by Vic James
‘That’s a good look,’ Silyen said with satisfaction, ‘if I say so myself.’
Abi looked almost as stunned as Luke felt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, not quite sure what had just happened. He glanced at Daisy to make sure she wasn’t too traumatized. She gave him two thumbs up.
Yeah. He’d kissed Silyen Jardine and it was brilliant. That was what had happened.
Then Silyen’s whispered words came back to him. They had been instructions. The Equal’s kiss had left him trembling, but those words made Luke sag against the wall for support.
Had Sil been serious? He shot him a look, but the boy was as inscrutable as ever.
‘Now I know,’ Dog said, ‘what you two were doing – on all those “walks”.’
He gave his horrible wheeze.
That was quite enough. Luke straightened up. Anything could be happening to Gavar down there. Silyen didn’t think Crovan knew how to take or transfer Skill, only how to destroy it, but why even give him the opportunity to try?
‘Let’s get on with it,’ he said.
Abi nodded. ‘I’ll get these two out safely. That’s our most important task, and it’s my job, because I brought them here. We’ll be back at Aston House. Join us there afterwards – that’s an order. Lady Thalia is in one of the cells downstairs. She looks okay, but she’s out cold, too.’
Abi picked up Libby’s bag and marshalled the two girls.
‘Stay safe, big bro.’ Daisy snaked her arms round Luke’s neck and planted a wet smacker on his cheek, then whispered, ‘Sorry I don’t kiss as well as him.’
Luke reddened to his scalp and gave his sis a not-so-gentle shove along the corridor. Libby Jardine waved a small hand. Luke hoped to goodness she wasn’t scarred by any of this. She seemed to be taking it in her stride. He wondered what she’d seen in her few years to be this unfazed.
‘Don’t look at the sleeping man, or it might wake him up,’ he heard Daisy instruct Libby, as she steered the little girl around Kessler’s body.
‘What’s the plan?’ rasped Dog.
Luke knew what the plan was. His palms sweated.
‘The plan is that we go down there,’ said Silyen, ‘I’ll unlock my mother’s cell, then Luke and I will enter the room where they have my brother and cause a distraction. During it, I will incapacitate the Equals. You remain outside until it’s clear I’ve been successful. Then you’ll need to strip them of any weapons or other means of doing harm – search Astrid very carefully, and take care of the commoner.’
‘“Take care of”?’
‘Try not to kill him, but apart from that . . .’ Silyen shrugged. ‘Now, you still owe me two debts: a life, and an escape. The life: I give you one of the Equals – not my mother or Gavar, obviously. You can’t have them all because people are going to need someone to blame when all this is done, and the living make better targets than the dead.’
Dog nodded, his expression exultant and ferocious. ‘Crovan, of course. The escape?’
Silyen leaned forward and whispered in the man’s ear. And if that wasn’t him all over, Luke didn’t know what was. Sil was the only one who knew exactly what their plans were. Luke and Dog each had only half the picture.
Luke knew what he’d been tasked with. And it felt more impossible than pulling a door to another dimension out of thin air.
What would happen if he did it?
What would happen if he didn’t?
‘Shall we?’ said the Equal.
Silyen threw open the soundproof door and gave a small bow as Dog went through. As Luke passed, Sil reached out and brushed his fingers lightly across his jaw. Luke had seen Abi touch, in the same way, things in shops that she coveted but was unable to afford. It made him feel like he was worth more than every precious thing in Kyneston.
He started trembling again. Those too-clever fingers of Silyen Jardine’s. Who the hell knew that one human being could do this to another just with a touch?
He hurried down the stairs, as far away from the boy as he could manage. This was going to be hard enough as it was. In fact, Luke was terrified that he would find it impossible.
He stopped short at the bottom. Lying against the wall, head lolling at an ungainly angle as if drunk and sleeping it off, was Jenner Jardine. Luke moved to let Silyen pass. The boy crouched next to his middle brother, brushing the floppy bronze hair back from his freckled face. He closed his brother’s eyes, then ran a finger down the line of his strong nose. He stooped to kiss his brother’s forehead.
