‘You could say that.’ James’s eyes on Cyprian were mocking. ‘Your brother talks about you all the time. He calls your name, begs to see you, cries out for—’
‘Shut up.’
James’s head snapped to one side as Cyprian backhanded him across the face. It was a shock, coming from the controlled teacher’s pet. Cyprian’s breathing was slightly disrupted.
James paused to run his tongue over his teeth. ‘That’s the Stewards I know.’
‘Gag him,’ said Will, sensing the emotions beneath Cyprian’s ordered exterior. ‘He’s provoking you on purpose, and it’s working.’
He kept his eyes on Cyprian, but his awareness of James was a bright and dangerous thing. He knew what James’s power felt like, sliding over his skin. He half imagined he could still feel it, even as James mounted, a dangerous blue-eyed boy sharing Violet’s horse. And from the look that James gave him, eyes glittering over the cloth gag, James knew it too.
They galloped into the courtyard, four cloaked figures that no one questioned, thanks to Cyprian, the wards parting for him. The courtyard was quiet, the only Stewards visible those guarding the gate and walls. When Violet dismounted and pushed her cloak hood back to reveal her face, it took a moment for the attention of the Stewards to snag on her. A head turned, and then another—
As Violet dragged James out of the saddle and pulled his hood away to reveal his blond head, the Stewards guarding the walls erupted. ‘It’s the Reborn!’ Stewards were drawing their swords; others were lifting crossbows to aim right at them. ‘The Reborn’s inside the walls!’ There was a fear in their shouts that hadn’t been there even when they had learned that Violet was a Lion.
‘We have James St Clair!’ Will called in a loud voice. ‘Call the High Janissary!’
James’s head jerked up at that, and he turned to the Hall’s entry with strange tension.
But it was Justice who came, at the head of a phalanx of Stewards, descending the steps to the courtyard. Cyprian made to move forward, but Will held him back.
Justice stopped at the sight: Violet standing in the centre of the courtyard, holding a gagged and chained James by the shoulder. The other Stewards went quiet as Violet pushed James forward.
For a long moment, she and Justice just stared at each other.
‘You needed him,’ said Violet, her young voice holding steady, ‘so I got him.’
Justice didn’t speak as something silent passed between them. Violet stood there straight-backed, and after a long moment Justice gave a single, slow nod of acknowledgement.
His words were like a signal as he turned to the Stewards behind him.
‘You heard them. Fetch the High Janissary. James St Clair is our prisoner.’
He suited the Hall.
That was the eeriest part of James’s presence in this ancient place. He looked like he belonged here. Standing in rows in their silver and white, the Stewards with their otherworldly appearance had always looked like the Hall’s custodians. James looked like its young prince, returned at long last to his rightful throne.
It wasn’t always the Hall of the Stewards, remembered Will. It was once the Hall of Kings.
James was tied to a chair, his legs lashed to the chair legs, his arms manacled behind the chair back. Will stood beside him, along with Justice, Violet and Cyprian. In front of James, every Steward in the Hall was lined up in ordered rows. Ignoring all this, James had adopted a deliberately casual posture, an aristocrat sprawled and at ease, perhaps even faintly bored, looking for others to entertain him.
Will was acutely aware that despite the chains and the guards, the only thing truly restraining James were the manacles. It was frightening: the manacles were relics, no one really knew how they worked, and if they were broken, they couldn’t be remade. Without the manacles, there might be no way to contain those with the old powers at all. A Reborn like James could rule this world like a god, crushing mortals like glass beneath the exquisitely turned heel of his boot.
The doors opened with a sudden booming. The High Janissary was silhouetted in the entry, flanked by four attendants in ceremonial robes. As the Hall went silent, he strode down the aisle in a processional, stopping in front of James to regard him with a heavy gaze.
James relaxed back deliberately into the chair, returned the High Janissary’s gaze, and said:
‘Hello, Father.’ Before Will could react to the words, James continued, in a conversational voice, ‘I met the boy you brought in to kill me.’