Page 2 of The Dawn Chorus

Jaw set, I inched towards the edge of the mattress. I was Underqueen of the Scion Citadel of London. I could get across a corridor.

Before I knew it, I had slipped right off the bed. I had no time to steel myself before I hit the floor.

Every bruise and cut ignited in a single, white-hot eruption. My ribs screamed. It hurt so much that I almost deserted my body, but weakness kept me imprisoned. All I could do was lie in a heap by the bed, tangled in the duvet, and wait for the echoes to dwindle.

The door cracked open. ‘Paige?’

It was a moment before I could speak without feeling like I was going to throw up. ‘I’m fine.’

Warden came to kneel at my side. ‘I think not.’ His voice was low, as if I were still asleep. ‘Tell me what you need.’

‘Bathroom. And s-scimorphine. Hurts.’

‘What does?’

‘Everything. Everywhere. I can’t—’

He watched me try to muster enough breath to speak. At last, he reached for my arms. Against my will, I shrank from him, and he withdrew as well, as if we had stung one another.

‘It isn’t you,’ I whispered.

His gaze flicked across my face. Itwashim – of course it was – but it wasn’t his fault that his nearness filled me with self-loathing.

I nodded for him to try again. He cupped my elbows to support me, letting me wobble to my feet at my own pace. I gripped his arms as hard as my brittle fingers would allow.

Ever since he had first held me in the Guildhall, his touch had been my tonic. Now I was afraid I might shrivel from the shame it raised in me. All I could think was how repugnant he must find me, tear-stained and runny-nosed, leaking fluids down my shirt.

Stop it, I told myself.Stop.

Warden wrapped one arm around my waist and let me take the other. I was uncomfortably aware of my sweat-matted curls, the crust of blood on my bottom lip. He helped me limp across the dark corridor and sit on the edge of the bath. All the while, his gentleness confused me. My body was rigid, trapped in expectation of a blow, a shout, a needle. In the basement, all contact had brought pain.

‘I will prepare the scimorphine,’ Warden said. ‘And an antiseptic. For your arm.’

I raised a hand to cover the bandage. A shard of glass had pierced deep into the flesh.

‘Okay,’ I said.

As soon as his hands left me, I felt the cold. In the past, I would have basked in a hot bath if I had a chill like this.

The bathroom was so dark I almost took another fall. When I was done, I crawled to the door and slumped beside it, panting.

Warden soon returned. Too exhausted for pride, or to stand alone, I let him scoop me off the floor and carry me back to bed.

My room had a parquet floor and palest green walls, capped with ornate cornices. The bed was right beside a window, but I had never looked out – we kept the curtains and shutters closed to stop anyone glimpsing us. Only hairlines of light ever came in.

Warden switched the lamp on and sat on the bed to ready the scimorphine. He inserted the needle into the vial and drew out a measure of the most effective painkiller in Scion. Seeing it reminded me of the colony, where he had tended to me himself when I was hurt. One of the clearer pieces of evidence that he was different from his fellow Rephaim.

When the syringe was loaded, he extended a hand. I could only give him a blank look.

‘Unless you would sooner inject it yourself,’ he said.

When his meaning sank in, I shook my head. I was too fatigued for that level of accuracy. He looked down at my inner arm, at the tailback of bruises in the crease of my elbow. There was a tense silence – I could see him counting – before he swabbed my wrist instead.

‘You told me you were sedated in the Archon,’ he said. ‘Do you know how often they dosed you?’

‘No. I never knew what time it was.’

He slid the needle into my vein. ‘Did you ever hear the name of the drug?’