by C. S. Pacat
‘You asked me before who I was. The truth is, I know Simon.’
‘You …’ The words weren’t what she expected. She remembered him asking about Simon in the carriage. She felt the quality of the air change.
‘You should call him Lord Crenshaw,’ she said. ‘He’s far above you in station.’
‘I know what he is.’
‘Then you know you shouldn’t be here.’
But he was; he’d come. As she’d known he would, giving him Lord Crenshaw’s jacket because it was something to return.
‘Katherine.’ Will said her name in a way that made her shiver; it was so intimate, saying her given name like that. She wanted him to say it again. ‘Simon isn’t a good man.’
She told herself it was part of the flirtation, and a part of her even liked it, the idea that he would take her away from her engagement, freedom waiting on the other side.
‘I suppose Lord Crenshaw, one of the foremost gentlemen in London, is a bad person,’ she said, ‘while you, climbing garden walls, are the good one.’
‘People aren’t what they seem,’ said Will.
‘I do know him quite well,’ said Katherine.
‘You don’t know him at all,’ said Will.
‘I know he’s generous and charming. I know he’s handsome and attentive. I even know that he’s in London right now. On important business. He told me—’
Will said, ‘He killed my mother.’
Everything seemed to stop. She felt the chill of cold night air as it touched the shadowed places in the garden. Around her, dark green shapes were moving, rustling softly in the breeze. ‘… What?’
‘We lived at Bowhill, in the Peak District,’ said Will. ‘I was collecting wood when I heard her scream. She tried to fight, but she – there was so much blood, soaked into the earth. By the time I got to her it was too late. I came to London to find out who had done it. Who had sent those men to kill her. It was Simon.’
His gaze had always been intense, but his face was pale and serious, and he wasn’t saying it as if he was joking; he was saying it as if it was true. As if Lord Crenshaw had given the order to kill someone.
‘You’re lying.’ She stepped back instinctively. ‘You’re trying to besmirch a good man’s name. It’s not becoming.’ She had thought Will was a gentleman, but he wasn’t. A gentleman wouldn’t say these things.
‘I’m not lying to you, Katherine. It’s why I came. Simon’s holding a man hostage at Ruthern. And terrible things could happen if that man’s not rescued. You’re the only person who could get us onto the estate to help him—’
‘Then you’ve been lied to,’ she said. ‘Because Lord Crenshaw would never do that.’
But she was filled with the vision of it, of Lord Crenshaw giving orders, and sending out men to hunt down women.
‘There are things happening,’ said Will. ‘Things bigger than both of us. Things that if I told you, you wouldn’t believe—’
‘I don’t believe it.’ She was breathing quickly. ‘Lord Crenshaw is a good man, and we’re going to be married at St George’s Hanover Square, and after that we’ll live at Ruthern; it’s all been planned out.’
He was looking at her as though she stood on the other side of a chasm. ‘Katherine—’
‘You hate him.’ As the ground seemed to shift under her feet, she remembered Lord Crenshaw’s lawyer saying, The boy. ‘You came for him. You never came for me.’ She flushed, the painful truth behind her realisation just slipping out. The boy. Lord Crenshaw’s enemy. The boy who sank the ship.
It’s you. She felt those words deep within her. Mrs Dupont had abandoned her that day because of a boy. It’s you.
She had feelings for an enemy. Self-knowledge made her shiver. Because she knew now that she didn’t want Lord Crenshaw. She wanted this, danger and mystery, and something on the very edge of her understanding—
‘I came for you.’ Will’s dark eyes were a tumult. ‘I came for you. Maybe at first I thought – but the moment I saw you, it was like nothing else mattered.’ Will said it as if he was trying to hold the words back and couldn’t. ‘I know you feel it too.’
It was true: as if her life had been a dream, and he was the only real thing in it. It was a vital quality he had. Even here in the garden, he made everything fade around him, a dim nighttime haze and the dark, far-off impression of trees.
