Читать книгу Autumn Rose - Abigail Gibbs, Abigail Gibbs - Страница 18

My parents were home, and there was no faking illness with the shrewd eyes of my mother tuned to any pattern she didn’t believe colds could muster. A cold that miraculously healed in time for work the previous weekend only to return exactly a week later was not a believable cold; that was why I was up with the bright break of the next day and in school just as the caretakers were unlocking the doors.

The sun had not yet risen high enough to warm the bench I sat down on, so I stretched the tips of my toes beyond the shade and let my legs bask in the growing heat as the light worked its way up towards my skirt. I slid a little lower, letting my head rest on the back of the bench.

I closed my eyes. He wouldn’t be here for another twenty minutes at least, and it would be half an hour before the buses arrived.

Why did he bring up that yesterday? It made me uncomfortable; more than uncomfortable. I was admitting a stranger into the innermost workings of my mind; and as much as he obviously thought to the contrary, we were strangers. Playing as children to pass the long hours at balls did not make us friends. I didn’t even properly remember the visits before I was twelve and I had not been the only child of high birth to move in such circles at that time. There were dozens of us. Yet in just two weeks he was privy to things I had not divulged to a single human at Kable. How does that work?

I summoned a globule of water, about the size of a pea, into my hand and let it skate across my palm, perfectly intact, and down to the base of my wrist. It was soothing – a trick my grandmother had used to get me to sleep when I first went to live with her.

I felt the clouds close over the sun and reluctantly opened my eyes, thinking it must be time to find somewhere to hide out until tutorial. I blinked a few times, before the globule burst and I scrambled to my feet.

Leant against a nearby bench was the prince. The remnants of a small smile on his lips disintegrated as our eyes met and he began the stuttered apologies of someone caught red-handed.

I dropped into a low, cautious curtsey, unsure of how else to react.

‘Don’t,’ he muttered. ‘Just don’t.’

Instead of standing back up, I sank onto the bench.

He sat down beside me. ‘Tell me you wouldn’t do it?’ he asked in a near whisper.

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘Have you seen someone about this? Had therapy?’

‘Right after she died. It didn’t help.’

‘But it’s got to be better than this. Look what happened yesterday!’

I said nothing for a while, resting my forearms on my thighs and leaning forward; that way I couldn’t see him. ‘Have you heard of something called coping ugly?’ His silence answered me. ‘Sometimes things – and emotions – that might otherwise be bad are the only way we can cope.’

I briefly glanced back to find him shaking his head.

‘But how can you still let it affect you? Why not start looking forward instead of back?’

‘It’s not just her.’

‘Then what else is it?’

I remained mute. He sighed, before I heard the bench creaking in protest as he leant forward; out of the corner of my eye, I could see his arms, clad in the thin wool of his jumper, just inches from my own, bare.

‘You have a job.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘Runs in the family, huh?’ He let out a chuckle then stopped abruptly. ‘St. Sapphire’s was lucky to have your grandmother as a teacher. She was one of the best.’

‘Yes.’

The dark blue jumper disappeared from my view. ‘Does it not bother you that your parents work in the City? The banks have a lot to answer for these days.’

I shrugged.

‘Listen, I was wondering if you would agree to a fight this lunchtime? Only to retirement, not first blood. I’ll run it past Mr. Sylaeia in the tutor time … if-if you want to, that is.’

I sat quietly for a few minutes. I heard him shift.

‘The Extermino could come back and attack here any time. We should keep ourselves ready.’

I scoffed. ‘We wouldn’t stand a chance against them. But, yes. I would like that.’ I rose to my feet, hearing the rising chorus of voices from the car park as a busload of students arrived.

‘I have a few useful tricks up my sleeve to use against them. Oh, wait, you’re going?’ he questioned, scrambling to his feet.

‘Your entourage has arrived, Your Highness.’ I bowed my head in the direction of the entrance and curtsied as he narrowed his eyes at the oncoming crowd.

‘My what?’ he said, but I had already turned and retreated, hearing his title, and mine, rise on the wind as he was swamped once again.

‘I will not go! You cannot make me!’

The child fastened the ribbons of her straw hat beneath her bun, a few stray hairs covering the clumsy knot. Usually, she would tie a neat bow, but she could not do that whilst walking, especially so fast, with careful emphasis on every step to make sure that it echoed. She climbed the staircase, intending to lose herself within the pre-lesson crowds of the dining hall, but her grandmother followed close behind. Her footsteps were the echo-of-an-echo, and they were relentless in their pursuit.

‘Child, it is your tenth birthday! You cannot turn your back this time.’

The girl was careful to keep her back to the older woman, weaving between the crowds towards the top end of the middle table.

‘Why not?’

‘Because already you ignore your parents when they travel to the City on business.’

The girl smiled the smile of someone much older, revealing a gap in her bottom row of teeth, partly closed by an adult tooth.

‘As do you, Grandmother.’

‘Mr. Sylaeia was fine with it, he said we should practise defensive magic, just in case.’ The prince hoisted his bag higher, marching across the field with me at his side. ‘But the headmaster was a pain. I don’t know why he’s so against it? Does he want Extermino knocking on his door?’

‘Kurt Holden,’ I muttered.

‘Yes, but that was years ago, wasn’t it?’

‘Valerie still remembers,’ I replied under my breath, extremely conscious of the way the prince’s fan club had swollen in their ranks to include most of the school: the wildfire gossip network had kicked into action once again. Most settled on the banks nearest the school buildings, whilst a few of the older, bolder sixth formers continued on with us towards the very end of the field. When we stopped and deposited our bags, they carried on to a sunny patch in-between the trees.

‘Right, no weapons and the first to retire loses. But don’t push yourself too hard, we need to keep a shield up to protect the students.’ He began unbuckling his scabbard from his belt and my eyes, without seeking my permission, wandered down. ‘I don’t suppose you’re the type to put a wager on this, are you?’

I blinked a few times and shook my head, hastening to cast my own sword aside, along with my flimsy shoes – they would only get broken.

He began backing away, and as he did, I felt the buzz of a shield erupt from the ground up. It rose above our heads, enclosing us in a dome forty feet high. He continued back, a smile appearing on his face. I recognized that smile: it was the smile he wore for the media; a wry grin of quiet confidence.

‘I should warn you, duchess: I won’t go easy on you.’

‘No, Your Highness,’ I responded, adding my own magic to the shield. My muscles tensed and I was shocked by how quickly it was draining me. It was then that I questioned what on earth I was doing. I had as good as admitted to him in the car the week before that I hadn’t used any serious magic for well over a year; in contrast, he had the best education and disciplined training money could buy.