just get a glimpse of a place that had so many legends attached to it.

But his mother had promised to take him when she next came to visit. Though she’d admitted that there was some danger for her to go near her old home, she had relented. A brief visit would do little harm. So Andrew now looked south, imagining the bluff of mountains as they would look now.

‘How do you think the Enclave will fare now Henry’s gone?’

‘They’ll survive. It’s a strong community. The death of one cannot force the death of the whole.’

Andrew smiled. ‘That sounds like something Henry would say.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about your mother, either.’

‘Oh? Why not?’

‘Because I’ve found that worrying about her has little effect on her fate.’

‘And you’ve had practice?’ At Micah’s nod, Andrew added, ‘So who should I worry about?’

This made Micah grin, openly, his expression lending itself to sunshine. ‘Worry about your lessons. Worry about your own future, my lord. Count your blessings while you can. Enjoy the life you have.’

‘Ah, now that really
does
sound like Henry.’

‘And learn to be respectful to those who can thrash you
without so much as blinking.’ With that, Micah kicked his horse – but Andrew was quicker. He raced away, laughing all the way across the valley.

*

Micah counted the trees. One after the other, along a well-travelled lane between two fields. He knew exactly how far he dared go, how close he could risk going to Maitland and how far back he had to remain, at least until nightfall.

Andrew rode in front of him, tiring now that he was minutes away from home. He had his hood pulled back, his cloak draped over his shoulders, as though the winter was something only other people had to worry about. One of the benefits of being young. Dark hair was pushed about by the wind, a little longer than usual – but by no means as long as his father’s, assuming his father still had long hair.

Micah frowned. It was getting harder and harder to hold to the lie. Each year, as Andrew grew older, his mind expanded, his interests encompassing so many things Micah was hard-pressed to keep up. But the boy had
always
had an interest in anything and everything to do with Robert. Why was that? Because somewhere, deep in his bones, he knew the man was his father? Or was it simply because Andrew was a boy, growing up in a country that had so few heroes left, wanting to emulate the best of them?

One day, Micah was going to slip. He knew that. One day, when Andrew asked another question, or pressed him for more detail, or rekindled feelings he would rather forget, he knew he would slip and say the wrong thing, giving rise to more questions, making the boy unsure of what was real in his life and what wasn’t. Making him doubt who he was and who he could trust.

Jenn had never made Micah promise not to tell Robert, had instead, asked him not to say unless asked directly. But he’d never been asked and now, fourteen years later, he wasn’t so sure he’d want to tell.

‘Are you staying for Caslemas?’ Andrew asked. ‘Or are you going to visit your family in Flan’har?’

‘I’ll hardly have time, will I?’ Micah replied levelly. No point
in giving the boy something else to worry about. ‘At this time of year, I’d barely get there before I’d have to come back. You won’t be at court for more than a few weeks this time.’ And Micah stayed with him every day that he wasn’t. Stayed and watched, guarded and guided. Played the servant and the brother, teacher and student.

Did whatever was necessary to ensure this boy would survive and grow. Did it because …

Whatever his reasons had started out, they’d changed over the years as he’d grown to know and love Andrew.

‘Are you going to come up to the house?’

‘Not tonight.’

‘But it will be dark in a few minutes. You’ll be sheltered.’

‘I’d rather get home and start a fire before the snow begins. The place will be damp and freezing after so many weeks away.’

‘I’ll come by tomorrow and help you clean up if you like.’

‘Thank you.’ Micah smiled. How could he not like this boy, this son of Jenn and Robert, this child who was to be the best of both of them, without their scars? He could only hope and pray, as he had done for every one of those fourteen years, that Andrew would not be cursed in his life the way his parents had been.

He counted the last of the safe trees and pulled his horse to a halt. Andrew paused and turned, giving him a smile. ‘You go on home. I’ll be fine from here.’

‘I’ll watch as always, my lord,’ Micah replied, matching the knowing smile with one of his own. These ritual games they played were as important as any other part of their relationship. ‘Go on. Your aunt and uncle will be waiting for you, with, I’m sure, a big fire and a hot meal. Think of me as you eat and climb into your soft clean bed.’

‘I’ll do my best to feel guilty, if it will make
you
feel better.’

‘It will, my lord, it will. Go.’

Andrew nodded. ‘Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning.’ He paused a moment longer, then turned his horse and trotted along the rest of the lane. From there the path opened out into a field which dropped gently towards Maitland Manor. Micah could watch the remainder of Andrew’s progress without
hindrance or observation. He had to stay back, had to pretend he wasn’t even here. People knew his name; some, years ago had known his face, known him as friend and aide to Robert Douglas, the rebel. So he stayed back in the shadows of his last tree and watched a rebel’s son return to his home in one piece. Saw the forecourt gate open wide to greet him, saw people wave to him as he rode in, saw the gate close behind him, ensuring his safety as much as anything else. Only then did Micah release himself from his duty and turn for his own home.

