He guessed at which cell they had tossed James into after that little performance: the same cell where they’d held Will, the most powerful cell in the Hall.
And he was right. But where Will had been left free to move around, James was chained to the wall.
Will opened the cell with the key that he had taken from Cyprian and stepped inside.
They had stripped James of his jacket – they must have cut it off – the manacles were still on his wrists. His torn white shirt had a bloom of blood that streaked down from his left shoulder. And he was stretched, his arms restrained above his head. Despite these deprivations, James was waiting for him in the kind of indolent pose that was utterly provocative.
‘I wondered when my father was going to send you down here,’ James said.
‘Everyone’s talking about you upstairs.’ Will closed the bars behind him, letting the lock click. ‘You’re the centre of attention. But I suppose you’re used to that.’
‘I’m not Simon’s lover,’ said James.
‘I didn’t ask.’ Will flushed. ‘And there’s no way to know if you’re telling the truth now anyway.’
‘You could stick it in again.’
Will stopped. He recalled, rather forcefully, that James had thrown the Stewards into chaos, just by talking. James might look like an angel fallen to earth, but he was Simon’s creature, and he had chosen this approach because he thought it would work on Will, specifically.
‘You don’t carry Simon’s brand.’ He could see the unbranded skin now that James was stripped of his jacket. ‘Why not?’
‘Maybe it’s just not on my wrist.’ James leaned the back of his head against the wall and gazed at Will lazily.
‘Why not?’ Will repeated calmly.
James gave him a long look, amusement at the edges of his lips.
‘Unlace my shirt.’
It was, undoubtedly, a challenge. Will dropped his torch into the wall sconce and came forward, slowly, James’s eyes on his. He’d been this close to James upstairs; he’d stabbed him. That curled between them. James’s breath shallowed slightly, though the languid pose didn’t change, nor did the way James regarded him. Unlace my shirt.
It might be a ploy. Will knew that. He lifted his hands to James’s neck and began to untie the shirt, an oddly intimate thing to do, like untying another boy’s cravat.
The fine white shirt opened, and Will pushed it back further, exposing James’s shoulders and chest. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he couldn’t hold back the sound of shock at what he saw.
‘He tried. It wouldn’t take,’ said James. Will stared, unable to stop. ‘It’s one of the benefits of being the Betrayer. I heal quickly.’
For where there should have been an open, bloody stab wound, there was only the smooth, unmarred skin of James’s chest.
Will couldn’t help touching it, spreading his palm over the place where the stab wound had been only an hour before. The wound had healed – had vanished – it was utterly gone. There was no mark, no scar – James had nothing to show for the violence that had been done to him. Anger stirred, moving under the surface.
‘How many times,’ he heard himself say.
‘What?’
‘How many times did he try to brand you?’
He thought he saw a flicker of surprise at the question. James’s voice dripped with amusement at Will’s presumed naiveté. ‘I didn’t count.’
‘You said it hurt.’
Another flicker. ‘Good memory.’
‘You’re more powerful than Simon. Why let him?’
‘Are you jealous?’ said James. ‘He liked the idea of his name on me.’
‘It’s not his name,’ said Will.
He felt the exact moment when he got James’s full attention. It was like a snap, James suddenly present. Will thought, There you are. Will hadn’t lifted his hand, and James’s pulse was a slow throb under his warm skin.
‘Do the Stewards realise you’re clever?’ James’s voice was intimate, new and subtly approving, like he’d learned a secret. Will stayed where he was for a long moment, before stepping back to simply regard James from the opposite wall of the cell.
‘Does Simon realise that you are?’ said Will steadily.
Half-stripped, James was splayed out, open shirt revealing his unmarked chest and abdomen. The lack of any stab wound was still unsettling. Will wondered how much James’s body could heal and how many times James had put it to the test. He wondered, with a curl of unease, whether the ability to heal was innate to James, or whether it was a gift bestowed on him by the Dark King, to keep his prize intact.