WILL WOKE CYPRIAN with a hand on his shoulder. A trained fighter but with experience only of peacetime, Cyprian blinked sleepily. He didn’t wake the way Will did, silently and immediately. Will felt a flash of protectiveness. For all Cyprian’s extraordinary abilities, there was something almost fragile about him out here in the mountains. He was a young man pushing himself up in the tangle of sheets on the barracks bed, long hair mussed and bed shirt rumpled.
‘What is it? Has something happened?’
‘Get up,’ said Will. ‘We don’t have much time.’
He looked hurriedly around the barracks to see if they were already being watched or followed. James waited a little way off, still immaculately dressed after his day of acting like this dig’s little lordling. He’d been given his clothing by Sloane, and although it wasn’t quite of the same quality as the garments he’d worn in London, it still oozed with Sinclair’s style.
Now Sloane knew it was an act. They were flies in Sinclair’s web; likely they had been all along.
He felt like a fool. He had believed himself to be deceiving Sinclair, had believed that he’d been one step ahead. But he hadn’t even known the scope of Sinclair’s powers. He still didn’t know Sinclair’s plans at this dig, only that they were years in the making.
‘You two need to ride out of here and find Ettore’s village,’ said Will. ‘Now. Tonight.’
Cyprian and Grace had taken seats on the barracks bed facing him, looking serious and ready even in bed shirts. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
Will said steadily: ‘Sinclair.’
‘Sinclair!’ said Cyprian.
Will in brief words related the disturbing scene he and James had witnessed. He told them about Sarah’s death, Elizabeth’s escape, and Violet’s transport to Calais. And he told them about Captain Howell, speaking with Sinclair’s voice.
‘Leda always told us Sinclair could control people,’ said Will. ‘Now we’ve seen him do it.’
Grace turned away, hiding open emotion. Cyprian put a hand on her shoulder, the two of them cleaving together instinctively. Sarah’s death meant that, as Cyprian was the last Steward, Grace was now the last janissary. It made her the only knowledge-holder left. The Elder Steward had always insisted, The true power of the Stewards is not our strength. It is that we remember. As the last janissary, that burden now fell to Grace, with Cyprian her Steward protector.
‘Sloane knows who we are. You two need to go. You need to find Ettore before the whole dig locks down.’
Cyprian turned back to them. ‘You have to ride with us. It’s not safe here for you now.’
‘No,’ said Will, who’d been thinking it through since he’d heard Sinclair in the tent. ‘We stay and play the game. Act as if we don’t know that we’re discovered. Sloane isn’t going to throw us in a cell; he’ll be keeping up his own pretences. A double bluff … We’ll be watched but might still find some advantage. If we run, we lose access to the dig.’
Grace said, ‘That is a pantomime that could lead to your death.’
‘Sinclair arrives in two weeks,’ said Will. ‘We need to find out what’s under that mountain.’
Cyprian looked at James, who was lounging against the tent pole, then shook his head. ‘I’ll get the horses,’ Cyprian said.
‘I know what it’s like, you know,’ said James, appearing in the makeshift stable.
Cyprian ignored him. Saddling his horse in the dead of night, Cyprian felt the same mix of anger and nausea that he always felt around James. Why are you here? he wanted to shout. James’s presence was wrong. Beneath the question lurked the words: Come to finish the job? James had killed every Steward but Cyprian. Part of the sickening cocktail of feelings James provoked was an always-present sense of real danger.
‘The “outside world”.’ James leaned his shoulder against one of the wooden supports and said it like the answer to a question Cyprian hadn’t asked. Cyprian ignored him. Of course James didn’t offer to help, though the mission to find Ettore was urgent, and he must leave with Grace before Sloane gave the order to lock down the camp.
‘The water is dank. The food tastes like sawdust. The workmanship’s shoddy. You think it’s just here, and then you find out it’s everywhere.’
He ignored the jolt of acknowledgement, and forced himself not to look at James, refusing to have anything in common with him. There’s something wrong with the water, he’d said to Will, who had drunk some, then replied, amused and confused, That’s what water tastes like. Cyprian had flushed, embarrassed by his own naiveté, glad Violet wasn’t there to rib him about it, though he could imagine it, maybe even wanted it, feeling the shape of her absence keenly.
‘And you try to learn the new rules,’ said James, his voice oddly muted, not its usual mocking self, ‘but there are no rules, and there’s no one to tell you your purpose, or acknowledge you for following your path.’
Cyprian ignored him. He checked his weapon and his saddlery twice over. And then, just to make certain, a third time. You could never prepare too well. He was aware as he did this that no one else would check his work, that neither Leda nor Father would stroll past to cast an eye over his tack. But as he led his immaculately groomed horse through the mounting yard, its saddle and bridle just so, he felt good knowing that he had achieved an exacting standard, even if he was doing it for ghosts.
James followed him out as he led his horse, his voice sharpening, as if he deserved a reaction and was bitter Cyprian hadn’t provided one.
‘Sword clean, hair brushed, star shiny,’ said James. ‘You really are the perfect Steward.’
Cyprian ignored him.
‘I bet you never snuck out of your room, or skipped a day of practice, or ignored the bell. Too busy bending over backward to keep Daddy happy.’
Cyprian ignored him.
‘And now you’re off on your first mission, just like a real Steward, riding out in his whites, fighting off the Dark.’
Cyprian ignored him.
‘Missed a spot on your saddle.’
Cyprian hated that he turned to look, only to find that the saddle was perfectly polished. When he turned back, James’s eyes looked like he’d won something.
‘That’s what Father would say, isn’t it?’
‘We’ll never know what he’d say,’ said Cyprian. ‘You killed him.’
He swung up into the saddle.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come along, baby brother? You’ll have trouble with those hill bandits without me. Since I’ve saved your life now twice.’
Cyprian didn’t look at him, just put his heels into his horse. Don’t call me that. Better to say nothing.
Hold to your training. That’s what Father would have said.
He rode out to join Grace.