Page 200 of The Bone Season

‘Blood. A great deal of it.’

‘That was probably the Dublin Incursion.’

‘I have seen that memory. This blood was all around you, choking you.’

‘I really have no idea.’

Warden regarded me for a while.

‘Now you’ve seen everything – my life, my memories,’ I said. ‘Do you trust me, Warden?’

‘I do.’

‘Then what are we going to do next?’

He lapsed back into silence, his gloved hands clasped against his chin.

‘I saw a map in the House,’ I said. ‘I know there’s a train station under Port Meadow.’

‘Yes.’

‘I want to know where, exactly. I want to be gone before the Bicentenary.’

‘And you assume I will let you go.’

‘Yes, or you can safely assume that your snuffbox will find its way to Nashira,’ I said coolly. ‘I trust you only for as long as you help me. If I get any sense that you’ve crossed me, I’ll run – not walk – to the Residence of the Suzerain. At that point, you’ll have made it personal.’

His fingers drummed on the chair. He didn’t try to bargain; he just looked at me.

‘You cannot take the train,’ he said.

‘Watch me.’

‘You misunderstand me. The train is programmed to come and go on particular dates, at particular times. Those times cannot be changed from this side,’ he said. ‘That lies with the Westminster Archon.’

‘When is it next coming?’

‘The Bicentenary.’

‘Of course.’ I shook my head. ‘Everything comes down to that night, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Warden held my gaze. ‘For three years, you have lived in the shadow of the White Binder. Here, that shadow cannot touch you. When you arrived in this city, I did not meet the Pale Dreamer. I met Paige Mahoney – and I think that she is a force to be reckoned with.’

He spoke with such obvious sincerity that a lump came to my throat.

‘You have craved belonging with others, but you have a choice to be the pillar of your own world. To embrace your independence,’ Warden said. ‘Do this, and you may inspire others to do the same. I need this from you, Paige.’

‘Why?’

‘I think you know by now.’

His tone was even, but he spoke from the depths of his throat, chilling me.

‘You must be very tired.’ He made as if to rise. ‘I will give you privacy.’

‘Stay,’ I said.

He stopped, waiting. I pushed off the heavy mantle and went to the writing table, opening the middle drawer, where I had stowed his key.

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