Читать книгу Scrivener’s Tale - Fiona McIntosh, Fiona McIntosh - Страница 11

Loup arrived silently at dusk but Cassien was waiting, sitting quietly on the stoop of the hut; he had sensed the man’s approach long before. He felt a flutter of nervous energy at what he planned to say, wondering if Loup could write an angry response fast enough. He didn’t plan on taking ‘No’ for an answer.

Loup nodded at Cassien’s wave.

‘Good evening, Loup. Welcome back.’

The man stopped at the edge of the clearing where Cassien’s hut stood. ‘It’s always good to see you, Cassien,’ he said.

Cassien’s mouth dropped open in astonishment as he stared at Loup, who gave him a sheepish look.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘All these years,’ Cassien murmured, shock racing through him.

‘I half wondered if you might sense it.’ Loup looked down at his big hands. ‘They were my orders.’

‘Brother Josse must be so proud of you.’ He was disgusted at the deception and wanted this man to know it.

‘As he is you,’ Loup said, still not coming nearer.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Cassien replied.

‘I am as obedient and committed as you are, Cassien,’ Loup grumbled.

Cassien stood abruptly and turned away. ‘There’s food in the pot,’ he growled over his shoulder. ‘Forgive me, I need to be alone.’ And then he was gone, grabbing his dagger and bow, blending into the forest in a blink and running silently, as far from Loup as possible.

It never failed to impress him that Romaine could know his mood. Many times she had suddenly appeared out of nowhere when he had found himself particularly unhappy, or hurting deeply from his injuries. Romaine would come, sometimes across many miles. She would lick his wounds and sit close to him, allowing Cassien to hug her, bury his face into her thick fur if he wept. The training had so often felt as though it had no purpose and now he felt betrayed. Loup — his one connection with the world outside the forest — had been lying to him. He was walking now, had stopped running as soon as he’d distanced himself from the man.

He heard a soft growl and Romaine emerged from the darkness. Light was fading from the day anyway, but here, this deep into the forest, it was almost always dark. Her pale coat looked luminous in the faint light.

‘Romaine,’ he whispered.

She whined softly with pleasure as he crouched down to embrace her.

‘Oh, those cubs are close,’ he said, forgetting his troubles and gently touching her swollen belly. ‘But you came to find me anyway, didn’t you, girl?’ Now he stroked the broad, almost arrow-shaped head, which tapered to her nose and pale grey muzzle.

She ran a large, dry tongue over his face in welcome as he dug his fingers into the bushy fur at the base of her head; she welcomed his rough scratching around her neck and ears.

‘You are so beautiful. You never let me down. How are you feeling? When will you have your family?’

She whined in response.

‘Soon, I think,’ he answered for her.

Romaine had always stood out from her small pack — not just because of her affectionate attitude toward him, but more particularly because of her colouring. Most of her kind were nondescript grey with a darker stripe of fur running the length of their back. Romaine was a creamy grey, lightening to a near-white around her flank. But each hair seemed to have a black tip, which gave her the extraordinary colouring of smoke.

Her yellow eyes looked deeply into his and he absently stroked her forehead.

‘I’ve been tricked,’ he moaned in answer, and went on to tell her of Josse’s orders and how angered he was by Loup’s deception. ‘It’s the final insult,’ he continued. ‘We are Brothers, raised to be loyal and that loyalty is our religion. You know how it is with your pack. You all trust each other. Without that to rely on, I don’t think I want to be part of this family any longer.’

She growled again, as if she wanted to convey a message.

‘Romaine is warning you that your decision may not be wise,’ said a voice.

At the first word, Cassien had flipped backwards and was on his feet in one agile move, which included drawing his dagger from its sheath. He was poised, crouched slightly, tensed and ready to strike in less than a heartbeat.

‘Who are you?’ his scratchy voice echoed back from the trees, inwardly seething that he hadn’t heard or picked up any stray sound or smell. Why hadn’t Romaine warned him?

‘No-one you should fear,’ came the reply. The voice was mild and friendly.

‘Where are you?’

‘Here.’ A small, spare man stepped out from behind one of the great oaks and stood beside Romaine. He touched her head and Cassien was astonished to see her lean against his leg as though they were long-time companions. Her mouth parted and she panted in that happy way of hers, her tongue lolling slightly. These two were friends.

Cassien backed away a few silent steps to rapidly gauge his surroundings. His senses strained to hear and see what threats might have accompanied the stranger.

The man seemed to know what he was thinking. ‘I am alone, unarmed.’

‘You came with Loup,’ Cassien accused, frustrated by Romaine’s easiness around this stranger.

‘Yes.’

‘To kill me?’

The man smiled. ‘May we sit? My name is Fynch. Loup knows to leave us be.’

The stranger called Fynch looked as relaxed and unthreatened as a person could be.

