Pulling away from him, Dathne stared into her husband’s apprehensive face, her dark eyes hollow with misgivings. “The diary?” she said at last. “Asher, are you saying…”
“Do you mean Barl’s diary?” said Pellen, as she and Asher held each other’s molten gazes. “Asher, you said that was destroyed. To keep Lur safe from the magics it contained, Gar burned the diary to cinders, you said.”
Asher shrugged. “Aye, well. I lied.”
“To me!” cried Dathne, and wrenched herself off the couch. “Asher, how could you?”
Jaw stubbornly set, Asher shrugged again. “I promised Gar I’d keep it safe, didn’t I?”
“And what about keeping Lur safe?” Dathne demanded, hands on her hips. “You said it yourself—for all the equality that now exists between the Olken and the Doranen there are still mages like Rodyn Garrick who consider themselves superior. Who pine for the old days. Let the brute magic in that diary fall into his hands, or the hands of a mage like him, and—”
Asher shook his head. “That ain’t goin’ to happen.”
“You hope it won’t happen!” she retorted. “But in matters of Doranen magic I prefer certainty to hope. You should’ve burned that diary, Asher. You had no business keeping it. You had no right to lie!”
“Look,” said Asher. “I’m sorry. You weren’t never meant to find out the diary ain’t destroyed. But—”
“And why isn’t it?” Pellen asked. “You and Gar, of all people, you both knew how dangerous it is.”
“ ’Cause Gar—” Asher sighed. “It sounds daft, I know, but he… I reckon he went a bit soft on Barl, there at the end. Translatin’ bits and pieces of that bloody diary, I reckon he—and he was goin’ to die!” He scrubbed his hand across his face. “It were his dyin’ bloody wish, weren’t it, that I keep the diary safe so there’d be somethin’ of her left in the world. How could I say no?”
Stony-faced, Dathne stared down at him. “You could’ve said yes, then burned it after.”
“Gone back on my word to him?” said Asher, his own stare just as hard. “I don’t bloody think so. And if you reckon that’s the kind of man I am, Dathne, then—”
“I don’t know what I reckon,” she said coldly. “Not any more. After all, until a few moments ago I reckoned you’d never lie to me.”
“Sink me bloody sideways!” said Asher, close to shouting. “I owed him, Dathne, and I—”
“And what of your debt to me?” she said, tears threatening. “Your wife. The mother of your children.”
“Aye, well, as I recall there were one or two truths you forgot to mention along the road, Dath,” said Asher, well and truly fired up now. “So mayhap you’d best not start flingin’ mud, my fine lady, seein’ how—”
“All right,” said Pellen, as Dathne stalked to the parlour window. “Please. Let’s everyone take a deep breath. The last thing we need is to say something we’ll soon enough come to regret. Asher—”
“What?” said Asher, his scowl ferocious. “You got a knife you feel like stickin’ in me too, Pellen?”
“No. No, of course not,” he said, as soothingly as he could. “But I can’t help wondering—Asher, did you think you couldn’t trust us with the truth?”
Asher looked at him as though he’d lost his wits. “Don’t be bloody stupid, Pellen. I reckoned you’d be happier not knowing, is all. Happier thinkin’ there weren’t no chance of a Doranen gettin’ their hands on the sinkin’ and usin’ old Doranen magic ever again. I know I’d be bloody happier thinkin’ that!”
Remembering his nightmares of that battle in the Market Square, of seeing Morg transform helpless men and women into foul, slaughtering beasts… remembering the terrifying creatures Asher had summoned from thin air to defeat them, he nodded. “I’m sure you would.”
Asher’s eyes were grim. “Sometimes I wake up at night, frighted on what’s in that diary,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Frighted on what could happen if some of them spells got loose. Think I want that for you and Dathne?”
“Oh, well I’m sure it’s very considerate of you,” said Dathne, icy. “But perhaps that’s the kind of decision we should’ve been left to make for ourselves!”
“Don’t you be bloody stupid either, Dath,” said Asher. “Once I told you then you’d know, wouldn’t you? There ain’t no takin’ it back after, is there?”
Dathne opened her mouth, then thought for a moment. “That’s not the point,” she muttered. “The point is I don’t appreciate being treated like a child.”
“I didn’t treat you like a bloody child!” he snapped. “I treated you like the woman I love best in the world. I was tryin’ to protect you, Dathne. And you, Pellen. Any road, you know now the diary ain’t burned, so let’s not fratch on it, eh? What’s done is done.”
