The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(95)

Mal didn't answer, only leant down and kissed the top of her head. She opened the door at the top of the stairs and they went inside, into the little attic room. She steadied Mal as he sat down on the bed, then put the candlestick down on the floor. Sitting down next to him, she took his hand in hers.

"Is… is it Sandy? Has something happened to him?"

Mal stared at her.

"I thought Sandy was with you."

"He was, but…" She sighed and began telling him about the events at the inn.

"Into a tunnel of light? Then he might be with Kiiren."
"That's what I thought. So, you haven't seen him?"
"No."
He stared down at their hands, entwined together, and told her of the murder, his rendezvous with Cinquedea and subsequent arrest. When it came to the strappado, however, words failed him. His fingers tightened around hers as the helpless panic threatened to overwhelm him again.

They sat for a long while in silence, heads pressed together. It was the longest he had ever spent this close to her, and he did not know whether to thank or curse his tormentors for it. Gritting his teeth he slipped his arm around her waist, though his torn muscles protested at the movement. If only they could go home to Provence right now, and forget all about guisers and skraylings and Venice. No chance of that, though, not until Sandy was found. As for telling her about Olivia… How was he to begin to explain that? He had allowed himself to be seduced by a guiser. She would never understand.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Parrish appeared with two cups of wine.

"Sorry for taking so long," he said with a sheepish grin. "Here, this will help."

Coby jumped up from the bed, and Mal cried out as agony exploded through his abused sinews at the sudden movement. Parrish gave him a sympathetic smile, then said something to Coby, too quietly for Mal to hear, before departing.

She returned to the bed and held out one of the cups. Mal tried to raise a hand, but it lay on the coverlet, heavy as lead.

"Here, let me," she said, putting her own cup down.

She sat next to him and held the cup to his lips whilst he drank. Wine ran down his chin and soaked his beard, but he didn't care. He gulped it back, willing it to spread its numbing warmth through his veins as fast as it could.

"Careful, you'll choke," she said, laughing.
Mal managed a weak grin. The pain was subsiding, though he felt as weak as ever.

She took the cup away. "Would you like to lie down? You look exhausted."

When he did not gainsay her she knelt to pull off his boots. In the candlelight her hair looked like spun gold, each strand impossibly fine. After a few moments he realised that tears were streaming down his cheeks again.

"Ssh," she said, rising to sit next to him.

She started to unbutton his doublet, but he shook his head. The thought of trying to manoeuvre his arms out of the sleeves made him tremble anew.

"All right," she said, and helped to support his weight as he lay himself down on the bed.

After a moment's hesitation she lay down next to him, careful not to press against his arm. She reached down and took his hand in hers again, and lay there, gazing into his eyes.

"It's good to see you again," he whispered.

"And you. I'm… I'm sorry I failed you, sir."

"What happened? How did you come to be here, instead of France, and what did your letter mean? Who is Hennaq?"

"It's a long story; I'll tell you in the morning. Sleep now."

He closed his eyes obediently. One thing he had learnt in his soldiering days was the importance of snatching sleep whenever you could. Once he had dreaded the nightmares it could bring, but at last he felt in command of them. He had Olivia to thank for that, at least.

At that thought an idea came to him. His body might be broken, but his mind was still sound. He waited until Coby's breathing slowed into the rhythms of sleep, then lifted his hand inch by agonising inch until he could touch his earring. He unfastened it with trembling fingers and let it slither down onto the pillow beside him, then lay back, taking a deep shuddering breath. Now he could sleep, and find his brother.

CHAPTER XXVI

No longer did he begin in darkness. Olivia had taught him to make a haven for himself, a hollow in the landscape of dreams where he was safe and hidden from others, though it was not as strong as hers. He had based it upon the hillfort he and Sandy had built on the slopes behind Rushdale Hall; a grassy dell ringed with the biggest rocks the twins could carry between them, the turf carefully cleared of thistles and smaller stones. The walls were lower than he remembered and yet they still hid the surrounding landscape. No bleating of sheep disturbed the silence, however, and the air hung still and hot, as on a midsummer day. The blue dome above was thin and hazy, and if he stared hard enough he could see the timeless sky beyond, nacreous grey like the inside of a mussel shell. But he must venture out there if he was to find Sandy. He stepped through the gap in the walls and immediately found himself on the dark moorland he remembered all too well. What next? He had never done this unaided. But he had to find Kiiren, if he could.

No sooner had he thought this than his feet began to move of their own accord. Now he could see the lights, hundreds upon hundreds of them, sleeping minds just waiting for his touch. He looked around, wondering which was Coby's, though tonight of all nights he had no desire to intrude upon her dreams. His own mood was too grim.