‘DRINK.’
The moment they had James safe back in the gatekeep, Will lifted a flask containing the waters of Oridhes, remembering how much it had helped him after he had been beaten in Simon’s hold. It had been his first experience of the Stewards, Justice beside him in the dark, grimy inn room, and a taste of magic on his lips.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ve had enough water,’ said James.
He’d had to half carry James inside. Laid out by the fire on Will’s sleeping pallet, James gazed up at him through wet golden lashes he barely seemed able to lift. He wasn’t warming under the blankets, as if even the last scrap of energy his body used to make heat was gone.
‘It’s restorative.’
‘Compassion for the Steward killer?’ said James. ‘Or are you just making sure I can open the next gate?’
Will hadn’t known magic could drain someone to this extent. He hadn’t known how magic worked at all. A part of his mind carefully collected the information: the magic came from within James, and he could use it up. He could use up everything he had.
He could have died fuelling that gate. Will couldn’t let that fact go. He’d asked James to do this, and James had stepped up and done it, opening a gate that in the old world had taken two to power, even though he wasn’t trained and hadn’t yet reached his full strength.
‘I’m making sure you don’t fall unconscious.’
‘A warrior who takes care of his weapon.’ James’s words were brittle, armour hinting at a crack. ‘Polishes and oils it before he puts it away.’
That felt too close to the secret part of him that had felt pleased to see James do as he ordered. That felt pleased that James was here, in a place he didn’t want to be, only for Will’s sake. It made Will want to keep him safe, give him warmth and approval, tell him he’d done well.
‘You drained yourself.’ For me. ‘For us. I’m grateful.’
James was gazing up at him, his hair still damp, his face pale against the cushions. His eyes were searching.
‘You knew what to do,’ said James. ‘At the gate.’
‘And I know what to do after,’ said Will. ‘Drink.’
He lifted the flask urgently. The truth was, Will had no idea if it would work. But as Will tilted the flask to James’s lips, the waters had an effect, bringing a hint of colour back into his skin.
‘Now rest,’ said Will.
He pushed James’s damp hair back from his forehead to make him more comfortable. Then as James closed his eyes and gave himself to sleep, Will rose from where he knelt.
He saw the others staring at him. It was Violet who took a grip of his upper arm and pulled him to one side.
‘Will, what are you doing with him?’
She spoke in a low voice, glancing back at James sprawled out by the fire.
‘He can help us,’ said Will. ‘He has helped us. He opened that gate.’
‘I know why he’s here. I meant, why are you fluffing his pillow?’
‘I’m,’ said Will, ‘not fluffing his—’
‘He’s the Betrayer. You don’t need to give him a hot drink and a blanket.’
It was Will’s turn to flush. James lay like a sleeping Ganymede, his enervated beauty belying the cruelty and destruction he had rained down on the Stewards. Will hadn’t fluffed James’s pillow, but he had brought him a drink and a blanket. And hung his jacket to dry on the mantel. And his shirt.
Violet said, as if she couldn’t help it, ‘You were like this with Katherine, too.’
‘Like what?’
Violet didn’t answer, just stared at him flatly. ‘Did he at least say when he could open the next gate?’
‘A day or two,’ said Will. ‘We can use the time to plan our approach better.’
She had brought him to the far side of the room, out of earshot of the others. Grace and Cyprian were having their own murmured conversation closer to the door.
‘I don’t like it.’ Violet was frowning. ‘With the wards down, we’re wide open.’
He didn’t like it either. ‘We make the best of it.’
‘I’ll watch James.’ There was something challenging in her eyes, as though she was daring him to argue.
But he only nodded. The truth was, he trusted her to keep James safe.
And there was something else he needed to do.
He went out onto the battlements and looked out at the limitless space, the wide night sky and rolling marsh stretched before him.
Up here, the fallen wards made the Hall feel shockingly exposed. He couldn’t help but wonder: if the other gates could be opened, could this one be closed? Perhaps it could, as the other three gates had once been closed. He imagined walking out of the London gate, then closing it from the outside, shutting up the Hall forever.
