by C. S. Pacat
It was late when she finally made it back to the inn, the grimy, impersonal place where she had left the horses. The raucous sounds of the downstairs tables, crowded with men slopping drinks and calling for more, hit her ears as she entered. She sidestepped around them to reach the narrow wooden stairs. Climbing with exhausted legs, she made it to the small room where she and Will had agreed to meet.
She wanted nothing more than to lie down on the bed with her forearm over her eyes and rest, but she knew she had to ride back to the Hall. They only had until dawn to find and stop James. She pushed the door open.
Will was waiting by the window, though there was little chance of seeing anything through its dim pane.
‘Violet!’ Will turned when she entered, eyes wide with relief.
‘I’ve got what we need,’ she said. ‘We have to go.’
From the cold, half-eaten meal on the sill, he’d been watching for her at the window for hours. She took in the uncomfortable stool where he’d been perched, his face all but pressed to the window.
‘What are you doing?’ She could see where he’d tried to wipe the window clean for a better view.
‘I was worried about you,’ said Will.
It made her feel warm, like she wasn’t alone. Like maybe, in that room, she hadn’t been alone after all. Feeling suddenly awkward, she punched his shoulder lightly.
It wasn’t until they were saddling their Steward horses in the stables that she noticed the immaculately fitted jacket, with its snug waist, and dark trousers.
‘And what are you wearing?’
‘I had to borrow these.’ He made a face, but she had to admit that the clothing made him look dashing, the tall standing collar setting off his high cheekbones and the fall of his dark hair.
‘Borrow, or steal?’
‘Borrow. It’s not important.’ Swinging up into the saddle, he tugged a rein, turning his horse out onto the road. ‘Come on, we have to go.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘HERE!’ A WAVE of relief washed over Violet seeing Stewards ride out to greet them. ‘We’re over here!’ It felt so good to see the white tunics and the silver stars, pale shapes in the night. She counted two dozen mounted Stewards cantering over the dark marsh in pairs, with Justice at the head of the column.
Back in London she had told Will everything that she had overheard. ‘James will be alone with the ivory merchant Robert Drake. We can take him unawares, before he has a chance to use magic.’
‘He can lead us to Marcus,’ Will had said, grasping it instantly as she nodded.
The window to act was small. They had ridden back to the Hall in haste. Now Justice’s face was a welcome sight, the words spilling over her lips.
‘Thank God,’ Violet said as the Stewards reined in, surrounding them in a loose circle. ‘We don’t have much time. We found a way to find Marcus, but we have to act before dawn.’
Nothing happened. Violet looked for some sign that the Stewards had heard what she’d said, and saw only blank faces. A moment later, twelve of the Stewards dismounted, their spears out.
‘Didn’t you hear me? I said that we’ve found a way to find Marcus. But we have to go – now—’
Their faces stayed blank. She recognised the Stewards; they were people she knew. Carver and Leda were on horseback. Justice was one of the dozen of the Stewards who had dismounted.
‘What is it?’ she said, a prickle of cold going down her spine. ‘Why aren’t you listening to me?’
‘Because you’re a Lion,’ said Cyprian, reining in his horse next to Justice, his eyes utterly cold.
Her stomach dropped, like a terrible pit.
‘Don’t get close,’ a voice said to her left. ‘She’s strong.’ She heard a sword unsheathe.
‘Violet—’ said Will, in warning.
They knew.
They knew what she was. A Lion, descendant of Rassalon.
She saw it on all their faces, her worst nightmare come to life. With a flash, Cyprian’s expression made sense. He must have seen her leaving the Hall and reported it to the Stewards. I’ll be watching you. Had he followed her to her house? She could imagine him saying in his superior voice, She’s a Lion. Tom Ballard’s sister.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I’m on your side. James will be alone at dawn. You’ll have a chance to capture him.’
Nothing.
