by M. J. Hearle
This information did nothing to calm her friend’s fears, and Winter had to double her speed to keep up as they headed back to the great hall.
Chapter 64
Not all the Bonnaires had perished in the Demori attack. Drawing near the front steps, they were greeted by a man and a woman carrying a third man on a stretcher. The Bonnaires didn’t acknowledge Jasmine and Winter as they passed on the steps, clearly more concerned with the bleeding man lying between them. The two girls shared a wary look, and then continued on.
Entering the hall, Jasmine made a croaking sound of revulsion in the back of her throat. Someone had managed to get the electricity back on, but Winter wished they hadn’t. Yellow sodium arcs overhead made the grisly reality in front of them impossible to ignore. Bodies lay strewn from wall to wall, Demori and human alike. Mercifully, most of the corpses had been covered with jackets and other garments, so Winter was spared looking into dozens of sightless eyes.
‘Where is he, Win? I don’t see him,’ Jas said, her voice tinged with worry.
‘Over there,’ Winter pointed to the platform. Sam was propped up against the wall talking to Elena as she strapped his wound.
‘Thank God!’ Jasmine cried and increased her pace, ignoring the dead at her feet.
Sam smiled weakly at them as they mounted the stairs.
‘You’re alive,’ he said, wincing as Elena tightened the strap.
‘What happened to you?’ Jasmine asked, rushing to his side.
‘You know me – I’m not happy unless I’ve been beaten or shot,’ Sam replied, trying to shrug and hurting himself in the process.
‘Who gave you that?’ Jasmine asked, grimacing as she studied his bloody shoulder.
Sam gave Elena a cautious glance. Without looking up from the length of bandage she was currently cutting off, Elena answered tersely, ‘My husband.’
‘Where is Yuri?’ Winter asked, searching the hall. There were twenty or so Bonnaires moving across the floor space tending to the wounded, but no sign of Elena’s husband.
‘He is gone.’
She didn’t say where and it didn’t seem important for Winter to ask. Elena’s expression was characteristically stony, but Winter could still read traces of tortured emotion there. Guilt.
‘Can I talk to you alone for a moment?’ Sam asked.
Winter nodded. ‘Sure.’ She had a few questions of her own she wanted to discuss with him.
With some help from Jasmine, Sam painfully got to his feet. He limped over to Winter and led her away from the others, down towards the base of the Black Mirror.
‘Did you go to the tower?’ he said, keeping his tone low.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you —’
‘I found him, Sam. I found Ariman.’
Sam nodded in quiet satisfaction. He glanced down at the sea of bodies. ‘Is that the reason the Demori left? Did he make them —’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about him earlier?’
‘I wanted to,’ Sam replied, unable to meet her accusatory gaze. ‘I was scared you’d do something stupid. Like try to get to him. To help you find Blake.’
‘I would have.’
‘Then they would have stopped you. Maybe hurt you. He was my aunt’s greatest secret.’
Winter fell silent for a moment, her anger at Sam subsiding. There didn’t seem any point in holding onto it.
‘How long was he in the tower for?’
‘Since I can remember. He’s the reason we know so much about the Demori. About the Dead Lands. About everything. Only those in Magdalene’s inner circle were told about Ariman.’ He looked out at the hall, at the Bonnaires moving among the dead. ‘If the others knew we held the First then they probably would have killed him. They wouldn’t have understood why we needed him.’
Winter frowned, puzzling over the fact that Ariman would willingly help the Bane murder his own kind. Then she remembered the wasted state of him, the bruises on his body, and quickly guessed he hadn’t been a willing informant.
‘Where is he now?’ Sam asked.
‘He’s gone.’
‘Did you tell him about Blake?’
Winter slowly turned away from Sam, her attention shifting to the Black Mirror towering over her.
‘I did,’ she said distantly. Trapped in the glossy surface of the stone, Winter could see a young woman staring back at her. Her clothes were dirty, covered in mud; her features were similarly dirty with clean tracks down her cheeks left by the tears. The girl in the mirror looked about ten years older than Winter.
‘Well – what did he say?’ Sam asked, a tinge of impatience in his voice. ‘Is he going to help you?’
She didn’t answer him. Instead she let her gaze travel over the expanse of the mirror, over the snake-like runes engraved across the outer rings, over the liquid black surface of the obsidian. She noticed in the mirror the girl’s sad expression change. Become thoughtful. The ghost of a determined smile graced the Dark Winter’s features.
