Page 139 of The Bone Season

‘So, Zeke,’ Nick said, ‘what do you do?’

‘For a living?’

Nick nodded. ‘Nadine was listed as the student on the programme, and you as her guest. I assume you’re not at the same university.’

‘No,’ Zeke said in a quiet voice. ‘Nadine asked me to share an apartment with her while she was studying in Boston. I was in … kind of a dark place, so I agreed to move there from Mexico, to keep her company.’

He gave no further explanation.

‘You’re a good brother,’ Nick said.

His throat bobbed. Scion had killed his younger sister when they were both in their teens. Karolina was his reason to bring down the anchor.

To give him a moment, I turned to Zeke. He was looking out of the window.

‘The streetlamps are blue,’ he murmured.

‘To calm the population,’ I said. ‘You’ll get used to that kind of shite.’ He swallowed. ‘What made you decide to come to Scion, Zeke?’

‘We needed to … get away for a while. Nadine saw the programme and applied.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘I’m glad we came. We’ve both felt different for years. Now we can learn why.’

Zeke clearly had secrets. Jaxon would not allow him to keep them for long.

‘We’ll help you.’ Nick breathed in, seeming to steady himself. ‘What’s the official stance on clairvoyance in the States, Zeke?’

‘They call it extrasensory perception. They don’t want to commit to any stance on it,’ Zeke said. ‘Scion has invaded five countries and threatened others, so the education programme is very controversial. I think there are four colleges that participate, to give students a chance to see it for themselves.’

I wanted to ask about their family, but something told me to save it for much later. They might have just made the most painful decision of their lives.

‘Well, Jaxon is so pleased you’re joining us.’ Nick offered a smile. ‘I hope you’ll like it here, even if it’s dangerous.’

‘You were born in Scion?’

‘Yes, in Sweden.’

‘What about you, Paige?’

‘I was born in the free world,’ I said. ‘I hated it here when I arrived, but it got better when Jaxon hired me. The syndicate will take care of you.’

‘Which country are you from?’

‘Ireland.’

Zeke looked at me with sudden understanding. No doubt he had been trying to put a finger on my accent.

I had arrived in London with a strong Tipperary lilt. As the denizens of Scion grew to hate anything Irish, my father had attempted to school it out of me. It was too late for him – his own accent had set deep as dye – but it might still be washed out of a child. He had stopped me from speaking Gaeilge, my first language, the one my beloved grandmother had gone out of her way to teach me.

In secret, I had kept learning, but my accent had soon become a burden. Even at eight, I noticed the looks I got when I spoke, the demands that I repeat myself. I would sit in front of the news every night, imitating the raconteurs, until I could speak like them.

All for nothing, in the end. Nobody at my school had been fooled.

As soon as I left at sixteen, I had finally dropped the act. After eight years of forcing myself to speak in a way that felt stiff and wrong, the sheer relief had left me in tears. Even if my lilt wasn’t the same as it had been when I was young, my voice was my own again, and I treasured it.

‘I have heard what happened to Ireland,’ Zeke said. ‘About a year ago, these people managed to escape from Galway and tell their story on the news. It … sounds like it was such a tragedy. I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘They sung a beautiful song about a tree and a meadow. They said it was sung at the end of the Molly Riots, to mourn the people who died.’

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