Read Online Wolfsbane: 3 (Rebel Angels) by Gillian Philip - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gillian Philip
Ads: Link
wasn’t
ever
quite
like that but it did give us a bad reputation.
Except that Hannah wasn’t a full-mortal. And there was no-one my age in the dun. And growing up a half-breed runt in a clann proud of its bloodlines, you sometimes want to meet someone of
your own kind.
I wasn’t a runt any more. You can’t afford to be a runt when you’re allegedly the mythical Bloodstone and the saviour of your race. Or even when you
aren’t
– because there’s no such thing according to your rationalist father – but you still have to live up to a legend you never earned or believed. Because it isn’t only your own
clann who believe it; it’s the enemy clanns, too, and their powerful queen, and they’d do anything or kill anyone to get their hands on you. As a reason for one’s existence
it’s a lot to live up to, particularly when your own father dismisses it as the superstitious ravings of an ancient madwoman.
It was also why the mother I never knew had died at the hands of a Lammyr, and my uncle Conal had been murdered defending me, and my whole clann spent their years fighting and dying and killing
for me. And that was why I’d grown up a virtual prisoner in what would one day – faery queens permitting – be my own dun.
I could hardly be blamed for wanting some fun. I’d have to wait, though, for their memories of my latest escape to dull. When I slipped down the stairs and out through the main door,
Sorcha stepped lightly in front of me.
‘No, you don’t, Rory Bhan.’ Her sheathed dagger tickled my chest playfully. ‘Seth–’
‘Says I’m not allowed out of the dun.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘That’s why I’m not going, then.’
‘I’ve heard that one before,’ drawled Sorcha’s fellow-guard, a sturdy sod called Eorna who’d once taught my own father to fight.
‘Yeah, well. This time I mean it.’
Sorcha narrowed her eyes and leaned closer to me, the leather-and-silver scabbard digging painfully into my ribs. I pushed it crossly aside.
‘So help me, you wee bastard. You take one step past the courtyard boundary, and I’ll be thrashing your arse before you can take a second one.’
I knew she meant it. As far as Sorcha was concerned, I might still be three years old. I grinned. ‘I won’t, Sorcha. Promise.’
She grinned back and withdrew the sheathed dagger, slapping my backside with it by way of farewell. ‘In that case, bugger off and let us gossip in peace.’
I didn’t dare head even vaguely towards the eastern courtyard and the gate beyond, and besides, I’d told Sorcha the truth: the sole point of my small-hours expedition was to visit
the stables. I wouldn’t be daring to hijack Seth’s horse again – well, not for a few weeks – but I felt that if I could only look into its eyes, study the winding course of
its unfathomable mind, I might find some keystone clue to its whole species. If I could once tame that kelpie at the little loch in the pass between the hills, my father might finally call me an
adult. He might begin to respect me. He might even trust me to leave the dun walls for longer than five minutes at a time, I thought bitterly. If I could only tame the kelpie; and to do that, maybe
I needed to understand Seth’s.
Unfortunately, on this occasion, he’d beaten me to it. It must have been another sleepless night. I didn’t speak to let Seth know I was there; instead I blocked my mind and edged
silently back into the shadows.
If there was a creature he could trust with his lonely nights and his racked conscience, it should have been me. Instead he slumped lazily against the partition of the blue roan’s stall,
barefoot and bare-chested, his eyes shadowed with insomnia but glittering deep down with the moment’s happiness. Branndair stood above him, licking his face and neck like a mother wolf
quieting a pup, and Seth laughed hoarsely, grabbing the wolf’s black-maned shoulders and hauling him down for a hug.
Branndair gave a huge sigh and rolled
ever
quite
like that but it did give us a bad reputation.
Except that Hannah wasn’t a full-mortal. And there was no-one my age in the dun. And growing up a half-breed runt in a clann proud of its bloodlines, you sometimes want to meet someone of
your own kind.
I wasn’t a runt any more. You can’t afford to be a runt when you’re allegedly the mythical Bloodstone and the saviour of your race. Or even when you
aren’t
– because there’s no such thing according to your rationalist father – but you still have to live up to a legend you never earned or believed. Because it isn’t only your own
clann who believe it; it’s the enemy clanns, too, and their powerful queen, and they’d do anything or kill anyone to get their hands on you. As a reason for one’s existence
it’s a lot to live up to, particularly when your own father dismisses it as the superstitious ravings of an ancient madwoman.
It was also why the mother I never knew had died at the hands of a Lammyr, and my uncle Conal had been murdered defending me, and my whole clann spent their years fighting and dying and killing
for me. And that was why I’d grown up a virtual prisoner in what would one day – faery queens permitting – be my own dun.
I could hardly be blamed for wanting some fun. I’d have to wait, though, for their memories of my latest escape to dull. When I slipped down the stairs and out through the main door,
Sorcha stepped lightly in front of me.
‘No, you don’t, Rory Bhan.’ Her sheathed dagger tickled my chest playfully. ‘Seth–’
‘Says I’m not allowed out of the dun.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘That’s why I’m not going, then.’
‘I’ve heard that one before,’ drawled Sorcha’s fellow-guard, a sturdy sod called Eorna who’d once taught my own father to fight.
‘Yeah, well. This time I mean it.’
Sorcha narrowed her eyes and leaned closer to me, the leather-and-silver scabbard digging painfully into my ribs. I pushed it crossly aside.
‘So help me, you wee bastard. You take one step past the courtyard boundary, and I’ll be thrashing your arse before you can take a second one.’
I knew she meant it. As far as Sorcha was concerned, I might still be three years old. I grinned. ‘I won’t, Sorcha. Promise.’
She grinned back and withdrew the sheathed dagger, slapping my backside with it by way of farewell. ‘In that case, bugger off and let us gossip in peace.’
I didn’t dare head even vaguely towards the eastern courtyard and the gate beyond, and besides, I’d told Sorcha the truth: the sole point of my small-hours expedition was to visit
the stables. I wouldn’t be daring to hijack Seth’s horse again – well, not for a few weeks – but I felt that if I could only look into its eyes, study the winding course of
its unfathomable mind, I might find some keystone clue to its whole species. If I could once tame that kelpie at the little loch in the pass between the hills, my father might finally call me an
adult. He might begin to respect me. He might even trust me to leave the dun walls for longer than five minutes at a time, I thought bitterly. If I could only tame the kelpie; and to do that, maybe
I needed to understand Seth’s.
Unfortunately, on this occasion, he’d beaten me to it. It must have been another sleepless night. I didn’t speak to let Seth know I was there; instead I blocked my mind and edged
silently back into the shadows.
If there was a creature he could trust with his lonely nights and his racked conscience, it should have been me. Instead he slumped lazily against the partition of the blue roan’s stall,
barefoot and bare-chested, his eyes shadowed with insomnia but glittering deep down with the moment’s happiness. Branndair stood above him, licking his face and neck like a mother wolf
quieting a pup, and Seth laughed hoarsely, grabbing the wolf’s black-maned shoulders and hauling him down for a hug.
Branndair gave a huge sigh and rolled
Similar Books