‘Please,’ Fynch urged, ‘sit with me.’

Cassien lowered himself fluidly in one movement to sit cross-legged. He could throw the knife accurately from a seated position; the man would get no more than half a step before it was lodged in his throat.

‘Thank you,’ Fynch said. ‘I’m sure you have questions but I come to ask for your help.’

‘Help,’ Cassien repeated.

‘A mission.’

‘Does Brother Josse know?’

‘He has sanctioned it. If it helps to ease your burden, he was sending Loup for you anyway … to bring you back to the priory because your testing is over. You are ready. I happened to come along the evening before Loup was due to leave, with a proposal.’

Cassien cleared his throat. All this talking was making it sound even grittier. ‘What sort of proposal?’

‘The secret sort,’ Fynch said. ‘Our new queen is under threat.’

‘We have a queen?’

Fynch’s grin broadened. ‘They haven’t been fair to you at all, have they?’ he replied, referring to Cassien’s isolation. ‘Lucky you have Romaine, if just for company.’

Cassien’s expression clouded further. ‘That’s my name for her. How do you know it? Loup doesn’t.’

Fynch stared at him. ‘She told me.’

Cassien blinked. ‘You and my wolf talk,’ he said, his tone acerbic.

‘You and my wolf are friends. I respect that. But yes, she and I talk.’

Cassien shifted his gaze to the wolf as she leaned even harder against Fynch’s legs. There was no doubting the bond between the stranger and Romaine. He felt hollow. Even his wolf was in on the betrayal.

‘Romaine is loyal to you,’ Fynch said, as though he’d listened in on Cassien’s thoughts. ‘I am her spiritual leader, you could say, and she has been known to me since she was still in her mother’s womb. I gave her to you. She has looked out for you and kept me informed of your progress.’

‘Romaine is a spy?’ he qualified.

‘No, Romaine is your friend and guard. She would never let anything bad happen — other than Loup and his fists and weapons,’ Fynch said, his tone tinged with regret. ‘She hated how he hurt you and it took all my reassurance to urge her to let it be … that the injuries would heal.’

Cassien shook his dark hair with disbelief. ‘What are you?’

Fynch shrugged. ‘An old man, as you see. A loyalist to the imperial throne. I called Emperor Cailech friend. I knew him when he was a youngster with red hair and freckles. His great-granddaughter is therefore like family — certainly someone I care deeply for — and I will do all in my power to protect her and the Crown.’

Cassien evaluated what had just been said. None of the paintings of Cailech he’d seen as a child had shown red hair. The great King of the Razors of yesteryear and emperor of the three realms had been a fierce, towering bulk of a man with golden hair … not a freckle in sight. But more confusing was the claim that this slight man, old but not aged or infirm, knew Cailech in his youth and was still alive decades beyond his time.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Fynch said.

‘Do you?’

‘I believe I do. Let me ask you this. Do you believe in magic, Cassien?’

It was the last question he could have possibly imagined being asked. Something in the man’s look demanded he be honest. ‘Yes.’

Again Fynch nodded, this time thoughtfully and as though pleased.

‘Do you?’ Cassien threw back at him.

‘Without question,’ the older man replied. ‘I am surely living testimony to it,’ he added with a wink.

‘I need that explained.’

‘I’m sure. You may go, Romaine. I feel your time is far closer than even you realise.’

Romaine obediently departed, first licking Fynch’s hand affectionately before trotting over to lick Cassien’s face as he bent down to ruffle her fur. It felt like an apology.

‘She is now the lead female in her pack,’ Fynch continued conversationally, as they watched her dark tail disappear between the trees. ‘She must keep the family going. Her pups will be the only litter for this year. But then I’m sure you know the salient facts — being so attuned to life in the forest.’

‘Her mate is the big dark wolf. All others fear him for miles around here. But he is as tender as any lover to Romaine.’

‘As he should be,’ Fynch said, ‘or he would answer to me.’

‘I’m not sure I understand why he would.’

‘I know. There is a lot to tell you in a short time. Are you hungry?’

‘No.’

‘Then we shall begin,’ he said, seating himself comfortably on an ancient fallen tree. ‘You know my name, you sense my age is impossible and I have informed you of my connection to the royals. Do you trust what I have told you?’

He didn’t have a choice but also, if he were honest, there was only one answer. ‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because as much as I don’t like it, Romaine trusts you. What are you?’

‘That is probably the hardest question to answer.’

‘Then let’s get it out of the way,’ Cassien offered.

Fynch gave a wry, brief smile. ‘Who is the king of all the beasts in your estimation?’

‘Folklore would say the dragon.’ Cassien frowned. ‘No, wait, I must qualify that. It’s not just folklore. It is at the heart of spiritual belief in Morgravia. The dragon is the beast closest to Shar in our estimation. Plus, the dragon is the creature that belongs only to royalty.’

