by Unknown
‘Not William,’ Luke said. He swallowed against the pain in his smoke-scorched throat. ‘William loves me. But I can’t – I can’t make him choose between me and the Brotherhood. I must go my own way, alone now.’
‘So must I.’ She took his hand and a faint prickle of magic, like a flame, lit her face for a moment, like a ray of warmth in this dreary fog-muted dawn. ‘So we are not alone.’
Luke nodded.
They turned, and together they began to walk towards the rising sun.
My thanks for all the help with Witch Finder and The Winter Trilogy would fill a chapter if not a book, but I will try to keep this brief!
First, thank you to the fabulous people at Hodder, in particular Naomi, Victoria, Laure, Anne, Michelle and the ever-marvellous Sales and Rights teams.
Also to my agent, Eve, and the redoubtable Jack for everything!
Love always to my first readers – Meg, Eleanor, Kate and Alice (particular horsey thanks to the latter two).
Carriages at Eight by Frank E. Huggett (Lutterworth Press) was enormously helpful with details of the world of Victorian carriages and stable-hands. The Victorian House by Judith Flanders (Harper Perennial) helped with details of servants and practical details, and the Victorian Family trilogy of memoirs by M V Hughes was a wonderful evocation of everyday life in the 1880s from the perspective of a young woman.
I must also record a huge debt of gratitude to Paul Binns, blacksmith, for his invaluable technical help with the details of a Victorian forge. I only wish I had been able to cram in more historical detail! Needless to say, any errors are mine, and I hope blacksmiths and farriers will forgive any dramatic licence I’ve taken with details.
Finally, thank you to everyone who supported, bought, read, reviewed and loved The Winter Trilogy. I quite literally couldn’t have done it without you.
The forge was still in darkness, no sparks coming from the chimney, as they walked quietly up the lane. Luke lifted his arm from Rosa’s shoulders and put his finger to his lips as he lifted the latch of the gate and pulled it ajar, holding its weight so that the hinges wouldn’t squeal out and wake William.
Rosa slipped through the gap into the cobbled yard, and Luke pulled it shut behind her, latching it so that no one would see the open gate and think the forge open. The snow was still falling and the cobbles were slick with ice as they crossed them carefully, silently. Luke glanced up at his uncle’s window as they passed, but it was still dark. He had no watch, but it must be gone seven, and even when he was sleeping off a hangover William rarely slept past eight.
Inside the forge he pulled the door shut against the cold and stood looking at William’s tools. He laid them out on the bench – a rasp, nippers, the smallest hacksaw . . . He and Rosa stood looking at them, and he could see the fear in Rosa’s face. He felt it himself, looking from the huge heavy tools down at her small hand, bloodied and dusted with soot.
‘It’s not going to work,’ he said at last. ‘William’s got nothing small enough. We need a goldsmith’s tools, not these.’
‘Try,’ she said. ‘At least try.’
With a sick heart he picked up the nippers and tried to angle them to pinch just the gold band of the ring, keeping clear of the skin of her finger – but it was nearly impossible; they were too large and too heavy, and the ring dug so tightly into Rosa’s finger that it was impossible to get a purchase on the metal without pinching her flesh. At last he thought he had it, and began to tighten, gently, and then harder.
‘Stop!’ she screamed suddenly, and he let the nippers clatter to the floor. There was sweat on her forehead, sticking the red-gold hair to her face. She closed her eyes. Blood was running down her finger. ‘No, take no notice of me,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Try again.’
‘No,’ Luke felt sickness rise in his throat, the sight of her blood turning his stomach. ‘No I won’t.’
‘Coward,’ she said bitterly, and Luke felt his stomach clench as if he’d been punched.
‘What did you say?’ His voice came out louder and more dangerous than he’d meant. ‘If you were a man, I’d—’
He broke off, suddenly hot with shame. Had it come to this? So afraid of his own cowardice that he was reduced to shouting threats at an injured girl? Not just a coward, but a bully too. At least Knyvet, loathsome though he was, was brave in his own way.
