by Vic James
Gavar listened in silence as Abi told the story of the botched rescue and its terrible, needless ending. When she was done, the heir of Kyneston ran a hand through that famous copper hair. It was a gesture momentarily like Jenner’s, and she winced.
‘Abi, I’m sorry, but your brother’s not getting out of that castle. I can’t save him, but I can save you. And maybe in a few years, when all this has died down, I can get your parents out of Millmoor early and send them over to join you. Daisy too, when Libby’s a bit older. That’s the least I can do after what your family’s suffered thanks to mine. But Luke . . .’
And Abi’s heart must still be beneath her ribs after all, because a corner of it iced over at Gavar’s words. Yes, he wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Yes, he had shreds and tatters of decency. But he wouldn’t make an effort for a boy he knew was innocent. And any future in which Gavar had influence to release her parents from Millmoor was a future in which the Jardines still ruled.
She’d imagined, as they’d sped away from Gorregan on his motorbike, that Gavar might have it in him to make a stand against his family. But it looked like she was wrong.
‘Think it over,’ Gavar said. ‘You can stay while you do. You’re safe here – let me show you.’
He led her outside into the yellow late-afternoon light. Daisy and Libby were playing a noisy game of tag, and Gavar reached down to scoop up his daughter as she ran. The little girl screamed with delight as he tossed her in the air.
‘Time to show Abigail the sparkly fence thing,’ he told Libby, bumping their noses together. ‘Will you help me?’
The little girl nodded, her curls flying, and Gavar led her to the fence around the house. The fence itself was a standard-issue picket-post, neatly painted. Gavar crouched alongside it, folding Libby’s tiny hand in his.
‘It’s so cool,’ Daisy breathed into Abi’s ear. ‘Just watch.’
‘It’s not exactly Kyneston wall,’ Gavar said, ‘but it serves its purpose. It hides this place. People walk straight past. I based it on something Silyen did for my London apartment one time, when I had a few too many ex-girlfriends turning up at awkward moments.’
He placed his daughter’s hand against the fence and covered it with his own. A moment later, flickers of Skill-light wreathed his fingers, and a glow like sunset outlined the fence posts.
‘Griff, Libby and your sister come and go freely,’ Gavar explained, straightening up. ‘But you should keep a low profile for the couple of days you’re here.’
Couple of days.
He expected her to make up her mind quickly, then. He expected her to accept his offer.
She should. It was the most sensible thing to do. And she should press him to let Daisy come with her now, not at some vague point in the future. Gavar might think his precautions kept Abi’s sister and Libby safe, but the Jardines were a dangerous family to be around.
Could she do that – buy Daisy’s safety at the expense of abandoning Luke?
‘Help me pick some vegetables,’ said Griffith, as the heir of Kyneston launched into some kind of energetic rugby-for-toddlers with the two girls.
Small talk would be a welcome distraction from her circling thoughts, Abi decided. She followed the old lady around the side of the old timber-framed house towards a kitchen garden, where climbing sweet peas wound around raspberry canes, and the soil smelled thick and wholesome. This was a tranquil place, set apart from the cruel, corrupt world just beyond its fence.
‘Your house is beautiful. Have you always lived here?’
‘Heir Gavar bought it for me when my days were done. He’d visit occasionally, and since little Libby was born he’s brought her, too, whenever his father is in a rage about baseborns and blood purity. Bless his heart, he even gives me a pension.’
Griffith named a sum that Abi recognized from Gavar’s column in the Kyneston accounts book – except there, it was itemized as the monthly storage fee for his cigar collection.
‘You only looked after Gavar, or all three of the Jardine boys? I can’t imagine any of them as children.’
Griffith smiled. ‘I still find it hard to believe they’re grown men – or nearly. I had the older two, then when Silyen came along, a younger woman took over for him and Jenner.’
Abi tried to picture them. Gavar would have kept a watchful eye as Silyen rampaged round the garden, just as Abi had watched over Daisy.
And Jenner. Had he looked on, Skilless and envious? The question came out of her unbidden.
