The Innocent Mage (35 page)

‘No.’ Matt spoke absently, as though he’d barely heard the question, or didn’t care what it might mean. ‘Look, I’m sorry you’ve been hurt but if you had told me I could’ve spared you some of it. There’s no use having feelings for Dathne. She’s not that kind of woman.’

That snapped his head round. ‘And what’s that s’posed to mean?’

‘It means …’ Matt stared at the ground. ‘She’s not for home and hearth, Asher. Her life is in the bookshop. Business. She belongs here, in the City.’

Something else he didn’t need Matt to tell him. ‘I know that now.’

‘And even if you stayed, it wouldn’t make any difference.’

He shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Well, I ain’t staying, am I, so there you are.’

‘I know, but …’ Matt shrugged. ‘Even if you were, Asher. She still wouldn’t — well, her answer would be the same. That’s all I’m saying.’

All this bloody interfering. Friends, eh. Who needed ‘em? ‘Y’know that for a fact, do you?’ He sounded waspish. He felt it. Right this moment he could sting, and sting, and sting.

Matt rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘If you mean has she ever said as much to me, no. She didn’t have to. I know her, Asher. We’ve been friends a long time, and sometimes — not often, but sometimes — she confides in me. Dathne’s a … a racehorse. Not a broodmare.’

Despite the anger and pain, he laughed. ‘I wouldn’t go round callin’ her a horse where she can hear you, Matt. Not less you fancy yourself as a gelding.’

‘I just wish you’d not told her,’ said Matt unhappily. ‘It only makes things harder for her. It’s not that she doesn’t care, you know. She just doesn’t care like that.’ ‘For me?’ ‘For anybody.’

‘So, this ain’t about you bein’ jealous?’ Matt gaped. ‘No! Me and Dathne, you mean? Barl save me. No.’

Asher stared, suspicious. ‘You’re sure?’ ‘Bloody sure. I promise.’

Stepping sideways so that Matt’s hand was pulled free, he scowled. ‘Well. Anyways. I did speak to her, didn’t I, and I reckon I’m paying dear enough for the mistake without you chewing on my ear for good measure. Now were there, anything else? Only I’ve got to meet with bloody Darran to make sure there’s been nowt forgotten for tomorrow.’

‘Anything else? I don’t know. No. Yes. Asher, if going home doesn’t work out for you …’

Asher began inching towards the gate that led to the Tower. Bloody Darran would start squealing like a hog in the slaughterhouse if he didn’t turn up soon. Even worse, if he was late he’d have to apologise, and apologising to Darran gave him indigestion. ‘Of course it’ll work out. I got it all planned, Matt. Had it planned for years, not just since I came here.’

Matt took a step after him. ‘Yes, but you’ve been away a long time, Asher. Things change.’

He laughed. ‘Not that much, they don’t.’

‘I know. I know. But if they do. If they have …’

The urgency in Matt’s voice and face made him stare. Matt as a rule was a placid man. Urgency was saved for important matters like lameness and difficult foalings. He stopped inching towards the gate. ‘What’s going on, Matt? Is there something you ain’t tellin’ me? D’you know something I don’t, and should?’

‘No.’ Matt’s expression cleared of everything save a gentle concern. ‘Of course not. What could I know? I’m just trying to be a good friend.’

Damn, he hated saying goodbye. He had to wait a moment before he could trust himself to speak. ‘You’ve always been a good friend, Matt. Always, from the first day I got here. I ain’t likely to forget it.’

Matt smiled. His eyes were melancholy. ‘I hope not.’

He was late. He had to go. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, eh? I need Cygnet saddled by seven, mind.’

‘He’ll be ready.’

And there wasn’t anything else to say after that. Slipping through the stable-yard gate, he started running for the Tower.

‘Ah. Asher,’ said Darran, poisonously polite. ‘I’m afraid you’ve missed most of the discussion.’

‘Sorry,’ muttered Asher as he slid into Darran’s office. ‘Got held up.’

‘Indeed.’ Darran looked down his bony nose at him. ‘Well, I’m not inclined to waste time by repeating everything we’ve already agreed upon. I’ll give you your instructions once we’re done.’

Wilier sniggered. He was seated beside the Tower’s housekeeper, Mistress Hemshaw, who in turn was wedged into the chair next to Trundal, the palace provisioned

‘Fine,’ said Asher, burning, and propped himself against the nearest bit of wall.

After confirming with Trundal that everything necessary for the long journey was assembled ready for loading into the wagons, Darran turned to the housekeeper. ‘Mistress Hemshaw, have you anything else to add?’