‘I’m sorry.’ He couldn’t bear to look at her as he walked back to the tool rack to put them away. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s tightened,’ she said in a small voice, breaking into his stumbling apology. ‘That was why I screamed. It wasn’t the cut – I could have stood that. But the ring – when you tried to clip it off, it tightened.’
‘What?’ He moved across the forge and snatched up her hand. She was right. The ring, previously just too narrow to get past her knuckle but loose enough to turn, was now so tight he couldn’t move it, though her skin was slick with blood. ‘Are you sure? Couldn’t it just be that your finger’s swollen?’
She shook her head.
‘My finger’s been swollen ever since I tried to take it off yesterday. That’s not it – this is different. I felt it tighten when you tried to clip it. It was like it knew.’
They looked at each other, and Luke saw his own fear and doubt reflected back in her eyes. He opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say, something that would reassure her, something that would get them out of this unholy mess – when he heard a noise in the yard. He stiffened, his hand on Rosa’s, and then as the forge door latch began to rattle, he pushed her roughly down behind the big stone hearth and stood in front of her, his heart banging in his throat, waiting to see who would come through the door.
It was William’s voice he heard as the door began to swing open.
‘Whoever you are, messin’ about in my forge, I’ll have your – eh?’
William stood in the doorway, his hair rumpled from his bed, his boots on beneath his night-gown.
‘Luke! What are you doing here at sparrow fart, lad? I thought you were abed.’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’ It was almost true after all. He hadn’t slept, though in truth he hadn’t had the chance.
‘But . . .’ William took a step forward into the forge, towards where Rosa was hiding. Luke held his breath and prayed. ‘Your coat, it’s all charred and burnt. What happened? Were you in a fire? You stink of smoke . . . and summat else. Where’ve you bin?’
‘I’ve been to the Cock Tavern.’ That was true too, but it was not the truth. ‘There was a fight.’ Another truth, another twist. ‘I got pushed into a street brazier, boy selling chestnuts.’ Lies. He felt sick with deception.
‘But your skull, lad! You shouldn’t be drinking and brawling. You’re not two days out of bed!’
‘I know.’ Luke clenched his fingers inside his coat pockets, begging William in his head to leave, begging him to go and stop asking questions. He could hear Rosa’s stifled breathing behind him, and from the corner of his eye he could see the shift and swirl of her magic. Please leave . . .
William shook his head. He turned on his heel and Luke held his breath. Then, just as William reached the door he turned back.
‘Lad, listen.’ He came back across the cobbled floor towards Luke. Any second now he was going to come round the corner of the forge hearth and he would see Rosa and it would all be over. Behind him he heard Rosa’s panicked gasp and knew she knew this too – he felt her magic flare up like a fire in a draft, knew that she was gathering herself together, readying herself to cast . . .
‘No!’ He swung round, took a step backwards to put himself between her and William. ‘No! Rosa don’t – not William.’
There was a sudden, perfect silence, a silence so complete he could hear the wind in the chimney, and then Rosa’s skirts rustled and she stood, in full view of William
.
For my father Andrew, with love always
Text Copyright © 2014 Ruth Warburton
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Hodder Children’s Books
This ebook edition published in 2014
The right of Ruth Warburton to be identified as the Authorof the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means with prior permission in writing from the publishers or in the case of reprographic production in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency and may not be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A Catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Epub conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford-on-Avon, Warwickshire
ISBN: 978 1 444 91447 4
Hodder Children’s Books
a division of Hachette Children’s Books
338 Euston Road, London NW1 3BH
An Hachette UK company
www.hachette.co.uk
www.franklinwatts.co.uk
www.orchardbooks.co.uk
www.hodderchildrens.co.uk
www.waylandbooks.co.uk
www.hachettechildrens.co.uk
www.facebook.com/hodderchildrensbooks
http://twitter.com/hodderchildrens
