I thrust my own barely tasted cup of chocolate into Susie’s hand the moment Ystevan arrived and dragged him into the garden without giving him time to get a cup of his own. I hustled him through the gate and with scant ceremony, appealed, “Please heal my father, please! He’s so ill!”
“We’ve been through this,” he retorted irritably and strode off through the park.
After a night of sleepless anguish, having to talk to his back simply infuriated me. I put a spurt on and caught up with him, seizing his arm and swinging him around to face me. “Don’t just walk away from me!” I snapped furiously. “What happened to explaining your reasons!”
“I have explained them. Thoroughly,” he retorted, his voice low and beginning to approach a snarl. “I have a higher regard for your intelligence than to suppose that you have not understood me! I have been patient, but this is growing ridiculous. There is nothing left to explain!”
“Nothing left!” I cried. “No, it is I that will have nothing left! Explain to me why you would leave me without a father? If he dies, it will be your fault!”
“It will be his own cursed fault,” snapped the guardian, clearly beyond restraint. “He is a sorcerer, and the sooner he dies, the better!”
I choked, and half blind with gathering tears, lashed out at him with my palm. His spectacles went flying but my wrist slammed into the circle of his fingers before my hand could strike his face, and they closed like a vice. His eyes had bled to pure gold. I’d finally made him truly angry.
“Don’t do that,” he told me in a near-whisper. “It is considered very bad manners for a she-elf to hit a he-elf.” And he gave my arm a little shake as if to drive the point home.
I wrenched slightly, but to no avail. I could feel that he could crush every bone in my wrist without exerting himself. But I did not fear him. That choking lump in my throat seemed to be growing bigger, pure panic; what if he wouldn’t, what if he really wouldn’t do it? I tried to push it down, but just then, it was no good, and it rose up, and the tears overflowed my eyes, and I buried my face against his chest and wept.
He released my wrist and put his arms around me comfortingly, holding me close, stroking back and hair. “It’s all right, little one, it’s all right,” he soothed me, but I just sobbed, “It’s not, it’s not!” and hit his chest with my feeble fist, but he made no effort to stop me and I hurt my hand on his jeweled collar. So I put it around his neck instead, retaining just enough sense to avoid further injury on his crest. But his concern brought another memory rushing back to me.
“Serapia? Serapia? Are you alright? Wake up!” Someone was knocking on the door...
I opened my eyes, breathing hard, my nightgown clinging to my sweaty body, and stared around in the dim moonlight coming through the inn’s grubby window. Not another nightmare! I was on my way back! And for an unexpected bonus, time-wise, Ystevan’s own mission turned out to be of an urgent nature. With my heavier human self mounted on post horses, and the elfin-light guardian riding Hellion—who hardly seemed to notice he was up there—we were making speedy progress. But we still had to stop to sleep occasionally.
“Serapia? Are you alright?”
Oh, I hadn’t answered yet. “I’m fine. Just a nightmare.” Though I’d wager he knew the latter, or he wouldn’t merely be tapping politely on my door. Then my eyes went back to the moonlight streaming through the window. “Thank you for waking me, but you get back inside your...your room!” I couldn’t shout about wards in the night-quiet.
It hadn’t really occurred to me until we set off that an elfin away from the fort gained not the slightest protection simply from being within a human dwelling. Although we stopped at inns at nightfall, he sat alertly as we ate our meal, his eyes shifting warily, and only relaxed when he was in his allotted room and had set out his seven egg-sized rocks in a circle and gone within it.
These stones clearly provided a temporary ward powerful enough to withstand demonic assault for an entire night without maintenance—necessary, or guardians would never have been able to get any sleep when away from the fort. Normally he dragged the bed into the centre of the room to get it within the circle. If the bed happened to be built into the wall, he would sleep on the floor instead.
“As you wish, my lady...” His voice came teasingly through the door, but I couldn’t hear his light footsteps as he padded away. Barefoot, no doubt.