Fynch nodded his encouragement as Cassien thought back to his early education. ‘All the creatures in the world pay homage to the dragon in the same way that the people in Morgravia would pay homage to their king.’

‘Or queen,’ Fynch corrected. ‘Indeed. The dragon is a fearsome, splendid, majestic beast.’

‘And one of myth,’ Cassien added.

Fynch raised an eyebrow. ‘You haven’t seen one?’ he asked playfully.

‘Have you?’ Cassien challenged without hesitation.

‘Seen, ridden, know well. What’s more, I am bonded to the dragon in a way that no other can be.’

Cassien gave a mirthless snort. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Let me put it another way to you. The dragon and I are one … spiritually and to some extent physically.’

‘Physically?’

‘I ache to be away from him. I also suffer physically. He pines if I’m not near. We are of one flesh almost … not quite.’ Again the apologetic smile. ‘We are Shar’s servants but we are closer to Shar than any other. Why do you think that is?’

Cassien decided to go with the line of thinking and see where it led. ‘The spiritual story we learned from birth is that Shar gave a bone to the dragon.’

‘And the dragon gave a tooth to every other creature,’ Fynch replied.

‘And scales to those without teeth,’ Cassien finished.

‘So?’

It was like being back in one of old Brother Bellamee’s religious instruction classes. ‘So the dragon is of Shar and all the other creatures of the world are of the dragon, hence their homage.’

‘Good.’

‘But you said you were of the dragon and thus Shar.’ Cassien looked at him puzzled, unsure of what to think of this.

‘Correct again. How can it be, I presume you’re asking? All I can say is that it is. In the reign of the king known as Celimus — do you remember hearing of him?’ Cassien nodded. ‘Well, my loyalties were to his enemy. His enemy’s name was Wyl Thirsk.’

‘Thirsk,’ Cassien repeated. ‘Should I know it?’

‘Only if you’re a scholar of history. The Thirsk family were the celebrated soldiers of Morgravia. Each son became a general to his Morgravian king. Wyl was general, briefly, for King Magnus before the heir Celimus wore the crown, but the Thirsk ancestral line died with Wyl. His sister died young and in unfortunate circumstances.’

‘He never married? Had children?’

‘He did both. What I’m about to tell you I have not uttered previously to any person.’

Cassien frowned. ‘Why? Is it a secret?’

‘Yes. It is also dangerous knowledge.’

‘But you trust me with it.’

‘I do but only because you believe in magic.’

‘Why me?’

‘Because I am going to make you part of that secret.’

Fynch stared at him and Cassien felt impaled by the golden gaze. Twilight would be closing in on the forest but he was struck by the notion that the man seemed to glow with an internal light.

‘Wyl Thirsk’s life was profoundly changed by a powerful magic. It matters not the whys and wherefores to you — only that it existed. He unwittingly became King Cailech and ultimately emperor of the three realms of Morgravia, Briavel and Razors, through that magic’s curse. It’s Wyl and Valentyna’s descendants who are our current generation of royals: Magnus, Florentyna and Darcelle.’

An owl hooted once in the distance and Cassien could hear animals bumbling around not far from where Fynch sat. His sharp sense of smell picked up an aroma that he suspected was gobel … probably a pair.

Fynch continued. ‘The heir, Magnus, a fine young, healthy prince, died as a result of an accident, which was a shock to everyone. He left behind two sisters, one barely out of childhood, both of them groomed to be excellent wives — although I daresay Florentyna would go slit-eyed on me to hear it.’ He put a finger in the air. ‘That said, Florentyna has accepted her role with strength and energy.’

‘So where is the problem?’

‘Her sister, Darcelle. She is younger than Florentyna by five years, the spoilt child of the family, but she is quick and smart, fiery and very beautiful.’

‘She sounds like a perfect woman.’

Fynch shook his head. ‘Far from it. She demonstrates more of the arrogant, brutal brilliance of the mountain king’s ancestry than the subtle and more modest strength of the Thirsk blood that runs so strongly in Florentyna. Darcelle is cunning and capable. With Magnus dead and the way open for a queen to rule, an empress’s role to play — well, Darcelle suddenly fancies herself in that part. Up until Magnus’s death, I’m uncertain whether it had occurred to her that a woman might rule. Perhaps the possibility was too far away from the third child for it to concern her.’

‘Exactly how cunning is she?’

‘Enough to potentially consider regicide.’

Understanding erupted across Cassien’s expression. ‘I see.’

‘And she would make a terrible ruler. I suspect Darcelle is capable of some atrocious decision-making as long as it serves her needs. And with the wrong people pushing her she could be convinced to make the worst decision of her life.’

‘So you want me to protect Florentyna.’