‘Okay, I understand you’re upset with me. That’s fine,’ Sam said, misinterpreting her silence. ‘You let me know when you’re ready and we’ll talk about getting you and Jas back home.’
‘Home,’ Winter repeated wistfully. Where was home? Was it back in her room, spending countless nights staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the gaping hole in her heart? Winter didn’t want to go back to that home. She was tired of waiting. Tired of feeling like a victim of fate. For once she wanted to be its master.
An idea was forming. One that should have been terrifying but felt too right. Too true.
Her eyes scanned the floor until she spotted what she needed: a discarded crossbow loaded with half a dozen bolts. Winter picked it up and slung it around her back. Tightening the strap around her middle, she turned to Sam.
‘Promise me you’ll see that Jasmine gets home safely.’
Jasmine was staring at the two of them with a worried expression on her face. Elena, too, was watching them intensely. Her gaze met Winter’s briefly, and widened in shock as though she could read her thoughts.
‘I don’t understand,’ Sam said, his perplexed gaze jumping from Jasmine to the crossbow. ‘What’s with the crossbow? What do you —’ Realisation dawned and Sam became agitated. ‘Winter – no!’
‘Goodbye, Sam,’ she said, offering him one final smile. Somewhere deep inside, Winter had always known it would come to this – this moment where she took a step into the unknown.
Then there is still time, Ariman had said. And there was . Winter could feel it. Time to save Blake. Only she wasn’t going to sit back and wait for someone else to do it for her.
Sam’s cries of warning at her back, she placed her hands on the surface of the stone and closed her eyes. A low grinding sound reverberated as the outer rings began to turn. Heat radiated outwards from the mirror, and she could feel the fire building within, but did not fear it. The fire would not burn her. She was the Key.
‘What I do tonight, I do for him,’ Winter murmured, and opened the door.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Every book is a journey. Not just for the reader but for the writer as well. Experienced travellers know that long journeys are best undertaken with a companion. Someone to help share the load and carry you when the way proves hard. I was incredibly fortunate to have many people support me during the writing of this book.
Firstly, I’d like to thank my agent Lyn Tranter for plucking me from obscurity and giving me a career. Without her this book wouldn’t have found its way to a publisher and consequently into your hands, Dear Reader.
In regards to my publisher, words aren’t enough to express how happy I am to work with the fine folks at Pan Macmillan. Alexandra Nahlous, Leah Channells, Libby Turner and Charlotte Ree not only proved to be passionate champions of the book, but also helped to shape and refine the story into its best possible form. Their contribution cannot be emphasised enough.
Two other major contributors were Peter and Cate Hearle. Both are extremely sav
vy when it comes to finessing tricky plot points and I couldn’t ask for better sounding boards. They’re pretty good parents, too.
Living with a writer isn’t always fun (in fact, it’s rarely fun and often boring) so Greta Lackey deserves a special mention for never being anything less than patient and loving. I couldn’t wish for a better companion on the journey, my love.
Lastly, I’d like to thank you, Dear Reader, for picking up my book. The places it takes you are sometimes dark and frightening though please believe me when I say you won’t be travelling alone. I’ll be there with you.
M.J. Hearle became addicted to stories at a young age. After years of trying to go straight, it was somewhat inevitable that he turned to dealing them himself. He currently lives in Glebe, Sydney and dreams of one day owning a pug. Winter’s Light is his second novel.
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM PAN MACMILLAN
M.J. Hearle
Winter’s Shadow
Blake Duchamp . . .
He’s all that Winter Adams can think of. Ever since their fateful meeting at Pilgrim’s Lament. Ever since he looked at her with those emerald eyes. Ever since he saved her life.
But Blake isn’t all that he seems. There is a strangeness about him, something dark and otherworldly. Something dangerous. In his attic is a secret he would kill to defend, but Winter seems to have a special ability to make him forget his duty. And he is her only protection against the gathering darkness.
The only problem is, to protect Winter, Blake must risk exposing her to an even greater danger.
Himself.
First published 2012 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000
Copyright © M.J. Hearle 2012
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
This ebook may not include illustrations and/or photographs that may have been in the print edition.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data:
Hearle, M. J.
Winter’s light / M.J. Hearle.
ISBN 9781742611037 (pbk.)
A823.4
Adobe eReader format: 9781743346723
EPUB format: 9781743346747
Online format: 9781420296068
The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Typeset by Midland typesetters
Cover design by XOU
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