‘I’m telling you that I found out how to get to James. You can use him to find Marcus. That’s why I went back. To help you.’
The circle of spears was closing in. She swung around, but there was nowhere to go. Desperately, she searched the hostile expressions, looking for someone to listen. ‘Justice. You know me. Tell them.’
But the familiar face that she knew from hours in the training hall was shuttered and cold.
‘Stay back, Lion,’ Justice said.
Something horrible twisted in her stomach. She looked at the size of the converging force. Two dozen Stewards, half with spears closing in, the others on horseback with crossbows at the ready.
Did they think that she could fight two dozen Stewards? With no weapon?
They did. She could see the spear tips. All pointing at her.
‘She’s telling the truth. If you want to find Marcus, you’ll listen,’ said Will, stepping forward.
All it did was swivel some of the crossbows from her to him.
She said, ‘You don’t have to do this – I’m one of you – I—’
Two more Stewards had dismounted. They were carrying a heavy piece of iron, solid and old, with strange carvings. Manacles, she realised. They were so thick they looked like stocks. Something in her went cold when she saw them. The ground was crumbling under her feet. ‘Listen to me. Listen to me! We only have until dawn—’
‘Take her,’ said Justice.
There was a blur of motion to her left – she heard Will struggling, already in Steward hands. ‘Stop this, she’s telling the truth! She risked her life to find out how to help you—!’
‘Will!’ she cried out as one of the Stewards simply hit Will to stop him talking, a sword pommel to his temple. Will went limp in their arms at once, knocked out.
She panicked, swinging at the Steward who came at her from behind. She wasn’t thinking – sending him flying with her full strength to crash into a line of his compatriots. She dodged one spear, then snapped the next. There was a metallic crunch as she drove her fist into the stomach of a third Steward, hard enough to cave a deep dent into his armour. Hard enough that the Steward felt the punch and doubled over, reeling. Hard enough that it hurt her own fist, the burst of pain distracting her so that she didn’t see the swing to her head—
Blackness burst over her vision. She was forced to the ground, hard. With a wrench, her arms were pulled behind her and the heavy manacles closed over her wrists. Immediately she felt weak, hazy, as if the manacles had robbed her of her strength. They felt solid and immovable in a way she had never experienced, and could almost taste in her mouth. She was still saying ‘Listen to me, James is going to be there at dawn, you need to get there before him—’ as her head was shoved downward, her cheek pressed to the wet, peaty earth.
Had she survived her family only to be killed by the Stewards? Justice was standing over her, his sword drawn. Her heart tightened at the thought that he was going to execute her, right here in the muddy dirt.
Nothing happened. Everyone was still, and staring. An eerie silence hung over the empty marshland. Will was a motionless shape on the ground, and strewn around Violet were the bodies of at least nine fallen Stewards, some injured, others unconscious.
Of the dozen who remained, she saw Leda wipe a thin line of blood from her mouth, and behind her, Cyprian held his sword in a white-knuckled hand, eyes fixed on her. She could hear the words that the Stewards were saying in horror and disgust. Unnatural and Lion and old world and Rassalon.
‘That’s enough.’ Justice cut the talk off, stepping forward. ‘Take them both to the cells.’
As soon as Violet descended the stairs, she felt sick. If the manacles had weakened her, the cells left her nauseous and barely able to stand, as if the prison were in her head.
The Stewards dragged her into a barred cell, ignoring her pleas, just as they’d ignored her on the marshes, listening to nothing that she had to say about James, or how little time was left.
Deep in the rock, the only light came from the two torches outside. The bars threw shadows into the cell, crisscrossing the ground, a repeating iron lattice. She could feel in its stupefying effect on her that this place had been built to hold powerful prisoners, perhaps creatures of the dark in that ancient war. The cell walls were black, unnerving and wrong. They weren’t made of stone; they were made of something more like obsidian, gleaming and carved over with long, curving script that looked like the writing of the old world.
