A Marvellous Light (The Last Binding #1)(84)

And it hadn’t mattered. It had been satisfying, bordering on glorious, giving Robin that taste of a spell that Edwin had created. Edwin wasn’t going to be able to look at Robin’s shoulders again without remembering the view of them from behind. The firm muscle bunching. Robin begging. The tightness of him as Edwin pressed in.

That was a sense-memory to keep under glass, the prize of Edwin’s collection.

There was a knock on the door. Edwin’s mouth curved into the start of a smile.

“Are you awake? Mr. Edwin?” It wasn’t Robin’s voice. The girl knocked again, louder, which stirred Edwin’s curiosity. The staff had instructions not to disturb the household at this hour.

“Yes.” He threw on a dressing gown and slippers, and opened the door. One of the maids stood there, hands clutched taut in front of her, looking even less comfortable than Edwin felt.

“Mr. Walcott says you’d better come down to the library at once, sir. It’s Sir Robert.”

“What? What about him?”

The girl swallowed. “I don’t know. I think—he’s gone all funny, sir.”

“Funny?” Fear harshened Edwin’s tones. He regretted it when she flinched. “No. All right. Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

He fetched and pocketed his cradling string, then jogged down the main staircase and towards the library. The wide doors were closed, and a rustle of voices came from behind them.

The tableau that encountered him when he pushed open one door—a small group of people, including two servants, clustered around a single figure—made Edwin’s knees weaken and panic cram itself into his throat. He steadied himself on the door handle. He couldn’t be sure where he was, which house on whose blood-sworn land, whose body he was looking at.

This is my fault, he thought, quite distinct.

“Win!” said Charlie, straightening up. He, too, was gown-clad. Bel was properly dressed, but her hair tumbled unbound down her back. Edwin experienced an unbalancing moment of being glad to see his sister and brother-in-law; more to the point, to see only them. Small mercies. He wouldn’t have been able to cope with Miggsy or Trudie at that moment.

Charlie went on, “Don’t suppose you can shed any light on this, old man? He’s taken rather ill, I’d say. Is it that curse?”

Ill wasn’t dead. All funny wasn’t dead either, if Edwin had been thinking. If he’d been able to think past the sheer wrench of terror. He hurried forward. Robin was slumped in the window seat, looking at first glance as though he’d lost himself daydreaming, his half-lidded gaze focused somewhere beyond the glass. His face and shirtfront were wet, beads of water clinging to the brown hair that hung over Robin’s forehead—sweat?—and the only movement was the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“He won’t wake to prodding,” said Charlie. “Or slapping, come to that.”

“Or water dashed in his face,” said Bel. “I thought of sending to the kitchen for one of Mother’s reviving inhalations, but I don’t know what would be best.”

“Perhaps rosemary done over with—” Charlie started.

Edwin said, “How long has he been like this?”

“We don’t know,” said Bel.

“He’s been in here at least an hour, Mr. Edwin,” said the housekeeper. “Mary said he came in when she was lighting the fire.”

“Is it the curse?” repeated Charlie. It was rare enough that Charlie asked Edwin’s opinion on anything, let alone seemed genuinely keen to hear the answer, that Edwin took a moment to enjoy it. And then felt terrible for enjoying it.

“Yes. It’s the curse.”

He was, in a way, lying.

Last night, when Robin had collapsed in the curse’s grip, he hadn’t looked like this. He’d blacked out entirely; he’d been curled around the arm with the curse markings, even in his unconsciousness. This blank, perplexed expression, this half-waking unresponsiveness . . . Edwin had seen this on Robin before. He’d also stolen a glimpse at the books splayed open on the table.

This was foresight. Some horrid, stretched-out form of it. And it had Robin trapped as surely as they’d been in the maze.

At least an hour, Edwin thought, numb.

He said, “Has anyone told his sister? No—don’t,” as the housekeeper turned towards the maid. “Let her sleep. Thank you. That’s all.”

He didn’t watch as the servants left the room. He sat in the window seat, near Robin’s tucked-up bent knee, and tried to think. Someone getting lost in foresight was as far outside of Edwin’s experience as the runes on Robin’s arm. All he had to work with was the curse’s presence. The curse had brought the visions. Banishing the one should banish the other.

This felt like an examination dream. Solve the problem. Time ticking away. And as in dreams, thinking was like pushing through a crowded street against the flow of people, and meanwhile Robin was stuck halfway between sleeping and waking.

Liminal states.

It took Edwin a few moments to remember where he’d heard those words spoken, and to call up the rest of what Mrs. Sutton had said. Beginnings and endings are powerful. You can create profound change if you slip in through the gaps.

Edwin’s thoughts were working again. He had the grinding, half-painful half-wonderful sense that meant facts and precedents and logic were slowly finding one another in his mind, sliding into place, presenting a solution. Things said, over the past few days, unnoticed. Unconnected; now connecting. He was afraid to breathe in case he disturbed it.