As Dathne breathed hard, subduing her temper, Pellen frowned. “So… where’s it hidden?”
“Ha.” Asher’s lips quirked with brief, wry amusement. “Gar’s got it.”
He stared. “What? You don’t mean—”
“Aye. It’s in his coffin. Ain’t nobody goin’ to footle about in there.”
“That’s disgusting,” said Dathne.
“Why? He won’t mind,” said Asher. “Means he’s still safeguardin’ his kingdom, don’t it? Reckon he’d smile on it, if he knew.”
“Asher—”
Pellen raised a calming hand. “Peace, Dathne. He’s right. What’s done is done. And what we need to do now is decide what’s to be done next. Is the diary even any use to us? We know there are warspells in it, but is there anything else? Anything that can help us now?”
“Gar translated some of it,” said Asher. The lingering amusement in his face died out, leaving him sorrowful. “But I never read nowt ’cept the warspells. And after I killed Morg… after Gar…” He shook his head. “Never wanted to lay eyes on the bloody thing again, did I?”
“So it is possible,” he persisted, “that somewhere in that diary is an explanation for what’s happening here. Maybe even some kind of spell that can—can heal Lur before even the least sensitive Olken among us realises something is wrong, or someone tells the Doranen, or they notice it themselves.”
“If there is, and Garland translated it, we could avert widespread panic,” said Dathne. Arms folded, eyes brooding, she flicked a glance at Asher. “We could save Lur without anyone else having to know it needed saving at all. Without WeatherWorking.”
“I could live with that, I reckon,” said Asher. “Ain’t like I be champin’ at the bit to start that malarkey again.”
Pellen considered him, uneasy even though this was their best hope for averting disaster. “So you’ll retrieve the diary?”
“Soon as I can,” Asher replied. “My word on it.”
He nodded, feeling strangely comforted. If there was a way out of Lur’s new trouble his friend would find it.
“Good.”
Asher frowned. “Pellen, don’t you go gettin’ your hopes up. There ain’t no surety I’ll find an answer in that diary. And even if I do, could be I ain’t good enough to use the magic. I ain’t trained and there ain’t a Doranen I can ask for help. I mean—I’ll try. I’ll do my bloody best. But I can’t promise you nowt.”
It wasn’t fair, what they were asking. What they expected. Stung with guilt, he tried not to see the fear beneath Asher’s customary brusque exterior. “I know you can’t,” he said, trying to smile. “It’s all right.”
“Ha,” Asher muttered. “It ain’t all right, Pellen. It’s just the way it is.”
An uncomfortable silence fell then, as they lost themselves in their separate thoughts and separate fears. At last, afraid of letting himself drown in the doldrums completely, and niggled by one last piece of unfinished business, he looked up. Reluctant to mention it, though he did badly want an answer.
“What?” said Dathne.
He felt his face warm. She knows me too well. “Nothing. Sorry. Only… you were going to tell me about Rafel.”
“Rafel,” sighed Asher. “Aye.” He rubbed his chin. “The thing is, seems Rafel’s like me.”
“Like you,” he said blankly. And then he realised what Asher meant. “A mage like you? He can wield Doranen magic?”
“Aye.” Asher didn’t look pleased about it. His eyes were bleak, his mouth pinched. “Which ain’t what me and Dath were after.”
Of course it wasn’t. Who knew better than they did, the kind of complications such a talent wrought? “Who else knows?”
“Well, Rafe knows,” said Asher, with a kind of grim humour. “Ole Pother Nix. And Pother Kerril, as he’s retired. And Darran knew.”
“No-one else? Not any member of the Mage Council?”
“No,” said Dathne, as troubled as her husband. “And we want to keep it that way.”
“ ’Cause the last bloody thing we need is Rodyn Garrick and his poxy friends gettin’ the wind up over Rafel,” said Asher. “Bad enough they still look sideways at me. I don’t need ’em lookin’ that way at my son.”
“And what of Deenie? Is she—”
“We don’t think so,” said Dathne. “She’s shown no sign of it so far.”
“So cross your fingers for us she never does,” said Asher, scowling again. “My little mouse don’t need Doranen magic.”
