A Marvellous Light (The Last Binding #1)(105)

Robin’s two contributions to the adventure thus far had been baroneting Edwin’s suite number out of the concierge, and managing not to step through the subtle shimmer of the spell and plant his fist in Billy Byatt’s freckled face. He’d been all for charging in as soon as the door was open, but had been persuaded otherwise by Catherine Amrit Kaur’s calm voice, laying out this plan. Robin felt rather silly; he’d worried Mrs. Kaur might be made incautious by emotion, given her history with Billy. She’d looked strained, and kept her hand on her sister’s arm as they listened, but she’d been a model of patient caution.

Robin’s emotions, as Billy talked about the contract, had been howling for caution to be thrown to the winds in favour of . . . well, punching.

“Kitty?” said Billy.

The yellow spell in Billy’s hands sat quiescent, half-built, already dimming as his attention wavered. Edwin leaned over and shook Billy’s wrist, dissipating it completely. Billy spared him only a quick, jerky glance before his eyes swung back to Kitty Kaur. He began to stand; Miss Morrissey said, “Ah,” warningly, and he froze.

Edwin looked like a poor reproduction of himself, tainted by disbelief. He’d been readying himself for something awful, Robin had seen it happening, and now here Robin was appearing out of nowhere. A magic trick. Robin managed a smile, giving Edwin something to latch on to, if he wanted it.

“Kitty,” Billy said again, a bewildered plea. “What are you doing here?”

“And where did you find a bow?” Edwin asked.

“Transformed a broom,” said Mrs. Kaur. She didn’t seem inclined to answer Billy’s query.

“I couldn’t be much help there,” said Miss Morrissey. “But I did get a ribbon at school for archery.”

“Edwin,” said Robin. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” said Edwin. Their gazes held. Robin had to bite his tongue against blurting out accusation and apology and admission, all at once. Edwin stood and began to cross the room.

Mrs. Kaur made a short, broken-off noise of warning, too late. As Edwin moved to step past him, Billy stood—grabbed him—Robin started forward to help, but came up short against Mrs. Kaur’s urgent arm.

“Hold it there,” said Billy.

Edwin held. Was held. The switch-knife pressed against his side was not large, but it winked deadly sharp in the light. Billy’s other arm snaked around Edwin’s chest, dragging Edwin back against himself.

“Edwin here knows that those of us without much magic have to rely on other things, from time to time,” Billy said. “It helps to have something in reserve.”

Edwin breathed shallowly and fast. Robin felt paralysed with the speed at which things had swung in their favour and back out of it. They could overpower him, certainly, but Billy had already shown he could move fast and believed in . . . broken eggs. Omelettes. Perhaps he didn’t like the idea of getting blood on his own hands, but he was cornered and annoyed and there was nothing hesitant about his grip on the knife.

The tip of the arrow wavered as Miss Morrissey, too, considered her options. Robin was grateful that she’d had the sense not to release it when startled. Billy was shorter than Edwin; he’d be able to keep Edwin entirely between himself and the weapon, and Robin could only assume that a similar sort of constraint held for spells. Anything Mrs. Kaur cast, even if she could do it quickly enough, would affect Edwin as well.

“Put it down, Adelaide,” said Billy.

She hissed her breath through her teeth, but let the string slacken. She bent and placed both bow and arrow at her feet.

Edwin held Robin’s gaze again. He dropped his eyes to his own hands—which he’d moved to clasp in front of him—and back up. Robin’s heart gave a pound.

“Kitty?” Robin inquired, turning to Mrs. Kaur as though he hadn’t already heard the outline of their relationship on the way here. “Do you two know one another, then?”

Mrs. Kaur took up the thread immediately, tilting her elegant brown neck and touching the base of it, as if uncertain. Her eyes were liquid pools. Anyone who’d ever loved her would find it hard to look away from her at this moment.

At the edge of Robin’s vision, Edwin’s hands were pale flickers.

“We used to be close, yes,” said Mrs. Kaur. “This isn’t like you, Billy. You’re a good man. Put the knife down and let’s talk, shall we?”

Billy’s lips pressed together. Edwin’s breath hitched and Robin saw the tip of the knife move.

“A good man,” said Billy. “I’d like to think so. But that wasn’t enough for you. For your family.”

“My parents and grandfather asked me for my cooperation,” said Mrs. Kaur softly. “I made my choice. I’m happy with it.”

“Happy? Marrying a man you were barely friends with at the time?” This argument had the weakly bitter note of leaves twice-steeped. “If you loved me enough, you’d have told them to go hang.”

“Yes,” she said.

The syllable hung there, simply.

Something shifted in Billy’s posture that spoke to Robin’s instincts from years of boxing. The man had moved past an inhibition of some kind. He was considering his move, and was close to making it.

Edwin’s eyes were downcast. Edwin’s fingers moved slowly, slowly, bare of string.