‘Do you think Jenner ever had Skill?’
Griffith sighed.
‘Not one of us who slaved in that place hasn’t wondered that, Abigail. We’re no experts, but I never suspected anything was wrong with him in those early years. Odd things happened around Jenner, just as they did around his brothers. The gardeners would joke that all they had to do to get Lady Thalia’s cut flowers to bloom, or the breakfast bowl of fruit to ripen, was to leave them in Master Jenner’s room overnight.’
‘When did the odd things stop?’
‘I couldn’t say.’ Griffith shook her head. ‘Silyen was just as demanding as Gavar, in his own way. So little by little, Jenner just faded into the background.
‘Then people started to notice that he wasn’t doing anything Skillful, and he got some attention at last – but not the sort any child would want. He’d be tested: made to stand in front of the gate and attempt to open it. Jenner got attached to the woman who looked after him, as little ones do. Well, Lord Whittam would beat her and taunt Jenner to make him stop, or to heal her, but he never could. You’d go past a door and hear her moaning and Jenner sobbing. Ahh . . .’
Griffith pulled a hanky from her cardigan sleeve and passed it to Abi. Ugh, was she crying again?
‘People criticize my Gavar. But I tell you, that boy is unusual among his family: what you see is what you get. Which is a virtue, even if you don’t much like what you see. All the rest of the Jardines, you never really know what’s going on behind those bright eyes and perfect smiles.’
And wasn’t that the truth? Abi wiped at her face – which was when the yelling started.
It was Gavar, and he sounded furious.
Abi darted round the side of the house, then froze at the corner. In the middle of the front garden, beneath the willow trees where they’d been playing, stood Daisy with her arm protectively around Libby. Her sister saw her approach and waved frantically, motioning for her to stay back. Gavar must be outside the front gate with a visitor. Whoever it was wouldn’t be able to see Abi or the two girls.
Abi strained to listen, then wished she hadn’t. Her terror was immediate and absolute.
‘I know the Hadley girl is here,’ said Bouda Matravers.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t waste my time, Gavar. She’s your daughter’s caregiver, and I distinctly heard that awful Manchester accent prattling.’
Wait. Bouda was talking about a ‘Hadley girl’, but . . . Daisy?
She exchanged glances with her little sister. Pure fear was etched on Daisy’s face.
That was enough. Abi crept forward, keeping out of Bouda’s sight line from the gate, till she reached her sister and Libby. She shook Daisy, who seemed rooted to the spot, then pointed to where Griffith stood, beckoning. ‘Go!’ Abi mouthed, giving her sister a little shove. She watched as the old lady took the two girls inside through the back door. Griff would draw all the bolts.
And then – because damn it, what could Bouda Matravers want with Daisy? – Abi crept closer. Gavar was no longer shouting; instead he spat his words out as though they tasted sour.
‘. . . understand why Father wants me in London. He wants to show that though I interrupted that atrocity this morning, I’m still part of Team Jardine. But he doesn’t need my daughter and whoever you think is looking after her.’
‘You don’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, Gavar. First: the unified family front is essential after what you did. Sec
ond: those prisoners got away. All of them. One I recaptured a few hours ago – that grimy brat. We need the rest. And here’s the interesting thing: the reason Renie was prowling round parliament? She thought we had Abigail. Therefore, the girl isn’t with Midsummer. She must be hiding out in London. So if her sister is at Aston House with us, she may try and make contact.’
‘You’re crazy,’ Gavar said, though Abi barely heard him because she was shaking all over. She’d just worked out that they had Renie when it hit her that Bouda wanted to use Daisy as bait . . . to trap Abi herself?
‘Why do you even need Abigail?’ Gavar continued. ‘You’ve plenty more locked up for your next Blood Fair.’
‘You heard the story Jenner put out – that they were all recaptured. That’s our version, and it’s holding, for now. But we need to produce those prisoners again before people start questioning what really happened. The Blood Fair was a showpiece, Gavar. One that you ruined.’
‘So, Father wants me to come back and play happy families – and bring Daisy Hadley with me. What if I don’t? Maybe I like my quiet life in the country.’