Thinking of Charis, and how he’d feel were he to find she was blighted like Rafel, he frowned. “No.” And then the implications of this news began to stir. “Rafel knows, does he, how important it is that he not—”
“Aye,” said Asher. “Me and Dath, we’ve told him.”
Looking closely at his friends, Pellen could see his own unease reflected in their tight faces. Saw more than unease, and felt his nerves jump. “Ah—just how powerful is he?”
Asher and Dathne exchanged guarded glances. Then Dathne sighed. “Powerful enough that we—took precautions when he was still small,” she admitted, reluctant. “With Nix’s help we’ve hobbled him so he can’t do himself or anyone else a mischief.”
“Does he know?”
Asher shook his head. “Tell Rafe that and like as not he’d see if he could unhobble himself. Gets easy fratched over not bein’ able to magic as he pleases, does our Rafe.”
That didn’t surprise him. Asher and his boy had so much in common. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, feeling oddly formal. “Of course I’ll not breathe a word.”
After that there seemed nothing left to say. As he saw Asher and Dathne to his mayoral home’s front gate, Charis returned from her playtime at the Tower. The maid who’d brought her back let go of his daughter’s hand, bobbed a curtsey to him, then Asher and Dathne, accepted a silver trin in thanks and went on her way.
“Dadda! Dadda!” Charis squealed, flourishing a sunflower. “Look what I grew!”
Snatching his daughter up in his arms, he buried his face in her frothy black curls. Love was a battering storm within him. “I see it! Who’s a clever puss, then?”
Wriggling, Charis flashed a smile at Asher and Dathne. “Deenie grew one too, but mine’s bigger,” she said proudly. “And Meister Rumly didn’t help me one bit.”
“You had lessons with Meister Rumly?” he said, and shook his head at his friends. Not because he minded her learning to use her magic, Ibby’s gift, but because the Olken mage charged handsomely for his tutoring and neither Asher nor Dathne would countenance him paying part of the fee whenever Charis joined in Deenie’s lessons.
Dathne dropped a kiss on Charis’s head. “It’s a beautiful sunflower, Charis.”
“Aye,” said Asher, smiling. “You be the queen of sunflowers, poppet.”
Pellen squeezed his daughter tight. “No, she’s the queen of the tub. Come along, little gardener. Bath-time for you. Asher—Dathne—”
The smile died out of Asher’s eyes. “We’ll talk, by and by.”
“Good,” he said, and let his voice snap, just a little. “No more secrets.”
“Secrets?” said Charis. “What secret, Dadda? Who’s got a secret?”
Ah, Barl save him. Children. “I have,” he said, turning away from the front gate, and his friends. “And I’ll bet you never guess what it is.”
“I will! I will!” she said, pouting. “I can guess, Dadda. I can!”
Laughing at her vehemence he took her inside, closing the door on the world and its troubles. Letting himself pretend, for the last sweet time, that they were safe, and Lur was safe, and bad times were nothing but stories from the past.
Leaving behind the leafy residential district where the wealthiest Doranen and Olken lived, and Pellen lived for as long as he was mayor, Asher and Dathne made their unspeaking way into the commercial district so they could wander along the high street up to the palace, and home. With the weekly markets still four days away, the City’s streets were only moderate busy. A few ridden horses. A handful of carts and carriages. Some folk trudging, wearing out their shoe leather. Dorana’s inhabitants, well-used to seeing them out and about on foot, did nowt more than nod and smile as they passed. Sometimes not even that, if they were Doranen.
The sun was starting its long, slow sink, gilding the brightly coloured buildings’ walls and tiled roofs. With afternoon’s shadows lengthening, some shops were starting to close their doors and shutter their windows. Asher felt himself frown at that. He and Dath had lost nearly the whole day to Lur and its troubles, yet they were still no closer to solving them. Instead they’d piled more strife onto their plates, what with dratted Fernel Pintte and his foaming hatred of all things Doranen, and Polly’s unwelcome opinion that his resentments were widely shared.
Chewing on that news, not liking the taste of it one little bit… not liking either the thought of digging up Barl’s bloody diary… he let the heavy silence drag on until he and Dathne reached halfway to the Tower. Then he took her hand in his, possessively, and tugged her a step closer.
“Come on, Dath,” he wheedled. “You know you can’t stay fratched at me forever.”
She snorted. “I can try.”
“Mayhap it weren’t right I never told you about the diary… but I didn’t hold my tongue ’cause I don’t trust you.”