*

‘Andrew!’

He was barely down from his horse when he was swept up into a hug. Aunt Bella was not normally a demonstrative woman, but she allowed herself these small indulgences whenever he returned home, no matter where he’d been.

‘You look cold!’ She frowned. With her hands on his shoulders, she stepped back to take a better look at him. ‘And pale. Any problems?’

The question was so carefully phrased, even after all these years. Andrew just smiled and shook his head. He could never mention the chase through Shan Moss and Henry’s death, and worry about Osbert’s law changes would mean nothing to her. ‘No, we had a good trip back. Not too much snow.’

‘I’ll bet you’re hungry. Come inside and get warm.’ Bella turned and led him into the hall of Maitland Manor. Familiar warm wooden panels shut out the winter’s evening. A full fire glowed from one wall, while the other was decorated with three lit torches. Exactly as he remembered.

It was good to be home.

Bella gave him only a moment to absorb the scene. Then she put an arm around his shoulders and steered him towards the huge staircase set along one end of the hall. She walked with him as she continued, ‘Lawrence should be back shortly. You’ll see him at supper. I ordered a bath for you when I had word of your approach. I think you’ve grown another inch since you went away.’

Andrew laughed, looking once behind them to make sure
they were completely alone. ‘Finnlay says I’ll be as tall as him by the end of summer.’

Bella’s smile froze a little at that, became noticeably less easy. Andrew said nothing about it. He’d long grown used to her reaction to anything to do with his trips to the Enclave. If she’d had her way, he would never mention them at all – she would much prefer it if he never went, and made do with the infrequent visits his mother made to Maitland under the deepest secrecy.

‘Well, I’m sure you will be,’ Bella replied at last. Her resemblance to Jenn was remarkable, though she had more height to her and now, a little more weight. She had the same startling blue eyes as his mother, the same rich dark hair, though Bella had a patch of delicate silver at each temple, which sometimes looked more a decoration than anything else. She could be hard and uncompromising, but Andrew loved her all the same, even if she did seem to see everything from only one viewpoint.

They arrived at the landing where two corridors turned away to the east and north wings. There Bella paused, her hands smoothing back her hair, then the skirt of her grey winter gown. ‘And how was your … mother?’

This question always came sooner or later; sooner if Lawrence was not around. ‘She’s fine. Looking forward to coming for her visit.’

Bella looked at him then, her gaze measuring and a little fearful. Her next question came with a voice pressed and guarded. ‘And did anything … else happen while you were away?’

Anything else?

Oh.

Andrew couldn’t look at her. Instead, he stared at his feet, some parts in him twisted in shame, others doing the same with relief. If only he could work out how he really felt about this. ‘No. Nothing. I … I think Finnlay has given up on me.’

‘Oh?’

Andrew continued, whispering himself, ‘You don’t have to
worry, Aunt Bella. I don’t think I’m ever going to be a sorcerer.’

Her silence sat heavy inside him, drawing his eyes up once more to see her expression giving nothing away. Then she murmured, ‘Would that be such a bad thing?’

Andrew shrugged. He wouldn’t have much choice either way.

‘Go ahead and wash up. We’re having supper in the winter parlour. Come down once you’re changed. We’ve all missed you. Welcome home.’ With that, she gave him a brief kiss on his forehead, then turned and left him.

He headed down the passage towards his bedroom. The door was open, candles lit and another fire crackled to warm up the room. A thick blue rug lay on the wooden floor before the fireplace; the curtains were drawn to keep in the heat and fresh clothes were laid out on his bed.

Home.

He shut the door, pulling off his jacket as he walked across the room. He kicked his boots to one side and stretched his toes, moving more slowly now. He came to a halt by the north window, his hand on the cloth, feeling it between his fingers.

He waited and listened, an old, familiar and not unpleasant excitement building inside him.

Nobody came. Nobody knocked on his door. He had a few moments alone, at last.

Quickly he pushed the curtain aside to reveal the stone window embrasure. The night killed any view he might have had, but he was here for something else entirely. With deft fingers, he felt along the wall to his left, edging out a piece of stone that, to the eye at least, appeared to sit perfect and flat with its neighbours. Little by little he loosened it until he could get a better grip. Then, his heart in his throat against disappointment, he slid it out completely to reveal a small cavity in the wall, a place, he was sure, nobody but he knew about.

Or rather, nobody but himself and one other, whoever he was.

Pulling up his bottom lip, Andrew reached into the dark, cold space and touched his fingers upon a smooth, flat surface.
His heart leaped and a grin poured over his face. He gripped the book and brought it out carefully – sometimes these gifts were quite old and a little fragile. This one, however, looked newer and very sturdy.

Pausing only long enough to listen again, he turned so he could hold it up to the light, allowing the curtain to shield him from the window. He opened the cover of the book and removed a single sheet of paper. He unfolded it and read: