Page 220 of The Bone Season

Never in my life had I been so aware of someone else. He worked on my hair as if we had all night, careful with every strand. Even the gentlest tug went right the way through me.

I had thought he would stick to a bun – plain and simple, serving its purpose – but this was something more intricate. Now and then, he would slide a pin into my hair, sending a chill across my scalp and down my sides. I lost track of time, rooted by the fragile intimacy of it.

It took me far too long to notice.

He had taken his gloves off.

Now I was twice as conscious of him. Even if he had been ordered to make sure my hair was done up, the way he was touching me now – it had to be forbidden.

I had no idea why he would risk it. Still, I willed him not to stop.

By the time he was done, it was all I could do to take a steady breath. I reached up to feel my hair. He had worked it into an elaborate chignon, leaving a few loose curls at the front, framing my face.

‘Warden,’ I said, ‘where did you learn to do this?’

‘An old duty I no longer have cause to perform.’

I looked over my shoulder at him. His eyes were burning.

‘I have another small gift for you.’ He reached into his doublet. ‘Nashira has a violent breacher in her entourage – a poltergeist. If she wields it against you, this pendant will deter it.’ Pause. ‘By your leave.’

I could only nod in answer, almost too aware of his soft voice to hear the words.

He fastened a thin silver chain around my neck. The pendant in question was like filigree, woven into the shape of wings.

‘If she kills me, you have to lead the others,’ I said. ‘Get them to the train.’

‘I will not need to lead them.’

‘Warden, please.’ When he gave me a small nod, I said, ‘If she does turn me into a fallen angel, I need you to promise you’ll set me free. It would be worse than torture, to watch her using my gift.’

‘I vow it, but it will not be necessary. You survived the Dublin Incursion, Paige Mahoney,’ he said. ‘I believe you can survive the Bicentenary.’

‘You’re not wearing gloves,’ I said, very softly. ‘Why not?’

My senses heightened, taking him in.

‘I do not fear humans’ touch,’ he said. ‘I am weary of pretending otherwise.’

‘Why do the others fear it?’

Warden just looked at me, his eyes bright enough to limn his cheekbones.

Before I could think better of the idea, I took him by the hand, threading my fingers between his knuckles, holding tight. His palm was callused against mine.

‘There,’ I said. ‘The world didn’t end.’

His gaze moved from our hands to my face. ‘I never thought it would.’

Perhaps it was a kind of madness – the madness I had seen in people as they faced the noose, a wild desperation for escape. Perhaps I had just lost my fear of consequences, or I wanted to defy Scion.

Either way, I guided his warm hand back to my cheek, clasping it there. He let me do it, watched me do it. The lure of his touch was excruciating, and I was too cold to deny myself.

I wanted this, before the end. I didn’t know exactly what I felt for him, but I needed to be touched, to be seen – here in this dark room, this red silence. And here he stood, willing. He was here, like the amaurotic had been there, in the flash house. This time, it had to be enough.

Except this wasn’t like Reuben. I already knew that Warden could see me.

When he let go of my hand, I thought he would refuse me. Then he brought his palm up to lie flat between my shoulders, drawing me towards him.

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