Gilded Cage (Dark Gifts #1)(62)

‘The only one talking any sense was Rix,’ Gavar muttered. He wiped his chin with the back of one hand and addressed his future wife. ‘Pointed out that no one’s storming the estates with broom handles and kitchen knives, so why should we intervene. He’s right. The people working in Security in the slavetown are all commoners. Why should it concern us if they turn on each other?’

Bouda threw her hands into the air with exasperation, then almost instantly clasped them and brought them back down to her lap. Her every gesture, every word, was controlled, Abi realized. What would it take to make Bouda Matravers crack? She didn’t like to think.

‘We can’t tell you more,’ Bouda said to Jenner. ‘We’d fall foul of the Quiet. But let’s just say that this is Gavar’s chance to shine, and as usual he’s doing the best he can to throw that chance away.’

‘Because your father really shone this afternoon,’ Gavar retorted. He turned to Jenner. ‘Darling Daddy’ – and now he mocked Bouda’s husky voice – ‘threw a hissy fit at Armeria Tresco for correcting some misapprehensions on the part of my future wife. Suddenly his Skill starts fizzing and he rips the council table in two. It’s some mahogany monstrosity, must weigh a few tonnes. Never knew Lord Lard had it in him.’

Bouda jumped to her feet. Her hands were up again, clutched and twisting in front of her as if one was trying to choke the life out of the other.

‘Don’t,’ she snarled. ‘Not my father. Don’t you dare . . .’

‘Or what?’

Gavar’s voice was sing-song, taunting. He really was exceptionally drunk, Abi realized.

‘Or you’ll regret it,’ Bouda said.

And Abi saw it – saw the moment at which, with a slight clench of her fingers, Bouda Matravers stopped the words in Gavar Jardine’s throat. Gavar gagged and his left hand came up to claw at his collar. His other hand let go of the bottle, which fell heavily, releasing a sickly aniseed smell as its contents spilled across the oak floor. Gavar fumbled at the mantelpiece for support, knocking to the ground a silver-framed photograph of a younger Lady Thalia and three small boys, two auburn-haired, one dark.

‘Now where were we?’ said Bouda, sleeking her long ponytail over her shoulder and sitting back down. ‘I know. Pink roses for my bouquet and the buttonholes, or ivory? I think pink, don’t you, my love? They’ll go so nicely with your complexion.’

The sound that burst from Gavar Jardine was an inchoate roar. A simultaneous expulsion of sound and a sucking intake of breath.

‘Bitch!’ he howled.

And as Abi watched, appalled, Bouda Matravers was snatched up by nothing at all and tossed through the air. She slammed against the wall and there was a sickening crunch as her head collided with the massive gilded frame of a serene landscape of the Kyneston Pale. Abi saw a gash rip open along that white-blonde hairline and bright blood well up as Bouda collapsed to the floor.

Before Abi could even yelp, the door to the Solar shattered into splinters.

Lord Jardine stood there, his arm outstretched for the door handle which his Skill and fury had rendered superfluous. His face was as red as Gavar’s but his voice, when he spoke, was as controlled as Bouda’s.

‘What is going on here?’

Bouda rose to her feet. She should have been unconscious, surely, or at least unsteady. But not a bit of it. Blood daubed half her face red and dripped onto the neckline of her sky-blue dress, but the gash in her scalp was no longer visible.

Was no longer there, Abi realized with a start. So it was true, then. The Equals could heal themselves. How was that even possible?

‘Difference of opinion about the wedding plans,’ Bouda said coolly. ‘Gavar objected to my choice of colour scheme.’

And could Equals kill using Skill, Abi wondered? Because Gavar Jardine ought to have been a smouldering cinder-smear on the carpet by now if they could.

‘Gavar,’ his father said. ‘Why are you still here? You should be on your way to Millmoor. Go.’

Lord Jardine stepped to one side of the empty doorway and gestured through it. Father and son stared at each other for a moment before Gavar gave a low growl, ducked his head and left, kicking through the litter of splinters.

Bouda Matravers stared after him with a look of triumph. It didn’t last long.

‘Bouda,’ said her future father-in-law. ‘You are not to provoke him.’

The blonde girl opened her mouth but Lord Jardine cut her off.

‘Do not argue. Gavar is my heir, until such time as I – and this family – have a better one. Your job is to manage Gavar, not rile him. I expect you to do that job better. Now come.’

He beckoned and Bouda went to his side.

She’s not marrying Gavar at all, Abi realized, watching. She’s marrying his father. His family. His house. The Jardine name. And she’s giving herself to a man she despises in order to get it all.

Lord Jardine placed a hand in the small of Bouda’s back and steered her towards the corridor.

‘Oh, just one moment,’ the blonde girl said, looking back over her shoulder. ‘While we’re managing things. Don’t want any belowstairs gossip about this.’

Those manicured talons pinched: a falcon taking a mouse.

‘No,’ Jenner said, stepping forward. ‘It’s not necessary.’