He felt her fingers relax. Heard her release a long, slow sigh. “I know,” she said. Sounding like she did when she wanted to be fratched with him, and couldn’t. “But that doesn’t stop me wanting to slap you.”
“Y’can do more than slap me after lights out,” he suggested. “Y’can have your wicked way with me, woman, and I won’t try to fight you.”
Another snort. “You’re impossible.”
“Aye,” he said, grinning. “It’s why you love me, I reckon.”
A third derisive snort. “Who says I love you?”
Heedless of anyone who might be watching he halted, swept her to him and bent her over his arm to plunder a breathless kiss. “I do.”
Blushed bright red, she beat a small tattoo against his chest. “Asher!” she protested, as Olken passers-by whispered and giggled. “What are you doing?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Practisin’ for lights out. ”
And she laughed, just like he knew she would. Hand in hand they kept walking up the sloping High Street.
“Asher…” said Dathne, breaking the brief silence. “About Fernel Pintte…”
He squeezed her hand. “Don’t you go fratchin’ yourself on him, Dath. Reckon I put that fool straight.”
“You scared the daylights out of him, is what you did,” she retorted. “And me.”
“Didn’t mean to,” he said, surprised. “Not you, any road. Him I meant to bloody terrify. Stupid bastard. What’s he thinkin’ on, eh, wantin’ to stir up that kind of trouble?”
Dathne chewed at her bottom lip. “Asher, what if it’s true? What if some Olken are as unhappy as he and Polly claim?”
“Dath, I ain’t heard that kind of claptrap from a single Olken I know. You let him rattle you, is all.”
“Just because people aren’t saying things doesn’t mean they’re not thinking them.”
“And what if they are? You said it, Dath. We can’t kick the Doranen out. There ain’t no place for ’em to go. So if there are more stupid Olken like Fernel Pintte and that biddy Polly, they’ll have to face facts, eh? ’Cause ain’t nowt going to change. The Doranen be in Lur to stay, just like us Olken.”
She sighed. “Oh, Asher…”
“Dath, you can Oh, Asher me into the middle of next bloody week. I’m right, and you know it.” He squeezed her hand again. “Don’t fret. Once we got the earth settled again, everythin’ else will settle too. You’ll see.”
Lapsing into friendly silence, they left the city behind and entered the palace grounds. Strolled the wide, djelba-lined carriageway towards the Tower, nodding and smiling at the visitors who’d been paying their respects in the Garden of Remembrance. A few times they stopped to chat, pretending all was well, because it was expected of them. They weren’t Lur’s royal family—but they were its next best thing.
At last they passed through the gates that kept their privy grounds safe from the public… and saw their grubby son sitting cross-legged on the grass beneath a sheltering tree. When he saw them he leapt up, hands fisting by his sides.
“Da. Mama.” Rafe’s lower lip jutted, a sure sign he expected trouble. “We got to talk.”
Last thing before bedtime, every night ’less he were sick, or in trouble, Rafel padded his way downstairs and out to the stables to give Stag an apple for his supper. Even on winter’s coldest nights he did that. It made him feel warm inside, knowing the pony wouldn’t go to sleep until they’d had their whispering moment.
The dimly glimfired yard was hushed, all the lads and Jed in their dormitory over the stables where once upon a time Da used to sleep. In their snug stables the horses made sleepy night sounds, straw shifting beneath them, hooves clinking on the bricks. There was a lamp burning in Stablemeister Divit’s privy quarters above the feed room, and a shadow flickering against his drawn curtains that said he was safe in there, minding his own grown-up business.
Stag looked out over his stable door, ears pricked, head tossing up and down. His pony way of saying hurry up, hurry up. Rafel clicked his tongue and Stag whickered, deep in his throat, so it sounded like he was laughing. Pleased to see him. Greedy for his apple.
“There you go,” said Rafel, stroking the pony’s warm brown neck as it crunched and slobbered, white apple-foam dripping. “You did good today, running faster than Goose’s nag. You’re the best pony in the kingdom.”
Stag snorted, agreeing. Rafel rested his forehead against Stag’s cheek, fingers reaching to scratch behind the pony’s ears, where it sometimes itched. He heard the funny flap-flap-slap of Stag’s droopy lips, the sound the pony made when his fingers found the right spot.
