Game of Secrets

by Kim Foster

  And yet, what he said makes an awful lot of sense.

  Julian jumps up and brushes off his hands. “Enough of that. Let’s try again with your Aristos.”

  I’m not sure I’m prepared for another attempt, but I know I’m not ready to leave the rooftop just yet. I’m enjoying Julian’s company. I stand up and face him.

  “Now, this time,” he says, “try to find that feeling that accompanied your anger. That prickling sensation, the buzzing in your ears … the power. See if you can let that loose—without the anger—and lift the urn.”

  I look at him dubiously. This will never work. But Julian looks as hopeful as a puppy dog. I nod and place my hand on the urn.

  “Okay, now just try to grasp that power,” he says. “Let it off its leash….”

  I clear my mind and let go. After a minute, a weak stream of power calls to me. My skin begins to tingle …

  And the urn shifts. Just a little. It’s not a huge movement, but I do lift it a little higher than I did before. And this time, it’s without a thread of anger.

  I drop the weight and look up at Julian. He’s watching me triumphantly.

  “I did it,” I whisper.

  “Yes, Felicity, you most definitely did.” My face splits into an enormous grin. The next thing I know, he’s lifted me up into his arms and is spinning me around. “You did it!”

  There’s a flutter in my belly as he twirls me with strong arms. Our faces are close enough for me to see the shifting colors in his eyes, feel his warm breath on my face. Sparks skitter across my skin as I become aware of the length of his body against mine.

  I remember myself and stiffen and he immediately puts me down. “Forgive me,” he mumbles. And then he’s all grins again. “But, Felicity, you did it.”

  I can’t help but smile.

  As we sit down again on the edge of the rooftop, I’m still breathing heavily with exhilaration. The sun is rising over the hills, birds are singing a symphony in the nearby woods, the lush smell of flowers from the gardens below surround us, the sky is ablaze with pink and lemon, dotted with vanilla clouds.

  “We should be celebrating,” Julian says.

  Unbidden, a memory crashes into me, of that moment of tranquility with Kit by the riverfront, sneaking through the iron gate to enjoy our modest feast. I do my best to push it away so I can enjoy this triumphant moment.

  Julian and I remain quiet for several minutes before he speaks again. “Listen, Felicity. I want to explain why I said what I did to Hawksmoor. Before the incident with the train and the gorge.”

  “When you told him I was useless?” I arch my eyebrow.

  He grimaces. “Yes, that.” He fidgets with his hands. “It’s just—I’m worried about you. I think you have a lot of potential, I do. I think you could be an amazing asset to our team. But not if you get killed because Hawksmoor’s pushed you out in the field before you’re ready. I know there’s a lot of pressure now to prepare for the Jubilee and select the final Candidate, but that’s no reason to endanger people.”

  I nod and think back to that moment. The shame and my anger are softened a little.

  “I’ve seen it before. It was four or five years ago. A Candidate went out on an exercise before he was ready, and …”

  I swallow. He doesn’t need to finish the story.

  “You’ve been here that long?” I say, eager to change the subject. “No wonder you’re so good.” The moment the words tumble out of my mouth, I realize how they must sound. I flush and clear my throat. “That is to say … well, you discovered that you were Morgana at an early age, yes?”

  He smiles. “There is a strong Morgana thread that runs through my family. They realized my gifts when I was five or six.”

  I think about Julian as a child. Growing up in that privileged world—one I can only imagine. “Do you have many brothers or sisters?”

  He nods ruefully. “Three older sisters. Hence my exquisite curtsying form.” He graces me with another deep curtsy, then stands up laughing, flashing me one of his bright smiles.

  My heart lurches.

  Julian cocks his head and examines my face. “I wonder why you formed such a block. By your age, most Morgana can’t even think of hiding it.”

  I look down at my hands. “My father made sure, from a very young age, that we understood being Tainted was a very dangerous thing. And Nate’s secret had to be hidden no matter what. For my father, it was more than the usual fear of the Tainted.”