I settled down in my bed again and watched the clouds disturbing the play of the moonlight on the floor. In two more days, we would be in London. Ystevan was still refusing to aid me, but I had a plan. What I needed to do, what I really needed to do, to break this impasse, to change his mind, was to actually bring him face to face with my father. Surely, once he actually met him properly, he would sense what I had sensed the first time I met my father—that he was a good man. And the guardian’s stony, duty-bound heart would be softened.
I knew how to achieve it, as well. This journey provided the perfect opportunity. When we reached Albany House, I would invite him in for refreshments. If he resisted the idea—which he probably would—I would make much of human propriety. I would explain that to refuse hospitality after so long a journey was offensive in the extreme, tantamount to a declaration of hostility, that such behavior was unthinkable...
If all my eloquence failed, I would cry. Surely that would work.
And if it didn’t? Well, I would jolly well swoon right there on the verge. Then he could either leave me lying there in the grass—not likely—or he’d have to pick me up and take me to the house.
Yes, if I could just bring this off, all might still be well.
My mind returned to the park. Ystevan went on shushing me soothingly until my tears died down, but I was still suffering from a minor case of the disconsolate sniffs when I felt his body tense. “Serapia,” he murmured in my ear. “Friends of yours?”
I opened my eyes and peeped over his shoulder. Quite a few people were now loitering in what had been a quiet park. I stiffened as I focused on the closest one.
The feral youth, the late Master Simmons’ bodyguard…and that one, that was the older man with the cruel eyes, who’d also worked for Master Simmons.
“I’m guessing they’re after me?” added Ystevan, very softly.
“Actually, two of them…could just possibly be after me…” I muttered back. “If they know my urchin identity, that is…” But then my eyes travelled on to a third man, and I tried not to frown. Ralph Fletcher, surely? All right, so ratting on your boss to save your neck might be looked upon with somewhat more sympathy than simply ratting on your boss for coin, but there was still no way these two would have left him alive unless…unless…unless they were all working for the same new employer, and a powerful one. “No, if this lot are working together, I think they’re after you.”
“What a surprise,” breathed Ystevan. “All right, stick close to me. They won’t care if you get hurt.”
Quickly, I touched Raven through my bodice. “Stay in there, Raven,” I whispered. “Understand?” I felt her little head nod against me as I slipped my hand through the slit in my skirt to ease out my dagger. The hilt was warm in my palm.
“Are you sure that safyr is reliable?” asked Ystevan, as I released him. He scooped up his spectacles, and we turned to stroll on along the path, back towards the chocolate house, still pretending we saw nothing suspicious about the men who…yes, there were four or five loiterers in this direction as well. Someone had amassed quite a force.
“I’ve no idea what it would make of you,” I retorted. “But I’d trust it with my life. Frequently have.”
To my surprise a faint smile flicked across Ystevan’s face. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “All right, watch out…” The men were converging on us, would-be casually, and he sounded tense.
I glanced at him… Oh no, he couldn’t use his bow, could he? He wasn’t allowed to reveal his elfin powers in front of humans under any circumstance, that’s what he’d said. So he’d a dagger and his stick…would it be enough?
I’d like to have thought that he had me too, but since I wouldn’t actually be much use at close quarters, I knew in reality he was going to have to protect me as well as himself.
The men suddenly abandoned their pretence and rushed us in a surprisingly disciplined silence. Ystevan moved so fast I could hardly follow him. His first three encounters left one man bent double, clutching a broken wrist, a second unconscious on the ground, and a third on his knees, hugging his rib cage. Ystevan wasn’t even using his blade, he was just using his hands and his feet, and it was clear he could’ve left all three men dead if he’d chosen to.
It was plain from the way the other men’s advance checked momentarily, that they could see it too… But they pressed on, closing in around us. Someone had put the fear into them all right. And they all held knives.
I tried to stay close to Ystevan, as he’d said, but he had to keep springing from side to side, like a whirlwind, tackling one assailant after another.
Ralph Fletcher made a dash for Ystevan’s back, so I concentrated hard and hurled my dagger, sprinting after it to yank it out of his shoulder even as he slumped down to his knees, mouth open in shock. As he crawled away, I tried to return to Ystevan, but the feral youth was there, eyeing me with a disturbingly intent look, and a moment later the cruel-eyed man was beside him. I saw the glance that passed between them.
“Fancy bladework for a lil’lady like yourself…” said the man. “Do we know yer, eh?”
I backed away as they advanced, horribly conscious that I had only one blade and two targets—and much shorter legs than either of them, so running wasn’t a good plan… Which one to go for? The older one would be slower, so…the feral one it was. Unless… I’d never tried something this big before.
They rushed me, knives raised. I gripped the dagger as tightly as I could.
Unseen…unseen…unseen…
They blinked, rapidly, as though they were struggling to focus on me…not good enough.
UNSEEN!
The dagger pulsed in my hand, burning hot. The older man slowed down, looking confused, but the feral youth gave a berserk howl and charged at the spot where he’d last seen me. I almost dodged but he clipped my shoulder, carrying me to the ground. I was trying to roll clear when he grabbed hold of me, raising his knife.
I drove my dagger up into his chest, whacking his blade away with my other hand. He gasped, snarled like a wounded dog…then collapsed on top of me. Frantically I tried to wriggle out from underneath and yank my dagger free, all at once. Too late, the cruel-eyed man was looming overhead.
“You little witch!” He kicked me in the side, hard, jerking a cry of pain from me, then kicked me again, before bending over me—I could feel Raven scrabbling to get out of my dress and attack him, but his knife was almost at my throat... “This’ll teach you, you!” A look of pained shock crossed his face, then all expression left it and he toppled across the feral youth… Ouf!
Ystevan stood there, his dagger in his hand. “Will that teach you not to attack females?” he demanded of the dead man. Bending, he seized a collar with each hand, dragging the corpses off me. “Serapia, are you hurt?” Kneeling, he gathered me up with gentle arms, carrying me quickly away from the scene of the fight.
Raven had missed being squashed by the falling man, thankfully, but I pushed her back gently so no one would see her. “Good girl,” I whispered. “Everything’s all right now.”
Over Ystevan’s shoulder, I could see that most of the men were writhing or kneeling on the grass in positions of varying discomfort. A few seemed to be missing all together, they must have fled. He’d dealt with all the others whilst I was scuffling with just two of them… As I watched, some of the men started grabbing one another for support and stumbling away.
“Aren’t you going to…turn them over to Sir Allen, or something?” I wheezed, clutching my own ribcage in serious discomfort of my own.
Ystevan made a dismissive noise. “Far better to leave them alive, and loose. One or another will surely lead me to someone of importance, maybe even Arathain himself.”
He must have made sure he could track them in some way. But being so close to him, his face near mine, a memory was stirring, one it almost felt like I’d been unconsciously trying to hold back, to keep forgotten...
“Well, here we are,” said Ystevan, as we drew rein outside the massive gateposts of Albany House. “We’ve made good time.”
“Yes,” I agreed, my heart pounding now that the moment had arrived—with fear, but mostly with intense hope. If I could only get him inside.
I’d just drawn breath to speak when his hand came to rest gently on my shoulder—he’d pressed Hellion close alongside my mount. I looked up at him, meeting his green-gold eyes—he’d removed his spectacles and tucked them in a pocket. The look of naked sorrow on his face startled me.
“Serapia...I really am more sorry than...than I can ever express...about this.”
This? Since when had he cared... “About my father?”
He gave a tiny, sad, smile. “That, too.”
The corners of his eyes were full of water. Tears? What...?
His hand slid along my shoulder, his fingertips touched the nape of my neck, and his wonderful eyes expanded and swallowed me up...
I toppled from my saddle, and the last thing I felt was his strong arms catching me...
Ystevan was carrying me...yes, we were in the park...the men had attacked us...attacked him. I felt disorientated by this last memory, far more so than by any of the others. My chest...ached. Not just from my assailant’s violent kicks. Even the memory of Ystevan’s tears couldn’t relieve the pain. Because he’d still done it.
It was his duty...
It was a total betrayal...
My mind and my heart did not agree at all on this one. But I’d known how it ended. Ever since meeting him again in London, I’d known. Why was I so upset?
But come to think of it, where were the two gifts he and Haliath had given me whilst I stayed with them? He’d stolen those too, hadn’t he?