Fynch glowed. ‘Yes. Protect her from her sister and those who would see her ousted. But here is the problem, Cassien. Florentyna will not hear a bad word against her younger sister.’

‘Do we have any sense of timing on the danger?’

His older companion shrugged. ‘It is present and immediate. Florentyna has not had much luck. She was promised to the eldest prince of Tallinor. He became king a few years ago and the wedding ceremony — a mere formality — was to take place at the cathedral.’

‘Let me guess. He was murdered.’

Fynch shook his head. ‘Close enough though. The king’s ship was accidentally sunk en route, smashed onto rocks during a storm. Two hundred souls were lost that day. Florentyna was deeply withdrawn for her moons of mourning. She is a sensitive girl but don’t let that fool you into believing she doesn’t possess a will of iron when required.’ Fynch pointed a bony finger. ‘Test it by saying something negative about her sister.’

‘Does Darcelle have a match?’

‘A mighty one, the King of Cipres. The power it brings in so many hidden ways can’t be ignored. Darcelle must marry King Tamas and here’s the most interesting part of all.’ Cassien looked over at him. ‘He’s fifteen years her senior and Tamas seemingly adores her as much as she adores the notion of being Queen of Cipres. In his presence she is almost gentle and genuinely fond of him.’ Fynch laughed. ‘A match made by Shar.’

‘And of course she would return to Cipres.’

‘If Darcelle goes to Cipres, I no longer have to fret about the threat from within.’

‘So where is the hurdle?’

‘Darcelle may not want to leave Morgravia just yet. The empress is not encouraging her to rush away. Her stepmother, whom she is very close to, wants her to have this Ciprean crown but again I think they’re clinging to their youngest.’ Fynch stood. He shrugged. ‘I can’t second-guess women. Walk with me. It is time to return to Loup.’

‘I don’t understand why you need me especially.’

‘I need your fighting talents and especially that magical skill you possess that you don’t speak of to anyone.’

Cassien halted abruptly. ‘What do you know?’

‘Only what Romaine has told me, for we both know that you have hidden this aspect from your fellow Brothers. Oh, Brother Josse knows there is something rather special about you but he doesn’t really know much at all. He believes you can “see” things. Puts it down to being in tune with the spiritual world.’

‘And you?’

Fynch urged him to move forward, his look gentle and reassuring. ‘Romaine has spoken of the magic you call “roaming” as dangerous to the forest creatures but that you’re careful.’

‘I shall have words with Romaine about her loose mouth.’

‘I must assure you that she was torn between her loyalty to you and her duty to her king. Be assured, she loves you, Cassien.’

‘So tell me how you want me to protect the queen? Should I call her a queen or an empress?’

Fynch nodded. ‘Confusing, I agree. In Morgravia she is addressed as its queen. But she also sits on the imperial throne and is an empress by right, although that increasingly seems to be in title only. The union of the three realms, so strong under Cailech, has been whittled away gradually. She hasn’t travelled enough to each for people in Briavel or the Razors to know their empress.’

‘How is she addressed?’

‘In Morgravia as Queen Florentyna.’

‘And surely she has an army to command,’ Cassien retorted.

‘She does. But no number of mortal men can fully protect Florentyna. The Crown needs the aid of skills that go beyond.’

‘Why?’

‘Darcelle is only the closest threat but by no means the most fearsome. The greatest danger to Florentyna will come from the spiritual world, where gods and demons play.’

Cassien stopped walking. ‘I’m very confused.’

Fynch chuckled and Cassien heard a soft note of underlying despair. ‘I have seen the signs. No-one is better placed than I who straddle the two worlds of men and spirits. The threat is real. The enemy is hungry. The queen is vulnerable …’ Fynch trailed off.

Cassien could see the soft drift of smoke coming from the hut’s rudimentary chimney. ‘What does the enemy want?’ He still didn’t understand what this was all about.

‘Oh, the usual. Destruction, damnation.’

‘Why?’

‘I suspect because magic was unleashed into Morgravia a long time ago — a very powerful magic that disrupted the natural order of life decades previously.’

‘Wyl’s magic?’ he wondered aloud in a blind thrust.

‘Wyl didn’t possess magic and he didn’t wield it. That was the tragedy of his life. He was a good man, who never sought power or wealth or status; all seemed to find him. But it was brought about originally by a curse being set upon him as a young man by a witch called Myrren. From thereon he was a puppet, dancing to the tune of her sinister magic. It controlled him. He moved through several lives, not by choice and each death he brought — including his sister’s — was heartbreaking in its own way. He tried to avoid it, but lives were given so Myrren could take her revenge on Morgravians.

‘The curse’s dark path was finally cut short when he entered the body of King Cailech and became sovereign.’ Fynch gave a sad smile. ‘I know I say that casually and I know it requires a lot more explanation but we don’t have time now. Wyl died of old age as Cailech.’

