Page 227 of The Bone Season

Nashira held up a hand. The sword snapped into it, delivered by the poltergeist. ‘A willing angel is better,’ she said. ‘But that would be too much to ask from someone as wilful as you.’

Suddenly she let go of my hair. Michael had thrown himself on to her back, forcing her to deal with him first. It gave me time to crawl away, but I was so weak, so racked with pain. My gift burned like a curse.

Nashira pitched Michael off the stage. He landed on a performer, sending them both crashing to the floor in a heap.

Her face appeared above mine again, her eyes turning as red as my dress. The draining was the final insult. I was cut and bruised, in more pain than I knew how to hold. I couldn’t stop her forcing me to my knees, shoving my head down, baring my nape to the sword.

At least I had spoken.

At least I had reminded them of Dublin.

‘You are too feeble to wield this gift. You should never have possessed it,’ Nashira told me. ‘No human can harness such power. I am pleased you did not die in Dublin, or it might have been lost for good.’ She held up the Wrath of the Inquisitor. ‘Rest easy, dreamwalker. All you need do is watch as I conquer.’

I managed, with my last scrap of strength, to look up, into her eyes.

The golden blade swung high, reflecting the candlelight.

Arcturus Mesarthim stopped it.

The blade sank deep into his shoulder. He wrenched free and attacked Nashira, whirling immense spools. Merope and Alsafi leapt into action, with Alsafi battling his own secret allies, keeping up his long pretence. Pleione and Terebell joined the fray, fighting on the same side as Warden. Their outlines ran together.

All the while, the amaranth shone.

I was surrounded by the Rephs. My survival instinct urged me to get out of their way. As I started to get up, my dreamscape sent mirages across my line of sight – candlelight and poppies, hall and field. My knees buckled again, the pain pounding at the front of my head.

Then Warden was there, one arm across my chest, turning me. He scooped me into his arms and bore me from the stage.

‘The train will leave erelong,’ he said. ‘We must go.’ I could hardly speak. ‘Paige?’

The main doors to the Guildhall suddenly opened. A solitary figure emerged from outside, wearing a suit and tie and an ornate white mask.

‘Good evening, one and all.’

His voice was slightly muffled, but he still managed to silence the room. All skirmishes came to a standstill. I stared towards the man in the doorway, convinced I was still hallucinating.

That could not be his voice.

He could not be here.

‘I hear you’ve all been looking rather hard for me – to no avail,’ the same deep voice said, with a familiar tinge of amusement. ‘All those secrets and clever defences, and I still found you first.’ He walked into our midst, undaunted by the guns, the giants. ‘But for those of you who somehow don’t know, I am the White Binder.’ His charm gave way to a terrible chill. ‘And I want my dreamwalker back.’

‘Jaxon,’ I breathed.

He was here. They had come.

Just as I passed out, the windows shattered.

HIS PARTING FROM HER

Another storm raged in my dreamscape, months after the last – memories pouring unchecked from their places, flowers torn apart by wind.

Outside my ravaged mind, glass now covered the floor of the Guildhall. I still didn’t know how the windows had exploded – only that Warden was still holding me, carrying me away from the chaos. Even in this murky stupor, I knew his aura, the shape of his dreamscape.

For a short while, I could barely remember where I was. A callused hand cupped my cheek. I blinked, trying to make the lines stop blurring.

‘Paige.’

My fingers went to his chest. I was so weary, I could hardly keep my eyes open.

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