Cassandra

  They slid out into the gutter of the road and then down into the darkness of the drain. Lorcan would have thought it impossible, but Cassandra stiffened even more. She insisted on remaining aloof, both physically and emotionally, no matter what it cost her.

  ‘Cassandra, we’re going to be in this drain for a long time. I know you don’t like it. I know it scares you.’

  Cassandra cleared her throat. ‘I’m fine.’

  Rubbish. Lorcan started to slide his arms experimentally around Cassandra’s waist. She jerked away as if he’d burnt her. He pulled back.

  ‘Come on, Cassandra. I’m not going to eat you. Let me hold on to you while we’re in the dark. It’ll help.’

  No response.

  This was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t already crossed that line. ‘Cassandra, I held you all the way up.’

  She let out a tiny whimper as though she’d been trying to repress the memory. ‘That was different.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘It was an accident, and I was asleep.’

  Lorcan sighed. Stupid human logic. Who could reason with that? Maybe he should just zap her and be done with it. Oonnora would. Eerin would. Almost any other fae would. ‘Why are you so stubborn?’ he demanded. ‘What is it with humans that you are so insistent on denying your feelings? Don’t you trust them? Do you think your emotions and intuitions hinder your intelligence?’

  ‘Why do you hate humans?’

  ‘Where do I start?’

  Cassandra didn’t respond. Lorcan knew he shouldn’t be too offended at her unwillingness to snuggle up against him after the way he had treated her this morning. At least she didn’t think he was trying to kill her anymore, although she probably wanted him dead. He supposed he deserved it. The trouble was that Cassandra represented everything he’d grown to hate, or rather, the one thing he’d grown to hate: humans, particularly those with the sight. But he was finding it increasingly difficult to hate her.

  There was no point in him worrying about it; there could never be more to their relationship anyway. What was he thinking? There could never be any relationship at all. Although Cassandra was expected to remain with them permanently and was supposed to be accepted as a member of their community, Lorcan knew it only went so far. Cassandra would always carry the human stain. Fae–human relationships were frowned upon for a number of excellent reasons. Firstly, the aging difference would be traumatic for both parties. Secondly, any children born of the union would be half human, half fae: not a burden you would wish on any child in this human-hating world. For Lorcan, there was another problem. Being a watcher, he was expected to maintain an objective viewpoint about humans. Embarking on a relationship with a human would make that impossible. It was unlikely that he would be allowed to continue his work if he and Cassandra became involved. His work was his lifeblood: it was his vocation – his fulfilment and satisfaction; it was his shield from parts of his life he wanted to avoid; it was his tenuous hold on his belief that he would one day find his parents.

  The grim truth was that he would have to do exactly what he had berated Cassandra for doing. He would deny any feelings he might have for her. In fact, he simply wouldn’t think about her at all.

  He could do that.

  As long as he stayed well away from her.

  — CHAPTER 38 —

  Acceptance

  Cassandra was relieved when Lorcan ceased trying to convince her to lean against him.

  There was no way she could bring herself to do it, despite knowing that it might make her feel safer in this tunnel of terror. She shut her eyes against the darkness since it had been so effective on the way up, and tried to meditate on her current situation. She was getting sick of crying. She was getting sick of feeling sorry for herself. She was getting sick of pulling herself together only to be broken again. She was even getting sick of holding on to the belief that she would one day go home.

  She had come to a moment of truth. She needed to make some hard decisions to preserve her sanity. She already knew what she had to do; it was acceptance that was difficult. Although Zabeth had, in the end, made the small concession that if Cassandra proved her loyalty she would be allowed to go home, in reality Cassandra couldn’t imagine how she could possibly achieve it. If she was brutally honest with herself – and if ever there was a time for brutal honesty, this was certainly it – she was not loyal to the fae. Of course she wasn’t: they were her captors. She’d become very fond of quite a few of them: Ith; Iznaya; certainly the children; darling Gita; Oonnora; maybe Tani, a bit more lately; perhaps even Brack, in his mellow moments. But loyal? No, that would surely require a much deeper bond. That being so, she could never hope to prove something that didn’t exist.

  So, her first decision was made: she had to let go of her determination to return home. She would make an effort to assimilate into the fae world. She would allow herself the luxury of cherishing the memory of her human past only when she was in her hammock at night. She would stop perceiving herself as a victim. She would take responsibility for herself and work on building relationships with the other fae, particularly the centenarians. But Cassandra’s heart plummeted when she remembered that she would be growing old while those around her barely aged. One day, she would be older than Oonnora and Brack. It hurt just imagining it. She wondered if it was even worth becoming friends with the centenarians. Before long, they would be children relative to her. There was no solution to that as far as she could see, so there was no point worrying about it for the time being. It was a fact of her new life.

  With a breaking heart, she shifted her outlook to the future she had finally chosen to embrace.

  Cassandra’s decision paid off over the next few weeks. Having accepted the permanence of her situation, her life became easier and happier.

  It helped that Ith and Iznaya had virtually adopted her as an honorary granddaughter.