‘So it’s over? The curse I mean.’

Fynch frowned. ‘Myrren’s curse has ended but that dark style of magic may not be. I don’t know where the threat is coming from and I don’t really know why I feel it, but I do feel it … even as removed as I am in the Wild. All the signs are there.’ Fynch looked up from the leaf he’d been studying and fixed Cassien with a firm, disconcerting gaze. ‘The magic is alive.’

Wednesday night closed in early and Parisians knew winter had surely arrived as the icy cold wrapped its claws around the city. A ripe yellow moon was intermittently shuttered by heavy clouds drifting across its face and threatening rain. Gabe couldn’t wait to close the shop. He’d promised himself an indulgent risotto and on the way home had resisted the urge to take the shortcut; instead, wrapping his scarf tight around his mouth to keep out the chill, he ran to the nearest Monoprix to grab his fresh ingredients.

The clouds burst while he was paying for his groceries and he’d forgotten his umbrella; he pictured it on his desk at the shop and remembered that Cat had distracted him as he was packing up to leave. Cursing his luck, he had to walk home in the rain, but rather than allow himself to slip into misery at being cold and wet, he pictured himself turning on the fire, sipping a glass of wine as he chopped leeks and garlic, the intoxicating aroma spreading as both began to warm in the olive oil and release their fragrances and flavours. His mouth watered. Gabe delved into his coat pocket for his house keys and hit the stairs outside his building, taking them two at a time, and nearly tripped over her at the top. He only just managed to stop himself from sending the bag of food sprawling across the landing.

‘Angelina?’

She pushed herself to standing on the stair. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured but didn’t seem embarrassed; more amused if anything.

‘What are you doing here?’ Gabe asked, quickly adjusting his voice from surprise to a neutral tone. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked gently, suddenly worried for her.

She shrugged.

He looked around. ‘Where’s René?’

‘Not here,’ she answered and he heard defiance.

Gabe’s lips twisted slightly in thought. ‘You’d better come in,’ he said, making up his mind. He opened the front door of his building and looked over his shoulder. ‘Come on, unless you want to sit here all night. It’s too cold to sit in the hallway.’

‘Not for René, though?’

‘Cruel guardians don’t count,’ Gabe answered with a wink.

‘He’s not my guardian,’ she said quickly.

‘All right. How would you describe him?’ he said. ‘I prefer the stairs to the lift,’ he warned.

She shrugged as if it mattered not to her and followed him.

‘Go on, how do you describe his relationship to you,’ he encouraged as they made their ascent to his apartment.

‘Keeper is too gentle a word. Jailer is probably too harsh.’

‘Supervisor?’ he offered helpfully but equally wry in his tone. ‘Minder?’ he added, flicking through his bunch of keys for the right one to open his door.

Angelina shook her head as she arrived alongside. ‘Guard.’

‘Guard?’ he repeated as the door opened. ‘Odd word. What is he guarding against, I wonder?’ She shrugged again as he tapped in the alarm code and deactivated the security. ‘Get that wet coat off,’ he suggested, letting the topic go for now. He dumped his groceries on the kitchen counter and flicked on the gas fire. ‘I’m just going to dry off.’

He strode to his bathroom and closed the door, reaching for a towel to dry his hair. As he dragged it across his face he caught sight of himself in the mirror and paused, only his eyes visible over the top of the towel.

‘What are you doing?’ he murmured to his reflection. ‘This flies against everything you know to be correct protocol.’ He took a deep breath, knowing he had to make a decision. He finished drying off his hair, neatened it with his fingers by pushing it behind his ears and nodded at himself. ‘It’s your funeral,’ he said, echoing a favourite threat he and his wife used to throw at each other when one was in disagreement with the other’s decision.

He emerged. ‘Okay?’

She smiled back. ‘Fine.’

Gabe watched her from the corner of his eye as he unpacked his groceries. Angelina had taken off her coat and stood with her back to the fire looking around his room as though seeing it for the first time. She didn’t appear in the least uncomfortable or embarrassed to be here with him alone.

‘So are you going to tell me?’

‘What?’ she said, turning to gaze at him with her smoky, dark eyes so full of promise that Gabe found himself clearing his throat. Today she was wearing a pair of narrow, tight jeans that clung to her petite, beautiful shape with vigour. Her mauve cashmere knit top was short and tight, revealing a few centimetres of bare midriff and accentuating her full breasts. He tried not to stare but this garb was entirely different to her almost childlike clothes of the previous day. For so long, women he met had not excited him in this way … now, suddenly, there was Angelina.

She found a lighter on the mantelpiece. ‘May I?’

He shrugged. ‘Of course.’