They were going to kiss. She could feel it as something inevitable, a pull that was irresistible. She’d been kissed once, on the back of her gloved hand the day of her engagement to Simon. She hadn’t felt like this then. She moved in towards Will; she was the one who moved. His eyes were very dark. ‘Katherine—’ He looked like he wanted to turn her away, but there was no way to stop it.
A kiss; around her light started to shine as if his touch was conjuring it, racing from him into her veins, a radiance that she could see and touch and feel, and as the feeling reached its climax, the light exploded outward and the dead winter tree above them burst into bloom—
Will jerked back, his eyes wide, and she was staring at him across a spray of white flowers out of season, still half aglow; like fires on distant ramparts; like stars in the dark.
It was magic, impossible, the tree above them glowing with light that only made him look more strange, a fey creature. He did this. I felt it. He—
‘What’s happening?’ She was staring at the tree above them, its branches spilling over with new blossoms, a riot of white flowers impossible in the early winter. How could it be? How could there be light – and flowers—? ‘What is that?’
‘It’s a hawthorn tree,’ said Will, in a strange, raw voice. He was staring at the tree, his shock transforming into something else as he looked back at her. She realised that he was afraid. Of what he’d revealed, of what she’d seen him do. He lit the tree and made it flower. Above them the hawthorn tree was bright with blossoms, each one still flickering with light. She saw the light play on his face, on his clothing.
‘How did you do it?’ she said, staring at him across the white flowers. He wasn’t answering her. The strangeness of it started to become frightening. There was nothing in the natural world to explain it. There was nothing to explain him, a boy she hardly knew. And then: ‘What are you?’ Her heart was pounding.
‘Katherine, listen to me. You can’t tell anyone. You can’t tell anyone about this.’ There was real fear on his face. He took a step forward, and she stepped back instinctively.
‘What are you?’
The flowers were temporary. The petals had already begun falling around them. She could still see the last fading glow of the light. It was beautiful and frightening – like him, standing in his strange, ancient clothes against the falling petals like the swirl of ash or snow—
—like a figure from another world—
‘Katherine?’ It was a voice calling from the house. ‘Katherine!’
‘That’s Mrs Dupont,’ said Katherine.
‘Come with me,’ said Will. ‘I was wrong to … I’ll tell you everything you want to know if you just come with me.’
‘I’m not going to do that!’
‘Katherine?’ Mrs Dupont’s voice was closer. ‘Katherine! Where are you? What was that light?’
‘You can’t stay here,’ said Will urgently. ‘If Simon learns what happened – if he thinks you’re connected to me—’
‘I’m not going with you,’ said Katherine. ‘This is my home, Lord Crenshaw is my fiancé, and you – you’re—’ She could hear Mrs Dupont’s footsteps on the path. They both turned towards the sound. They only had a moment before Mrs Dupont turned the corner and found them together. ‘You’re unnatural—’
Instead of leaving, Will drew in a shaky breath. ‘If you won’t come, listen. At the first sign that something is wrong, run. Don’t stay as the warnings pile up, telling yourself that Simon is a good man. Protect yourself. And if you ever need a safe place, look for me at the gate on the Abbey Marsh, past the River Lea.’
For a moment she stared at him, the unusually earnest look in his eyes, coupled with the striking features and strange clothes that gave him an otherworldly look. She felt like she was seeing him for the first time. Her thoughts were broken by a voice.
‘Katherine?’ said Mrs Dupont, appearing at the end of the path.
Katherine jerked to face her, heart jolting at the idea of Mrs Dupont catching her with Will. But Mrs Dupont didn’t seem to react, and when Katherine looked back, Will had gone, like the light that had vanished, and she was alone with her lady’s maid in the dark.
‘Are you all right?’ was all Mrs Dupont said. ‘I thought I saw—’
‘I saw it too,’ said Katherine, glad for her shawl to hide that her hands were shaking. ‘A strange flash of light. I thought a streetlamp had exploded.’
Mrs Dupont instantly turned in the direction of the street. ‘Go inside. I’ll check for any sign of fire. Mr Johns!’ She called for the groom.
