But as time dragged on, the tight knot of Will’s concern wasn’t just for what lay ahead; it was for Justice and Violet, who were still out there somewhere with those men in their strange pieces of armour and their dozens of dark hounds. By now the Remnants would be all the way back to London, and Justice and Violet might be anywhere.
‘What about my friends?’
It was the wrong thing to ask. Cyprian stared back at him with the hauteur of a young knight. His olive skin and dark hair were paired with high cheekbones and green eyes. He had the kind of Mediterranean looks that might have come from anywhere from Egypt to Sicily, and a Steward’s nobility, combined with an almost too-perfect posture and livery.
But his green eyes had turned utterly cold.
‘Your friend Justice is the reason my brother is missing.’
‘Your brother?’ said Will.
‘Marcus,’ said Cyprian.
Marcus? Will’s eyes widened in recognition of the name, but before he could ask about it, the call came from the far end of the antechamber, summoning him at long last into the great hall.
Huge double doors opened on a hall of columns that seemed to stretch forever. Dressed in white and silver, pairs of ceremonial Stewards guarded the doors, their armour polished to a gleaming shine. Entering at spear point, Will looked up and caught his breath at the scale of it, conjuring up structures he had seen only in paintings or book engravings. Like the Great Pyramid at Giza, it was an ancient place so monumental it had outlasted the civilisation that had built it.
He felt very small as he was brought forward, his footsteps echoing, the magnitude of the hall overwhelming him. The ceremonial Stewards arrayed in their dress armour seemed too few, filling only a tiny portion of the space. Awe slowed his steps as he approached the centre.
Rising from the dais at the end of the hall, there were four towering thrones of pure white marble. Beautiful and old, they seemed to glow in the reflected light. They were made for figures greater than any human king or queen, in command of ancient armies and grand, forgotten courts. Will could almost see the majestic figures moving back and forth, bringing their business before their rulers in this hall.
But the thrones were empty.
Below them, on a small wooden stool, sat an old woman with long white hair. She was the oldest person in the great hall, her olive skin wrinkled as a nectarine stone, her eyes filmy with age. Her clothing was a simple white tunic, her white hair tied back in the Steward style. A man who Captain Leda addressed as High Janissary stood beside her, dressed in blue, not white, a heavy silver seal visible around his neck. He was flanked by two dozen Stewards in silver armour with worked star detailing, bearing short capes over white surcoats.
And a muddied figure was kneeling in front of them.
Will’s heart leaped. It was Justice, his livery stained, his forearm resting on his bent knee, his head bowed. And Violet – Violet was with him, held between two Stewards, with her hands tied in front of her. She was splashed with mud up to the waist; likely their journey over the marsh had been on foot.
He was so relieved to see her – to see both of them – that he almost forgot what was happening around him, but the prick of a spear driving him forward brought him sharply to attention.
‘This is the boy you sent to us,’ the High Janissary said to Justice. ‘Violating our every rule and selfishly endangering our Hall.’
‘He’s more than just a boy,’ said Justice. ‘There’s a reason Simon wants him.’
‘So you claim,’ said the High Janissary.
Will’s stomach flipped. He felt like he was on trial, but he didn’t know why or what for. He could feel the attention of every Steward on him as the four empty thrones stared down at him like empty eye sockets.
‘So I saw,’ said Justice. ‘He sheathed the Corrupted Blade. He called it to his hand and put out the black flame.’
‘That isn’t possible,’ said the High Janissary as the Stewards broke out into a ripple of comment. ‘Nothing can survive once the Blade is drawn.’
Will shivered, because those words felt true. A single sliver of the Blade peeking from its sheath had been enough to destroy Simon’s ship. Will remembered the instinct he’d had to re-sheathe it, knowing somehow that if it got free, it would kill everyone on board.
‘Simon had the boy chained and under heavy guard,’ said Justice. ‘When I saw him take up the Blade, I guessed at why. But I didn’t know for certain until I saw what he wore around his neck.’
‘Around his neck?’ said the High Janissary.