No reply. Even the birds had gone quiet.
“Ferryman? Will you take me to the island?”
Nothing. The wee man was not there, and nor was his boat. Common sense said go home, climb up and slip back in the window, try again another time. But Ash . . . What if he was still up in the tower, on his own and needing her help? She could not turn her back and walk away. That would be wrong; cruel. But she could not shout his name. Her father’s swineherd took his charges out to forage in the woods most days. If not him, then someone else was sure to hear.
There was another way. She could hitch up her skirts and wade to the island. The bag was secure on her back; if she trod carefully, she should get over. If she did not spend long in the tower, she could be quickly back home and in dry clothes before anyone saw her.
Without taking time to consider the pitfalls of this plan, Lily tucked her hem into her belt and headed back along the bank toward the ford. The best approach, she judged, was to wade halfway over in that shallower water, then strike out for the island at the point where the distance was least, which meant right in the middle of the river. She must hope that she wouldn’t need to swim. Go, she ordered herself. It was easier to do alarming things if one did not think about it too much beforehand.
The ford was deeper than she had expected, and the pebbles slipped and slid underfoot as if they had minds of their own. The water was icy cold. Ash, she thought. I’m doing this for Ash. But another voice within her said, He’ll have gone home by now; why would he stay up there? You’ll have got wet and cold for nothing. And then you’ll have to wade back again.
She reached the middle of the ford; from here, the island seemed not so very far away. Its gently rising sward and bright wildflowers seemed to call to her; it was easy to imagine herself and Ash sitting there together, hand in hand, perhaps whispering such sweet remarks as those he had made to her the day before. Yes, he had told her to go away. But . . .
She took a step into deeper water. Gods, it was cold. The current tugged at her clothing with insistent fingers. A shiver ran through Lily. Perhaps she should go back. She could feel the power of the river, and it frightened her.
Birds rose suddenly from the tower, a cloud of them, and beneath the susurration of their wings came another sound. Was that a voice, calling her name? Now silence; only the river spoke. Ash, thought Lily, and took another step.
It was fast; oh, so fast. Her foot slipped, she fell, the water came over her, she could not breathe. It swept her downstream, and as she came up, gasping for air, trees and sky and bushes and riverbank rushed past in a dizzying confusion. “Help!” she shrieked in the moment before she went under again. I’m going to die, she thought. And it’s all my own fault.
Then someone was in the water with her, someone whose arms came around her, strong and sure, and she could breathe again, almost, and someone was half dragging, half carrying her out onto the bank. Onto a grassy sward dotted with flowers. She was on the island. No, she was dead and this was some sort of vision . . .
“Lily! Lily, speak to me!”
It was real. He was here, soaking and shivering in his torn shirt, and she was on her hands and knees, coughing, spluttering, retching up river water, her gown dripping, her chest heaving.
“What were you doing? I thought you had drowned!”
Through her discomfort, she heard the desperate note in Ash’s voice. “I’m sorry,” she choked. “I brought you some food, some other things . . . but they’ll be all wet.” She snatched a breath; managed to sit up. Eased the sodden bag off her back. Realized that the soaking had rendered her gown somewhat transparent and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re still here,” she said. “I thought you might have gone home.”
“Just as well I didn’t, or you would be far down the river by now. You scared me, Lily. I haven’t run so fast in a long time. And now you’re wet through and freezing cold, and I have neither warm hearth nor blanket to offer you.”
She was indeed cold. The island might be a pretty spot, but the day was cool and her clothes were wet through. “I’m sorry,” she said again through chattering teeth. “The ferryman wasn’t there. And I didn’t want to go home without checking that you were all right.” He seemed to have more bruises and cuts than before; had that damage been done in the water?
“What ferryman?” Ash asked.
“The little ferryman. The . . . I don’t know what he is. A small fey person.”
Something changed in Ash’s face; something closed up. Did he think she would lie to him?
“There are fey folk in these woods. I see them sometimes. But that was the first time I had spoken to one. He was . . . friendly. Helpful.”
“Not today.”
“I’m sorry,” she said once more, not sure whether she felt embarrassed or guilty or furious or all three at once. “I . . . I needed to come over. I needed to be sure you . . . I mean . . . You saved my life, Ash.” She was shivering so hard now that she could barely speak. She had indeed been foolish. How was she going to get home?
“Here,” said Ash, and drew her into his arms. “I have no hearth fire, but I’ll warm you the best I can.”
It was an awkward sort of embrace, made more so by the fact that the two of them were wet through, but Lily felt his body strong and warm against hers. She laid her head on his shoulder, and knew that if her whole world had not changed the moment she first saw him in the tower, it surely had now. His hand came up to stroke her hair; his fingers were gentle, brushing back the wet strands from her face. Through a rent in his shirt, her cheek touched smooth bare skin.
“I’m—” she began after a little.
“Shh,” whispered Ash. “Don’t say you’re sorry you came. I am not sorry at all, only glad that I did not fall and break my neck in my headlong rush to reach you. Glad that I still have you.” There was a lengthy silence, during which his hand came down to caress the back of her neck, while her fingers moved tentatively, then lingered in the strands of his crow-dark hair.
