Chasing the Valley (28 page)

Silence.

I don't know what to say. Hell, I don't know what to
think.
For days, I thought that Lukas had betrayed us. For days, I thought he left us in Gunning to reclaim his place as royalty. Even now, I don't know whether to believe him. But I think of Sharr's words, back on the plateau:
‘The king would name me heir to the throne. I could set Taladia on track to her rightful future, as the greatest empire ever known.'

Lukas might be telling the truth. Or it might be just another lie.

‘You're a prince,' I say. ‘Your father is the king.'

He looks down. ‘Yes.'

‘You lied to me. You lied to us all.'

‘Yes.'

I hesitate, not entirely sure that I want to know the answer. ‘Why?'

He glances back up at me, eyes bright in the dark of our cell. ‘Would you have let me join your crew if you knew the truth?'

‘Of course not!' I squeeze the scrap of bloody fabric in my fist. ‘But why would you want to join our crew in the first place? You're the son of the king – you could do anything you want in the world.'

‘Could I?' says Lukas quietly.

‘Well, coming from someone whose family was blown up on your father's orders, it sure as hell seems like it.'

Lukas looks struck. He stares at me for a long moment, then looks away. I glare at him.

This isn't how it's supposed to go. Just days ago, I dreamed of meeting a Morrigan and inflicting that same pain upon them that they inflicted upon me. I should tear this boy apart. But when I look at Lukas Morrigan, I don't see the son of the king. I see a boy with green eyes and gentle hands, flying a kite beneath the moon.

I don't want to kill him. I want to forget he ever existed.

‘I never wanted to hurt you, Danika,' he says. ‘I just wanted . . .' He gazes up through the skylight. ‘I just wanted to escape.'

‘Escape from what? A lifetime of caviar and silken clothing? Do you know what it's like to watch your family die, or to hunt for your food in a back alley bin?'

Lukas shakes his head. ‘No, I don't. But I do know what it's like to be raised by murderers who only care about war and invading other lands. I know what it's like to have a family who only cares about subduing the masses, whose dinnertime conversations are about which city is due for a bombing.'

He takes a deep breath. ‘I know what it's like to have a father who hates
me, who thinks I'm a coward. Who probably
celebrated
when my plane went down.'

There is a pause.

Lukas steps into the shadows on the far side of our cell. He turns his back to me and wraps his hand around the bars, gazing into the corridor beyond. ‘I just wanted to escape, Danika. I wanted a fresh start in a new land. Is that so different from what the rest of your crew was looking for?'

Almost subconsciously, I touch my mother's bracelet. Lukas's silver rose still brushes the delicate skin on the inside of my wrist. I suddenly remember his expression when he gave it to me, when he said it was a thankyou gift. A thankyou for trusting him. For accepting him. ‘Why does your father think you're a coward?'

‘Because I'm the best pilot in his air force, but I'm the only one who refuses to drop any bombs.'

An incredulous cough escapes my lips. Of course he drops bombs; he's a biplane pilot! That's what pilots
do.
I open my mouth to argue, to catch him in the lie. But then I remember Sharr's insults, calling Lukas an embarrassment – a brat who wouldn't fulfil his duties. I remember his crashed biplane in the forest, and the cluster of six alchemy bombs still untouched beneath its belly. I suddenly think of Maisy's words on the train, when I was too upset to listen properly. Lukas had a full load of explosives, ready to be dropped on Rourton that night. Yet after the bombing, they remained aboard his biplane.

Lukas isn't lying. He's telling the truth. And if he's telling the truth about the bombs, then maybe . . . 

I wet my lips. ‘Why'd your father send you on missions, then? Seems a bit pointless, if you never dropped any bombs.'

‘I used to think he was holding out hope – just waiting for me to prove myself a worthy heir,' says Lukas. ‘But now I think he was hoping something would go wrong. An accident. An excuse to get me out of the way, to promise the throne to Sharr.'

He lets out a slow breath. ‘But Sharr's the real threat, Danika. My father is a fool to trust her. She's only kept me alive because I've got information about my father. Things that even she doesn't know.'

He tightens his grip on the bars. ‘She'll portray herself as a hero. The huntress who captured my murderer. And she'll convince my father to name her as his heir. But Sharr's too impatient to wait for him to die. She'll dispose of me in secret, use my information to assassinate my father, and take the throne.'

I feel sick. This is not a family. It's so far from how I imagined the royals' lives to be: all glitz and power and full bellies. How can Lukas sound so matter-of-fact about it? How can he just
accept
that his cousin wants to murder him?