Sarah was on watch, ready to sound the warning bell, a peal of sound splitting the black ice of the sky if there was trouble. She stood like a custodian in blue on the wall lip. As Will drew closer, he saw that there was a small lumpen figure next to her.
‘Can you give us a moment alone together?’ he asked Sarah, and thought from her expression she was going to refuse, but after a moment she grudgingly stepped aside, moving away down the battlements closer to the bell.
The small figure didn’t move, just stayed there, hunching even more. A gargoyle. A piece of stone.
‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ said Elizabeth.
‘I know,’ said Will.
‘I don’t care what they’re saying. You’re not my brother.’
‘I know,’ said Will.
He sat down next to her. Their legs dangled down over the edge.
‘When I find out what you did to my sister, I’m going to kill you.’
‘I know,’ said Will.
She looked like she’d been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy under the dark eyebrows. She stared out at the marsh in silence. After a long moment, as if curiosity had built and built until it overrode her determination to ignore him, she said:
‘Why are your clothes wet?’
He let out a strange breath, and looked down at his sodden sleeves. He supposed it did look odd. The sky was clear, with no sign of rain, and he looked like he’d just emerged from a pond.
‘We opened the east gate. It led to a kingdom so old it had sunk into the sea.’ That eerie dark vista swimming into view. ‘When the gate opened all the water burst into the Hall.’
‘Fish too?’ Her eyes were wide.
‘I didn’t see any fish.’
‘I like fish,’ said Elizabeth.
He looked down at his hand. Were these the kind of small conversations that families had? He’d never done this kind of thing with his mother. He felt the cold night air in his lungs.
‘I never had siblings,’ said Will. ‘Just my mother. She raised me as best she could, but there weren’t a lot of … I suppose it was difficult for her. I don’t have any mementos. Except for—’ He lifted his scarred hand to the medallion that he wore around his neck.
He felt like he stood on the edge of a precipice. Like it was the last part of himself that could be the hero the Stewards had wanted. A talisman of the Light, meant to fight the Dark King. He took it off and held it out to her.
‘It’s not much,’ said Will. ‘But maybe it will help you someday.’
‘It’s old and broken,’ said Elizabeth.
She was clutching the medallion tightly in her small hand. Her words seemed to hang like the white thread of her breath.
‘She would have wanted you to have it,’ said Will.
His neck felt bare; it was the first time he’d been without the medallion since Matthew had died.
There was a silence. In a voice that sounded like it had pushed itself out of her against her will, Elizabeth said, ‘What was she like?’
Will said, ‘She was like your sister.’
‘You mean she was beautiful,’ said Elizabeth. Under the frozen crust of the stars, she said, ‘Mrs Elliott said Katherine was a gem of the first water – that means of the highest degree.’
It had been Katherine’s defining quality: beauty. Her family had pinned all their hopes on it. Simon, a connoisseur of beauty, had bought her with jewels and a title. No one but Will had seen her on the Dark Peak with Ekthalion in her hand.
Will supposed his mother had been beautiful too, but it was not his main impression of her. He remembered … He remembered most of all how much he had wanted to make her happy.
‘Do you think she gave us up because we were too much trouble?’ said Elizabeth.
‘You’re not too much trouble,’ Will said. ‘You’re smart and brave. She gave you up to protect you.’
‘She didn’t give you up,’ said Elizabeth.
‘No,’ said Will. ‘She kept me right to the end.’
‘Why?’ said Elizabeth.
Two different childhoods: Will had grown up with her, and Elizabeth had grown up without her. Now they were both here alone.
‘I—’
CLANG, CLANG, CLANG!
Will’s head jerked towards the sound as Elizabeth leaped up. The warning bell. Scrambling up, he saw Sarah shouting as she pulled on the bell rope. He couldn’t hear her so close to the bell. He followed the arm she had thrust out to point into the dark.
Dozens of torches, accompanying hundreds of riders, all of them converging, like a wave of black water rising up to swallow the Hall.
Sinclair’s men were here.