“I’m frighted, Stag,” he whispered. “Da and Mama say what I felt in the riverpond was Lur rolling over in its sleep, that’s all, but that ain’t true. I know it ain’t true. And I reckon Da’s gonna try and stop what’s really wrong. But what if he can’t, Stag? It’s bad. It’s really bad. What if Da—what if he—”
He couldn’t say the words out loud. He felt dizzy to think them, even.
He smeared his sleeve across his face, angry at himself for being frighted Da might die. Angry at his father for lying. For still treating him like a sprat.
I ain’t Deenie. I’m old enough to know.
Stag nudged his arm, asking for more apple.
“Sorry,” he said. “I only brought one. I only ever bring one. Reckon you ought to know that by now, you ole trout.”
Stag snorted again, nose wrinkled, and stuck out his long tongue. Because it was their game, and it wasn’t Stag’s fault he was frighted, Rafel grabbed the pony’s tongue and tugged it, but only a few times. He wasn’t in the mood for playing.
“Night, Stag,” he said, and patted him goodbye. “See you in the morning.”
He walked back to the Tower, feeling the cloudy night stretching dark and quiet around him. Even the nightbirds’ singing was soft, as though they couldn’t not sing but were afraid of waking something. Bright light burned in Da and Mama’s parlour window. It was far too early for them to be asleep. Halfway up the Tower’s wide stone steps he slowed, then stopped. He was meant to go straight to bed now, that was the way it worked. One apple for Stag then upstairs to sleep. Except…
How am I s’posed to sleep when they won’t tell me the truth? They should tell me the truth, after what I felt today.
But there was no point arguing on it, even though he surely wanted to. He’d already tried once. Made Da all fearsome, so Mama had to soothe him down. She was good at that. She got a lot of practise. But seeing Da fearsome made him glad he hadn’t told his parents everything. He’d told them what he’d felt at the riverpond with Goose, but he left out the part about calling the silver carp. It wasn’t Doranen magic, but even so… they’d be fratched. Last thing he needed was for Da to be fratched. When Da was fratched he noticed things.
And if he figures out what else I’ve been doing when he’s already riled…
Feeling guilty and scared, and twice as prickly because of it, he stamped into the Tower and up the winding staircase to the blue floor, which was all his. Maybe he’d feel better for reading Tollin’s adventures again. They were fearsome too—he and Goose had near wet themselves, reading that parchment—but in a funny way it was a good kind of fright. A ghost story fright. They’d played explorers the whole afternoon after reading it, and pretended to die dozens of lingering, gruesome deaths. But as he rode home he’d remembered the riverpond… and his happiness had fizzled. Cheering himself up with Tollin’s parchment was sure to help. Except—
Deenie was perched on the middle of his bed, waiting for him.
“What do you want?” he said, slamming the chamber door behind him, his heart slamming just as hard. If she’d been snooping… if she’d found the hidden parchment… “This is my room. You ain’t allowed in here.”
Knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, her long nightdress glowing pinkly in the bedside lamp’s glimfire, Deenie looked at him. Her eyes filled with tears.
“Snivel, snivel, snivel,” he added, feeling savage. “You’re such a girl, Deenie. Go back to bed.”
She sniffed, not budging. “What happened today, Rafe?”
That made him blink. “Nowt. Why? What d’you mean?”
“I felt something,” she said, hugging her knees even harder. “I felt—I felt you.”
“You did not,” he retorted. “You’re just a sprat, Deenie. You can’t feel nowt.”
“Yes, I can,” she said, nodding hard. “You did a big magic, Rafe. And then you got all scared and upside-down when the earth went funny. I felt it.”
“No, you didn’t!” His mouth was dry, his belly churning. “And if you tell Da and Mama you did, I’ll—I’ll—I don’t do big magic!”
Her chin was all wobbly. “Yes, you do. Today you made the fish jump. And other times you crack stones and you dance leaves and you do silly things with your bathwater.” She was breathing all hiccupy now, her eyes glitter bright. “You do trickier things too. And—and this morning you did something really tricky.”
She could feel him doing the spells he pinched from Arlin? She’d felt him picking Da’s Doranen lock? Shocked breathless, he stared at his sister. And then he shoved her hard with both hands so she tumbled backwards onto his pillows.
“If you tell Da or Mama any of that I’ll—I’ll spit on you!” he panted, nearly cross-eyed with fright. “With magic in it! See if I don’t!”