  “More? Why?”

  I don’t feel ready to talk further about my past, but I glimpse Julian’s eyes and see such genuine warmth and concern there.

  “Because of my mother.”

  “What happened to your mother?” Julian asks gently.

  “She trusted too easily. She saw the good in everyone she met. She didn’t believe people—her own neighbors—would think poorly of her because she was Tainted, and she wasn’t terribly careful to conceal her ability.” My chest constricts, but I continue. “They turned on her, our own neighbors. They pulled her out into the street. They acted as judge, jury … and executioner. Right there, right outside our home, they stoned her to death. My father and I were out at the time, working in the market. There was nothing he could have done….”

  My voice cracks, but I take a deep breath and continue. “My brother was very young then, just a baby. My mother’s gift was in the mental realm, just like Nate’s.”

  Julian says nothing for a long time after I finish. He’s gone pale and a thin white line circles his lips. He’s angry. “That,” he says deliberately, “should never have happened.” His voice is taut. “Felicity, I’m so sorry. Nothing I can say will lessen your pain. But … now I understand why your father was so adamant about keeping the secret.”

  Julian clenches his jaw. “Something must change. We aren’t the enemy. Just because we’re different …” He visibly struggles to control his emotions, then lifts his head. “You’re going to get past your block. In fact, I think you have the potential to be one of the strongest Morgana agents yet.”

  I blush and look away, trying to wave away my guilt.

  “I don’t know why on earth you would say that,” I reply. It’s all I can manage.

  “When Hawksmoor brought me here when I was ten, he said the people with the strongest blocks often have the potential for the most spectacular breakthroughs.”

  “Hawksmoor has been in charge that long?”

  He laughs. “I think he’s been in charge forever. The man is possibly immortal.”

  “Has he always been so … aloof? So full of secrets?”

  “Always.” Julian looks at me with an uncharacteristically serious gaze. “Be careful who you trust, Felicity. We are in a strange world here. You know those old maps, what is written beyond the borders of the known seas?”

  “‘Here be dragons’?” I offer.

  “Exactly. Nowhere is that more true than here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “‘Who’s the man that says that we’re all islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding?”

  —Rudyard Kipling, The Light That Failed

  After my success with Julian, I take to my training with new vigor. I’m determined to master my gift, if only to be able to properly defend myself the next time I encounter a Huntsman. Little by little, I improve, although I am still far behind the other Candidates. I am stronger and faster than a regular human, but still slow by Morgana standards. And there are elements I continue to struggle with: gymnastic climbing and combat. But I am on the right path.

  My deportment tutoring with Isherwood continues, and for the most part I am advancing there, as well, though we are like cats in a bag, and she continues to regard me with great displeasure.

  A late spring storm brews outside, rain lashing at the windows. Earlier, Hawksmoor, Isherwood, Neville, and the other Elders left the estate on “administrative business” in the village, and they won’t be back until very late. I suspect the
y are planning the Royal Jubilee operation. My suspicions are confirmed when I see Julian walking around with a glower on his face, sulking. And though I, too, am curious about the Jubilee mission, I relish having free rein of the house.

  “It’s a dreadful night, Miss Cole,” says Jane, as supper approaches. “If you’d like, I could have the cook put together a tray. You’ve been working ever so hard. You must be tired….”

  “No,” I say quickly. “I’d like to go down.”

  I’ve been looking forward to dinner conversation. My pulse quickens a little as I wonder if I might be seated next to Julian again tonight. Last night we had such a lovely conversation about books, including a lively debate on which of Thomas Hardy’s works is his best thus far: The Mayor of Casterbridge or Far From The Madding Crowd….

  I smile, and then a pang of guilt curls in my stomach. Kit.

  As I make my way to the dining room, I firmly attempt to put the whole affair out of my head. Perhaps it’s best if I don’t sit near Julian.

