The Eighth Court (The Courts of the Feyr - By Mike Shevdon Page 0,113

He met Barthia’s gaze and for a moment something unspoken passed between them.

“No,” she said. “I will stay.”

“Very well,” said Krane. “Teoth?”

They marched from the court, opening the great doors for themselves for once, and slamming them shut behind them.

“Well, that was unexpected,” said Kimlesh.

“Was it?” said Blackbird, breathing out. “I’ve been looking forward to that for a long time.”

Alex stood in the darkness. The moon was approaching fullness and it lent a hazy softness to the view across the fields. The temperature was dropping fast, and the mist was rising, adding a further soft-focus to the view and yet she didn’t go inside for a coat. She’d made a habit of coming here, watching how the seasons stripped the trees of leaves and then coated them in white. She would go inside when she got too cold to stay.

She ought to be tired. She’d worked all day, helping Lesley shift stuff into vans so that they could move it in the morning. Alex watched carefully, knowing Lesley was pregnant, and wondering whether she ought to take it easier. Shouldn’t pregnancy be lots of lying around having your feet rubbed, or was it this mad burst of activity? Is that what it made you do?

She’d been to the new place now. She’d wandered around it, touching the surfaces, drawing lines in the dust, getting the feel of the place. It was strange, as if there were someone waiting in the wings to enter, like a stage-play. You felt like the lights had gone up, but no cast had appeared. She’d found the article about Lettice, like a misspelled salad vegetable, and thought it was funny until Blackbird explained that it was an old spelling of Letticia, and the Letticia Knollys had been the lady of the house long ago. Personally she preferred Lettice.

“Aren’t you cold?” The voice was behind her, and it made her jump, but she hid it as well as she could.

“Hello Tate,” she said. “Do you enjoy creeping up on people?”

“Professional habit,” he said, leaning on the fence to look over the fields. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

“It has its charms,” she said. “I should be going in.” She stood back from the fence.

“Someone was in my room,” he said.

She froze. “Were they?”

“While I wasn’t there, someone went in and moved things.”

“Did they?”

“Why?” he asked.

She waited, but he didn’t say anything else. He was like a rock or a tree – just there, still, waiting.

“I thought… I thought I’d lost something,” she said.

“So it was you,” he said.

“You didn’t know?”

“I do now,” he said. “What did you lose?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, too quickly.

“Did you lose anything, or were you just taking a look around?”

“I told you,” she said. “I’m not sure.”

He was stillness again.

“Sorry,” she apologised.

“What were you looking for?” he asked again.

“I don’t know. I didn’t take anything, I promise. I thought maybe…”

“What?”

“Nothing. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.” Now she felt like shit. “I should go.”

He returned to the state of stillness. It was like looking at a photograph of someone. It didn’t look natural. “Tate?” It was just the instinct to make him move, make him come alive again.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever been in love?” As soon as she asked, she regretted it. What was she thinking? Even to have mentioned it was stupid. What was she thinking?

“Yes,” he said.

It was not the answer she was expecting. The one she was expecting was, why do you ask?

What she wanted to say was, who with, but came out was, “What was it like?”

He stared at the fields for a long time. She thought he wouldn’t answer, but after a while he did. “It was like drinking honey and finding ground glass in it.”

“Did she hurt you?” she asked.

“Not intentionally,” he said. “But the effect was the same.”

“I would never…” but then she swallowed her words. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve really got to go.”

“Where?” he asked.

“What do you mean, where?”

“Where have you got to go?”

Alex looked at him. “To my room, I suppose. It’s cold. I’ll catch my death.”

“No you won’t,” he said. “Why do you run away?”

“I’m not running,” she said, anger tinting her words.

“Then, what are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m going inside. I can’t stay out here all night.”

“No,” he said.

She waited for something else, some clue, some tiny indication, but it was like he’d merged with the fence and become part of the scenery. “How do you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?” he said.

“Disappear in front of me while I’m watching you. Where do