Ystevan set me down on the grass at last, just outside the chocolate house’s gate, and placed his hands on my sides. Mercifully, the physical pain eased and breathing became much more pleasant again. The other ache didn’t go away, though.
All the same... “Thank you!” I said, with feeling. “I’m sorry I wasn’t much use.”
He gave me an incredulous look. “You dealt with three of them, I could hardly ask for more!”
“Uh…technically you dealt with the third one…”
He waved this away. “You kept him occupied, which was what mattered. With those three on me as well, I could have been overwhelmed. But I strongly suggest you don’t experiment with your modest abilities in that way. In public like that. It’s very dangerous—and I don’t just mean for my people, but for you too. First of all, for you.”
I bit my lip as I thought of what I’d done. He was right, it had been horribly indiscreet. Witch, the man had called me. At least the only two who’d been paying attention to me were dead. Was that…the real reason why Ystevan had slain the last man or had his protective instincts simply been roused? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. On the other hand…
“I’d have been dead a whole lot sooner if I hadn’t done it,” I pointed out. “But I certainly won’t do it again unless I have to. I feel like…like a kitten now, for one thing.” My whole body did feel appallingly weak, as though I’d just had that near-fatal cold all over again.
But he just placed a hand each side of my face and stared at me. “I’d have died otherwise is not a good enough reason, Serapia. In these situations you simply have to find another way. Humans are not good at telling the difference between natural elfin abilities and the devilish magic of a witch. You need to think, what would you have done if you had no such abilities?”
I knew he was right about the danger, and that I had perhaps been too easily tempted into experimenting, but he was still making me angry acting as though I’d done something totally stupid—especially coming on top of that excruciating memory. “Run, and probably died!” I retorted.
“You would not have died, I would have reached you in time.”
“You hope!”
He flushed slightly, sounding every bit an offended nineteen-year-old as he protested, “I would! Fighting evil is what I’m trained for!”
Evil? Like my father? The thought popped into my head and my temper rose even more. I pushed away from him and got to my feet, only slightly shaky.
“You can’t talk about evil!” I snapped. “Thief!”
“Technically elfin do not steal memories, we only cloak them.”
“I’m not just talking about that! Where is my hand-quartz? My diary?”
His flush deepened. “By the time it became clear you actually believed that we would deliver you back to your father with your memories intact, we’d already given you those things...but just to use while you were with us, was how we saw it.”
“Among humans, a gift is a gift, and once given it belongs to the person it’s given to. And taking it back is stealing.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. You were never supposed to...miss them. I didn’t mean to...to upset you.”
His gentle words just made me feel even worse. Because what did they mean, coming from him? He’d still do his duty, come rack or ruin. For all I knew, he was planning to steal my memories all over again before leaving London, promise or no.
“Why do you even bother acting as if you care a ha’penny about me?” I demanded.
“I do care, Serapia. Very much.”
“No, you don’t! You won’t even heal my father!”
“A sorcerer is a sorcerer,” he snapped. “Why can’t you see that?”
I stared at him. I hated it when he trotted out his absolutes. “You act as though a sorcerer—which my father isn’t, anyway—is the same as a dark elfin. But they’re not, are they? A dark elfin can’t help themselves, at least, not at the beginning. A human would have to be possessed to be the same. And a human who’s not possessed can choose not to be bad. Again and again, even if just once they chose poorly. Humans always have to choose. You could heal a good human and they could choose to do evil tomorrow.”
“What’s your point?” ground out the guardian.
“My point,” I said emphatically, “is that you’re judging sorcerers by exactly the same criteria as dark elfin and it just doesn’t work! It’s not like there aren’t exceptions even with dark elfin! Even you admit Siridean wasn’t evil.”
“Probably wasn’t,” corrected Ystevan. “And I still don’t see your point. Sorcerers only become sorcerers by consistently choosing evil. The fact that they could choose other scarcely matters.”
“It matters because my father is not a sorcerer,” I persisted. “He chose sorcery once, and ever since then he has always chosen good, though it will mean his death. So why won’t you save him?”
