‘At Ruthern.’ And then: ‘Simon will move him as soon as he knows I’m captured. It won’t help you.’
‘We’ll judge that. How do we get inside?’
The fight was taking its toll. James’s hair was damp with sweat. Will could feel the struggle up close as James fought with everything he had to keep the words inside. Keeping the horn in him required hard, continuous pressure.
‘It would take a full-frontal assault. You’re not strong enough to do it. It’s guarded by all three Remnants and a contingent of Simon’s men. You’ll die on the walls. Although you’ll have a better chance now that—’ James gritted his teeth and tried to say nothing.
‘You could try lower,’ said Cyprian. ‘Dig around and see if there’s a heart in there somewhere.’
Another inch. James said, ‘—now that I’m not guarding him.’
‘What is Simon planning?’
‘To kill you,’ said James, the words seeming to bring him vicious pleasure. ‘To kill all of you, and to stand over a pile of your ashes as the Dark King returns and takes his throne.’
It was chilling; it felt real when James said it. Will thought of the Shadow Stone in the vault and the words on the wall, carved in the last moments of terror and confusion. He is coming.
‘Tell us how to stop him,’ said the High Janissary.
‘You can’t.’ After he said it, James closed his eyes and laughed breathlessly, as if the truth of these words had surprised even him. ‘Simon’s going to raise the Dark King, and there’s no one alive who can stop him.’
The High Janissary took a step back; a murmur broke out in the Stewards behind him, tense looks, fear, a roil of unease, because James couldn’t lie – could he? James looked on with victorious satisfaction.
You did this, Will almost said, looking out at the faces of the Stewards, then back at James’s pleased expression. Talking around his subject, revealing almost nothing … James was playing with these Stewards, and they were letting him.
He put his free hand on James’s throat and forced his head back. He ignored the shocked sounds from the Stewards, the way Violet made to move towards him. He looked down into James’s eyes.
‘You went to Robert Drake to get something. What was it?’ His right hand was still hard on the horn.
‘Nothing.’ This close, Will could see the sweat tendrils in James’s hair, feel the tremor in his body, even as James stared back at him defiantly. Will pushed the horn in harder. ‘I— Some information.’ Gritted out.
‘Information about what?’
James was panting. Hand around his throat, Will felt him swallow, felt the throb of the arterial vein in his neck, like the blood pulsing up around the horn. ‘An object. An artefact. I—’ He was fighting harder than he ever had. ‘No.’
‘What artefact? Something Simon needs?’
‘Needs it. Wants it.’ The horn was slippery with blood. ‘Stop it, I won’t—’
‘Why does he want it?’
‘It will make him powerful – make him the most powerful man alive – the moment he has it he – he’ll—’
He was evading still, trying to talk around the truth. Will ground down with the horn and focused in on the only question that meant anything. ‘What did Robert Drake tell you?’
‘He told me – Gauthier had come back to England – that he was at Buckhurst Hill – that he had it with him, the c-c – no, I’d rather die than tell you—’
‘You won’t die.’ High Janissary Jannick’s voice cut into the exchange. ‘You’ll simply tell us. That’s how the horn works.’
High Janissary Jannick had stepped forward to reassert control. His words seemed to remind James that he was there.
‘You,’ said James, looking up at his father venomously through his sweat-tendrilled hair. ‘You want me to tell the truth?’ said James. ‘I will. I’ll tell it to all the Stewards in the Hall.’
‘Then do so,’ said Jannick sternly.
James looked back at him with too-bright eyes, and Will felt the tipping spill of danger, too late to stop it.
‘I’ll tell you why my father’s so desperate to get Marcus back,’ said James.
Jannick’s entire expression changed. ‘Pull it out.’
The order was sharp and sudden, but Will’s hand hesitated on the horn.
‘I’ll tell you why there are no old Stewards,’ said James, ‘why their lives are short, where they get their strength—’