But whatever fell creatures had once been imprisoned here, the black honeycomb of dizzying cells were now all empty, except for the one directly across from her own, where Will lay, pale and breathing shallowly, unconscious but alive. Laying Will’s body out on the stone in a pair of manacles that matched hers, the Stewards had locked the bars and filed out, all but one of them, who had remained, standing outside her cell.
‘Justice,’ she said.
He was still wearing his armour, white and silver. His handsome face was framed by his jet-black hair, half tied in its twist, the rest falling straight down his back.
‘You’ll be kept in this cell,’ he said. ‘You won’t be let out. The High Janissary is meeting with the council now to decide your fate.’
My fate. She felt those words in her bones. She thought of a lion hunt – the great beast speared in five places. As she looked into Justice’s impassive face, she felt a terrible chill.
‘But you’ll tell them I’m on their side. You’ll tell them I went to London to help them.’
Her words fell into a cold silence. He’s looking at me, she thought. But he’s seeing something else. It made them strangers, suddenly. She felt utterly locked out, searching his face through the bars for any hint of its old expression.
‘Justice?’ His face didn’t change.
‘When the decision is made, they’ll take you in chains to the Hall.’
It was hard to breathe. ‘And do what?’
‘You’re a Lion,’ said Justice. ‘You’ll be killed to stop you from hurting people.’
She felt dizzy, breathless. ‘You can still get to James,’ she said. ‘He’ll know where Marcus is being held. He’s Simon’s favourite. You can stop James and save Marcus.’
‘The Stewards will not be lured out to another ambush. Whatever you sought to gain by infiltrating our Hall, it’s over.’
‘If you don’t stop Simon now, you might not get another chance. He’s strong and he’s close to achieving his plans—’
‘You’re the Dark King’s servant. It’s in your blood.’
‘Justice, you know me,’ she said. ‘Not a Lion. Me. Violet.’
‘You will follow the Dark,’ said Justice. ‘Unless we prevent it. That’s what Stewards are. We’re the last protectors. Against creatures like you.’
She barely heard the dull clang of the door as he left. She couldn’t breathe; the pain was immense. She remembered another door closing, beating on it with her fists until they were raw. This was worse, her future shutting down, leaving her in the dark.
She thought, My father had a lion cage and the Stewards have one too.
Her world, all her dreams, narrowed down to this cell, her false lives stripped away to show the truth: she wasn’t wanted. Justice looked at her and saw a Lion, and he was going to kill her. How dare you come back here. Louisa’s words wormed around in her head.
Her father’s smiles, her brother’s fond words, Justice’s steady-handed guidance, it had all been lies.
No, that wasn’t true. Her family had lied. Justice had been honest. He had told her what he felt about Lions from the start.
‘Violet?’
She scrabbled up towards the bars, and in the cell opposite hers she saw Will, pushing himself up onto an elbow. She felt so stupidly glad to hear his voice, to see him alive and awake. He looked weak, and the hair on the left side of his head was clumped with dried blood. Before he managed to sit up, he said, ‘Are you all right? Did they hurt you?’
‘I’m all right.’ She swallowed the feeling, his first thought being for her. ‘They hit you over the head.’
‘I know,’ he said, his weak returning smile making it a kind of joke. She watched him sit all the way up, then pretend he preferred not to stand, rather than show that he couldn’t. She swallowed again. ‘How long have we been down here?’
‘Not long. An hour. Maybe two.’
‘An hour! James will get away.’
His frustration touched on her old feelings, the desire she had had to beat on the walls, Hey! Listen to us! Let us out! Alongside that was a spiralling hopelessness. They were trapped down here in this pit while outside, dawn was coming, and with it their one chance to stop James.
‘It’s my fault.’ Violet drew in a painful breath. ‘They wouldn’t believe anything after they found out I was a Lion. They think I’ve got bad blood. That I’m destined to serve the Dark. That’s why we’re down here.’