A few paces away, someone cleared his throat. Lily and Ash released each other instantly and struggled to their feet, awkward in their wet garments. Before them stood the ferryman, holding an armful of dry wood and regarding them with a quizzical expression. “Kindle you a wee fire?”
“Oh, yes!” said Lily, and at the same moment, “No!” said Ash.
“Young lady might perish from the cold.”
“No fire,” Ash said. “Unless you can make a fire without smoke. Smoke would draw unwelcome attention.”
He was right, of course. Smoke rising from the island was sure to bring curious onlookers, since it was well-known that nobody ever set foot over here.
“I can,” said the little man, and proceeded to do so, every twig set just right, the whole arrangement circled by white stones that he seemed to find without really looking. When the wood was in place he crouched over it, and a moment later the heap was ablaze, crackling heartily. There was no smoke at all.
“Thank you,” Lily said, crouching close to the flames and reaching out her hands to warm them. “I brought you something, but I’m afraid it will be spoiled.” She unfastened her pack and reached inside for the sweetmeats. Curiously, the little bag that held them was quite dry, and when she peered in, the contents looked entirely unharmed by their dunking in the river. “Here it is.”
The ferryman accepted the small bag, opened it and sniffed deeply at the dainties within.
“It’s not meant as a payment,” Lily said. “More of a gift.”
“Tasty,” said the little man, and slipped the sweetmeats into his pouch. “Kind girl. Warm up quick and I’ll ferry you back over. No harm done.”
What was to be said? She had nearly drowned. She had endangered not only herself, but the man her heart told her was her one and only, her destined true love. If the ferryman offered safe transport, she had no choice but to
accept. As for why he had not helped her before, when she needed him, the answer was simple. The wee man was fey. The fey did not think the way humans did; everyone knew that. “Thank you,” she said, feeling her eyes fill with foolish tears.
She unpacked her bag. Her plan had been to tend to Ash’s wounds herself, to salve and bandage them. But now that he had held her close, now that she had felt the thrill of that in her body, deep and dangerous, she thought it best not to offer. “I will leave these things for you. There’s food and drink too.”
Ash had gone oddly quiet. He sat staring into the small fire, his handsome features as somber as if someone had indeed drowned. What had she said to upset him? Was he angry with her for being so foolish? Perhaps she was quite wrong about this. Perhaps those feelings of longing were entirely one-sided.
“Ash,” she said after some time. “You could come too. Leave the island, go home, be safe. Will you tell me who you are? Who you really are? I could help you.”
“You said you’d seen the fey in these woods.” He did not look at her, but kept his gaze on the flames. “When? Who did you see, small folk like him, or . . . ?”
His tone troubled her. It was as tight as a bowstring.
“I see them quite often when I’m out walking, though never very close, and never for long. Not wee folk; these are more like human men and women. Only . . . only I can tell they’re different.”
“Have you seen a—” Ash began, then fell silent once more.
“I should go,” Lily said. But she did not rise.
“Rain coming,” put in the ferryman after a while. “Go soon, yes?”
Rain. Rain might be useful, Lily thought. “Ferryman,” she said, “could you take both of us back over? Ash and me? I know the boat is small, but you could ferry us one at a time.”
“What will you pay?”
“I will pay,” said Ash before Lily could answer. “For her to go safely across, and for you to see she gets home unharmed. Here.” He held out his hand with something on the palm; a small, shining thing that must have been concealed in his clothing, or around his neck perhaps, for there was a fine cord attached.
The wee man examined it. “Sure?” he asked, turning a beady stare on Ash. “Quite sure?”
“I’ve nothing else to offer. Please take Lily safely home.”
He did not want to come with her; he did not want to leave the island. And yet he’d sounded distraught at the idea of losing her to the river. Lily wondered if young men thought quite differently from young women. She surely did not understand this one. First he put his arms around her and filled her up with warm feelings; then he sent her away.
“It’s best,” Ash said now. “My presence imperils you, Lily. Look what just happened—you were a hair’s breadth from drowning. If I came with you, danger would follow us both. There’s no escaping it.”
“I don’t know what you mean. All I want to do is help you. I—” No, she would not say, I love you. She had known him only a day. But she said it in her heart, and with her eyes.
“Just let him ferry you across, and go home, and don’t look back,” said Ash. “Promise me.”
This was cruel indeed. And unfair. “I won’t promise,” she said with such firmness as she could muster. “I can’t turn my back and forget this ever happened. Not unless you can tell me, truthfully, that you never want to see me again.”
Ash looked down at the ground. He said nothing at all.
Lily reached out and took his hands in hers. “Let me help you,” she said. “Please. Whatever the danger is, I will face it with you.”
Ash drew a deep breath and let it out in a kind of shudder. “I can’t, Lily. I can’t go, and I can’t explain. I’m sorry; sorrier than I can say. Go now, please.” He released her hands; took a step back. Now he was looking at her, and his eyes returned the feelings that were in her own heart. “Please, Lily. Leave the island; forget me.”
“Best be moving,” put in the ferryman, glancing up at the clouds, which were darkening even as he spoke. “A wet walk home, I’m guessing.”