Luke ached just watching him. If it had been Abi or Daisy lying there, Luke didn’t know what he would have done.
Abi had told them which cell Lady Thalia was in – thankfully one away from the sight line of the main door. No sound emerged from the interrogation suite, though the air was heavy with static that Luke knew meant the working of Skill. So he was relieved when the door to Lady Thalia’s cell popped open noiselessly. Silyen went in, and Luke saw him bend over his mother’s motionless form.
His father dead, his brother dead. His mother and older brother captive and drugged. Silyen was the last Jardine standing.
For how much longer?
After a few moments, Silyen emerged again. He nodded at Dog, as if to remind him of his promises, then squared back his narrow shoulders and took a breath.
‘I’m telling you, Crovan hasn’t the faintest idea what he’s doing,’ he said loudly, walking into the interrogation chamber.
Luke’s heart lurched like he’d just taken Kessler’s taser direct to his sternum. He wiped his hands down his trousers, touched the knife in his pocket, and followed Silyen in.
It was even worse than he’d imagined – like they’d interrupted some creepy sacrificial rite. Gavar was bound to a chair that looked like something you’d find in a dentist’s or hospital. Clinical. Designed to give someone else access to your body. The heir’s hands were cuffed behind his back, his legs were bound at each ankle to the chair legs, and around his neck a restraint kept his head partially upright against a headrest, though his chin lolled. His eyes were open but unseeing, and the corner of his mouth gleamed with spittle.
It gleamed gold, because a pale, glittering miasma hung about him. There were cuts and grazes to his face, and visible on his chest where his shirt had been ripped open. Those, too, bled gold. His unseeing eyes were lined in gold, like a pharaoh, where Skill was pooling, ready to spill out.
If Silyen was as sickened by the sight as Luke was – how could he not be, this was his brother? – he concealed it well. He walked over to the chair and inspected Gavar, wiping the drool from his mouth with a finger and cleaning it off on the ripped shirt. Gavar swung his head and gave a low, distressed moan.
The Equal tutted.
‘Silyen,’ Bouda said, keeping her voice level. ‘Your company is unexpected.’
‘You know me, Bouda. Always interested in promising research. I wasn’t there for Meilyr Tresco, of course, so I’m fascinated to see the process. Astrid. Arailt.’ He nodded genially, as if bumping into the pair of them at a cocktail party, then frowned at the fifth person in the room. ‘I don’t think we’ve met? I’m Silyen Jardine.’
‘Jon Faiers,’ said the man. He was smooth and silky-looking, this guy Abi was so furious about. As Gavar groaned behind them, the pair shook hands.
‘Your . . . friend?’ Bouda said, those blue eyes so like her sister’s turning on Luke. And that feeling was back, of being a mouse beneath the claws of these people. Luke fought it down.
‘I’m sure you all remember me,’ he said with bravado, smiling round the room.
‘Zelston’s killer. I thought you were at Eilean Dòchais,’ said Astrid.
‘Oh, I have him on a kind of extended loan from Arailt here. He’s a rewarding experimental subject. Aren’t you, Luke? Very rewarding.’
He reached out and pinched Luke’s cheek, a mocking, proprietorial gesture. Luke stared at the floor, his face burning. His hand went to his pocket. Yep, the blade was still
there.
‘So, Jenner was telling me – I just met him on his way out and he seemed awfully upset about something – he was saying that you’re going to try and transfer my brother’s Skill to Mr Faiers here. Of course, as the heir of his late father, Lord Rix, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that. Might it give you a claim on the estate, Jonathan? Though I have to tell you, Far Carr is a damp old place and pretty dull. I’m sure we could work something out like gentlemen.’
They were all still looking at Silyen like he was speaking another language. It took a brittle laugh from Astrid Halfdan to break the tension.
‘Strangest of a strange family, you are. Funny, how your father always preached about the Jardines, the bloodline, the Founding Family. And yet you’ve all turned on each other, one by one.’
‘Family,’ said Silyen. ‘Such a quaint notion. Well, shall we? It’s not every day you get to see history being made. And if I can contribute anything to the proceedings, I will.’