She fluffed herself like a broody hen. ‘No, Darran, save for the matter of His Highness’s wardrobe. He’s still not made up his mind as to exactly what clothes he wishes to take with him so I can have them properly packed and ready for loading.’ Darran’s nostrils pinched shut. ‘I see.’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ said Asher, already bored to sobs and staring out of the office window. T ain’t his nursery maid.’

‘For the sake of efficiency, shall we pretend otherwise?’ said Darran. ‘Just this once?’

Asher sighed. ‘Fine. I’ll take care of it.’ ‘All that remains, then,’ Darran continued, ‘is one final announcement. After due consideration and the proper consultation with His Highness I have decided to allow Wilier to accompany us on this historic trip to Westwailing. He shall be our official chronicler of the expedition, charged with the solemn duty of keeping a daily diary and accurately recording every moment of His Highness’s triumphant procession.’

Wilier sat bolt upright and squealed like a girl. ‘Oh, Darran! Really? Oh, thank you, thank you!’

Aye, thought Asher sourly, as Mistress Hemshaw and Trundal dutifully congratulated the little sea slug. Thank you very much, Darran. And Gar. Barl bloody save him. With Darran and now Wilier along for the ride, it looked like this was going to be the longest, most tedious trip from Dorana to Westwailing in the history of Lur.

An hour after dawn the next morning Gar’s entourage was in the last throes of its preparation to quit the City. Four large covered wagons and a travelling coach crammed nose to tail around the outer edges of the Tower’s forecourt. Darran stalked along their length, interrogating the drivers and any menial who couldn’t scurry away fast enough. Asher, in counterpoint, crisscrossed the scattering gravel on horseback, barking orders, contradicting Darran, chivvying and bustling and scuttling folk out of his way.

Still put out about Wilier being included in the expedition, Gar decided, and swallowed a smile. Oh well. It served him right for being so rude about people who had so many fancy bloody clothes they couldn’t make up their mind which three shirts to throw into a suitcase, and did he really think the folk down Westwailing way cared whether his britches were blue or crimson? Because, you know, it was damn near certain they didn’t.

Every spare inch of the forecourt not occupied with last-minute baggage waiting to be stowed or grooms holding horses or messengers bearing sundry forgotten items was packed shoulder to heel with palace and Tower folk and townspeople, eager to send him on his way with a smile and a wave. Even’ the surrounding gardens were peppered with grinning faces. Seeing them went some small way to warming the cold hollow space in his chest.

If he wasn’t very careful he’d find himself feeling terrified of the job that lay ahead. Terrified of doing something wrong, of looking a fool, of letting his father down when the only thing that mattered, in the end, was making him proud.

Reading his mind as usual his mother said, ‘It’s a shame his expedition doesn’t appear on the official calendar. I bow the Olken on the coast hold the event close to their hearts. But, for reasons that doubtless seem sanguine to the Privy Council, you must depart without their auspices. When it comes to the Sea Harvest Festival not even your lather warrants a goodbye wave from Conroyd, you know.’ She flickered a smile at him. ‘Are you so very disappointed?’

They were standing together on the Tower’s front steps, pretending to be bored by all the hustle and bustle. With a lifetime of practice behind her, his mother was much better at it than he was. He, lowering though it was to admit, was feeling pretty damned excited.

It was, he supposed, marginally better than feeling terrified.

‘Disappointed? Not at all. It was the first thing Darran told me so I’ve had ample time to recover from my devastation,’ he replied dryly. ‘You know as well as I, the minute the Privy Council gets involved in anything the protocol quotient trebles and it takes five times as long to get anything done. On the whole I’m as happy as they are that they’re still snoring sweetly in their own little beds.’

His mother chuckled. ‘And of course I needn’t mention how sorry your father is that he can’t be here to give you his blessing. But Durm and Nix were adamant, and I confess I’m glad of it.’

He closed his fingers around hers and squeezed gently. ‘I would’ve been cross beyond measure if I’d seen him here this morning. Joining us for dinner last night pushed him to the limits of his recovery. All that needed to be said between us was said then, and I’m content.’

She kissed his cheek. ‘Good.’

‘Still,’ he added, shattering all his excellent intentions, ‘I thought Fane might come to see us off. And Durm.’

His mother hesitated. Smoothed his embroidered linen sleeve with a troubled hand and said, ‘She’s busy with her studies, Gar, and of course needs Durm beside her.’