I can't help thinking of my own family – my mother's songs, my father's smile, my brother's laugh as we danced around the radio – and suddenly I'm grateful. Grateful that I knew them and loved them as long as I did. That's better than being Lukas, who has never known a real family at all.

‘Why did you hang around Rourton that night?' I say. ‘When the bombing was over, when the other planes had left – why were you still flying around when I set off that flare?'

There is a long pause.

‘Because someone had to see.' Lukas clenches his fists around the bars, then turns to face me again. ‘Someone had to bear witness to what my family has done. I'm not a coward who just runs away and hides from the consequences of my actions.'

Silence. Blood is trickling down my lips, so I press the fabric back against my wound. ‘They weren't your actions,' I say eventually. ‘You didn't drop those bombs, Lukas.'

He doesn't respond.

‘You're not responsible for what your father has done, or what Sharr does.'

‘That's not what you thought a few minutes ago.'

I pause. The fabric is soaked through, but there's no better bandage handy to stem the flow of blood. I can see now where Lukas took it from; he has ripped off half his own sleeve to tend to my injuries.

‘I was wrong,' I say.

Lukas doesn't respond. After a few minutes, he returns to my side and takes the fabric gently from my grasp, ready to dab it back against my wound. He pauses and weighs the sodden fabric, clearly dismayed by the amount of blood. Before I can stop him, he's thrown the cloth away and torn a portion of his other sleeve to press against the gash.

‘We've got to find the others,' I say. ‘We've got to get out of here, Lukas.' I pause. ‘All of us.'

He looks at me, his eyes alight. And there is something in his expression, something so deep and quiet and grateful that it almost takes my breath away. Then the moment passes, and he shifts his gaze back to my wound.

‘Why do you think Sharr's put us together?' I say.

‘Convenience.' Lukas pauses, his fingers on the fabric. ‘She thinks she can use you as leverage to question me.'

‘Leverage?'

Lukas looks away. ‘Danika, I traded myself into her custody to keep you safe. Sharr isn't stupid. She's going to . . .' He pauses. ‘She's going to hurt you, to make me reveal my father's weaknesses.'

There are footsteps in the corridor.

‘And she's coming.' Lukas takes a deep breath. ‘She's coming now.'

 

 

 

 

I sit up straighter, determined not to show my
fear. It's hard to keep my head aloft. Somehow, I stop my chin from betraying a tremble. Lukas drops the bloody fabric and steps away from me. Is he trying to convince Sharr that he doesn't care about me, that threatening me will not make him speak?

Sharr appears on the other side of the bars. It's difficult to make out her expression in the shadows, but a flash of teeth reveals that she is smiling. In silence, she stares at us between the bars. There is a lever on the wall behind her, which I assume is used to crank open the bars of our cell, but she makes no move to touch it.

‘Where are my friends?' I say. ‘What have you done with them?'

‘Oh, they're alive,' Sharr says. ‘And they'll stay that way a little longer, so long as you both . . . cooperate.'

My breath unclenches from a terrible tightness I had barely been aware of. Alive. They're still alive. It's not too late – if I can just get out of here, if I can find them . . .

‘Aren't you coming in here?' I say.

‘I'm not stupid, Glynn,' says Sharr. ‘Do you think I didn't check your proclivity markings when you were unconscious? I'm not opening this cell while you're awake.'

My skin prickles. I feel dirty, violated. My proclivity tattoo must have finished developing. I don't even know my own power, but this woman has dared to break the taboo; she has examined my markings, despite my age.

‘If you're not coming in here,' says Lukas, ‘what do you want?'

Sharr picks casually at her fingernail, as though examining a chip in the coloured stain. Then she lowers her hand and smiles at us. ‘Oh, I'm just here to chat with my favourite cousin.'

‘What about?' says Lukas. ‘The arrangements for the Taladia Day celebrations? Because I thought your mother was organising the feast this year, not me.'

‘I wouldn't treat this so lightly if I were you,' says Sharr.

She steps into a patch of moonlight, and I cannot quite hold back a gasp. Sharr has changed out of her hunters' uniform into a gleaming satin ball gown. It falls in delicate ruffles across the floor, the fabric a deep crimson that mimics the flames of her pro­clivity. It is the gown of royalty. It is the gown of a queen.

Sharr smiles. ‘Do you know where I'm going tomorrow morning?'

Neither of us answers.

‘I'm going south, to the palace. I shall take the Glynn girl with me, and she shall suffer a
very
long death in the city square. After all, she is responsible for killing my darling little cousin.'

Lukas clenches his fists. ‘Why are you telling us this?'