Luke knew exactly what Silyen planned to contribute to this little gathering. As the boy gestured towards Crovan, Luke’s hand found the knife and gripped it. You’ll know when, had been three of the words Silyen had whispered in his ear.
When was looking a lot like now.
Crovan frowned and made a taut gesture in the air. Gavar howled. The assembled Equals in the room watched as the golden miasma around Gavar Jardine pulsed. A single molten tear spilled from the man’s eye and ran down his cheek. That broad, muscled chest heaved with exertion, as if in a tug of war with an opponent too strong to defeat.
Luke whipped out the knife and jammed it up into Silyen’s skull, right behind the ear.
There. Silyen had breathed, as his thumb rubbed Luke’s throbbing pulse. Up and deep. You’ll know when.
Silyen dropped to the floor, already dead. Luke had sunk the knife to the hilt and not only had it severed the boy’s carotid artery, several inches had driven into his brain.
Blood fountained everywhere. More blood than you’d think someone as pale as Silyen could contain. It sprayed all over Luke, startlingly hot.
Luke began to shake. He loosed his fingers from around the knife and tossed it to the floor. He felt dizzy.
Someone was screaming. Bouda Matravers?
Luke dropped to his knees. Crovan had turned his head to regard him quizzically. The round lenses of his glasses were once again golden discs, as they had been when the chopper first angled over Eilean Dòchais at dawn. Death offerings for a journey to the next world, Luke had thought then.
Wouldn’t that be nice. Was there a next world? Was there really any other world than this?
Luke’s brain felt fuzzy and a pain had begun to gnaw at his gut. He looked down, expecting to see a bright golden thread leading from him to Silyen Jardine, but of course there was nothing. Maybe its absence was the pain? Silyen Jardine was dead and the wide pool of his blood was already soaking through Luke’s trousers. Luke plucked feebly at his T-shirt, to lift it and check, but the task was too complicated for his clumsy fingers.
Someone stood over him. Black trousers. Black hair. Astrid Halfdan.
She backhanded Luke across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor.
Then howled and dropped to a crouch, both hands clutching her head.
Luke twisted his neck. His eyes were clouding over – or was the golden mist in here thickening?
‘Bouda,’ someone was saying urgently. A man. Luke couldn’t remember his name. ‘Bouda!’
A gunshot rang out. The man screamed and crumpled to the floor, clutching his knee. He sobbed and wailed and whimpered. Luke had never heard someone make so much noise.
Then Dog was there, standing over the man, with the gun in his hand. He angled the gun down at his other knee, and fired again. The man cried out, then fell silent.
Dog crouched next to Luke, laying the gun down.
‘You okay?’ he rasped. ‘Hang on in there. You two – did great. Watch. You’ll like this.’
Dog lifted Luke’s head gently and turned it, so that it lay facing the other way. Luke felt Silyen’s blood trickle down from the already soaked side of his face. It tickled his nostrils, and ran in rivulets into his eyes and along the seam of his mouth. He parted his lips and licked them. He was glad that he had kissed Silyen Jardine before he had killed him, though in the fog that was clouding his brain he was no longer sure why he’d done either.
It wasn’t like Rix and Zelston, though. No one had made him drive a knife into Silyen’s skull.
He’d chosen to do it. There had been a reason. A good one. But the pain in his abdomen was growing worse and it was all too hard to think about.
Dog was sitting on the chest of the man on Luke’s right – a man who wore glasses. Crovan? He was struggling weakly, but Dog’s legs pinned his arms to his side. Dog raised a knee and released one of them. It fluttered in the air and Dog caught the hand like a bird. With surprising delicacy, he snapped the little finger. Then the next. Then the next. It shouldn’t have been possible. The man’s Skillful reflexes ought to have protected him. But Silyen had done something, or Luke had – or maybe both of them – and now it was possible.
When Dog was finished, he let the broken-winged hand drop to the ground, released the man’s other arm, and repeated his actions.
You’ll like this, Dog had promised. But Luke didn’t. He didn’t like any of this. Why was power always about inflicting pain? Couldn’t it be different?