“One choice of that nature is more than enough,” said Ystevan coldly.
My frustration boiled over. It was like talking to a brick wall. “You just don’t want to admit that a person can go that far into evil and come back!” I cried. The words tumbled from my mouth one after another and I couldn’t seem to stop them. “You’d have killed Siridean yourself, wouldn’t you? The virtuous elfin or the evil demon, it was just a question of which of you found him first! You’ve decided Arathain can’t be saved, and it’s easier for you if you think that no one can be!”
Ystevan’s face whitened to the shade of chalk, and my hand flew to my mouth.
“No circumstance. Ever,” he bit off, then turned and strode towards the gate.
“Ystevan?” I gasped after a moment, but he did not look back. “Ystevan? I didn’t mean that...”
I hurried after him as fast as my tired legs would go, but I could not catch his long-legged form. I pursued him through the chocolate house and into the street beyond.
“Ystevan!”
But he was gone.
I sank down on a nearby bench, fighting back tears. He’d probably never even want to speak to me again, and I could deny the truth no longer. He was never going to agree to heal my father.
Susie hurried up to me, but I dug a coin blindly from my purse, belatedly checking myself for bloodstains, but thankfully my dress was a dark color and nothing had stained the lace of my ruff. “Go back inside, Susie,” I told her in a choked voice. “Have another cup of chocolate. I will be just out here.”
Casting anxious looks behind her, Susie obeyed. I sat there for some long moments in miserable silence and solitude, until finally I realized that someone had sat beside me.
“Pardon me for coming up to you like this…”
I stared at him blankly, not really seeing him.
“Forgive me if I am mistaken, but it looked as though you and Lord Ystevan had had a bit of a row.”
Startled, I focused properly on the person beside me and my eyes widened. “I saw you on the road the other day!”
The golden-haired youth smiled and nodded. “So you did. You gave me quite a turn. I had to hide ever so fast. But I know it is all right to speak to you now. You are the Rare Exception,” he finished humorously.
“You know Lord Ystevan, then?”
“Of course,” said the young he-elf. “We are colleagues, as you would express it.”
Of course, he was a guardian. What had Ystevan said? That only guardians ventured among humans.
“Lady Serapia Ravena,” I said formally, holding out my hand. “Delighted to meet you.”
“Lord Vandalis of…well,” he smiled apologetically, shaking my hand with his own gloved one, “forgive me if I do not actually name my fort and clan.”
“Have you been a guardian long?” I could not help asking. He seemed closer to my own age than Ystevan. He could be sixty years old, though, small wonder if he was already trained and trusted. I didn’t get so much of a…feel of him…as I got from most people. He felt strangely…blank. Maybe he was nervous and closed in, speaking to a human.
“Not very,” he was replying, with a slightly embarrassed smile. “This is my first er...task…in the human world. You must forgive me if I was curious to meet you. It is a rare thing to meet a human with whom one may actually be oneself.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” I said. “I really am delighted to meet you.”
“You looked so upset, too,” Vandalis added a little shyly. “I don’t know what Ystevan said. He can be rather…hard.” He shrugged as though apologizing for his fellow guardian’s insensitivity.
“Yes, he can,” I agreed ruefully, frantically marshalling what I hoped would be the most polished and persuasive version of my father’s tale yet.
“What did you two, ah…?” Vandalis was inquiring delicately.
“I’ve been asking him to heal my father,” I replied.
Vandalis fixed me with a look not wholly unlike the one Ystevan and the elfin Queen had turned on me. He knew there was more to come. “I cannot imagine why he would refuse you. What is the nature of his ailment?”
“I will tell you all about it, but I should mention first that, due to complicated circumstances, I never met my father—or knew of him at all—until this very year, so nothing I say is prejudiced in his favor in the way it might otherwise have been.”
I shot a look at Vandalis, but his face still showed nothing but polite interest.
Quickly, but calmly, I began at the beginning, explaining about my father’s love for my mother, about the onset of his foresight, how it had driven him near-mad with fear and grief.
I could tell I had Vandalis’s complete attention and continued, picking my words with exquisite care. But as I spoke the word “sorcery”, Vandalis’s face closed into an unreadable mask. I could have howled with frustration. Was it happening again?
