‘What is your brother trying to prove?’ she murmured.
‘And what about yours?’ Jenner said, gently taking Abi by the shoulders and turning her to face him. ‘Father has him in custody. He shot Zelston, Abigail. And father has got it into his head that the bullet was meant for him.’
‘For your father? But how could Luke have missed. They were standing right next to each other.’
‘The binding, Abi. What Silyen does to you all at the gate. None of our slaves can hurt us. If Luke had gone for my father, he would have been compelled to deflect. And as mother and Aunt Euterpe are family too . . .’ Jenner shrugged, at a loss to find any way of softening the blow. ‘Zelston was the only one left.’
Abi shook her head. Could that be true?
Did it even matter? Luke had killed Zelston, whoever his true target had been.
No, only one thing mattered now. Luke was still here at Kyneston. Still rescuable.
But how?
22
Luke
Luke wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. A cell? Dog’s pen, perhaps.
But not this. Not a huge, sumptuous bed with a crimson silk coverlet pulled up to his chin. Someone had tucked him in like he was a little kid.
He closed his eyes with relief. So they’d realized he hadn’t done it.
Because he didn’t do it, he was certain. Although Lord Jardine and the other man – had it been Crovan? – seemed convinced that he had.
Kyneston’s master had hauled Luke from the destroyed ballroom. Dragged him to the library and tied him to a chair. There, Crovan had dug about in Luke’s skull with what had felt like knives, but was actually Skill. Digging for memories that weren’t there. Memories of murdering Chancellor Zelston.
Luke remembered walking into the East Wing, four champagne bottles on a tray. He remembered the yapping dog; Abi with a clipboard; the Equal girl in the gaping gown. Then . . .
Nothing until an upraised scarlet hand and what had felt like the end of the world.
Then Lord Jardine, bloodied and dirtied and incoherent with rage. A body on the floor, that Luke only belatedly recognized as the Chancellor. Accusations he didn’t understand. Terror. Pain. So much of it that he’d passed out.
But now it was over. He was safe in a soft bed. Luke snuggled beneath the coverlet. The mattress moved under him strangely. Almost rippling. He ducked his head to look.
It was too dim to see much, but he seemed to be lying in a spill of liquid. It was warm. Had a hot-water bottle burst? He snaked a hand down to check. When he drew it back up, his fingers were red.
Blood. He was lying in a pool of blood.
Panicked, he tried to throw back the coverlet to yell for help. Which was when he noticed it wasn’t a coverlet at all. It was a dress. The wide floating skirts of a red dress. Or a dress that had once been some other colour, but was now sopping with blood.
Luke gasped. It didn’t drag nearly enough air into his lungs. Hot, salty liquid trickled down his throat. Blood. Blood everywhere.
Then he was pulled up bodily. Pulled up and out.
A voice roared in his face: ‘Stop it!’
He was struck so viciously he was amazed his head didn’t snap right off its thin stalk of spine.
‘Every five minutes,’ the voice continued, still shouting. ‘He’s doing it every five minutes. Thrashing about and yelling. I’ll kill him if he does it again.’
‘Get your hands off my brother!’
Luke swung back and forth. He was held up by a fist bunched in the front of his shirt, like a doll in the grasp of a resentful child that wants a better toy.
‘Let him go, Gavar.’
A third speaker, level and calm. Who was that? Luke was released and fell heavily back onto the bed.
A hand touched his temple and lightly thumbed up one eyelid. A blurry, indistinct face loomed in his vision. Was it Abi?
‘Luke? Luke, can you hear me?’
‘Don’t touch him. What were you thinking of, bringing her here, Jenner?’
Luke’s other eyelid was pushed up gently, but Abi’s tone was savage.
‘He can’t even tell it’s me. What have your father and Crovan done to him?’
‘Jenner, you know Father’s orders. Get her out, or I will break your neck then bodily throw her out. Now.’
‘Luke, can you hear me?’
One of Abi’s hands gripped his firmly. The other tipped his face sideways.
‘Blink, Luke. Focus. You’ll be tried tomorrow. Lord Jardine has postponed the wedding. Instead, parliament will sit as a court. You’re accused of murdering Chancellor Zelston. I know you didn’t do it, Luke. But I don’t know how we’re going to prove that before tomorrow. Whatever happens, be strong. We’ll work something out.’
A trial. A court. Murder.
The words floated through Luke’s head. They seemed very far away. Why wouldn’t Abi let him sleep?