‘Then they’re fools,’ said Will.
He pushed himself up to his feet, though it obviously cost him. He came all the way forward to the bars of his cell. His hands manacled behind his back, he had to lean his shoulder against the bars. It was probably the only thing holding him up.
‘I don’t care what they say. You’re good and you’re true. Whatever happens, I won’t let them hurt you.’
She looked at his pale face with its tumble of dark hair. The blood at his temple – it was because of her. The manacles forcing his arms painfully behind his back – because of her. She was the reason they were here, the reason the Stewards wouldn’t listen. She was a Lion by blood, her family served Simon, her brother was his creature.
‘How can you trust me? I’m one of them.’
‘You came back for me,’ said Will.
Their first meeting; her monumental decision to jump back onto the sinking ship; and the way that he had looked up at her, bruised and chained. He hadn’t expected anyone to come. Maybe no one ever had before.
She looked at him now through two sets of bars that seemed to symbolise all that separated them: different futures; different fates. He was the hero; she was the Lion who didn’t fit anywhere.
‘They’ll let you out.’ She could feel how true it was as she said it. ‘You’re Blood of the Lady. They need you.’
‘I don’t care. I won’t leave you.’
Did he mean that? With the bars between them, their friendship felt like it was being forced apart, and yet it was the thing that was holding them together. He was in here with her, when outside there was a bigger fight.
She said, ‘You have a destiny.’
‘So do you,’ he said. ‘It’s what we make it. You and me. We’ll fight Simon together.’
Together.
She felt his faith cutting through all doubt. His faith in her. It was like a flame piercing the dark. She looked at his bruised face, his unwavering gaze, and could see why people would follow him. She could see why people followed the Lady.
‘Now, if we’re going to stop James, we need a way out of here,’ Will said, as though the topic was settled.
She drew in a shaky breath and nodded. She didn’t say any of the words of gratitude that crowded in her, what it meant to her right now to have a person on her side. She just followed his lead, looking around at the cell that confined her.
‘There are no cracks, seals or windows. It’s only the barred door.’
‘It’s the same in my cell. You can’t bend the bars, or break open the door?’
She shook her head and gave voice to the nausea she’d had since she’d first set foot down here. ‘These cells – I feel—’ She c
ouldn’t describe it. Weak, she might have said. Dizzy. ‘The manacles, the walls … it feels like—’ Like cotton in my head, she might have said. Like a weight on my chest. It’s hard to think, or move, or do much.
‘I feel it too.’
She looked up at him and realised that his struggle to stand was not due to the cut on his head; it was because of the black stone of the cell. It was affecting him just as much as it was affecting her. More.
‘You mean you can’t just’ – a faint attempt at humour—’ magic the door open?’ Even saying it, she felt a roil of unease. The thought of anyone trying to push past this compulsion made her sick.
‘Even if I knew how, I feel what you feel. Blocked. No, trapped. Except it’s not in my body. It’s in my head.’
‘Then we wait for someone to come,’ said Violet, ‘and get out the old-fashioned way.’
‘We don’t have much time if we want to have any chance of stopping James—’
There was a sound at the top of the stairs, the metallic screech of the heavy iron door opening. Will broke off and swung around towards the noise.
Her heart started to pound as she imagined a squadron coming to take her to the hall, and then she saw a familiar shadow thrown across the floor.
‘Cyprian,’ said Violet.
Of course it was him, descending the stairs in his gleaming livery. He’d put her in here, always sneeringly against her. He’d come to see her behind bars, to relish her being exactly where he’d always thought she should be.
‘My father has made his decision,’ said Cyprian. That arrogant, uppity voice.
‘You coward,’ she said to Cyprian through the bars. ‘You and your father both. Why don’t you come into this cell and face me without all the bars and chains.’
He didn’t take the bait. He just stood in front of her cell, a too-handsome figure in his novitiate tunic, his eyes passing over her slowly.