‘Then the next step is simple. I’m having the parents moved from Millmoor to a secure facility. If we’ve not recaptured Abigail soon, I’ll announce that we’re bringing them to Astrid’s suite for interrogation – unless she hands herself in.’
Abi bit her knuckles to stop herself crying out, or flying at Bouda, fingers clawing. Her mum and dad, in the hands of Astrid Halfdan?
‘That’s all I had to say,’ Bouda said. ‘I’d better get back. Midsummer Zelston put on some ridiculous show earlier – a direct threat to parliament. When we get her, she’ll receive the same justice as Meilyr. Trust me, you don’t want to be on the wrong side in this, Gavar. And you won’t be able to hide out here in the countryside, pretending none of it is happening.’
She called to someone just out of sight, and a car engine started up.
‘Well, hiding obviously isn’t an option, as this place is supposed to be concealed. How did you find it?’
Abi could just picture Bouda pivoting back on those high heels she always wore, smiling with that perfectly lipsticked mouth.
‘We’ve always known you come to this village, we’ve just never needed to find the house before. Even now, I can’t see it. But have you forgotten that we’re married? Our Skill touched on our wedding day. Which means I can tell that right behind you is an enclosure infused with your Skill. And you know what?’ Bouda’s voice pitched lower. ‘It’s strong. You’re so strong. You are your father’s heir. My husband. We’re your family, Gavar. Imagine what we could do together if you stopped treating us like your enemies.’
In the brief silence that followed, Abi pictured Bouda’s fingertips brushing Gavar’s face; her lips, red like a wound, pressing against his.
Then a car door slammed, and Bouda was gone.
A few moments later, Abi saw Gavar Jardine storm back to the house, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth. She hurried after him.
‘You were listening?’ His expression was ferocious. ‘Why can’t they leave me alone? Why can’t all of you leave me alone?’
‘I didn’t ask you to bring me here! And are you really going to run back to your family when your wife whistles and your father clicks his fingers?’
Gavar whipped around with a speed unthinkable for someone of his size and bulk. Abi recoiled, throwing up her arm to ward off a blow that never came. But the heir gripped her wrist and leaned in close – she could see the purple-red flush of his blood beneath his skin.
‘The only family I have is my daughter. Nobody and nothing else matters. Not them. Not you. You go to Dubhlinn tomorrow. I’ll make the arrangements tonight. I’m through with all this.’
He released her. The imprint of his fingers was on her wrist, a white shadow of his rage.
The house was almost unbearable for the rest of the day. While Gavar was bathing his daughter before dinner, Abi took Daisy outside. They walked together round the neat pathways of the vegetable garden, and Abi explained that Gavar wanted her to go to Ireland.
‘It’s a good idea,’ said Daisy, nodding. ‘You’ll be safe.’
‘But what about Luke?’
‘Think about it. If Gavar’s dad is as mad and evil as all that, how long can he last? Gavar and Bouda will take over, then he’ll release Luke. He got him out of Millmoor before, didn’t he? Gavar just doesn’t like people expecting things of him.’
Abi stared at her sister.
‘You’re eleven. How are you even thinking about politics?’
‘Isn’t politics, is it, really? Just family. ’Specially with this lot. I want you to be okay, Abi.’
And as Daisy’s arms went around her, it was easier to remember that she was only eleven. A kid, thrust into a ruthless adult world whose rules she’d had to learn too well. Abi squeezed her sister, and dropped a kiss on her head.
Back inside, she told Gavar that she’d go over the water, and the sooner the better. The heir looked relieved, and went to call someone – Abi suspected his contact had fixed up more than a few illicit requests in Gavar’s drug-taking, playboy past.
With that resolved, dinner was surprisingly relaxed. Afterwards they played a simple board game, letting Libby win. As Daisy put the tot to bed, Griffith took Abi round the house, picking out items to get her through the first few days of her exile: clothes, toiletries, a roll of banknotes.