Something was coiling up from Crovan’s chest. A thick, bright vortex of golden light. It spiralled upwards, then arched back down again, falling somewhere close by that Luke couldn’t see. It didn’t seem to bother Dog, who plucked the man’s glasses off and pressed downwards with both his thumbs. Crovan screeched and his heels drummed the floor.
Luke closed his eyes. He didn’t need to see this.
Silyen’s blood was cooling, and the pain in Luke’s gut was almost unbearable, as if something inside it was being stretched to its utmost limit. Would it snap?
He held a hand to his stomach and moaned.
The golden haze was thickening up. It was as bright as if the room was burning. There’d been a fire on the beach at Far Carr. Luke could almost smell the woodsmoke and the sea. He and Sil had sat, knees touching, and on the other side of the fire had been a king.
And inside the flames was a door.
Luke opened both eyes and stared into coruscating brilliance all around him. If he looked long enough, he might see a door opening.
He stared.
And stared.
But there was no door.
The light was too bright to bear now, so he closed his eyes again and lay there. He wasn’t sure for how long. Then arms were under his shoulders and beneath his knees and someone was lifting him. The last thing Luke heard before he blacked out was Dog’s rasping voice.
‘Come on. Time for that escape – I promised.’
29
Bouda
It had been a week, and still they had said nothing about it. Not publicly. Not formally. It wasn’t as though the common people had been used to seeing Equals using Skill anyway.
And there were many forms of power. Wealth. Capital. Land. Inherited advantage, from the schools open only to Equals, to their superior beauty and intelligence, cultivated through generations of dynastic marriage.
All that power still belonged to the Equals.
And it was all trash compared with what they had lost.
Bouda drew her sister’s cashmere robe around her – she’d had a servant dig out the garment, because it really was cold up here – and looked down from the tower window of the Chancellor’s suite.
Where the House of Light had once stood was now just rubble and ruin. She’d watched it fall, after Midsummer woke her dragons, and hadn’t believed the woman’s audacity. I gave you your targets, she’d wanted to scream at her. Office skyscrapers. Embassies. Weren’t those enough?
They hadn’t been enough. More than a buildin
g, Midsummer had wanted to destroy a symbol.
But had she destroyed Skill?
Was the fall of the House of Light what had ripped the Skill out of Bouda, and every Equal in the realm? If so, why hadn’t it happened in that instant? Instead, a golden cloud had settled over the ruins. The House had gone, but not – at that moment – the Skill.
Perhaps it had been Crovan’s attempt to strip Skill from Gavar? Maybe that act had been somehow fatally amplified by the Skillful residue of the ruined House.
Or could it, somehow, have been the work of Silyen Jardine? But that made no sense. Silyen had lived for Skill. Its destruction would have been the last thing he wanted. Just as well that he was dead now.
The commoner boy, then? The terrorist. He’d knifed Silyen just as pitilessly as he had gunned down Zelston – and that had been the moment when Bouda had felt it. Had felt something tug inside her. What had followed was so horrifying she could hardly bear to examine it.
It was as if a thread had been pulled out of her, and everything that she was had unravelled inside as the bright thread unspooled. And when it was all gone, she was simply a Bouda-shaped bag, shaken out and emptied. That bag was what she walked about in now, secretly astonished that it didn’t just crumple around its own unbearable hollowness.
Had the commoner boy known that such a deed would bring such a result? If so, how had he known?
And where was he? He had disappeared, along with the man whose Security uniform had initially prevented her from recognizing him as Hypatia’s dog. The way the animal had mutilated Crovan was unspeakable.
Bouda would have begged a Quiet from Astrid to hide the memory. But neither Astrid, nor anyone else in Britain, would be able to perform a Quiet now, or ever again.
The current official line was that the shocking destruction of the House of Light had rendered Skillful abilities ‘temporarily erratic’. It wasn’t just British Equals that were panicking. Skilled foreigners in the country when it happened had been similarly affected: envoys from Japan and the Confederate States. International students at Britain’s celebrated Equal-only boarding schools, and the two Oxbridge colleges. All were being told to remain calm while the disturbance was ‘resolved’.