"I like chasing hats."
"Warm now?"
She had a point. It was far too hot to chase around. I sat on the bench beside her and resumed looking at the view.
"Your power is an extension of your will," she said.
"You've told me that before — or somebody did — Fionh, maybe."
"What is your will, Niall?"
It was an odd question. "What do you mean? Are you asking what I want?"
"No, I want you to tell me what your will is. What is this thing that your power is an extension of?"
"It's what I want, isn't it? What I need, maybe. Didn't you say once that magic responds to need?"
"I did, and you do well to remember it, but that is your unconscious will. Your magic will respond because your unconscious demands a response, but not in any way that's controlled — it's like yawning, you can't control it."
I yawned. She smiled.
"Its the heat."
She carried on smiling.
"You did that deliberately," I accused.
"I suggested an idea and your body responded. I can seed ideas into your mind because you are unfocused and undirected — you have no will."
"Of course I have a will."
"Not a directed will. It's hanging like a banner without a breeze. It's waiting for direction, and by making a weak suggestion I can influence you. In a difficult situation, that's dangerous. It makes you vulnerable."
"In a combat situation I wouldn't be unfocused. Having someone try to kill you concentrates the mind wonderfully."
"Until you're distracted, and you're distracted very easily."
"I'm not."
"The breeze has died again."
This time she held onto her hat. The breeze ruffled the grass and twisted in her hair.
"…and when you call it back it has the tone of your temper in it. You're going to have to lose that."
"That's not me, it's doing that by itself." I let it die down.
"No, Niall, that's you. Let it go and I'll show you."
The gusts died away and the summer heat descended on us, beating down. Then a breath of breeze stirred around us, shifting and flickering, veering and backing. It found direction, pushing gently from behind, cooling our backs and necks.
"Show off," I remarked.
She looked down at her hands again, but I knew she was smiling. We sat in silence while the breeze cooled our backs and we took in the view.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked, eventually.
"Do? I'm not your boss, Niall, and I don't give you orders. If you want to learn, I'll teach you, but it has to come from you. I'm not taking orders from Garvin, or anyone else."
"Garvin put you up to this? I thought it was Fionh's idea."
"And how is that different?"
"Fionh has her own ideas about how things are done."
"She's still a Warder, Niall, and that puts her firmly in Garvin's camp."
"We have camps, now, do we?" I asked.
She lapsed into silence.
"I thought we were all on the same side," I said
"We have sides now, do we?" She used exactly the same tone that I had. "I don't like what he does, I don't like how he does it, and most particularly, I don't like him," she said.
"Who are we talking about now?"
"Garvin." Her gaze was on the horizon.
"Well unfortunately I work for him, so I don't have that luxury."
"You don't have to work for him."
"He's providing a roof over our heads, sanctuary for my daughter, and for our son, and a place for me in the courts which I wouldn't otherwise have."
"The courts provide that, not Garvin. He places you in harm's way. You're not ready."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"You're not. He knows it, I know it. Even you know it."
"Do you have a better plan?" I asked.
There was another long silence.
"If you do, I wish you'd say because I'm not seeing any glowing alternatives. Most of them involve being homeless and at the mercy of whoever comes along."
"Everything has a price, Niall, especially this." She brushed imaginary flecks from her skirt.
"Yes, well, sometimes you don't really have a choice."
"There's always a choice, if you are prepared to take it." She stood up. "Think about that while you're deciding who you want to learn from."
She brushed the back of her skirt with her hand and then walked back towards the house. The breeze around me died, leaving me to sit in the baking sun.
Rather than summon the breeze again or follow Blackbird indoors, I walked back towards Alex's room. Fionh had mentioned that she would be alone this morning and it would be an opportunity to see how she was progressing for myself.
I walked past the pond but the water was clear, the sediment undisturbed. It didn't bode well for the practice Alex was supposed to be doing in Fionh's absence.
"Can I come in?" The door was resting open, a heavy leatherbound book resting against it to let what little air there was drift through the room.
"Yeah, why not?" Alex was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"I thought you might be asleep."
"It's the middle of the day, Dad."
"People do sleep in the day, especially when it's hot." I went in and sat in the armchair near the window out of the sun. She rolled over, resting her head on her hands.
"Not me. I can't sleep unless it's dark. Not even then, sometimes."
"Still having nightmares?"
"No." The lie was blatant and obvious.
I'd asked Blackbird how she could lie so openly, given that fey magic rankled against a lie. Blackbird had shrugged and told me that teenagers had a different relationship with the truth. "Maybe to her, it's not lying," she had suggested, but the tone in Alex's voice told me that it was, even though she showed no sign of being tongue-tied or having any difficulty with her words.
"What's up?" Alex asked me.
"I just came to see how you were — how you're getting on with Fionh."
"She's busy. She said she'd come and see me later."
"I know. I thought I'd come and see how you were getting on with your practice."
"It's boring."
"It's necessary."
"She says I'm doing better than you are."
"She said that? You must be doing well, then."
"Not really. She was talking to Garvin about you." The implied criticism hung in the heavy air.
"So have you done some practice this morning?"
"Sure." Again the lie.
"Why don't you practice for a bit with me — you can show me how much progress you've made."
"S'boring."
"You can show me how many fish you can bring to the surface."
Alex sighed and rolled over again to stare at the ceiling. "When are we going home, Dad?"
"We are home." Now I heard the lie in my own voice.
"Not this place. I mean real home. When are you going to take me to see Mum?"
"That's a bit difficult sweetheart."
"She thinks I'm dead."
"That's part of the difficulty, yes," I nodded.
"I feel like I'm dead. I'm so bored!" The pipes rumbled in the bathroom. Alex glared at the bathroom door and they subsided.
"Why don't you do something, then? You could play tennis?"
"All the bats are broken."
"They're called racquets."
"They're all broken."
"I thought you played with Fellstamp last week?"
She sighed. "They were old. They twisted when we played with them. They're all broken now."
"OK, we could find some more?"
"Fellstamp cheats."
"He cheats? In what way?"
"Doesn't matter. They're broken anyway." Her arm flopped out sideways and hung over the edge of the bed. "I've got bats at home. Kayleigh and me used to play."
"Kayleigh and I," I corrected.
"We used to play on the courts after school. Even if we didn't have a net it was better then playing with Fellstamp. Kayleigh doesn't cheat."