Katherine nodded. Whatever that light was, it doesn’t have anything to do with me, she thought, walking past Mrs Dupont over a cold ground pale with dead petals towards the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THERE WAS A difference between guessing and knowing, between believing and seeing.
After weeks in a small room with a dark, dead stone tree, to look up and see a hawthorn tree breaking into flower—
What are you? she’d said, staring at him in horror. What are you? What are you? What are you?
He couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t think about the light or what it meant, the way it had felt suffusing his skin, spilling out around them both, all of it tangled up with his feelings about her, the beautiful glow of the trees, the fall of white petals, the soft muslin of her skirts, the flutter of her breath as her lips parted against his—
The brilliant burst of it reflecting on her frightened face, looking not at the tree but at him.
The worst thing that could have happened.
An explosion of power, and the trumpeting of identity … He should never have gone to her. He should never have talked to her the way he had, so openly, about Simon. About his mother. And now she was in danger, more danger than before. If Simon knew what had happened – if he found out – heard—
Violet and Cyprian were waiting for him at the rendezvous point with the horses. They both turned towards him as he approached.
‘Well?’ Violet’s voice was expectant.
They were waiting for him to tell them his plan, the chance he had promised them to get into Ruthern. A way to rescue Marcus that avoided a slaughter.
‘I couldn’t get it done.’ He kept his voice steady. ‘I’m sorry. I thought I had another way for us to get into Ruthern. I don’t.’
They were in a dirt laneway on the edge of the city, and it was late enough that there was no sound beyond the distant bells and calls from the river. Violet was holding the horses, Valdithar a shadowy shape, the two Steward horses pale glimmers in the dark.
‘Then it’s the attack.’ Cyprian’s voice was matter-of-fact, as though he’d known from the start that Marcus’s rescue would cost them. ‘We ride on Ruthern with the Stewards.’ He moved towards his horse. Before he could, Violet stepped forward.
‘It was Miss Kent, wasn’t it?’ said Violet. ‘That’s who you were going to see. You thought she could get us into Ruthern.’
He didn’t answer.
‘Will. What happened?’
Katherine’s frightened eyes staring at him, a bright glow all around them as petals swirled and fell like snow. What are you?
Don’t think about that.
‘Will?’
‘There was a light.’
‘A light?’
‘Like the one I’ve been trying to conjure with the Elder Steward. It scared her off.’ He turned and took up his horse’s reins, placing one hand on the saddle.
Violet’s voice beside him was confused. ‘But – I thought you couldn’t conjure the light—’
‘I couldn’t.’
There was a scooped-out feeling in his chest, like he had felt when he had failed to light the Tree Stone, worse now that he had seen it shine.
‘What made you call it now?’
He couldn’t answer that. But the silence gave him away, and it was as if Violet guessed everything that had happened in the garden just from the way he wouldn’t look at her face.
‘Will. She’s Simon’s fiancée.’
‘I know that. I know. I know that I shouldn’t have—’
He shouldn’t have. It had left her in more danger than before. He wanted to go back to her, he wanted to bring her to safety, and he couldn’t. She wouldn’t go with him no matter how much he pleaded with her.
He expected Violet to be furious with him for his foolishness and his failure. For kissing Katherine Kent under a tree in a garden. It’s not what you think, he wanted to say. Except that he was remembering the way he’d felt when he’d met Katherine, how drawn he had been to her, and somewhere deeply buried there was an awful awareness of what had happened. What he had let happen.
But when he looked up, Violet wasn’t angry; she was looking at him with a dawning expression of awe and excitement.
‘Will, don’t you understand what this means?’
He found himself caught without words, staring back at her, unable to understand the excitement in her voice.
‘You can use your powers,’ said Violet. ‘You can use your powers when we fight Simon.’
‘No,’ he said, because she had misunderstood everything. ‘I can’t. It’s not like that. It’s—’
‘You can,’ said Violet. ‘Don’t you get it? The Stewards – they think everything is about control. The meditations, the candle – but it was never about that—’
It was about a door. A door inside that wouldn’t open.