Deenie scrambled to the floor, putting the quilt-covered bed between them. “I won’t tell. Why would I tell? Don’t spit on me. Please don’t spit on me, Rafe.”
Suddenly he felt horrible, like the worst person in Lur. Deenie’s eyes were so wide. She was a bratty sprat, his little sister, a girl, but she was family. And there she stood staring at him with her wide eyes dribbling tears, because of him. He’d done that. He’d made her afraid.
“I won’t,” he said, hot with sudden shame, and dropped onto his bed. “I won’t, Deenie. I promise.”
Sniffing again, she clambered up beside him. “Why’d you go all upside-down, Rafe?”
“I ain’t sure,” he said, and held out his arm for her to snuggle against him. “It’s hard to explain. How come you know when I do tricky magic, Deenie? Not even Da knows that.”
Safe and soothed beside him she shrugged, a tiny wriggle of her shoulders. “I just do,” she whispered.
“Aye, but how?”
Another wriggle. “I feel it,” she said. “In here.” She poked a finger into her nightdress-covered chest. “Like a tickle.”
He’d never heard of such a thing. Pother Kerril had never said anything on it. Neither had Da or Mama. “Who knows you feel magic?”
“No-one,” she said. “Just you.”
“Da doesn’t know? Or Mama?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“You ain’t even told Charis?”
“Rafe—”
“Why not? You tell her everythin’ else,” he said. “You’re always whisperin’ and gigglin’, you two.”
She wriggled right out from under his arm. “We are not! Anyway, you and Goose are the same. ’Cept you don’t giggle. You snort. That’s boy’s giggling, Charis says.”
“Charis,” he sneered. “She’s a frilly sprat, she is.”
“She is not!” said Deenie. “Anyway, Goose is a—a—goose.”
“He ain’t no such thing!”
“Is too!”
“Is not!”
“Istoo!He—he—”
“You hush up, Deenie,” he said, fist raised. “This is my room, and Goose is my friend. So you don’t get to call him names.”
Flushed and teary again, Deenie slid off the bed and put her hands on her hips. “You’re mean, Rafel. You’re a—a—bossy ole fart!”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m ten, Deenie. I ain’t bloody old.”
“Oooh!” she said, and slapped a hand to her mouth. “You said bloody, Rafel. You said a swear.”
He smirked. “So did you. So we’re even. So there.”
“It’s not the same!”
“Is too.”
“Is not!”
Frustrated and furious they glared at each other. Then Deenie giggled. He tried to stay cross with her, tried to keep his scowl from slipping, but he couldn’t. So they giggled together, Deenie scrambling back to his side again, knees scrunched tight to her chest the way she liked best.
And then he didn’t feel like giggling any more, because he remembered what she’d said. Like probing a sore tooth with his tongue, he couldn’t leave it alone. “You really felt me call those fish?”
Solemn, eyes round like an owl’s, she nodded.
“And after that? You felt—you felt—” He couldn’t say it. Whenever he thought about Lur’s groaning earth he went trembly sick inside.
“Mmm,” said Deenie, and her eyes filled with more tears. Deenie was a watering pot, she cried all the time. She was such a girl. “Everything went funny,” she whispered. “Crackly and crinkly. The air smelled wrong. And you were so scared.”
He wanted to say, I was not! But he knew she’d argue. Funny how she described it. Crackly and crinkly. It wasn’t the way he felt things, but Pother Kerril said every mage was different.
He frowned at his bratty, spratty sister. “Have you told Da or Mama about you feeling the earth go funny?”
“No,” she said, and seemed to shrink into herself. “Don’t you, either.”
That surprised him. “Why not?”
Instead of answering, she drew pictures on his quilt with one careful finger.
“Deenie, why not?”
She shrugged. “Da’s fratched. He doesn’t like magic.”
Deenie was too young for Da to talk to her man to man. So how would she know he was fratched? “Is that you feeling things again?” he said, suspicious.
“I can’t help it,” she said, her voice wobbling. “I just do.”
He didn’t like it, but he s’posed he couldn’t blame her. “Why ain’t you told Charis?”
“ ’Cause,” said Deenie slowly. “She gets all bouncy and she can’t keep a secret. She doesn’t mean to tell, she just does.” She sighed. “Did you tell Goose?”
“Course I did,” he said, scornful. “He ain’t bouncy. He knows how to keep his trap shut. Not like a girl.”
