Gilded Cage (Dark Gifts #1)(48)

She paused, and drew in a rapid breath.

‘He has another three years left in office. Right now, I’m not convinced that’s in Britain’s best interests.’

Father watched her.

‘What are you suggesting, Bouda?’

‘Suggesting?’

And now that she’d spoken the unsayable, Gavar saw Bouda regain her composure, wrapping it back around her as elegantly as a designer coat.

‘I’m not suggesting anything. Merely sharing my little notions.’ She moved towards the door; opened it. ‘I’d better go after Daddy before he finds his way to the cake trolley. That’s never pretty. Oh, and Gavar? Good luck.’

The bitch!

Except he must have said that aloud, because Father rounded on him. His expression was so fierce that Gavar took a step back.

‘She’s twice the politician you’ll ever be,’ said Whittam. ‘As is your brother. I always knew Silyen was the most Skillful of my sons, but I must account him the abler strategist, too. He has the Chancellor doing his bidding, while you and I must scurry around tidying up the consequences.’

And really, had anything changed since he was five years old, Gavar wondered? Anything at all? But he was a man now – and a father himself. When would Father treat him like one? He met Whittam’s eye. The man had to look up slightly at his taller son.

‘Rix is right,’ Gavar said. ‘Why should we scurry? We are Equals, of the Founding Family, not common policemen. Why should I go?’

That wasn’t the right question.

‘You go because the information from this slave is needful,’ said Whittam, stepping nearer, closing the gap Gavar had made between them.

‘You go because I tell you to. Because people are still gossiping about that slavegirl’s death in your supposed “hunting accident”. Doing this may be your rehabilitation. And you go because as head of this family I have the power to decide whether that bastard brat of yours is raised at Kyneston or sent to an UMUS home. At least that way your mother and I wouldn’t have to look at it and be reminded each day of what a disappointment you are.’

His father’s face was only a few inches from his own, yet Gavar found he could barely see it. His vision swam red and black. He was five years old again. But what flowed from him now, hot and stinking, wasn’t a trickle of fear and shame. It was a gush of hatred.

That wasn’t the right answer, Father.

Not the right answer at all.





12



Luke



Ever since Oz’s capture two days before, Luke had been waiting for the tap on his shoulder, the grip round his arm. Or, just possibly, the baton to his skull.

But even when you were expecting it, your heart still half fell out of your chest when it came.

He’d just finished his shift, and had exchanged the searing heat of the components shed for the freezing streets. It was already dark, and dense flurries of sleet reduced visibility to almost nothing. He was only a few blocks from the Zone D gates when a hand tugged his sleeve. Luke’s pulse exploded and he bolted.

But not so fast that he didn’t hear a hissed ‘It’s me!’ behind him.

He skidded on the wet pavement and turned.

‘We’re getting ’im out tonight,’ Renie said. She was standing in the alleyway, the sleet curdling around her in the yellow lamplight. ‘Oz. We need a ride. One of them shuttles to the outside. I’ve found us one. It’s in the depot for repairs. You’ve gotta make sure it’s okay and kill its GPS tracker.’

Luke boggled at her. Helping your dad fix up a vintage car didn’t exactly give you the skills for that sort of thing.

‘We’ve gotta do it,’ Renie said. ‘For ’im.’

So they did.

The van was exactly like the one that had carted Luke off to Millmoor. It triggered awful memories, of both that first day and of Kessler in the storeroom. He was momentarily paralyzed with fear that they’d be caught in here.

He screwed his eyes shut and willed his hands to stop trembling. Told himself he could trust Renie to keep lookout, just as she’d trusted him to anchor the rope on the MADhouse roof.

With that realization, something inside him sparked. A small but crucial connection that sent the engine of his courage sputtering into life. Then revving and roaring.

Trust was what made everything possible. Trust lent you someone else’s eyes, someone else’s strong arms, or quick brain. Made you bigger than just yourself. Trust was how the club worked. How this whole, crazy dream of abolition could work, if people could just come together and hold their nerve. Not even the Equals – not even their Skill – would be more powerful than that.

Fixing the van itself was almost easy. Details of the repairs needed were on a clipboard hung on the wall. The vehicle’s key dangled from a row of hooks. The security seemed pretty lax – just a few CCTV cameras, which Renie had either navigated them past or disabled.

‘Hah,’ she said, when he pointed this out. ‘It’s not getting these wheels out of the depot that’s the difficult bit. It’s going to be getting ’em out of Millmoor. Three rings of Security and two chip-checks like what you have in Zone D.’

Which made it sound impossible.

‘That’s where Angel comes in. She runs the Riverhead railroad. Smugglin’ people outta places is her speciality. She don’t normally do it like this, though. It’s usually lorries, hidden compartments, trusted drivers, that sort of thing. But our pal Oz is special delivery, so Angel’s comin’ here herself. Tonight.’