Angelina began to light the candles he’d put around the room months previously simply because they looked good. She switched off overhead lights as she continued around the room touching her flame to the wicks, making sure he had plenty of opportunity and time to watch the graceful movements of her lithe body. Six were burning by the time she returned to the fireplace and the space had already begun to fill with the rich perfume of earthy, fresh sandalwood and sweet, heady frankincense.

Control seemed impossible now. He wanted to hold her, feel the contact of her skin against his, his lips on hers, his hands on her —

She broke into his guilty thoughts. ‘Do you have a lover?’ Angelina asked, eyes glittering in the low light.

The question was so brazen the corkscrew he’d just placed on the wine cork slipped and stabbed into his left thumb, slicing it open.

‘Merde!’ he growled.

He heard her gurgle with laughter behind him, guessing at what was happening.

‘Idiot!’ he added.

‘Let me help,’ she said, gliding over.

He didn’t want her to touch him, but she was already close enough for him to smell her perfume — violets, he thought. The whole situation of candlelight and blood, pain, comfort: it was all dangerous and wrong.

Angelina had reached for a tea towel and was pressing it onto the cut.

‘It’s not deep,’ she assured him, still amused.

‘I’ll look after it now,’ he began, awkwardly reaching to take over.

‘No-one’s watching, Gabe. Relax. Let’s just stop the flow of blood,’ she said, preventing him from pulling his hand away.

‘You’re very different when René is not around.’

‘You haven’t answered me.’

He remembered her question. ‘Why would you use the word “lover” when most people would say “girlfriend”?’

She looked up at him now and he felt his throat tighten. ‘It’s clear to me you don’t have a girlfriend,’ she replied with the utmost confidence. ‘Lover strikes me as more accurate.’

‘How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?’

‘There’d be signs of her around here. And don’t look at the scented candles — they don’t fool me,’ she giggled.

Angelina was being witty. Perhaps the slashed thumb was worth it.

‘What’s wrong with the word “lover”, anyway?’ she challenged.

‘Nothing … it’s just intimate.’

‘And that disturbs you?’

‘It doesn’t disturb me,’ he defended, hearing the lie in his hollow tone. ‘It’s a confronting word for want of a better description.’

‘Confronting?’

‘Too direct. It became an impolite question because of it,’ he cautioned.

She laughed at him. ‘You’re intimidated by a word.’

‘I’m not intimidated,’ he replied.

Angelina smiled. ‘Aren’t you?’ she said. ‘I’m usually good at reading people. My mistake. So answer my question then.’

He took a breath, feeling vaguely ridiculous as she held his hand. ‘No, I am not romantically involved with anyone at present.’

She cast a glance over his ingredients. ‘And yet this is such a romantic dinner you’re making for yourself.’

‘It’s a risotto.’ He could hear the defensiveness in his tone.

‘But risotto is a meal to share, to savour with another. There’s nothing lonely or selfish about a risotto. Risotto is a meal made with love because it takes time; a meal that speaks of love to the person you share it with because you have taken that time over it.’

Gabe swallowed. Surely it wasn’t that complex?

‘Such a tactile dish,’ Angelina continued. ‘Lots of attention,’ she said, mimicking stirring the pot. She rubbed her belly but there was something suggestive in it. ‘And so warming.’ She unwrapped the tea towel from around his hand as she spoke. They both watched as the blood sprang again to the surface and oozed through the cut. It was hardly flowing but it was bright and glossy. ‘Glutinous … sticky … wet,’ she murmured and then shocked him by raising his hand to close her lips around his thumb.

He could feel her tongue licking at the blood and instantly he felt an erotic rush of blood elsewhere. The risotto was forgotten — as was the bleeding thumb and the still unopened bottle of wine.

Like a helpless schoolboy his face guided itself to her mouth. He vaguely registered the smell of violets on her breath before drowning in the desire to pull her as close as humanly possible. She was so petite he had to bend to hold her properly. Before he knew it, she had clambered up onto him as a child might, her supple legs wrapped around his hips, her arms around his neck. She was light and tiny, but her body was all woman.

The kissing was mind-blanking. He was robbed of all thought, all awareness of anything beyond desire. His traitorous fingers began exploring her body. Somewhere deep horror resonated that he was taking advantage of a vulnerable patient, but the patient was now rhythmically moving against him and moaning softly.

He was supposed to be a man entirely in control and yet here he was … like putty, suddenly incapable of resisting when she made her body so available — soft, compliant, eager. He blamed his new mood to change his life, he blamed the return of the cathedral — his mind palace — back in his thoughts. He wanted to blame the raven that had unnerved him — in fact anything except being a vulnerable man in the presence of an erotic young woman.

Suddenly they were on his bed and he was pulling off his clothes and hers. Gabe knew he should but he didn’t want to exercise control. He wanted Angelina. He needed this. His inner voice assured him as he pulled at her buttons. She’s adult, she’s consenting … she’s —

… your patient! reinforced another — René’s — but he ignored that caution.

