Mike Shevdon - The Eighth Court

Fionh had her weapon drawn and held low. She scanned the room, noting Niall’s position on the bed with Alex, the drops of red on the quilt, the flattened area of quilt where Blackbird had been sitting beside Niall. “You’ve got a nerve, Mistress. You know better than to work blood rituals in this house,” she said.

“I was under the impression,” said Blackbird, “That the warders were here for our protection. Your wardings have a weakness, Fionh, because something got through and had Niall in its grasp. It took a blood ritual to release him.”

“Garvin will hear about this,” said Fionh.

“Then I shall look forward to a discussion on improving the protection offered by the courts,” said Blackbird. “Unless you’re planning to start waving that weapon around?”

Fionh sheathed the blade in one smooth movement, scanning the room again so that she would be able to report every detail. “Tomorrow, then,” she said.

“Always a pleasure,” said Blackbird, closing the door on her.

“What was that all about?” asked Niall.

“I could ask you the same question,” said Blackbird.

Mist was rising over the frosted fields beyond the fence that marked the boundary of the house, drifting like smoke on the night-breeze between the trees. Alex watched it as she walked out from the shadows below the oak tree to lean on the fence. The December night had cleared and the moon had set early, leaving glinting stars. Goosebumps prickled her arms but she was damned if she was going back for a jumper.

Blackbird had made her dad tell them all about the dream, and even made him write down the names of the knights, but just when it was getting interesting Blackbird had declared herself tired and sent Alex off to bed. Alex suspected that she wanted to talk to her dad without her overhearing, but however resentful she felt at being excluded, there was nothing she could do about it.

It was only just past midnight, and her thumb hurt like hell. How was she supposed to sleep when it throbbed like that? It felt twice the size it normally was, though there was little sign of any swelling. Maybe it would get infected and puff up like a balloon — only she didn’t get infections, not any more. The magic that ran through her veins was like a possessive disease that left no room for any other, and like a disease, it would claim her in the end.

She turned to face the house. She knew there would be a nightlight in the nursery, but from here the house looked dead and cold, the windows blank against the stars. She tried to picture it as a family home with servants and guests, but it was too big and too empty to fill with her imagination. She’d walked the passages lined with one room after another covered in dust sheets, the curtains drawn to keep out the fading sunlight. Even when they’d had mongrel fey staying, the house had swallowed them with apparent ease.

“What are you doing?”

Alex started at the sudden question, and then forced herself to relax. Of course Fionh had snuck up on her. That was Fionh’s way. She couldn’t just walk up like any normal person, she had to make you jump.

“I was thinking about the house, and how lonely it must feel,” Alex replied, truthfully.

“I’d have thought you’d had enough excitement for one evening,” said Fionh.

“I wanted some air.”

“Your thumb is bleeding,” said Fionh. Alex lifted it, regarding the fat droplet that swelled from the gouge, and then sucked it, tasting once again the metallic tang.

“Be wary where you let the drops fall,” Fionh warned. “There are those who will make more of a few drops of blood that you’d have a liking for.”

“What are they going to do?” asked Alex. “Snuffle around in the grass for them?”

“You give yourself away too easily, Alex.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Alex, regarding Fionh with a cold stare.

“Merely an observation,” said Fionh.

“Well cold as it is out here,” said Alex, “it not going to bother you, is it, Fionh?”

“Will it not?” she asked.

Alex pushed herself off from the fence. “Nah,” she said. “This isn’t cold, is it Fionh? We both know you get a lot colder than this.” She walked back towards the house, leaving Fionh in the shadow of the oak tree. She didn’t look back, but went inside and up to her room, undressing in the dark and pulling the curtains closed, excluding the starlight. She slipped the catches open on the windows, but left them closed, then opened the door and checked the corridor, leaving the door ajar, before she slipped into bed.

She lay in bed with the quilt wrapped round her, shivering and sucking her painful thumb. She tried to think of something restful, but instead was assailed by the images of the drops of blood on the clean covers.

It was some while before sleep claimed her.

Garvin was in one of the empty rooms on the other side of the house, away from the morning sunlight. He’d thrown back the dustsheets on a couple of armchairs and was sat in one, his hands steepled in front of him.

“You wanted to see me?” I said.

He indicated the other chair, and I sat down. He reached forward, and I leaned back warily, but he only wanted to turn my chin so that he could inspect the marks patterned across my face from where the gates outside the Royal Courts of Justice had struck me. “You’re going to have a scar,” said Garvin.

“Alex has started referring to it as my tattoo,” I said.

“That has its own irony,” said Garvin.

Alex’s arms were wound around with the images of black vines, periodically budding into dark flowers which formed gradually into berries. It’d been like that since her return. It worried me that she wore long-sleeved tops more now, as if she wanted to hide them. When I’d asked her why she was wearing so many long-sleeved tops, she’d simply said, “It’s cold.”

“Fionh tells me that last night Blackbird was practicing ritual magic inside the courts.”

“You’d have to talk to Blackbird about that,” I said warily.

“I’m talking to you about it,” he said.

“I missed most of it,” I said.

Garvin sighed. “It’s dangerous, Niall. The wardings of the High Court are there to protect us all. She could have triggered something that would be a threat to everyone.”

“I’ll tell her,” I said.

“What happened?” he asked me.

I shook my head. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve started having these intense dreams, ever since I was hit by the gates — just fragments of things. It doesn’t make any sense. I got lost in one of the dreams last night. Blackbird pulled me out of it, just when it was starting to make sense.”

“That’s what happens in dreams,” said Garvin. “It’s an illusion. It’s like dreaming of falling — you wake up just before you hit the ground.”

“Do you?” I said. “Always?”

He smiled wryly. “Maybe you’re reading too much into it.”

“Blackbird thinks it might be significant.”

That had his interest. “For whom?”

“I wish I knew,” I said. “Does Kimlesh speak French?”

Garvin looked surprised. “I’ve no idea. Do you want me to ask her?”

“No, no.” I rested my head in my hands. “I go to sleep and I wake up more tired than I started. I find myself assaulted by images I don’t recognise or want. I don’t know who most of these people are”

Garvin edge forward in his chair. “Maybe you just need to get some rest.”

“I can’t rest. I have to find out what this is all about.”

“Niall, don’t take this the wrong way.” He raised his hands as my expression darkened. “You see, your hackles are already up and I haven’t said anything.”

“What?” I asked, trying to sound calm and reasonable.