think you, and the entire royal family and council are withholding information from me. I think you know why my grandmother was murdered, and by whom. I think that because I heard mutterings at her funeral … and why else would no answer have been given by now?’
His knuckles went instantly white on the steering wheel, and eighteen months of suspicion was confirmed by his paling complexion. ‘What makes you think I would know that kind of information?’
‘You’re second in line to the throne. You’re good with politics; better than the heir. I think your parents would trust you.’
I averted my gaze at the unexpected compliment I had paid him. I kept it averted, and waited and waited, until I rested my head against the window in defeat.
‘I have orders not to tell you,’ he said, stiffly.
I gasped and the surge of hate and pain I felt every time I thought of her trebled. I wanted to say something, but words failed me. A tear eased itself down my cheek, squeezing between the window and my skin. I closed my eyes, preventing any more from forming and allowed my hair, wet and beginning to curl, to cover my face.
I felt a pressure on my knee – his hand. I jerked my leg away and pulled my bag protectively onto my lap, feeling my cheeks flame a very bright red. His hand hovered between the gear stick and the steering wheel, as though he was unsure of what to do with it. He settled for the steering wheel.
‘I’m sorry. I really am. And I’m sorry for revealing your title too. It was wrong of me.’ I waited for him to continue. He took the hint. ‘I thought it might ease relations with the students and, though I know this will sound selfish of me, I wanted to treat you as an equal. People accept that more when they can put a title to a name.’
I opened and closed my mouth again, feeling remotely like a fish out of its depth.
‘I suppose I didn’t understand that you wanted to …’ He seemed to search around for an appropriate phrase. ‘Well, live as a human.’
I felt my chest split into a bizarre mix of anger and confusion. ‘That’s not what I want.’
‘Sure? When was the last time you used complicated magic? And I don’t mean to tidy your hair.’
I couldn’t even answer that and I slumped back in my seat.
‘Exactly. If you mean what you say, then why don’t you practice your magic?’
Again, I couldn’t answer him until we approached my road and I told him to turn right. We climbed passed the church and the adjoining graveyard, turning left onto the tree-lined avenue. I could see his eyes glancing left and right, taking it in; judging. I knew that behind those eyes, he was thinking how unimpressive it all was. Though the houses were of an intimidating red-brick Victorian design, detached and comfortably spacious, I knew this was not the norm for someone of my standing.
I told him to stop halfway down and unbuckled my belt. I hesitated, my hand on the handle, about to open the door.
Decorum, child, I heard her voice say. Decorum is everything.
I pursed my lips. ‘I’m sorry if the way I live offends you, Your Highness. I’m sorry if you don’t think I’m entitled to be upset over your stupid orders. But I’m afraid I do not have much choice in it.’ He turned to me so sharply that I felt my weight fall against the door, away from him. His expression was completely puzzled, but something in his eyes bordered upon recognition as they widened ever so slightly. ‘Thank you for the lift,’ I finished and got out as quickly as I could, scuttling around the car to the pavement and under the shelter of the tree. As I closed the garden gate behind me, he turned around and pulled away. I watched the car disappear around the corner, recalling his outburst in my mind.
A smile appeared, bigger than the one I had worn earlier. It was a bitter smile, displaying itself only in triumph.
So you know. You know why she’s dead. And I’ll get it out of you; and I’ll never like you until I have!
Behind me, light pooled across the garden from the glass panels on either side of the front door. The cars were parked in the driveway. My parents were back. I groaned and prepared myself.
The door was unlocked and I tried to open it as quietly as possible. I slipped my shoes off and had one foot on the stairs when my mother appeared from the living room, where curtains had no doubt been twitching.
‘And where have you been? It’s almost nine o’clock!’
‘I was asked to tutor a student by Mr. Sylaeia.’ I hung my bag on the rack above the radiator for the morning and turned back to her, hoping she would vent quickly so I could get changed into something dry.
‘And I suppose if I rung the school he would verify that?’ she replied, rather testily.
‘Yes.’ I knew he wouldn’t mention the detention; he had punished me enough.
She huffed, pointing out the closed front door. ‘And who was that driving you home?’
‘A friend.’
She wasn’t falling for that one. ‘None of your friends are old enough to drive.’
‘A friend in the sixth form,’ I rephrased. Yet she still wasn’t buying it as she moved to stand in front of the mirror to remove her earrings – they had clearly only just got back, as she still wore her business suit and her hair hadn’t re-curled, still resembling the short sleek bob she maintained for meetings.
‘I don’t know many sixth formers who can afford the insurance for a Mercedes, Autumn.’
My eyes rolled towards the ceiling and I took a long, slow breath. ‘Fine. A new Sage has started at school.’
She smiled in a motherly, patronizing way that was reserved for moments when she knew she had beaten me. ‘Ah, we settle upon the truth.’
I returned the smile and was about to make my way upstairs when my father’s voice sounded from the kitchen.
‘What are my two lovely ladies arguing about this time?’ He appeared from behind the staircase, a glass tumbler and tea towel in his hand.
I clutched my tongue between my back teeth, wishing they would let me go and get changed before my soaked clothes flooded the hallway.
‘A new Sage has started at school,’ I repeated.
He looked mildly interested and continued rubbing the inside of the glass. ‘That’s nice for you then, isn’t it? What family?’
This time I really did hesitate, chewing my tongue frantically. But there was no putting off the inevitable. I looked from one parent to another. ‘The Athenea.’
The glass shattered on the floor and the tea towel fluttered after it, covering the shards. My father’s mouth fell open and closed again as he tried and failed to mask his emotions.
‘My God,’ he breathed, clutching his chest. My mother moved to his side, rubbing circles in his back but looking just as shocked as he was. ‘Which one?’
‘Fallon.’
‘Their
