Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(145)

Baz sits beside me, and I know he’s inspecting the damage from yesterday.

They’re just cuts, I’ll live.

I feel his fingers on the back of my neck.

“You can be angry now,” I say.

He pulls my hair.





84



SIMON

A few hours later, Baz is sitting on my bed with his violin, holding it like a guitar. He’s not playing anything, really. Just making cheerful noises with it. I didn’t know Baz’s violin was capable of cheerful noises. At Watford, it always sounded like it was crying.

“Does that hurt?” he asks.

I’ve got my wings folded up as tight as I can, and I’m buttoning a shirt over them. “Yeah, but there’s no way around it.”

“You could leave them out,” he says, “and I’ll cast spells at everyone who looks at you.”

“Seems impractical,” I say. “I’ll cope. I can spread them out once we get to Lady Ruth’s.”

“She’ll like that.” Baz stands up, leaving the violin on my bed, and comes over to me. He moves my hands away and finishes buttoning the shirt. It’s his shirt, an olive-green cotton one with complicated stripes and short sleeves.

(I’ve never even seen Baz wear short sleeves.) “Are you going to dress me every morning?” I ask.

“If you allow it, absolutely.”

I’ll probably allow it, what do I care.

“I don’t want to wear flowers,” I say. Baz is wearing flowers. His button-down shirt is grey with sprays of pink and blue lilacs. He makes it look manly somehow, with his indigo trousers and grey lace-up shoes. I’d look like a sofa.

“No flowers.” He kisses my cheek. “So noted, rosebud boy.”

I look up at him. “That’s what the ghost called me—your mother. That’s what she said.”

Baz is looking in my eyes. “I remember.” He runs his thumb over my cheek. Then my bottom lip. “My rosebud boy.”

Lady Ruth has the door open before we get to it. “Simon!” she says. “Baz!

Come in, come in!”

She hugs us both. I try not to wince.

“Do you mind if Simon lets out his wings?” Baz asks. “They’re injured.”

“Oh, of course!” she says. “The wings are always welcome. I wish I could walk around with wings.”

I take off my jacket, and Baz casts, “Like a glove!” —which makes the shirt tailor itself around my wings. It’s probably the best way to deal with them, but I can’t count on Baz and Penny always being around to cast it for me.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Lady Ruth says, herding us into the dining room.

“I may have gone overboard on the sandwiches, even for me—but we are celebrating. Jamie! ” she shouts. “The boys are here! ”

“Great snakes…” I say. The dining room table is cram-jammed with food.

Finger sandwiches, little cakes and tarts, meringues. All on fancy pink and green pedestals and platters. It’s like Wonderland. I half expect the dormouse to poke his head out of the teapot.

Right in the middle of everything, stuck right into the table, is a tremendous sword. An antique, it looks like, with a golden pommel.

“Tch, Jamie,” Lady Ruth mutters. “He thinks it’s very funny to leave his sword around. Jamie! Come and move your sword! ”

“I’ve got it,” I say, reaching for the sword and sliding it out of the table. It hasn’t left a mark—it must be magic. It’s got a nice heft. Well-balanced, too.

“This is a hell of a blade.”

I look up. Lady Ruth is staring at me like she’s just seen a ghost. Jamie is in the doorway, looking just as shocked.

I turn the sword and offer him the grip. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have, um…”

He doesn’t take it.

“Sorry,” I say again.

BAZ

Snow has apparently committed some massive sword faux pas. He’s standing there, holding it out, and the Salisburys are looking at him like he just stuck his hand in the butter. Or worse, like he’s threatening them.

“That’s…” Lady Salisbury gasps. “That’s an Excalibur!”

Simon looks down at the sword, his eyes goggling. “This is Excalibur?”

“It’s an Excalibur,” she says. “Made by Merlin himself.”

“I don’t understand…” Simon says.

Neither do I. But if this means Snow is the once and future king, I can’t say I’ll be surprised at this point.

“It’s a family sword,” Jamie says, still looking gobsmacked. “Made for the House of Salisbury.”

“I’m not a Salisbury by blood.” Lady Ruth’s voice is trembling. “Once it’s planted, I can’t budge it.”

“I…” Simon looks like he wants to set the sword down, but that seems like another faux pas.

Lady Salisbury rushes towards him, past the sword, to throw her arms around him. “Oh, my child, my child!”

Does this mean …

Could Simon be …

SIMON

Lady Ruth is hugging me even more tightly than usual. I move the sword behind me.