‘Because you have a choice,' says Sharr. ‘If you cooperate, both of your deaths will be quick and private. A nice, clean gunshot wound at dawn. I'll tell the papers that I shot the girl during pursuit in the wilderness.'

I tense up. I had expected Sharr to manipulate Lukas by threatening to hurt me, not by offering to lessen our suffering. But either way, I will die tomorrow. I silently berate myself –
don't look afraid, don't look afraid
– and swallow hard. I have played my cards and I have lost.

I always expected to die on this journey, didn't I? I knew it was a risk when I set out from Rourton. Considering what our crew has been through, I'm lucky to still be breathing now. Isn't it greedy to ask for more, to ask for another day, a year, a lifetime? I've already lived many days longer than Radnor – and I had no more right to claim those days than he did.

‘Go away, Sharr,' says Lukas. ‘I tried to make a deal with you before and you broke your word. You're going to do the same thing again. Why should I help you steal the throne?'

Sharr doesn't look surprised. She just nods, with a crooked smile still adorning her lips. Despite Lukas's defiance, she knows she has won. ‘I will be back at dawn, then, to offer you one last chance.' She turns to me. ‘If I were you, Glynn, I'd convince him to take the deal.'

‘Leave us alone.' I'm quietly proud of how steady my voice remains. ‘You're not a queen, Sharr Morrigan. You're just a thug in a ball gown.'

She raises an eyebrow, gives a casual wave – as though temporarily farewelling a friend between lunch-dates – and vanishes back down the corridor. We listen for her retreating footsteps. When she is gone, I release a shaky breath.

Lukas hurries back to press the fabric against my wound. ‘I'm sorry, Danika. I won't let her take you to the palace. I'll think of something . . .'

I pry the fabric gently from his fingers. ‘I can do that, Lukas.'

He nods. ‘I know.'

There is silence. Lukas slides down the wall to sit beside me, gazing up at the skylight. Our route to freedom, but we have no way to reach it. I can't help thinking of the words to the song:
‘Oh mighty yo, how the star-shine must go . . .'
I can see the star-shine now, but it will have to chase the Valley without me.

‘I'm sorry, Danika,' Lukas whispers. ‘I don't know how to break out of here. I'm trying, but I just can't think of . . . I mean . . . This is all my fault.'

I shake my head. ‘No, it's not. All you've done is save our lives. You saved us in the Marbles, and you saved us again last night.' I roll up my sleeve to show him the silver rose. ‘I used this charm, just like you said, and it kept the foxaries away.'

There is a pause.

‘I'm not a good person, Danika,' Lukas says. ‘I wasn't just magically born with a kind heart, you know. Deep down, I'm still a Morrigan. I'm still one of them.'

‘Then why do you care about people outside your family? Why did you refuse to drop the alchemy bombs?'

Lukas shakes his head. ‘I don't know. I guess it's because of my proclivity.'

I frown. I don't know what sort of answer I expected, but it wasn't this.

‘My proclivity developed early,' he says. ‘Only a few weeks after my thirteenth birthday. There was a bird outside my bedroom window, getting ready to migrate. I wished I could fly off with its flock . . . and then I did.

‘I borrowed its eyes, Danika, and I saw the world outside. That bird flew and flew, and I saw the real Taladia. Shrivelled old men who couldn't afford bread, a bunch of starving children, people who cried and died in the cold of the streets . . .'

‘You saw
people
,' I say. ‘Real people.'

I imagine a younger Lukas soaring out his window on feathered wings for the first time. The sights, the sounds, the colours. He might have swooped through marketplaces, or soared above the stonework of a city wall. It would be easy to become entranced, espec­ially after a life stuck indoors.

‘I'm not naturally a good person,' says Lukas. ‘You see, now? There's nothing special about my personality that made me different to Sharr. It was just dumb luck that my proclivity let me see the world, whereas Sharr's –'

‘Lets her chuck fireballs at people?'

He nods. ‘If I'd got Flame
or something else, Danika, I would've been just like her. I would never have known about real people, or realised I've got no right to kill them. I would have dropped those bombs on Rourton, maybe even on
you
, just like every other heartless –'

I raise a finger to his lips. ‘I don't care, Lukas.'

‘You should.'

‘Well, I don't. It doesn't matter why
you ended up a good person – it just matters that you did.' I pause. ‘And stop apologising, because we're going to get out of here. We've escaped from Sharr before, haven't we? Why shouldn't we do it again?'

Lukas opens his mouth, ready to protest. And without even thinking, I swap my finger for my lips.

He stiffens, but only for a moment. Then we're leaning in towards each other, faces brushing. Lukas's mouth is soft and gentle, with only the faintest hint of stubble above his lip. He reaches around to cup the back of my head.