‘You’ll need a book to take your mind off seasickness on the boat over,’ she said. ‘A smart girl like you must be a reader.’ Abi dutifully looked at the shelves.
They were crammed with chunky paperbacks. Evidently Griff had a taste for crime fiction. Abi grimaced. The last thing she needed was tales of how Security doggedly tracked people down. She dropped to her knees to inspect the lowest shelf. It held storybooks – several that she recognized from her own childhood.
‘I remember this one,’ she said, pulling out Mishaps of the Monarchs. Cartoonishly illustrated, it retold farcical stories from the time of the kings: deluded King Canute, who imagined he had Skill and attempted to turn back the tide. Gluttonous Henry I, who had choked to death eating eels. (Abi remembered Luke’s cries of disgust at that tale.)
‘Ahh, the boys loved that one. Heir Gavar used to laugh till he went purple, and little Master Silyen, well, he would have been too young for all the jokes, but he’d be so transfixed he’d finally stop fidgeting.’
‘You read this to them?’
‘That’s the Kyneston bedtime-story library down there.’
Abi looked at the book in her hand, trying and failing to imagine it in such circumstances, then crouched to replace it.
‘No, no,’ said Griffith. ‘It caught your eye, so you keep it. A familiar book may be just the comforting sort of thing you need right now. And maybe when you look at it, you’ll remember that all three of them were just children once. We are what life makes us, Abigail.’
Which sounded like wisdom if you didn’t examine it too closely. Because the world was full of people dealt harsher hands in life than the Jardine boys, who had turned out rather better. Abi bit her lip and slid the book into the bag.
The bag went on the chair beside her bed when she turned in that night. She dozed fitfully, and when she woke, it was still dark.
Abi sat up and looked around the cozy room – this refuge so unexpectedly offered by Gavar Jardine, which would continue to shelter Daisy.
But this cottage wasn’t the place for her, and neither was Dubhlinn. London was where she needed to be.
There’d be no more hiding, and no more running. Now was for fighting.
Lord Jardine and Bouda would subject this whole country to a Blood Fair, if they could. Britain itself, pinned down and torn at by the Equals for their sport.
Time to smash the country’s chains and set it free.
Abi dressed and hefted the bag. She’d stomped up the stairs earlier to test the stairwell treads. The second from bottom squeak
ed, so she skipped it on the way down. In the kitchen, she paused to write a few lines to Gavar.
Tell Daisy I’m in Dubhlinn, she finished. That we decided me going at night was safer.
She folded the piece of paper. Paused. Reopened it and added two final lines.
You are better than your family. I believe this, and I hope one day you will, too.
She hooked the bag over her shoulders, took what she needed from the dish by the back door, and let herself out.
In the moonlit garden, she gripped the pilfered keys tightly. There were advantages to being a vehicle mechanic’s daughter.
Though if there was one thing Gavar would never forgive her for, it was this.
A few minutes later, his motorbike roared away down the lane.
2
Luke
There were advantages to being a vehicle mechanic’s son.
Luke may not have had formal driving lessons, but he was the best qualified of the three of them to be behind the wheel – albeit that wasn’t saying much. He swore as another car cut them up at the Colchester turnoff. The sudden movement raised a moan from Silyen, who was slumped in the passenger seat, his forehead resting against the window. A rasping laugh came from the back of the vehicle, where Dog was curled up like any real canine on a road trip.
Luke tried to steady his trembling hands on the wheel, and wiped his sweaty palm on his sodden knee before changing gear. But as he stared at the road, he couldn’t stop his mind replaying horrific images: Julian, being led out and chained, begging and pleading, in the middle of Gorregan Square. The blood and the screaming that followed. Then Abi, brought onto the platform to take his place.
Everything after that was like a dream: the fire, the lions, the geysering water that blasted it all away and slammed Luke across the square and into the marble balustrade. He’d blacked out as he hit it.
A slap from Silyen had brought him round, and Dog hauled him to his feet. Luke had searched desperately for Abi, frantic at having missed his chance to save her. But she’d been rescued already, Silyen had said. By Gavar Jardine.
