‘If you never want me to touch you again,’ came his soft voice, ‘I will not. But if your fear is based on the lies of Suhail and Nashira, then I urge you to fight it. Do not let them win.’
In silence, he held out one hand, palm up. I lifted my raw face to look. No glove. Just him.
At first, I thought it would be impossible. Suhail hissed into my ear. A part of me still lived in that room and, as hard as I pulled, it refused to come back.
Warden watched my face. I thought of how my body answered to his hands, in a way it never had to anyone but him. How careful they always were when they touched me.
‘Not that it should matter to you, for it would mean I was undeserving of your notice,’ he said, ‘but if I were repulsed by you, I ask you why I would have taken you in my arms in the Guildhall.’
Shaken by his frankness, I looked at him.
‘The prohibition of flesh-treachery had been repeated to me like a chant, for centuries, by the time I met you. I was blood-consort. Nashira made sure I was well-informed of the vile nature of humans. All that Suhail said to you, I have heard many times,’ he said. ‘After Jaxon betrayed the rebellion, I almost came to believe it. Almost.’ He held my gaze. ‘You restored my conviction. You confirmed to me that the Sargas are wrong.’
A rush of tenderness went through me.
‘I resisted their indoctrination in the past, and I have no intention of falling to it now.’ He kept his hand out. ‘You must not, either.’
When I placed a hand into his, my muscles tensed. In a flash, I saw my fingers as they had been a week ago, covered in blood, the nails plum-dark with bruising. They looked so brittle.
Warden held very still. He made no move to keep my hand where it was. Just let it lie in the cup of his palm.
‘We Rephaim were graced with immense strength,’ he said. ‘In the tower, I could scarcely lift my head after the Ripper had done his work. I could not rise to comfort Terebell, though she was so close to me that I could feel her aura. Nashira ensured we were side by side, forced to watch each other suffer.’ The words stemmed from deep in his chest. ‘I can never fully understand what was done to you. Only you know that. But I know what it is to believe oneself broken, Paige. To feel the chains even in liberty.’
Shivers kept coursing through me, but the longer my palm was against his, the easier my breath came. I traced the familiar lines, the scars that almost encircled his fingers.
‘See me now,’ he said. ‘I will always carry the scars, and the memories, but I regained my strength. I found myself again. So will you.’
Very carefully, he grazed his thumb across the backs of my fingers. Heat surged into my throat.
‘I hate you seeing me like this.’ My voice shook. ‘You chose me because I was strong. Because I was resilient. I overheard you telling Burnish.’ Exhausted, I shook my head. ‘Look at me now. I am not the person you chose to lead a war.’
‘I am looking at you, Paige Mahoney.’ He was. ‘I see a warrior who sacrificed herself to a brutal enemy for a better world. And despite all the wrong that was done to her, all the pain and humiliation she endured, she did not speak one word to betray the revolution. She did not condemn her friends. And yet, as always, she is blind to her own courage.’
‘I have no courage left.’ A tear ran down to my jaw. ‘I spent it all in that room.’
‘It will return.’
‘But I’m always afraid now. I’m afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of water.’ My shoulders heaved. ‘I’m afraid I’ll never be able to fight again.’
‘Fear does not extinguish courage. Suhail Chertan did not steal anything from you. Had he been tortured for half the time you were, he would have surrendered all he knew of the Sargas.’ His gaze burned into mine. ‘I survived. So will you. Neither of us is going to let our enemies win by hearkening to their lies. Are we agreed?’
My eyes filled. I turned to him with a weak exhalation, and at last, I put my arms around him.
Warden drew me to his chest. He was gentle enough that I could pull away, and I almost did. I almost broke. I no longer knew what to do with my hands, and I didn’t fit against him as easily as I once had. Same puzzle, wrong pieces. It was as if we were both spun from glass. As if holding on too hard would fracture us both.
But I could touch him. I could still bear to be close to another person. Warden set his chin on the top of my head as I softened against him, as I let myself breathe into his shirt. His left hand cupped my head, while the other came to rest in the middle of my back.
I don’t know how long I stayed in that strange, fragile embrace. Warden murmured Gloss and held me until, at last, I fell asleep.
Epilogue
SCION CITADEL OF PARIS
11 JANUARY 2060
One embrace was never going to put me back together. Only I could do that, and I sensed that it would be a lifelong task.
As the days passed, I still woke often from restless sleep. I still flinched at the sound of rain and the hiss of water from the tap. I still needed space, to the point that even my clothes, even the sheets I slept in, could sometimes feel like shackles – but every time I rose, I found that I was just a little bit stronger. And the room was just a little bit farther away. And I craved oblivion just a little bit less, even though the hunger still gripped me. Even though I still looked at my reflection and wished that I could fade away.
I woke early one morning to birdsong. To Warden, seated at the table, looking out of an open window, where a crisp breeze drifted in. I was on the couch, covered by a couple of blankets.
It took me a moment to remember what I was doing in the parlour. He had started trying to teach me chess the night before, and we had ended up playing deep into the small hours. I must have fallen asleep straight after.