I hurried on, desperately, desperately seeking the words to break through his preconceptions and make him listen.
“He truly is penitent. He has been penitent for years. Nothing will make him turn back to sorcery. If he were prepared to do so, he could actually have saved himself by now. But he chooses to die, instead. That is how penitent he is. How resolved to choose goodness at any cost to himself. Please, I beg you, won’t you help him?”
And I waited, trying not to bite my lip, for his reply.
Vandalis’s expression was still decidedly indeterminable. “Sorcery is not some venial little sin,” he remarked at last. “Indeed, it is not considered to be something from which one can come back.”
“God’s forgiveness covers everyone! Even a penitent sorcerer. And he’s not even a...”
“It isn’t safe to allow a sorcerer to live,” interrupted Vandalis. “It simply isn’t.”
“But he is not a sorcerer!”
Vandalis looked thoughtful. “You say not, but I have only your word for that. Certainly the only solid evidence of this case is that your father has had recourse to sorcery. As such he definitely comes into the category of those who are to be helped on their way to judgment if necessary. Still, let me have all the facts. How is it that he could now complete the sorcery if he chose?”
I thought my heart would burst with relief. I had been sure that utter, irrevocable refusal was coming. Perhaps he might yet be persuaded to help me.
Carefully, I explained what the sacrifice was to have been, how my father doubted whether he could actually have done it anyway, and my certainty that he could not have done. I told him about the sorcerers’ attempt, how my father had rescued me, sent them packing and destroyed the temple.
“Hmm,” he said, when I’d finished, frowning in thought. “What can I make with all this... These sorcerers,” he went on, after a moment, “who were they? They were human?”
“Well, the leader was this horrible staring man. I’m as sure as I can be that they were human, yes.”
Vandalis nodded to himself. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “Ystevan would tan my hide for helping your father. But the man is clearly no sorcerer. Ystevan is so very inflexible about these things.”
“Would you come and look at my father?” I asked, struggling to contain my eagerness. “I mean, you could just come and look at him, see what you thought. Decide then…”
Vandalis shot a glance at the sun, apologetic again. “I really cannot, not right now,” he said. He’d been looking up and down the street as we’d been speaking, so not wholly to my surprise he went on, “I have my business to attend to; I’m going to be ever so busy this afternoon. But…”
He paused again, then shrugged. “I am not in Ystevan’s league, you understand, but… Well, I will be staying tonight at a well-warded house in London; I will not have time to go home. I really would rather not wander around at night without very good cause; did Ystevan explain about that?”
I nodded, breathless with hope.
“Anyway, if you bring your father to me at sixty-six Hounsdiche at say, eleven o’clock in the evening, I should have finished up everything to do with my business by then and be free to see him. And I will heal him if it lies within my power. I wouldn’t like to promise, you understand,” he added. “Though it is most likely that I can do it.”
I nodded, my heart pounding with joy. He was prepared to try to heal my father, and he thought he probably could do it!
“I truly cannot thank you enough, Lord Vandalis,” I said. “I’m delighted to find that not all elfin are so uncompromising.”
Vandalis smiled ruefully. “Perhaps I will be so as well, after a few decades in the job. But just now, I hope I retain my sense of proportion.” He stood and bowed to me, so I rose hastily to curtsey back. “I will see you tonight, then,” he said, then added, “I, ah, really wouldn’t mention this to Lord Ystevan, by the way,” and was gone down the street.
Mention it to Ystevan! Not likely. I gathered my cloak around myself so that Raven could climb out of my dress for a hug. “Did you hear, Raven,” I hissed. “He’s agreed to help!”
Raven chattered her delight, but after a moment pawed at my thumb and shot a look in the direction Ystevan had gone.
“I know,” I sighed, for sweet-tempered and helpful as young Lord Vandalis seemed, I had to admit that I wasn’t entirely sure I didn’t like the stubborn and irritable Ystevan better. But he probably never wanted to set eyes on me ever again.
“Pa will be healed, please God,” I whispered to Raven, “and that’s what really matters.”
~+~