Her pride would not allow her to beg, to cling to him, to shed tears. But walking away broke her heart all over again. “I’m not giving up,” she murmured. “I’m stronger than you think.”
What could it be that held him in such fear? This must be far more than she had thought at first. No young man was in such terror of his parents that a night of carousing would leave him unable to return home at all. Surely an apology, a promise to do better in the future and an acceptance of appropriate punishment would be all that was required. The answer must lie in finding out who he really was. Someone must know; someone, surely, must be looking for him. She would find out, even if it meant breaking secrets. She would find out and she would save him.
The little boat made its way across to the shore, every dig of the pole taking her farther from Ash. He stood on the island as she left, his arms wrapped around himself, his face all shadows. It seemed to Lily that she would need hope enough for two.
The rain came as the ferry reached the shore: droplets that soon turned to a steady downpour. Lily stepped out. She could see barely an arm’s length ahead. “There’s no need to walk back with me,” she said, remembering that Ash had, in effect, paid for her to be escorted home. “Thank you for your kindness, ferryman.”
“Kindness, is it? There may come a day when you won’t thank me. But you’re a fine girl, and I hope it won’t happen. Off home with you, then, and may good spirits watch over you.”
“And over him, I hope,” said Lily. “Ash, I mean.”
The wee man offered no reply. With the rain roaring down as if to punish all in its path, Lily turned and sprinted for home.
15
Blackthorn
Geiléis’s household provided Grim and me with good accommodation—a roomy chamber, its stone walls softened with embroidered hangings; two comfortable beds well supplied with woolen blankets; and, best of all, our own small hearth with logs and kindling set by in a basket. Not that we’d have much time to sit by the fire sharing a brew, but it was good to have the means to make one if we felt so inclined. A second door led directly to a yard with a privy and a well. We could hardly have asked for better.
Soon after our arrival, servants brought us a small tub and jugs of hot water for bathing. Geiléis’s retainers were efficient and, for the most part, curiously silent. There was no screen in the chamber. While each of us in turn bathed, the other went out into the yard. Our domestic arrangements were what they were: too complicated to explain to folk who did not know us well. And none of their business anyway. Grim would rig something up for privacy. He was good at these things.
After the long ride and that welcome bath, and with a full stomach, I anticipated a good night’s rest. But the decision that lay before me, along with the knowledge that I had kept the truth from Grim, turned my belly into a churning mass of disturbance. When fitful sleep did come it was attended by dark dreams. I did not make any noise—at least, not that I was aware of—but Grim knew, all the same, and stayed awake with me. He asked me once or twice if anything was wrong, and I said, Nothing worth talking about, which was a kind of lie, but not the bare-faced one that an outright No would have been. Geiléis and her monster troubled me less than perhaps they should have. I would deal with them and move on. I would send the creature in the tower packing or I wouldn’t. It was Flannan’s mission that tangled up my thoughts, the mission I longed to say yes to, in spite of all my reservations. It was the only thing that counted. The only thing I cared about. What Flannan had said, about my not being true to Cass if I held back from bringing Mathuin to justice, stuck in my heart like a prickly burr that could not be dislodged. Yet I knew going south would be a reckless choice, even with all those like-minded folk ready to stand up alongside us. Mathuin was powerful. He was ruthless. Some chose freely to serve him; others did so out of fear. He was
quick to punish the disobedient and was ingenious in his cruelty. Yes, Flannan’s network was extensive, but I doubted, now, that anything less than a challenge by other leaders could overthrow the chieftain of Laois.
Last autumn I’d walked away from Winterfalls and headed south alone. Back then, my furious desire to see justice—the same passion I’d felt burning in me when Flannan had first told me his plan—had overwhelmed my common sense. If Grim hadn’t come after me and talked me out of going, who knew where I would be now? Back in Mathuin’s lockup, maybe, either thrown there by his henchmen, or magically transported there by Conmael. Though Conmael had given me five chances to get this right. So he might simply have appeared when I reached the border, made a comment about my poor judgment, and told me to go home. And although it galled me to admit it, he would have been right.
So why couldn’t I let go of this? Why couldn’t I tell Flannan straight-out that under no circumstances would I be part of this plot? In my dreams, brief, disturbing dreams, I saw Cass, a man whose goodness had shone from him, a husband who had loved me despite my faults, a father whose son had filled him with joy. I knew in my heart that Flannan was right—if Cass had lived, he would still be fighting. His greatest weapons had been his pen and his intellect. He would have found a way to go on using them. There were other dreams too. The lockup. The dark, the screaming, the thud of a whip on naked flesh. The filth, the things they did to me, the way I became so accustomed to being abused that I almost didn’t care anymore. The faces of those men who shared the place with us. Strangler. Poxy. Dribbles. Frog Spawn. Poor sods.
And Grim. Grim who had stood by me when I was at my worst. Who, in those foul days and nights, had always called me Lady, as if I were above it all. Grim who had saved me from myself, over and over. Who had his own terrors, which meant he could not sleep on his own. If I said yes to Flannan, I would have to leave Grim behind. There was no way I was going to risk leading him back into that hellhole.