We break apart, gasping a little. I can hardly process what I've done. We are hours from death; this isn't the time for kissing. But on the other hand, if Sharr has her way, this will be our only chance. I lean forward again and brush my lips across the skin below Lukas's nose. It creases up beneath my lips, and I know that he is smiling.

‘Danika,' he whispers. ‘We're going to get out of here. I swear to you, no matter what it takes –'

‘I know.'

We lean back against the wall, fingers fiercely entwined. I won't let go. Lukas's hand brushes my bracelet, and I feel him touch the rose charm upon the chain.

Suddenly, I remember Lukas's own charm neck­lace. ‘Your padlock charm! Do you still have it, or did Sharr take it?'

‘I've still got it,' he says. ‘I put a few charms in my pocket, and hid the rest in my boot before I turned myself in. Sharr took my kite and found the charms in my pocket, so she thought that was all I had.' He gives a wry smile. ‘She can be a bit too sure of herself, in case you hadn't noticed.'

I sit up eagerly. ‘Well, can't you use the padlock to turn that lever? To open the bars?'

Lukas shakes his head. ‘The lever's on the other side of the bars. I've already tried, but I can't make the spell work through magnets.'

The disappointment is so strong that it actually hurts. I glance around, searching for another idea, but there is nothing. The skylight is too high above our heads. The walls provide no handholds: just neatly hewn blocks of stone. There is nothing to help – no chair to stand on, no rope to loop around the bars. Our cell is bare.

‘Danika,' says Lukas. ‘What's your proclivity?'

It takes me a second to remember Sharr's words. After days of itching, my tattoo has developed. ‘I don't know. Last time I checked, it hadn't finished maturing.'

I hesitate. Even now, it feels wrong to show my markings to another. But Lukas is not just a stranger off the street, or even a casual friend or acquaintance. I'm not sure what he is, really, but he's something
more
. And besides, my proclivity might be our last hope. If I don't do this, we are going to die. I will never see my friends again. I think of Teddy. Clementine. Maisy. They must be somewhere here, trapped and maybe alone. If there's even a chance I can help them . . .

I take a nervous breath. Then I twist around, offering Lukas the back of my neck.

‘You want me to check?' he says.

‘Yes. I do.'

He pulls my hair up gently, then he slides away my scarf. A little chill runs through my stomach; I haven't exposed my spine to anyone in years.

‘What?' I say nervously. ‘What is it?'

Lukas hesitates.

‘It's not Flame, is it?'

‘No, it's not Flame,' he says. ‘You've got a tattoo of the sky. There's a moon, and stars . . .' His voice trails away. ‘Danika, I think your proclivity is Night.'

I wrench myself away. ‘What? No!'

‘There's nothing wrong with Night,' Lukas says quickly. ‘It doesn't mean –'

My heart is thudding inside my chest. I almost want to throw up. This can't be happening. People with Darkness or Shadow or Night . . . those people are outcasts. I think of old Walter in Rourton, and his lifetime of playing with shadows in dingy bars.

‘Danika, calm down,' says Lukas. ‘This makes sense, you know. You're an illusionist; you're natur­ally attuned to –'

‘To hiding? To deception, to spying?' I take a deep breath. ‘To lurking in the shadows? That's not true, Lukas. Illusionism is just a freak ability – I bet there are illusionists with all sorts of proclivities, like Air or Beast or –'

‘Close your eyes.'

‘What?'

Lukas touches the back of my neck. His fingers are gentle; they don't flinch away from the markings of darkness. ‘Close your eyes, Danika. Please. Like when I gave you the rose charm.'

I wait a moment, then close my eyes.

Lukas pulls his fingers away, and I'm alone. ‘Now, what can you feel?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Try harder.'

There is still nothing, but this time I remain silent. Stale air plays upon my skin, and for a moment I feel blindfolded again. I can't see anything. I can't connect with the world. There is only darkness, only emptiness. But no, wait! There is
something
at the edges of my mind. It laps like water. It tingles against my flesh. It tumbles down through the skylight, mingling with the moonlight.

‘Oh,' I whisper.

Because Lukas is right. My proclivity is right there, waiting for me to seize it. And it doesn't feel evil or wrong or twisted. It calls for me to ride away, to slip into the night and share its form. It feels like I can fly.

‘Danika,' says Lukas quietly. ‘Open your eyes.'

I open them. For a second I'm completely dis­orientated. Lukas has moved, he has shifted away to the far side of the cell. Is he so disgusted by my proclivity that he . . . But no, it isn't Lukas who has moved. It's me. Metal bars dig into my back, keeping my powers constrained with their magnetic field.