Violet had taken another step towards him.
‘On the ship, you thought everybody was going to die. And with Katherine you—’
‘Violet—’ said Will warningly.
‘—kissed her. That’s what happened, isn’t it?’
He couldn’t bear to tell it as it was; he just stared back at her and felt the truth slice at him. He had kissed her. Let her kiss him. A single perfect moment, and then a spill of radiant light.
What are you? What are you? What are you?
‘You what?’ said Cyprian.
Violet frowned. ‘Matters of the flesh. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘I know what a kiss is,’ said Cyprian, but he’d flushed slightly.
‘It’s emotion, isn’t it? Strong emotion,’ said Violet. ‘That’s what brings your power out.’
Passion and death; the garden and the ship. She was looking at him like she wanted to hear him say it. Will stared back at her, needing to deny all of it. He felt his own flush of hot shame. The words didn’t come.
‘Carnal feelings drive his power?’ said Cyprian, that slight flush still on his cheeks.
‘Not just carnal feelings,’ said Violet. ‘Any feelings. That’s it, isn’t it.’
Was that true? Was that what had unlocked it, light streaming around them, as petals drifted like sparks? Had strong feelings caused the burst of light?
Violet swung up into her saddle and looked down at him with urgency.
‘We have to tell the Elder Steward,’ said Violet. ‘This gives us a chance. You were born for this battle, and now we know how to use your power.’
‘The Lady, a Lion and the Stewards,’ said Cyprian, nodding. ‘Now it’s a real fight.’
They made good time, a hard canter over the marshes. Valdithar shook his neck, eager to run; beside him flowed the two graceful Steward horses. Cyprian knew the paths that avoided the treacherous, boggy water, and they raced through the cold night air together.
Soon the broken arch came into view.
Will found himself leaning forward in the saddle, wanting the fight that was coming. Not only to help Marcus, but to deal Simon a blow from which
he would never recover.
Cyprian also seemed reenergised, his long hair streaming out behind him as they rode. He was clearly eager to see his brother. With Will able to manifest his power, Simon was a less formidable figure, he said.
‘Simon’s not at Ruthern,’ said Will, remembering what Katherine had told him. ‘He’s in London.’ On business, she had said. ‘That gives us a window to attack. We’ll still be facing his minions, but Simon won’t be there to use the Corrupted Blade.’
That was an advantage, and Cyprian seized on it. ‘Without a leader, his men will be easier to fight.’
They slowed their horses to a walk as they approached the gate. Will saw a figure in a red tunic; it was Leda, standing with her back leaned against the arch.
‘Leda! We’re back with news!’ called Cyprian.
There was a silence as the sky beetled overhead and a birdcall echoed over the marsh.
‘I’ll stable the horses,’ Cyprian said. ‘You go straight to the Elder Steward and tell her what you’ve learned.’ And then he called to Leda, ‘We’re coming through the gate.’
The silence went on, continuing a second too long, past the time that Leda would have hailed them. She was standing still at her post, the wind fluttering aimlessly in her hair.
‘Cyprian,’ said Will.
He could see her: the hand that did not wave, the vast silence of the surrounding marshes in which there was no movement at all but the insects and the birds. Valdithar tossed his head and the chink of his bridle was too loud. Will was staring at Leda’s tunic.
His skin prickled. ‘Look at her clothes.’
Cyprian turned with a quizzical expression that changed as he looked at Leda. It was like a picture coming into focus, the way she was leaning, the oddly angled line of her neck, her open mouth, and her tunic, wet and red.
Will’s whole body came alive with danger.
Cyprian was swinging down off his horse, running towards her through the mud. Will saw a marsh insect crawl across the corner of Leda’s right eye, barely disturbed when Cyprian took hold of her shoulders. ‘Leda?’ Cyprian’s face was full of disbelief. His hands, which had grasped her clothes, came away red. ‘Leda?’