Gilded Cage (Dark Gifts #1)(76)
And then, amazingly, her to-do list was an all-done list. So she hurried off to the library.
The room was locked, given what was temporarily stored inside. But Abi had the Family Office master keys. She checked the passageway in both directions before letting herself in, although this was a perfectly legitimate part of her duties. Okay, no one had told her to do it, but that was what being a self-starter was all about, right?
Someone had been in here before her, because it was out of its crate.
There in the library, so close Abi could touch it, was the Chancellor’s Chair of the Equal Republic of Great Britain. It was brought to Kyneston each year for the Third Proposal Debate. It was both smaller and more beautiful than she had imagined.
It was turned away, facing the fireplace. Made of oak, the wood had darkened to a colour and sheen resembling ebony during more than seven centuries of use.
She crept nearer. The chair had a presence almost like that of a person. Commanding. Royal.
The figures of beasts and men carved into the back had lost their sharp definition. But that didn’t diminish their allure. Abi bent to study the images. A dragon. A crowned man. A winged woman holding a sword. A sun surrounded by stars. Wavy lines that could have been water, or could have been something else entirely.
She reached out a hand. Hesitated, as she had all those months ago when she’d touched the Kyneston wall, then brushed her fingertips across the lustrous wood. She smoothed her palm over the triangular top, and down to the armrest.
When she stroked her fingertips around the side of it, she received a shock that made her squeak and nearly stumble backwards into the fireplace.
The chair was occupied.
‘Do be careful, Abigail,’ chided the person sitting cross-legged and contemplative in the wooden seat. ‘It’d be such a nuisance to have to haul you from the flames and put you out.’
Silyen Jardine was watching her mildly.
‘You nearly gave me a heart attack,’ she snapped, startled. ‘What are you doing sitting there – trying it for size?’
And if there was a guide titled How Slaves Should Never Address Their Masters, then yes, a sentence like that would be written on page one. Abi began to blurt an apology, but the Young Master waved it away.
‘That’s a little far-fetched, surely. I’m no heir. I’m not even a spare, although I daresay my father would prefer me over Jenner if it came to it. No, I’ll never be Chancellor. But of course, this wasn’t always the Chancellor’s Chair.’
To emphasize his point, Silyen unfolded his long legs and drummed the heels of his boots against the stone lodged beneath the seat. It was the former coronation stone of Britain’s monarchs, broken by his ancestor Lycus the Regicide.
What was Silyen implying? Abi knew what it sounded like, but that would be bonkers, even for him.
‘I presume you’re not planning to restore the monarchy,’ she said. ‘I think the moment for that has passed, don’t you?’
‘Has my brother been giving you more history lessons?’ the Equal asked. ‘Oh no, silly me, he’s not allowed to fraternize with you any more, is he? Just boring talk about paperclips and invoices. Mummy’s orders. Well, allow me to offer a lesson of my own. I know you like history, Abigail. Remember: those who don’t learn from it are doomed to repeat it. Or should that be those who do learn from it are able to repeat it? Here.’
He swung his boots and jumped lightly down from the chair.
Abi’s gaze followed him, but her brain had registered only one part of what he’d said. Jenner’s distancing wasn’t what Jenner wanted. His mother had imposed it. A feeling fizzed in her heart that felt as magical as Skill.
Was it hope?
Silyen hadn’t noticed. Hands clasped behind his back, he was peering at the carvings she’d inspected a moment earlier.
‘Have you heard of the Wundorcyning – the Wonder King? I won’t scold you if you haven’t, because many of my kind don’t know about him either. He’s a folk legend. A dangerous one – his story was suppressed twice over. I believe he really existed. You don’t bother expunging the memory of made-up people.’
Silyen stooped to trace the indistinct figure of the crowned man.
‘He lived during that dark gap between the Romans and when we started writing down history for ourselves. He was Skilled. The tales say he met strange and marvellous creatures, fought giants, and walked in other worlds.
‘After his death – or disappearance, because there aren’t any accounts of him actually dying – for some reason there was never another Skilled ruler. So legends of the Wonder King were banned by the monarchs who came after him. They had crowns, but no Skill, and I guess they didn’t want to look inadequate by comparison. Since the glorious Equal Revolution, of course, our rulers have had Skill, but no crowns. So the people in power still don’t want to hear about him: the one man who had both.’
‘But here he is,’ said Abi, wonderingly. ‘Hiding in plain sight.’
‘Just so.’ Silyen smiled. ‘The library at Orpen Mote had the only complete copy of the oldest book, Signs of Wonder: Tales of the King. But here he is, I’m sure of it. On the chair. Mocking everyone who’s ever sat in it – my father included.’
Abi straightened. The story was fascinating. But not even talk of ancient books, lost knowledge and a magical king could displace the one thing her brain was clamouring to hear more about.