Page 20 of The Dawn Chorus

‘Yes.’

‘And there’s music at the black market. Real music, not the soulless dross Scion pumps out. I could show you,’ I said, after a pause. ‘Should our paths ever cross again.’

‘I am sure you would prefer that not to happen.’ His voice was a dark wine, rich and warming. ‘To be rid of me.’

‘I don’t hate you, Warden,’ I said quietly. ‘I did, for a long time.’ I breathed out through my nose. ‘You should have told me earlier that you were a prisoner here, too.’

‘I know. I think neither of us is trusting by nature, Paige.’

‘What reason has the world given us to trust anyone?’

Silence fell like a curtain between us, heavy and velvet. The chapel was so still. I tried to imagine it as it must have been in the monarch days – as a place of reflection, of sanctuary.

‘Tomorrow, we must continue your training in the woods, out of sight,’ Warden said. ‘To ensure Nashira underestimates your skill.’ When I made no reply, he watched the absent-minded trajectory of my fingers across the keys. ‘Do you play an instrument?’

‘No. Whenever I tried to sign up for lessons at school, somehow there was never any space left.’ I permitted myself a faint, wry smile. ‘I do like to sing. Always have.’

‘I heard you in a memory. You are gifted.’

The compliment caught me off-guard.

‘Well,’ I said, clearing my throat, ‘my old Schoolmistress didn’t think much of my abilities on that front. Said my accent muddled the songs, whatever that meant.’

‘She was a fool.’

Our gazes met again. The glow in his eyes was barely there, yet suddenly it was all I could see.

Warden looked away first. He rose from the bench and used a ruby-encrusted snuffer to put out the candles.

‘We should return to the Founders Tower,’ he said. ‘Now the night-bell has rung.’

He strode towards the stairs and was gone. I sat in the gloom for a little longer, wondering at the unfamiliar ache in my stomach, thinking of a story my grandfather had once told me.

That if travellers looked to the marshes at night, sometimes they might glimpse a far-off glow, beautiful and strange. It should always be ignored, for the light would lure the careless away from the safe path. It was calledtine ghealáin,but it had another name.

Fool’s fire.

Chapter 3

Storm

SCION CITADEL OF PARIS

6JANUARY2060

Trying to get a handle on your sanity, once it starts to slide, is a balancing act. Give a little to the broken parts of you, to keep them quiet and satisfied. Give a little more to the repairs.

With that in mind, I knew it past time for me to get out of bed. I had stayed there for almost a week to feed my broken parts. Today, I would move forward. I would wash and clothe and feed myself, if only to prove that I still could.

Heavy rain hammered the window. Though it was almost noon, the room was as dark as if dusk had fallen.

And Warden was gone.

I craned my neck to see behind me, throat aching. Since the cannula incident, he had stayed with me around the clock while I sweated and trembled my way through the worst of the withdrawal. Several times I had woken to see him in a chair by my bedside, perusing a book, keeping watch out of the corner of his eye. Now there was no sign of him.

I hadn’t meant what I’d said to him. The drug had been racking me, the hunger contorting my insides, and I had lashed out at the only person I could.

Warden was patient by nature, but he was under no obligation to stay and stomach me. Now his dreamscape was gone. For the first time since my imprisonment, I was alone.