‘Good morning, Paige,’ he said.
I propped myself up on one elbow. ‘Morning.’
On the table in front of me stood a coffee press and a mug. I sat up, pulling the blankets around my shoulders.
‘The dawn chorus,’ Warden said quietly. ‘I seldom heard it in the colony. The Emim drove the birds away.’
I listened. It was faint, but somehow, it was there.
‘I’m surprised we can hear it in the middle of a citadel,’ I said.
‘This is the first time.’
I rubbed sleep from my eyes. ‘In London, it was usually traffic or costermongers that woke me up,’ I said. ‘Or Jaxon, banging on my bedroom door with his cane at some unholy hour.’
‘You must miss your life in Seven Dials.’
The small hollow in my chest – the one that had been there for weeks – seemed to deepen. I poured the coffee.
‘I never thought I would think of London as my home. Never thought I’d come to love it.’ I blew on the mug. ‘I wonder how long we’ll be in Paris. Whether it will be a fleeting visit, or if this will feel like home, too.’
‘We will find out,’ Warden said. ‘When Domino arrives.’
He kept his gaze on the open window. The light of dawn limned his face.
‘You seem entranced.’ I had to smile. ‘Does your love of music extend to birdsong?’
‘Perhaps the dawn chorus speaks to me,’ he said, ‘as a creature of the in-between.’ His hands were clasped on the table. ‘The birds sing in the twilight that bridges night and day. While they sing, we exist on the threshold between two states.’
His words gave me a shiver. I drank and listened to the song.
When I had finished the coffee, I rose to wash, which was no easier than it had been the first time I tried. I managed, though, and when I was dressed, I padded to the kitchen and searched the cupboards for something to eat. Warden was leafing through a copy of the Daily Descendant.
‘Anything of interest?’ I asked as I slotted bread into the toaster.
‘Only promises and platitudes. Frank Weaver vows to destroy the Mime Order.’
‘Of course he does.’
I cracked two eggs into a pan. As they b
ubbled themselves white, I started to cough again. Each one wrenched my torso, as if a hook was buried right in my middle.
‘Sorry,’ I croaked. Warden looked up. ‘I must be driving you spare with this cough.’
‘No.’
I shot him a sceptical look. ‘I sound like a seagull in the throes of an agonising death, and it isn’t testing your patience?’
‘I confess myself unfamiliar with the sound of seagulls in their death throes.’ His gaze darted over my face. ‘It may or may not resolve itself without proper medical attention, Paige.’
As if to confirm his suspicion, the sharp pain hit me in the chest again. I shallowed my breathing.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘it’s not as if I can just check myself into hospital, is it?’
He looked back at the Descendant. We both knew.
For a while, the only sound in the room was the sizzle and sputter of the eggs and my half-stifled coughs.
‘You did not like the stew,’ Warden said.
I turned, wary. ‘What?’
‘The stew I made you was not to your taste.’ He kept reading as my eyes widened and my lips parted, as a quick denial leapt to my tongue. ‘Fear not. I knew from the first bite. However, I would be obliged if you could tell me where I went wrong.’
‘Wait, you knew I didn’t like it?’ I abandoned the pan to stare at him. ‘And you still let me eat it?’
‘I did.’
When I realised, my cheeks warmed. The glow in his eyes had been amusement, not delight at his culinary success. He had been amused.
‘You utter—’ For the first time in days, I laughed. ‘How did you know?’
‘Perhaps I am growing more experienced in reading your expressions.’ He looked back at me. ‘I suppose you were trying to spare my feelings. Kind of you, but I would prefer to know how I might improve.’
I tried to think of how to phrase it without denting his enthusiasm. Warden watched me, head tilted in expectation.
‘Well,’ I began, ‘it may not have tasted of … much. Of anything. Which is fine, by the way. Some humans enjoy mild food. I just personally like a bit of flavour. A pinch of salt and spice. And foods are generally supposed to taste distinct from one another.’
‘I see.’ Warden folded the newspaper. ‘You had better show me, then.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘You want me to teach you to cook?’
‘I was your mentor once. Now you can be mine. Besides,’ he said, ‘we have little else to do but wait.’
The reminder made me glance towards the window, at the laden clouds that were on their way.
‘Yes,’ I said, too low for Warden to hear. ‘Wait for Domino to collect its life debt.’
He came to stand at my side. Hitching up a smile, I reached into the cupboard and set out a few ingredients.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘This is pepper.’ I gave the grinder a tempting shake. ‘And we’re going to use it liberally.’
A Note on the Author
Samantha Shannon was born in west London in 1991. In 2013 she published The Bone Season, the first in a seven book series. The Mime Order followed in 2015 and The Song Rising in 2017. The series is internationally bestselling and her books have been translated into twenty-six languages. The film rights have been optioned by the Imaginarium Studios and 20th Century Fox. Her fourth novel, The Priory of the Orange Tree, was published in 2019.
samanthashannon.co.uk
@say_shannon
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The Dawn Chorus Page 9