“It’s not ’cause she’s a girl! It’s ’cause she’s Charis. But she’s still my bestest friend.” Deenie’s cross face turned wistful. “She grows beautiful sunflowers. Better than me.”
Rafel nudged his sister gently with one knee. “Maybe. But she can’t feel things like you do.”
“I think she might.” Now Deenie traced a fingertip up and down one of the quilt’s fat blue stripes. “I’m not sure. I haven’t asked her. But I think she knows something’s wrong, too.”
Rafel thought about that. He knew. Da knew, and Mama. Deenie knew. And now Charis? Da wanted to keep it a secret, but how could he? Maybe lots of people knew. And if they did then soon they’d come clamouring at him. That’s what people were like. They’d make a fuss, expecting him to fix things like he did before ’cause he was the Innocent Mage. Fear surged again, hot and hungry and crowding into his throat.
He ain’t got King Gar to help him this time. He’s got Mama, but it’s not the same. It ain’t fair. This is all the Doranen’s fault. They started it. They should fix it. What if Da can’t fix it on his own? What if—what if—
“Rafel?” said Deenie. Her voice was nearly a whimper. “Rafel, what’s the matter? What—”
And then the chamber door opened, and Mama was standing there with such a look on her face.
“Rafel? Deenie? Jervale’s mercy, what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “Do you know what time it is? Back to bed at once, young lady. And you, Rafe! You should be in bed too. There’ll be no more supper apples for that pony if this is how you carry on!”
Deenie tumbled off the bed, swallowing a sob. She never could help snivelling if ever a voice got raised at her. “Sorry, Mama.”
“I should think so. And you, Rafe?” said Mama, as Deenie squeezed past her on bare, scurrying feet. “Are you sorry too?”
No, he wasn’t, but if he said that, Stag wouldn’t get his supper apple for nigh on a week, most like. So he ducked his head. “Aye, Mama.”
“Ha,” said Mama. She was a tough one to fool. “A likely story.”
She still sounded cross, but not too cross. So he looked up again. “Mama…”
“What is it?” she said, and came properly into his chamber. “Rafe? What were you and Deenie talking on? You didn’t tell her anything, did you? About what happened today?”
No, Mama. She told me. But he couldn’t say that, either. “Course not. You said not to say.”
“Good,” she said, and sat on the bed beside him. Smoothed her hand over his hair. “Because she might be bright as a button but she’s still a little girl. A shy little girl, Rafe. She’s not rough and tumble bold, like you.”
Rough and tumble bold. Mama had never called him that before. He liked it. “Deenie’s a watering pot,” he said, pulling a face. “Boo hoo hoo, all the time.”
Mama’s fingers pinched his ear. “That’s not nice, Rafe. Big brothers look after their little sisters. They don’t call them names.”
“Yes, Mama,” he said, like a good boy, because he didn’t want her taking away his nightly visit to the stables. “Sorry, Mama.”
“Wheedler,” she said, half-smiling, half-scolding. “As bad as your father. Now into your nightshirt, my fine fellow, and bed.”
“All right,” he said. “I will.”
This time she kissed his forehead. “Good boy.”
“Mama…” he said, as she stood. “Da—Da—”
“What about Da?”
Can he save us? Will he save us? But he couldn’t get the words past the lump in his throat. Mama dropped to a crouch, and took his cold hands in hers.
“Rafel, you’re not to fret,” she said softly, her eyes hard and bright. “Nowt bad is going to happen. Your da won’t let it. Your da is the strongest, bravest man in the kingdom. We’re safe as safe, all of us. I promise.”
He nodded, feeling his eyes sting, seeing her face blur. He hadn’t snivelled once when he was telling her and Da about what he’d felt in the riverpond… but now he couldn’t help it.
“Hush, now,” Mama said. “And into bed. When I come back I want to find you fast asleep.”
“Yes, Mama,” he said, gulping a bit.
As she closed the chamber door behind her, he kicked off his boots. Yanked off his socks. Stripped off his shirt and trews and smalls, leaving them draped all anyhow over his chamber chest, and slithered into his nightshirt. Dove beneath his blankets and doused the glimfire lamps with a finger-snap.
Your da is the strongest, bravest man in the kingdom. We’re safe as safe, all of us. I promise.
Hugging Mama’s words tight, his fears banished for now, and not needing Tollin’s parchment, he drifted to sleep.