‘Tell me,’ Luke demanded.
‘Tell you? No, I’m not going to tell anyone. Secrets are like nasty vases or vintage cars, or all the other trash people like my mother and father collect. The rarer they are, the more valuable they are. I think I can get a good price for this one.’
‘You can’t! I’ll be Condemned. You’ve helped Dog, and he deserved his punishment. I don’t deserve this, so why won’t you help me?’
‘Oh Luke, it’s nothing to do with deserving, surely you can see that? Dog is useful to me free, and you will be useful to me where you’re going. And what I’ve just discovered will be useful, too. It’s been a good night’s work, even if I say so myself. And I haven’t even had my coffee yet.’
As Silyen Jardine turned away, Luke lashed out. But his fist never connected with a single unkempt hair on the Young Master’s head. Instead he was slammed backwards through the air as if struck by a collapsing gantry.
Luke crumpled against the wall, dazed by the impact and by his own fury and despair. A pair of scuffed riding boots walked slowly into view, then stopped. A moment later, black eyes met his as Silyen Jardine crouched down.
‘Honestly, Luke,’ the Equal said. ‘Remember the binding? I need you to do better than that where you’re going. Much better. Because I’m not done with you yet. Not by a long way.’
The back of Luke’s neck prickled. He shouldn’t be misled by Silyen’s bizarrely casual manner. This wasn’t – and never would be – a fair fight.
The door opened.
‘Have you learned anything, Silyen?’ barked Lord Jardine. ‘Who moves against me?’
The Young Master straightened and turned, looking his father full in the face. And he must have a backbone of steel thought Luke, even as he seethed with hatred, to be able to lie so easily to this man.
‘Nothing of use to you, Father.’
‘Very well. We’ll speak no more of this. Whoever my enemy is, we don’t want to alert them to our suspicions. Let’s get this done quickly then Crovan can apply himself to discovering what we need to know. Gavar, bring the boy.’
When he was led into the East Wing, Luke wondered if he was losing his mind. Or perhaps he’d been unconscious or overwhelmed by Skill for days – or even weeks. Because he had last seen the vast structure exploding into thousands of deadly fragments.
Yet here it was, no more than twelve hours later, intact and immaculate. Outside was a bright, light-rinsed morning. High cloud was casting strange shadows on the expanse of glittering glass. The whole thing reeked of unnatural power.
Or perhaps that flowed from the people assembled here. The sight of them took Luke’s breath away. Nearly four hundred Equals sat in eight ranked tiers, each lord or lady with their heir beside them. There were two empty places in the centre of the front row, presumably for the Jardines. Their absence gave Luke a clear view to the seats directly behind. Sitting there was a stunning blonde woman who looked strangely familiar, and a gargantuan man with a mane of ivory hair, who must be her father.
Where had he seen her before? Luke racked his brains before realizing that she was Bouda Matravers, Heir Gavar’s bride-to-be. Her beautiful face was taut and angry – and no wonder, she’d been robbed of a wedding. He let his eyes roam back and forth across the first few tiers of seats. He saw curiosity in some faces, but sympathy in none. He stopped looking after that. There was no point.
Lord Jardine sat in the Chancellor’s Chair. Luke stood to one side, hands clasped, head down, heart racing. Behind him, Gavar Jardine stood ready in case Luke tried to bolt.
He wouldn’t be running. He knew exactly how Heir Gavar could stop him, and besides, where was there to run to?
Should he tell them that Silyen Jardine knew – or claimed to know – the identity of whoever had Silenced him? But Silyen had already denied that knowledge to his father, and would simply do so again. It would set the Jardine father and son against each other, but how would that benefit Luke?
He didn’t have enough time to figure it all out. Then the cupola bell sang out a high, bright nine, and he no longer had any time at all.
Lord Jardine began speaking, and Luke realized that he wasn’t here for a trial. Only a sentence.
‘My own initial questioning has found no evidence of Skillful influence,’ the lord of Kyneston said, his leonine head turning to survey the assembled Equals. ‘Neither has examination by my fellow member of the Justice Council, Arailt Crovan. It seems likely that the boy is a lone-wolf attacker, radicalized by his time in Millmoor slavetown, incited by associates there as yet unknown.’
Luke’s heart roiled within him. Associates in Millmoor. They would rip apart his mind and find everything about Jackson, Renie and the club.