‘Your movements are crude. You are not a Steward. You do not have our training,’ said Justice. ‘But you have the heart, and I will teach you.’
She stared at him – he was a Steward, her father’s enemy.
But she didn’t have to follow her father. She could forge her own destiny. She tightened her grip on the sword.
‘Then teach me,’ she said.
Utterly exhausted, she was barely aware that it was evening. Training over, she wanted nothing more than to collapse, pouring herself onto the bed in her room. But she found herself instead walking back into the great hall.
At this time, there was no one else here, just those ghostly white pillars stretching off into the dark. Her footsteps echoed, too loud. The raised dais emerged out of the gloom, the four empty thrones staring down at her.
They had the look of a majestic tribunal, reigning supreme over all brought before them.
But they weren’t the reason why she was here.
The broken piece of shield hung on the wall. She stopped in front of it and looked up at the face of Rassalon, the First Lion.
The lion seemed to gaze back at her. His visage looked so noble. His great mane curled in proud metallic whorls around his face, his eyes serious above the triangle of his nose.
He almost seemed like he had something to say to her. What is it? she thought, suddenly wishing she could talk to him too. I’m not betraying you by training with the Stewards. It’s what you would do too, she thought. Isn’t it? How could something as honourable as a Lion have fought for the Dark?
As she had not dared to do before, she now reached out and touched the lion’s face.
A sound behind her. She whirled, heart pounding.
Cyprian.
He had come from late practice just like she had, still armed and wearing his fighting tunic.
‘Are you following me?’ she challenged him.
He’d been training all day too, but he looked irritatingly perfect, without a single hair out of place, as though hours of sword work was easy for him. She was too aware of the dirt smudged across her forehead and the sweat tendrils in her hair.
I’m stronger than you, she thought defiantly. But her heart was hammering guiltily. Had he seen her touch the shield?
‘What are you doing in our hall?’ His hand was on the pommel of his sword.
‘I’m just walking. Or isn’t that allowed?’
He looked over at the shield, then at her. ‘That’s the Shield of Rassalon.’
Her heartbeat spiked higher. She couldn’t explain what had brought her here, the connection she felt to the ancient creature.
Violet flushed. ‘I don’t care about an old shield.’
Cyprian’s mouth curled unpleasantly. ‘Whatever you’re hiding, I’m going to find it out.’
It wasn’t fair. Born to the Hall, Justice had said, and he looked it; he fit here better than she had ever fit anywhere. Nerves transmuted into provocation. ‘Trying to toady up to your father?’
Instead of answering, Cyprian looked back at the shield, as if he was looking right back into the past, his posture straight and his eyes steady.
‘Lions are servants of the Dark,’ he said. ‘Do you want to know what Stewards do with them?’
‘What?’ she said, and his answer made her turn cold.
‘We kill them,’ said Cyprian. ‘We kill all of them we can find.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘JUSTICE SAID THAT you fought James,’ said Emery.
About sixteen years old, with long brown hair worn in the Steward style, Emery was a shy-looking novitiate Will had seen training with Cyprian. He had just approached Will with his two friends Carver and Beatrix standing behind him, and was waiting wide-eyed for Will’s reply.
‘Not – exactly,’ said Will carefully.
On his way back from requisitions, Will was carrying two extra tunics, a cloak and a pair of tall fur-lined boots. The tunics were light, but the cloak and boots he had been given were soft, warm, and made for winter. They each had astonishing artistry, as if spun from threads of silvery moonlight or the softest, most delicate cloud.
‘But you did see him?’ said Emery.
He was wearing a grey-silver tunic like the ones that Will held in his arms. He talked about James as if Will had encountered a mythical creature, like the Hydra or Typhon.
James is a Reborn, Will reminded himself. A living piece of the old world. The Stewards spent their lives studying the histories and trying to glean what was forgotten from the artefacts that they collected, keeping the ancient traditions as best as they could remember them. He could see the awe in Emery, like that of a researcher face-to-face with his subject.