  The smells of roast beef and gravy and Yorkshire pudding make my mouth water as I enter the dining room. A quick glance at the table shows me the only available seat is across from Charlie, immediately beside Julian.

  “Miss Cole, do join us,” Julian calls out with a playful glimmer in his eye. “I think you could help us resolve a wager.”

  “I can try,” I say, taking a seat.

  “We’re having a debate about philosophy,” Julian says. “Who said the words: ‘The only thing I know is that I know nothing’?”

  “I say it was Aristotle,” says Charlie, grinning enthusiastically. “But my man Blake here insists Socrates said it. He’s blathering on about the ‘Socratic Paradox’ or some such.”

  I look between the two of them as they wait expectantly. “You’re both wrong,” I say. “Although you’re right, Julian, it is called the Socratic Paradox. But it was Plato who wrote those words in the Republic, ostensibly quoting Socrates. But there’s no record of Socrates ever having said the phrase. So it can only correctly be attributed to Plato.”

  Charlie’s mouth drops open.

  “Oh ho!” says Julian to Charlie, slapping the table with his palm. “Well, that sets us straight, doesn’t it? I told you our girl would know the right of it!” He winks at me. “Well played, Felicity.” Charlie scowls good-naturedly while I blush to the tips of my ears.

  As I fidget with the napkin in my lap, a footman leans down at my side and whispers quietly, “Miss Cole? There is a gentleman from Oxford at the front gate who says he must speak with you. That he is an acquaintance of Neville’s. He insists it’s urgent.”

  Professor Garrick. “Of course,” I say, standing abruptly, ignoring Julian’s watchful gaze.

  “I’ll show him to the conservatory, miss.”

  No sooner have I entered the room than the door swings open and the professor hurries in. He’s looking rather worse for the journey, his hair wild. Rainwater drips from his shoes onto the carpet.

  “Professor! What are you doing here on such a night?”

  His features are taut and he has a desperate look in his eyes. “There’s something I’ve discovered. I didn’t want to risk a letter, but I needed to speak with you immediately.”

  I take a seat in one of the armchairs. “It’s all right, Professor. You’re here now.”

  At that moment, Julian appears in the doorway. His glance swings between us with alarm. “Who is this, Felicity? How did he get here?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but Julian doesn’t give me the chance.

  “Wait—did you give him instructions? The passwords?”

  “I …”

  Julian’s jaw flexes. He turns sharply to the professor. “Were you followed? When you crossed the border was there anyone who could have seen you?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t believe so …”

  “You don’t believe so?” Julian turns to me. “Felicity, this is not good.”

  A wave of nausea rolls over me. “You don’t think the Huntsmen can get inside now, do you?”

  Julian rubs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. But I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

  I turn to the professor. “Tell me. What did you find out?”

  He flicks an uncertain glance at Julian. I’m worried, too—not just about Julian hearing this, but about the other eyes and ears in this place. “Go on, Professor.”

  “You know I mentioned a former colleague who was researching the Morgana? Well, I have been in communication with him. Today, I received his ledger of test subjects.”

  He shows me a page. “Look at the one five from the top.”

  Nico Alexei Cole.

  My heart skips a beat. “My father was a test subject for Tainted research?”

  He shakes his head briskly. “No, you misunderstand. My colleague wasn’t doing testing that created the Tainted. He was doing testing to cure the Tainted. And your father was a subject for the preliminary formula.”

  I stare at him without comprehension. “But … how can that be?”

  “Felicity, your father was Morgana, too.” He pulls out another folder. “Here is his registration card. He recorded himself as being Tainted, and having fathered a daughter and a son who were also Tainted.”

  The world tilts. My father knew?

  “Yes. I believe they were closing in on a cure until they abruptly abandoned their research. But my colleague says he’s willing to speak with you. I can give you his contact information.”

  I glance at Julian. He watches me carefully, gauging my reaction to this news … and then, suddenly, there is an odd sound outside. His expression changes.

