Page 175 of The Bone Season

Now I had space from him, I considered what he had done. I could sympathise with his reasons, even if I bitterly resented him for it. I almost envied his ability to see who could and could not be trusted. No doubt I would have used it, too, if I were an oneiromancer. He had known me for three months, and his allies – whoever they were – for much longer; of course he would put their safety over my privacy, just as I would choose my gang over him. If we did strike an alliance here, it would only ever be a means to an end. A marriage of convenience.

He was even right about my hypocrisy, to an extent. I had violated David in London, snatching his body to help Nadine. In the heat of the moment, I had sacrificed his autonomy and dignity to save my friend. I had acted according to my own moral compass, my own needs.

Still I couldn’t shake the sense that what Warden had done was crueller – carried out over time, with intent. I couldn’t see memories. He had opened an eye in my dreamscape, watched my past like a film.

I went back to the bedchamber and moved the medicine next to the daybed. Nestled by the fire, I thought back, nursing a slight headache.

Warden had kept my secrets. For weeks, he had known who I was and where I lived, but never told Nashira about Seven Dials, nor reported Nick. She had guessed that I was part of the syndicate, but not because of him. I had accused him of not protecting me, yet that was exactly what he had done.

I still couldn’t bring myself to forgive him. I supposed I had until July.

Michael popped in at eleven. Seeing I was awake, he retreated again. I returned to my brooding. When he came back about half an hour later, he pulled the curtains apart, flooding the parlour with golden sunlight. I blinked against the sudden glow.

‘Can I help you, Michael?’

He brought in a small trolley from outside. I watched him lay a splendid breakfast on the table in front of me, with fresh coffee and a jug of hot milk to top it off. When I shook my head, Michael frowned.

‘I’m not hungry,’ I said mulishly. ‘I don’t want his guilt breakfast.’

Michael pursed his lips. To my surprise, he took my hand, wrapped it around a fork, and stabbed it directly into the pancakes.

‘Fine, but I’m eating for you, not for him.’

He smiled. Just to keep him happy, I drizzled honey on the pancakes.

Michael kept a sharp eye on me as he pottered around the room. My first reluctant bite of pancake awakened a punishing hunger. I ate my way through the whole stack, along with two flaky pastries with plum jam, a bowl of sweet porridge, four slices of hot buttered toast, a plate of scrambled eggs, and three cups of coffee. There was fruit, too – raspberries and cream, probably from the physic garden.

Once I was stuffed, Michael presented me with an envelope. I took it.

‘Trust him,’ Michael said.

It was the first time I had ever heard him speak. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

‘I want to,’ I said quietly. ‘Do you?’

He nodded.

‘Does he even have a bed where he’s sleeping?’

His gesture indicated that he had no idea.

‘Well, if you see him around, tell him I hope he’s cold and miserable, won’t you?’

Michael gave me a reproachful look. While he cleared the breakfast table, I split the red wax seal on the envelope and unfolded the sheet of thick paper inside. It was bordered with swirling gold.Paige, it began:

I know you may never forgive me. I accepted this on the night you arrived – but even if you resent me, know that I sought only to understand you. I wish that you and I had met under different circumstances; that we had been able to become acquainted in good faith, without fear of betrayal. Alas, we have only these circumstances, and this city.

Some apology this was. A little more grovelling would have been nice. Still, I continued to read:

Whether or not you wish to see me again, I urge you to prepare yourself for the Bicentenary. Keep up your strength as best you can, and take the dacrodiorin. I fear my consort intends to make your death a spectacle. You must be able to fight when the time comes. Hone your dreamwalking, if you can. You do not need me for that, Paige. Though you may not have seen it, it was always me who needed you, not the other way around.

Better. I read on, tucking my hair behind my ear.

You said I would protect my allies, but not you. I hope to prove otherwise. As I have been your hope during this long ordeal, so you have been mine. I have left a small gift with Michael. Consider it a token of my gratitude, but use it only if you must.

Just by writing this, Warden was demonstrating his newfound trust in me. It was an intimate and seditious letter; it would be damning for him if I took it to Nashira. Instead, I burned it, knowing that was best for both of us.

‘Michael,’ I said, ‘what did he leave for me?’

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