Castles Made of Sand by Gwyneth Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

crooked dwarf oak trees. Odd set-up for megastar seclusion, but there you go, that’s Sage. He was now outside the domain, on National Trust land from here to the South-West Path; the cliff’s edge, the Atlantic.
    God, it was cold. He took shelter under the thorn hedge, the wind fingering his spine. He was thinking of the strained conversation he and Sage had had, the day after they took the oxytocin, in the Fire Room at the Insanitude—an old retreat of theirs in the North Wing; an island of Few territory now, in the wastes of Boat People accommodation.
    What they were asking of Fiorinda wasn’t easy.
    When she was twelve, this amazing girl had been pregnant in horrible circumstances. When she was thirteen years and three months old, she saw her baby die. She was only eighteen now, still a damaged child. How could they risk hurting her? Risk adding to that damage in any way? They’d agreed that they were sure enough of their love to ask the question. If she said yes then they’d take it carefully, be ready to back off at any moment. They’d agreed that the three of them must be lovers together, equals, not two rockstars sharing the girl. Fuck that! On the oxytocin showing, Ax and Sage should have no problem getting physical. To some extent, see how it goes.
    Are you really okay for that? Ax had asked.
    Oh yeah, he says, the mask almost as blank as Hallowe’en. I took the drug with you, didn’t I? And then he stalks off without once touching me. Weird.
    So far so good on that aspect. Sage! What a storm of soft ferocity. Like being assaulted by a giant albino tiger cub. A giant tiger cub that loves you very much, but still—
    Sage’s size and strength must never become an issue, have to watch that.
    His brave girl, leaping into Sage’s arms as if into deep water.
    But why was it with Sage, that conversation? He saw himself walking with her: a beach, a street, doesn’t matter, holding her hand, shall we do it? We love him so much, we must make Sage our lover. They would have been very happy and very sad, saying goodbye to what they’d had: why didn’t I do that?
    He hadn’t had the courage to face what he might see in her eyes—
    The sky was ironbound. The branches of the thorn were covered in half-furled fists of green, ice crystals hanging from them, sometimes a bud encased in a complete crystal sphere. Every time he took his hands out of his pockets to wipe his eyes and mop his nose, the wind burned them. He had to stop crying so he could go back to Tyller Pystri before they started to worry, but the tears kept coming. She’d never leave me, but she loved him first, only she was a kid and she didn’t realise… I’ve known it for I don’t know how long, and this is the solution . She loves me. But she won’t be my little cat anymore. She’ll be Sage’s baby now.
    He knew he had found the only way to save himself from unimaginable pain, but he just couldn’t stand it .
    He heard the bike and thought nothing of it, not attuned to the rarity of such a sound out in the Cornwall countryside, three years after the end of the world.
    At last Ax realised he’d have to go back anyway. He let himself in, went to the bathroom and splashed his face. It was the wind. It made my eyes water, fucking cold out there…
    Very quiet in here.
    Fiorinda was sitting on the bed, wearing her orange cardie over the red and blue chiffon dress and skinny faded denims, same as she’d been wearing last night. Her hair was a mess. She looked half-asleep, almost dazed.
    ‘Where’s Sage?’
    ‘He’s gone. Back to Reading.’
    ‘What? Did something happen? Did Allie call?’
    ‘No. He’s just gone.’
    ‘But how?’ said Ax, fixing on the practical impossibility. ‘The car’s still here.’
    ‘He took his bike.’
    ‘Oh, God.’ He looked at the windows, as if he might catch a glimpse of Sage’s Triumph careering away down narrow, ill-kept lanes. ‘I hate that fucking bike. There’s black ice everywhere—’
    He