Before Abi could even yelp, the door to the Solar shattered into splinters.
Lord Jardine stood there, his arm outstretched for the door handle which his Skill and fury had rendered superfluous. His face was as red as Gavar’s but his voice, when he spoke, was as controlled as Bouda’s.
‘What is going on here?’
Bouda rose to her feet. She should have been unconscious, surely, or at least unsteady. But not a bit of it. Blood daubed half her face red and dripped onto the neckline of her sky-blue dress, but the gash in her scalp was no longer visible.
Was no longer there, Abi realized with a start. So it was true, then. The Equals could heal themselves. How was that even possible?
‘Difference of opinion about the wedding plans,’ Bouda said coolly. ‘Gavar objected to my choice of colour scheme.’
And could Equals kill using Skill, Abi wondered? Because Gavar Jardine ought to have been a smouldering cinder-smear on the carpet by now if they could.
‘Gavar,’ his father said. ‘Why are you still here? You should be on your way to Millmoor. Go.’
Lord Jardine stepped to one side of the empty doorway and gestured through it. Father and son stared at each other for a moment before Gavar gave a low growl, ducked his head and left, kicking through the litter of splinters.
Bouda Matravers stared after him with a look of triumph. It didn’t last long.
‘Bouda,’ said her future father-in-law. ‘You are not to provoke him.’
The blonde girl opened her mouth but Lord Jardine cut her off.
‘Do not argue. Gavar is my heir, until such time as I – and this family – have a better one. Your job is to manage Gavar, not rile him. I expect you to do that job better. Now come.’
He beckoned and Bouda went to his side.
She’s not marrying Gavar at all, Abi realized, watching. She’s marrying his father. His family. His house. The Jardine name. And she’s giving herself to a man she despises in order to get it all.
Lord Jardine placed a hand in the small of Bouda’s back and steered her towards the corridor.
‘Oh, just one moment,’ the blonde girl said, looking back over her shoulder. ‘While we’re managing things. Don’t want any belowstairs gossip about this.’
Those manicured talons pinched: a falcon taking a mouse.
‘No,’ Jenner said, stepping forward. ‘It’s not necessary.’
But Bouda Matravers’ Skill was already inside Abi’s skull. The Equal rammed it in like a poker and was rolling it around, burning away the memory of what had just taken place in the Great Solar, then cauterizing the loss. The shock made Abi’s head recoil with such force that she bit her tongue, and her scream bubbled through the blood filling her mouth. Dark clots swam before her eyes.
Then it was over and she was sitting in the armchair with Jenner and Lady Thalia watching her with concern. She blinked: once, twice. Her eyes stung – had she been crying?
Abi tried to stand up, but her legs trembled. She reached out to clutch at Jenner’s arm and steady herself. But he lightly unpeeled each finger and transferred her hand from his sleeve to the claret upholstery of the chair. Though gentle, his action felt unmistakably like repudiation, and Abi felt the skin around her eyes prickle with shame. Her head ached terribly. The smell of alcohol hung on the air.
She looked around the room – they were in the Great Solar – but could see nothing out of place. The door was shut, the furniture neatly in position. The only items to catch her eye were an empty bottle propped against the chimney breast and the framed photograph which Lady Thalia held. Abi’s notebook and a pencil were set neatly on the floor. The objects didn’t add up to a coherent memory.
What had she done? Had she got drunk? Made a fool of herself? The idea was unbearable. She wouldn’t be allowed to work with Jenner any more. Maybe they’d even send her away to Millmoor.
At the thought of the slavetown a final spasm of agony jolted through her brain and she gasped.
‘What happened?’ Abi asked, looking between Jenner and his mother. ‘I don’t remember. I’m so sorry. I hope I haven’t done anything wrong?’
Mother and son exchanged glances. Abi felt her insides clench, like a wave of nausea when there’s nothing left to bring up.
‘Of course you haven’t, child,’ said Lady Thalia, placing the photograph back amid the Meissen figurines and jewelled gewgaws. She put her hand up to Abi’s face. Her fingers were cool against Abi’s cheek and her perfume was faint and floral.
‘You were here taking notes about my son’s wedding plans. But you must have caught your foot on the fender rail or these wonky old floorboards of ours, because you took a bad tumble and banged your head. You gave us quite a fright. But you’re all right now.’
‘I still feel a bit funny,’ Abi admitted. ‘I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you?’