  Ith took her aside one day, looking very pleased with himself. ‘I made something for you.’ He handed her a package wrapped in a soft, young gum leaf. ‘You’re getting much better at walking barefoot, but I think this will help.’

  Inside the package was a beautiful pair of sandals made from layers of paperbark and vine.

  ‘Why don’t the fae wear shoes?’ Cassandra asked.

  ‘We don’t need them. We can send protective energy into any part of our auras we want.’

  ‘Really?’ That would be a useful skill to have. ‘So, nothing can hurt you?’ She poked his upper arm playfully with her finger.

  Ith laughed. ‘It requires a degree of conscious effort – less and less as we get older. It also dulls our sense of touch, so we don’t surround ourselves with it entirely unless there’s a particular reason.’

  ‘But if you knew I was about to hit you, you could protect yourself from getting hurt?’

  ‘Mmmm, although there’s a limit to what I could fend off.’

  ‘So,’ Cassandra looked around for inspiration, ‘if a tree fell on you …’

  Ith laughed again. ‘That would hurt.’

  Cassandra put the sandals on. They fit perfectly, but that sort of oddity had, by now, ceased to surprise her. What did surprise her was how comfortable they were: much more comfortable than they looked.

  She wore them constantly from then on, and they never showed signs of wearing out.

  The children remained a source of joy for Cassandra. The hooligans were getting excited about the approaching initiation ceremony which took the place of the revelry twice a year at the autumnal and vernal equinoxes. Cassandra was looking forward to experiencing it.

  But most of all, she felt herself bonding ever closer to Gita. Gita told everyone that Cassandra was her best friend, but Cassandra’s feelings had moved beyond friendship to an almost maternal love. Cassandra liked who she was when she was with Gita.

  Cassandra found herself looking forward to arriving at Iznaya and Ith’s in the mornings and being sad to leave at the end of the day. Even after all the child
ren had left, Cassandra hung around, finding herself jobs to do and drinking cups of fungitea (which, since her visit to Zabeth, she now loved) until her bladder was bursting and Iznaya had to shoo her home to get ready for the revelry.

  Unbeknown to either Ith or Iznaya, mention of the revelry had the opposite effect to the one intended. It made Cassandra want to drag her feet even more. She didn’t want to tell them that she still didn’t enjoy the revelry. It seemed to be so important to them that she be happy and have friends her own age that it was kindest to let them believe it.

  Cassandra and Tani’s relationship had steadily warmed since Tani had saved Cassandra from Chayton until now, just as Oonnora had hoped, they had bonded as sisters. Tani tried to assist Cassandra at the revelry by setting up conversations to include her, but Cassandra had been caught too many times making what she thought were innocuous comments only to find that she had supplied more fuel to the bonfire of human loathing that she was now in a permanent state of tongue tie. She preferred to perambulate around the fire pretending to socialise, with a smile fixed on her face until it ached, hoping that no one noticed her.

  She’d seen no sign of Lorcan since their trip to Zabeth’s, although she occasionally heard mention of him in conversations. She hated that his name caused her ears to prick up eagerly. She had come to realise that the Lorcan she knew was not the same personality who everyone else encountered. Certainly, he was darkly mysterious from both perspectives, but there the similarity ended. What others saw was a respected member of the community, inscrutable and aloof yet all the more charismatic because of that, on the cusp of an early adulthood: a prodigy. She heard it said that he had some personal issues to work through before the council would formally deem him an adult, but to all intents and purposes he was already there.

  Cassandra tried unsuccessfully to conjure up an image of Lorcan the child. She couldn’t imagine him ever being anything but impenetrable and self-assured, even now that she knew about the cruel events in his life that must have toughened him. Maybe they were what gave him his darkness, his broodiness. Yes, that was it: his inner turmoil gave him a hard, sharp edge which he overlaid with a veneer of civility – charm, even – when it suited him. It was the glimpse of that dangerous edge, the hint of ill-humoured, untamed beast, barely restrained by sheer self-control that was so tantalising to the girls. What Cassandra got instead was the ill-humoured beast: no pretty wrapping.

  If she was honest with herself, she would admit that what she found tantalising about Lorcan was the well concealed layer even below that: the anguish and vulnerability the beast guarded.

  — CHAPTER 39 —

  Ilvi

  Ith and Iznaya had decided that, for Cassandra’s own good, they would not allow her to come every day. Their idea was that she should spend some days making friends with the older centenarians, but she wasn’t about to do that, even if it had been possible, which it wasn’t since they hated her just for being human.

  Instead, she’d taken to exploring the wilderness around the edge of the village. Given the choice between wandering around Gillwillan with its inherent risk of running into a centenarian, or risking life and limb skulking around the scary wilderness, there was no contest: she’d take her chances with the wilderness.

  And now she was lost.

  Here, the undergrowth was so dense that, where it didn’t create an impenetrable barrier all the way down to the ground, it hung ominously just above her head. Visibility was reduced to just a few paces, and looking up, the living network was so thick that the sky was obliterated.

