Page 22 of The Dawn Chorus

Time to look around. And eat. I was light-headed, and my stomach felt almost concave.

I stepped back into the corridor and, for the first time, switched on the light. Aside from the door to my room, there were three others. One revealed a hot press, its shelves stacked with fresh towels and linen. Behind the second was a walk-in wardrobe. I dumped the nightshirt in a laundry basket and picked out a pair of thick tights, thicker socks, and a knitted dress that almost reached my knees. Anything to feel a little warmer.

The third door led to the parlour I remembered from the morning we arrived. It needed a lick of paint here and there, but it was clean and elegant, and I imagined it would be charming in the summer, with the windows thrown open and the wooden shutters folded back to let in a warm breeze. As I took it in, I kept one hand on the wall to steady myself.

That was when I heard music.

I froze, listening. The song was unfamiliar, but I recognised the sad voice. With my heart in my throat, I reached for the æther. For his dreamscape.

A pair of sliding doors stood open on the other side of the parlour. I padded between them to find a cosy kitchen, and Warden at the breakfast bar, sorting through the contents of a box. As always, he wore a long-sleeved dark shirt, black trousers and boots.

He was here. Slowly, I released my breath.

‘Hi,’ I said.

Warden looked up from his collection. His eyes were a bright, arresting blue.

‘Paige.’ He rose. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Could be worse.’ I tried to smile. ‘You don’t have to stand when I enter a room, you know. I’m not the Queen of England.’

‘You are the Underqueen of London.’

His formality was disconcerting. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Underqueen-in-Exile now. I can’t do much ruling from here.’ I stepped across the threshold. ‘Besides, you’re my friend, not my … subject.’

‘As you wish.’

There was a long silence, split by a thunderclap.

I was used to the occasional lull in conversation with Warden. We could talk or sit together in silence, and it never felt uncomfortable. This did. The tension was thick as snow between us.

Then again, this was uncharted territory. We had been enemies, and then we had been something else. The space between was strange to both of us.

‘Your hair,’ he finally said. ‘I take it you were able to use the shower.’

‘Not quite. I’m working up to it.’ I held myself to conserve warmth. ‘You left.’

‘To feed.’

‘So I see.’ I smiled again. ‘Do people not go running for help when a seven-foot stranger starts draining their aura?’

‘Usually I can feed without their noticing.’ Warden returned to his seat. ‘I was cautious today. If the Sargas hear of a rogue Rephaite in Paris, they will come for us both.’

I recognised this tone. He had been reserved and curt like this when I met him again after the Bone Season. He became more Rephaite-like when he wanted to protect himself. Or me.

Part of me must have expected us to be as comfortable together as we had been in London. Even if I had broken off the …liaison, or whatever it had been, I had never been less than certain that we would remain close friends. I had come to lean on his counsel and company as much as I did on Nick and Maria.

Perhaps he thought that I should have fought harder for our relationship. That if I had ever cared about him, I would have wanted to keep him by my side even when I was Underqueen. The thought weighted my stomach. The cause had to come first. We had agreed.

Unless this was because of what I had said to him during the withdrawal.

‘I could kill a coffee,’ I said, if only to break the painful silence. ‘Is there any here?’

‘Yes,’ Warden said, ‘but perhaps you should reconsider the wisdom of drinking it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I suspect your withdrawal has been worsened by your additional cravings for caffeine.’