Angelina never let go of him. There was always some part of her connected to him — mouth, hand, breast. It was as though she knew that to break the connection was to break the spell.

And then their bodies joined as one and Gabe was lost to it, riding a wave of unbelievable joy that he had found something he’d not thought possible to ever find since Lauren and Henry had died. It wasn’t love — he knew that. It wasn’t even affection because they’d barely paused to consider any fondness which might exist between them. He couldn’t call it emotional … there hadn’t been time to build this relationship.

It was purely the physical closeness to another that he’d denied himself for so long. She was unlocking years of pent-up need. There was nothing else but Angelina in his hollow, sterile life. Only her — beneath and above him. She was suddenly his sun, his sky, his earth, his sea. And he travelled with her now, drowning in her depths and soaring to her heights.

Did it last for eternity or was it just a brief interlude? Gabe lay confused and ashamed. The candles still blinked and guttered softly from a draft somewhere; the bloodstained tea towel still lay on the floor where it had dropped. His thumb had stopped bleeding now but he could see smudges of blood on the sheets. He glanced at the clock next to the bed. It was only just coming up to nine. He’d arrived at his building at around seven-forty he guessed. So he’d lost not even an hour and a half of his life and yet it felt as though he’d been absent for days.

He turned to gaze at Angelina, sleeping as still as a corpse next to him with her lips parted. There was blood smeared on her cheek where he’d held her face to kiss her, and seeing the blood reminded him of René’s warning. She will bring you harm. He leaned close until he could feel her breath against his lips, smell that curious hint of sweet violets on it. Her skin looked lilac-blue in the low light, except that her cheeks had a small pinch of colour, as though they alone held the memory of their passion. He swung his legs to the floor and held his face.

‘Insensé!’ he cursed beneath his breath. ‘Vous êtes fou!’

She stirred. ‘Who is mad?’ But she rolled over and her mumbling dissipated.

Gabe watched her for a moment, struck again by her ethereal beauty, the dark almost black hair such a contrast to the pale skin. He smiled in spite of himself — she was irresistible and he could only imagine what René would think if he could see this scene.

René. There had to be fallout from this. The man so jealously guarding Angelina was hardly going to take this event on the chin and with a grin. Gabe sighed again.

He padded over to the coffee machine and flicked it on. All he knew was that the myriad sensations of being with Angelina had swept away years of pain. As he ground the coffee beans, heedless of whether it disturbed his guest, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Turning around, he was alarmed to see the raven sitting on the balcony, backlit by the streetlight so that a halo of gold surrounded its menacing shape. It made no sound. Gabe was speared by its gaze, and Angelina’s arrival into the kitchen area nearly made him yell with fright.

‘Hello,’ she said sleepily.

He snapped his fear-filled attention from the bird to her. ‘Evening,’ he replied, as casually as he could. He glanced back to the window but the raven was gone.

‘What time is it?’ she asked, yawning.

‘Well past nine. Toast? Coffee?’

She shook her head with a smile. ‘But thank you.’

‘Do you ever eat?’

Angelina laughed. ‘I suppose I’d better go.’

He wasn’t sure what to say and watched her turn away. He took another worried look at the window. The bird was definitely no longer there but he felt rattled by its presence. Neighbours hadn’t mentioned ravens. He would have to make some enquiries.

Gabe sipped his espresso before moving after Angelina. She was pulling on her clothes. She’d never looked more desirable than now, half-dressed, her hair tousled and a bit sleepy still.

‘You don’t have to leave, you know.’

Angelina paused. ‘I’ll be missed.’

‘You never did tell me how you slipped René’s watch.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I just feel lucky I’ve had this chance to be alone.’ She shrugged.

‘Does he lock you up?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve never disobeyed him.’

‘I’ve noticed. You’ve had opportunities to slip him even in my presence.’

‘No point.’

‘Why?’

‘Because here is where I want to be.’

He frowned. Didn’t understand. Angelina was behaving in an obtuse manner.

‘Here? But you don’t like Paris, you said you wanted to leave … and go home. A home that was far away.’

‘I’m glad you paid attention.’

‘You’re hard to ignore.’

She pulled on her sweater, a small strip of her belly showing at its lower edge. And once again he felt a pulse of desire. Not again, he told himself.

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Angelina remarked and sat on the bed to pull on her boots.

‘Except what we did was wrong.’

‘Why?’ she asked conversationally, not even looking at him.

‘I mean, what I did was wrong.’

Now she gazed up at him. ‘I had some say in it, you know.’

‘Yes,’ he sighed, all too aware of how patronising he was sounding. ‘I’m trying to say that the blame is mine, not yours.’