  She stopped walking and stood still while she tried to get her bearings, or at least make a good guess about which way to go. In the distance she heard laughter. She fought through the undergrowth towards the sound until she broke through into sunshine. In front of her was a sandy clearing similar to the agora except that this one was dominated by three massive gum trees growing close together in the centre. The fae had built wide awnings encircling the three trunks to create spacious sheltered areas. A good number of the adult fae from Gillwillan were congregated here.

  Cassandra was unsure of her welcome, but she knew that the adults, in keeping with Brack’s instructions, tended to either ignore her or be superficially polite, so she risked wandering closer to investigate what they were doing.

  The first group of fae she reached were all occupied with various forms of weaving. She watched a man whose hands moved so swiftly over his loom that they were a blur of motion. He was producing a fine, delicate fabric in pretty pastel colours. Another lady sitting close by was working on a much bigger loom, weaving a heavy, richly coloured fabric which reminded Cassandra of the rugs and ponchos of South America. She had planned to go to South America one day and bring a rug back to hang on her wall. She had dreamt of travelling around the world to return with armfuls of beautiful souvenirs that told stories of the places she’d been. How ironic. Here she was, visiting what would have to be the most incredible place in the world – which turned out to be only a few paces from her own boatshed – and all she wanted to do was go home and forget about it.

  Beside the weavers sat tailors, spinners, knitters, quilters and embroiderers. She watched each one for a long time, fascinated by the beauty and accuracy of their work. Eventually, she moved on to discover a wood workshop. Timber was built up or carved down to create anything from large, functional pieces of furniture to dainty, ornate containers and utensils. Farther along, she watched a group of potters working, using wheels or moulding items with their hands. A group of artists were painting the finished pieces. She even found a series of mills, taking up the entire third shelter, which were converting plants that Ith and the children collected into an extraordinary variety of product: everything from flour and oils to textile fibres.

  It took her hours to circumnavigate the three trees and arrive back with the weavers, where she had begun. Unfortunately, she was no closer to knowing the way home now than she had been when she’d emerged from the undergrowth, and she was certainly not about to attempt to retrace her route that way. She was nervous of interrupting these fae, even though they were chatting and laughing amongst themselves. No one had shooed her away, but no one had spoken to her and invited her to stay, either.

  ‘Ummm, excuse me,’ she said in a broad query to whoever would listen. The man weaving the fine fabric looked up at her without slowing of the motion of his hands. The fabric continued to grow.

  ‘Would you tell me the way to the agora, please?’

  The man twitched his chin over his left shoulder and then returned his attention to his work. As far as directions went, it wasn’t much, but it was apparently all Cassandra was getting because no one else was volunteering any additional information. She wandered off past the shelters in the direction the man had indicated. Crossing the clearing, she realised she was approaching a cluster of beehive shaped structures. The closer she got to them, the more she admired how beautifully built they were. They were made entirely from meticulously fitted river stones: insignificant to a human, perhaps no bigger than a baby’s fingernail, but here, the size of an adult foot.

  Cassandra reached out her hand and brushed it over the smooth, cool wall of one of the structures. She left her arm stretched out as she passed from one to the next, but instead of gliding through air, her hand hit a fae body. She would have been embarrassed enough if the body had belonged to an adult, but she was mortified when she saw that it belonged to a centenarian girl. She braced for the taunt.

  ‘Hello,’ the girl said. ‘You’re the human, aren’t you? Let me see.’ She pushed at Cassandra’s shoulder and Cassandra was so taken off guard that she allowed the girl to turn her around.

  ‘Wow.’ The girl rubbed her hand down Cassandra’s back from her shoulders to her waist and then up again. ‘That’s so …,’ she repeated the motion while she tried to think of the adjective she wanted. Cassandra was expecting to hear ‘smooth’ or ‘sleek’, so when the girl said, ‘stunted,’ she sp
un around and folded her arms defensively across her chest, angry at herself for playing into the girl’s hands and giving her ammunition to tease her with.

  But the girl didn’t seem to be teasing. In fact, she seemed genuinely contrite when she noticed that Cassandra had taken offence. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just … how do you put up with it? Doesn’t it make your life unbearable?’

  As far as apologies went, it was pretty poor, but Cassandra recognised the honest concern behind it.

  ‘How can you stand being permanently grounded?’ the girl continued.

  ‘I’ve never really missed it.’

  The girl sighed tragically. ‘I’d miss it.’ Then she inhaled deeply and shook her face into a smile as if summoning up the fortitude to make the best of it. ‘I’m Ilvi.’

  ‘I’m …’

  ‘Cassandra, I know.’

  Cassandra glanced around, searching for conversational inspiration. ‘What are these structures?’

  ‘Oh, these.’ Ilvi rested her hand on the wall beside her. ‘These are our kilns. Look.’ She pressed on a stone beside her and a square section of the wall clicked outward so that Ilvi was able to open it like a door. Cassandra was smacked with a wave of superheated air, which was a surprise since only moments ago she had brushed her hand along this very wall and it had felt cool. She peered inside. The little stone doorway was backed with smooth mortar and, inside the kiln, pottery sat baking on shelves.

  ‘This is the pottery kiln,’ Ilvi said, closing the door. ‘I maintain each kiln at a different temperature for whatever it’s needed for: pottery, glass, metal, …’