  There is a sudden, deafening crash as one of the conservatory windows shatters. A crossbow bolt lodges into the chest of Professor Garrick. His eyes spring wide, and he immediately falls straight back. Dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “The night is darkening round me,

  The wild winds coldly blow;

  But a tyrant spell has bound me,

  And I cannot, cannot go.”

  —Emily Brontë, “Spellbound”

  Julian doesn’t hesitate. He grabs me and we run. We have to get out of this room—lined with windows and undefendable. I glance back at the professor lying dead on the conservatory floor, but there’s nothing I can do for him now.

  The grand entrance hall is alive with movement and noise. Julian hollers instructions to the Candidates as the house staff pull weapons from a cupboard. And then Charlie appears at Julian’s side.

  “Go to the lookout in the attic,” Julian orders. Charlie disappears up the curving staircase.

  Although the Elders are not here, the Candidates and house staff have clearly drilled what to do in the case of an attack.

  Huntsmen are at the doors, breaking them down. They will soon be climbing through.

  I smell smoke. Julian grabs me, pushing me toward an ebony table on which rests a massive bouquet of lilies. “Quick. Get underneath and stay there.”

  “No.”

  I’m not going to hide. I’m going to stand and defend my friends myself. This is my fight. I brought the wolves to our door and I will beat them back again. Or die trying.

  I know I don’t have much to offer—I still can’t reliably use my Aristos for much—but I am not going to cower.

  Julian hesitates, then he nods. “In that case, you’ll need this,” he says, handing me a pistol and two knives. I tuck the pistol in the waistband of my skirts, one of the knives in my boot, and the other I hold loosely in my hand. I’m ready.

  Doors splinter. Glass shatters. Huntsmen will crash in any minute.

  “There are at least twenty-five of them!” hollers Charlie, flying down the staircase.

  Twenty-five. They must have been planning this attack for some time. How could they have known? In the foyer, all the Candidates have now gathered. The initial shock seems to be giving way to something more organized. We number perhaps a dozen.

  If we
are all able to channel our gifts, we should be able to best them. My nerves thrum. There is no running away this time—not for them, and not for me. I’m back to back with the other Morgana Candidates: Charlie, Hugh, Rose, Julian, and all the others. I can taste it—the thrill of vengeance. This will be for Kit.

  And then the Huntsmen break through. Three of them crash into the foyer from different directions. I have no time to think about it before the first one sprints straight for me, a man in a black bowler hat carrying a vicious six-inch knife. He comes at me and lunges. I level my pistol. He ducks under the bullet and keeps coming.

  Ducks under the bullet.

  It’s then that my brain catches up with what I’m seeing: the Huntsmen aren’t moving like regular people. They’re far faster. Tearing through doors and windows, and up the walls. With inhuman strength. Superhuman speed.

  The truth hits me.

  The Huntsmen are Tainted, too.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Imaginary evils soon become real ones by indulging our reflections on them.”

  —Jonathan Swift, Miscellanies

  A black pit opens before me. We might have had a chance against regular men. But not against Tainted.

  The man in the bowler hat is on me. Too quickly, he dispatches my weapons and begins dragging me from the fray. There is nobody to help—all the others are struggling to stay alive as Huntsmen flood into the hall. Knives flash, fists, limbs …

  As Bowler Hat pulls me by one foot I kick and scream, fingernails breaking as I scrabble at the marble tile. Somehow, I have to channel Aristos. I reach out for it. I push past the terror, the confusion, the hopelessness … clearing my mind of everything and grasping for the feeling.

  It’s there, waiting for me. The now increasingly familiar sensation of a predator, straining at its leash. I just have to let it loose.

  My ears begin to buzz and movement around me slows. That’s it. I grasp harder. I have it.

  A droplet of sweat from my captor floats slowly to the marble floor. Shattering glass sprinkles like confetti. I let the power infuse my body.

  My assailant continues to drag me across the floor. He is strong and fast but he has one critical weakness: he assumes I can’t channel Aristos.