She looked at him unimpressed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It looked very much to me like I was seducing you.’

‘Yes, but —’

‘And men are so predictable in this regard,’ she added, echoing his earlier thought.

‘We’re simple creatures,’ he said in mock apology.

‘Not you, Gabe,’ she said.

He gave a low snort. ‘I’m as simple as the next man.’

Angelina stood and walked over to him. He loved the way she moved. Silent and as though she glided over the surface of his carpet. ‘You underestimate yourself.’

‘And you know so much about me,’ he gently rebuked her.

‘You’d be surprised how much I do know.’

‘Angelina, don’t go.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s late. It’s freezing outside. It’s …’ He paused to glance through the window, half-expecting a raven to leap at him. ‘It’s turning frosty so you could slip on the wet, icy pavement. Not very nice people use the cover of darkness to be abroad.’

‘Abroad?’ She laughed. ‘What a quaint phrase. How thoroughly medieval of you.’

He frowned. ‘Stay. Why don’t we revisit the conversation that René interrupted?’

‘Back to psychologist and patient?’

He didn’t respond immediately. Then sighed. ‘Why not? It’s what we are.’

‘Half an hour ago we were something rather different.’

He felt himself blush. ‘All right, I deserved that. What I mean is that it’s a perfect opportunity for us to talk without René breathing down our necks. Whatever trouble happens, it’s not going to happen for a few more hours. We have time.’

She nodded and let out a sigh, sank back onto the bed. ‘Ask your questions.’

Gabe swallowed his coffee, put the small cup down and sat beside her. ‘You feel safe here … in this apartment,’ he began. ‘That’s what you meant by “here”, I take it?’

‘I meant with you.’

‘You feel safe with me, then.’

‘No, I have found what I came to find. You.’

He gave her a searching look. ‘Let’s leave that for now.’ She smiled and once more he had that sense of an old cunning. ‘You said René is fearful.’

‘He’s scared of both of us now, particularly that the two of us might be alone together like this. If he knew this was happening, he would try and kill you.’

Gabe blinked in astonishment. ‘Well, there’s an overreaction,’ he said, unable to mask the sarcasm.

She stared back at him. ‘You think I jest?’

‘I know you do.’

‘Shall we call him and see his reaction?’

‘No. I want to know why you believe he is scared of me.’

‘Because of what you’re capable of.’

‘Can you be more specific?’

‘Yes, but you wouldn’t believe me.’

‘Try me.’

‘You have the capacity to bring down an empire.’

‘An empire?’ He tried not to laugh but the amusement was evident in his expression.

Angelina’s remained grave. ‘I need you to kill me, Gabe.’

‘What?’ he roared.

She flung her arms around him, staring gravely into his eyes. ‘Kill me. Release us.’

‘Stop it,’ he said, trying to unwind her arms, then her legs as they snaked around him.

‘Only death will free me.’

‘Angelina, where has this come from? You’re acting delusional again.’

‘I’m as sane as you. Remember when we were making love? Do you recall seeing anything?’

He shook his head. ‘My mind was blank.’

‘No, it wasn’t, Gabe. Think!’ She kissed him. Her tongue softly licked his lips and stimulated every part of him. He remembered now. The cathedral … from his mind palace. And then he was outside it, looking around for the first time. He could see it belonged to a huge city, but no city that he recognised. Angelina suddenly pulled away.

‘I know you saw it. I saw it too. The Great Cathedral of Pearlis.’

‘Pearlis?’ he stammered. The word reminded him of the name Reynard had murmured in connection with the quill. Gabe had heard Pearlis, and yet Reynard had quickly adjusted it to Paris.

Angelina nodded. ‘I know you used to visit it often but only in your mind. I can take you there, Gabe. I can give you the Great Cathedral of Pearlis.’

‘What are you talking about?’ he said, trying again to loosen her arms from his neck.

‘I can give you so much, Gabe, but you have to trust me. René is no friend of yours. He is the enemy.’

‘Enemy,’ he repeated, lost.

‘He wishes only harm. He wants me dead, but he knows he can’t kill me. Not yet anyway, and not here.’

‘Angelina, you’re speaking in riddles.’

‘The raven. I know it has found you.’

Gabe choked at the mention of it. She let him loosen her hold on him, and he almost jumped away, running a hand through his unbound hair.

‘You’ve seen it too?’ he said, suddenly feeling haggard.

She shook her head, moving into a kneeling position on the bed, following him with her gaze. She began to undress again. ‘I’ve felt it. The other day when I was here I could feel its taint. I can keep you safe but you have to trust me.’

‘Safe.’ He laughed scornfully. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’

‘Kiss me again. I want to show you something,’ she said.

He couldn’t resist her. He sat down and she moved to encircle him with her arms and legs as he kissed her.

What Gabe saw shocked him rigid.