‘You mean she’s jealous and he’s excusing her. As usual’

His mother made a small noise of distress. ‘Oh, Gar. 1 thought you’d forgiven her that business with the stick and the rose. I know it was unkind. I’ve spoken to her most severely on it, she knows —’

‘You’re mistaken, Mama. I don’t care about that,’ he said impatiently, even though he did. Even though the memory could still freeze his blood. He still didn’t know which was worse: that she could have done it or that he could have been so blind, so stupid, as to have let her. She was his only sister. He wanted so much to love her. And even though he knew why she had to make it so difficult, there were times he found it almost impossible.

Now it was his mother’s fingers that closed, comforted. ‘Darling, I —’

Scattering pebbles, Darran appeared before them at the base of the carved sandstone steps, harried, harassed and voluble.

‘Your Majesty, Your Highness, please forgive me but 1 must bring to your attention a catastrophe of —’

‘What is it, Darran?’ Gar sighed.

‘I can’t find Wilier,’ said Darran, almost wailing. ‘He’s not in the coach where he’s supposed to be, he’s not in the office, I can’t see him anywhere in the forecourt or its environs and —’

Gar lifted an impatient hand, cutting off the spate of words midflow. Turning to search the crowd in the forecourt he saw his target and raised his voice.

‘Asher!’

Asher stopped interrogating a groom and nudged Cygnet sideways with knee and heel. ‘Yes, Your Highness?’ And added, with his first smile of the day, ‘Morning, Your Majesty.’

The queen smiled back. ‘And to you, Asher.’ ‘Do you know where Wilier is?’ Gar demanded. ‘Were I supposed to?’ Asher jerked his head at Darran. ‘That’s his job, ain’t it?’

Gar permitted himself a barbed smile. ‘As of now it’s yours. Find him.’

Asher scowled, then offered a short, sharp bow. ‘Yes, sir,’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Darran as Asher rode away. Gar frowned. ‘If you kept a better eye on your people, Darran, there’d be no need of thanks. Now hurry up. Call me eccentric but I’d like to leave before noon. Today.’

‘Yes, Your Highness.’ Darran bowed. ‘Your Majesty. Your Highness.’

Gar watched him retreat then glanced at his mother and shrugged. ‘I know I shouldn’t show it but he does get on my nerves. If I wasn’t afraid it’d bring on a relapse I’d leave him behind with strict instructions to wait hand and foot on Father, just the way he used to.’

He expected a short, not wholly undeserved lecture on the importance of keeping one’s temper with the staff, but instead his mother took his arm and drew him four paces back from the forecourt, close to the blue curving brick of the Tower wall. In her eyes was a look he’d never seen before.

‘What?’ he asked, alarmed. ‘Mama? Has something — is Father —’

‘Hush, Gar, and listen to me.’ Her voice was low, insistent, her fingers like a vice through his shirt sleeve. ‘You make jokes, but I’m afraid I can’t laugh at them.’

He stared. ‘What do you mean? Are you saying he is in danger of relapse? Durm said — Pother Nix said —’

‘I know what they said. And they’re right, in their own limited fashions. He is recovering well enough from this fever. But, Gar, my dear, the situation is more complicated than that.’

‘Complicated how?’

She released his arm. ‘The Weather Magic is a double-edged sword and every time you wield it, you cut yourself a little. Your father has been bleeding to death drop by drop since the day he called his first rainfall.’

‘Mama? If they’d not been in public he would have pressed his fingers to her mouth. He didn’t want to hear this. Not now. Not ever. She’d voiced concerns before, fretted his father’s dedication to duty at the expense of his own health many times, but never like this. Never so bleakly or with such cold despair. ‘Mama, why are you —’

‘He’s changed, Gar. He’s not been the same since that business with the young man from Basingdown. You don’t know. You don’t live with him. You don’t wake to the sound of his weeping in dreams, as I do. You haven’t had to watch him shrink from himself, as I have, all because of that one brutally necessary act. He may be your father but he’s my husband. And a wife sees things …’

He reached for her hand. ‘I see more than you think, Mama. And I, too, have dreams.’

She pulled away from him. ‘He is weary, Gar! Sick at heart. And the WeatherWorking grows harder and harder with every sunrise. I have asked him to abdicate, begged him, but he won’t. Fane is still too young, he says, and I know he’s right, of course he’s right, but even so …’ With an effort she collected herself. ‘When the day comes for her to ascend the throne — however that day comes — there must be a clean succession. There can be no hint of doubt as to her readiness. Do you understand?’