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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Silverborn Saga

‘… your loving grandmother, Lady Mallory Darling. ’

Morrigan was sure that by the time she finished her retelling of the weirdest, longest, simultaneously most exciting and upsetting afternoon in all human history, her best friends would have questions. But when she finished reading the note and looked up, Cadence and Hawthorne were like a pair of barn owls, wide-eyed and silently staring. She half expected one of them to hoot.

‘That’s it,’ she prompted them. ‘That’s the whole story.’

They sat facing each other in a triangle, cross-legged on the platform of Station 919, wrapped in blankets to protect against the occasional gust of cold wind from the tunnel. Morrigan had stormed through her wardrobe with the intention of knocking on Hawthorne’s and Cadence’s station doors until they answered, but they’d already been there waiting for her, eager for the details of her first civic task.

‘He really knew?’ Hawthorne asked in a small, disappointed voice. ‘Jupiter knew this whole time that your mum’s family are here in Nevermoor?’

Morrigan nodded, unable to say anything past the sudden lump in her throat.

‘Nah, that’s not right.’ He shook his head adamantly, pure resentment crossing his features. ‘That is bang out of order. You don’t keep a secret like that from someone. I’m telling my mum about this.’

Despite everything, that made Morrigan giggle. ‘Your mum? What’s she gonna do?’

‘Agree with me,’ he said seriously, and she laughed again, feeling perhaps the teensiest, tiniest bit lighter. ‘I can’t believe your mum was from Nevermoor. Morrigan, this is huge.’

‘Yeah. It’s … yeah.’

‘And you have three aunts and a grandma! That’s …’ He paused for a long time, frowning into space as he counted on his fingers. ‘Right, if we’re going by the average acceptable amount of birthday-card and major-holiday money, times thirteen birthdays and twelve Christmases, times four relatives, adjusting slightly upwards because they’ve ALSO never taken you to the zoo or the ice cream parlour or anything like that, that’s like … over a thousand kred they owe you.’

‘Hawthorne!’

‘Plus they’re loaded, so you should probably expect double the going rate. What? Don’t look at me like that. Homer reckons it’s important to plan for the future even at our age, and I’m just saying … a thousand kred could buy future Morrigan a LOT of souvenirs at the Nevermoor Bazaar next summer.’

‘Don’t be absurd.’

‘No, you’re right. That would do you for the next twenty bazaars!’

Cadence, meanwhile, was watching her with an odd expression that made Morrigan slightly uncomfortable.

‘Say something, Cadence.’

‘You’re … Silverborn.’

‘Silverborn!’ Morrigan snapped her fingers. ‘ That’s the word! Holliday told me not to say it in front of the Darlings because they’d find it offensive.’

Cadence snorted. ‘Yeah, I bet they would.’ She jumped up, dropping her blanket. ‘Wait here. I’ll be right back.’

In her absence, Hawthorne filled Morrigan in on what had happened after she’d left Wunsoc that afternoon.

‘Nan came to watch my last dragonriding practice session of the day, and guess what?’ His cheeks were pink with excitement, and he couldn’t wait for her to guess. ‘I’ve been invited to do an exhibition ride in the Winter Trials this weekend! It’s not quite as big a deal as the Nevermoor Dragonriding Tournament in the summer – basically I get to show off some tricks and entertain the crowd – but still.’ He shrugged. Morrigan could tell he was trying not to look too pleased with himself, but it was hard to hide a grin that big.

‘That is a big deal!’ she said, punching him lightly on the leg. ‘Brilliant! What do you get if you win?’

‘Nobody wins, exactly. It’s more about getting your face out there and starting to build a reputation among the professionals. All the dragon owners watch the exhibition rides, and you want them to remember you next time they’re on the hunt for a young rider to take one of their saddles.’

‘I thought Nan said all the dragons for next summer’s tournament are claimed?’

‘Yeah, the Winter Trials are sort of a formality – all the paired riders and dragons who want to compete next summer have to be listed in the official registry by the end of winter, even if they’ve been riding together for years. But there’s always the chance someone will retire, or get horribly injured!’ he said optimistically. There was a creaking sound and they both looked up to see Cadence’s door opening halfway down the platform. ‘Mum and Dad are so chuffed. You’ll come watch, right?’

Morrigan beamed. ‘Try and stop me.’

Cadence dropped down beside them, flushed and breathless, clutching a pile of well-thumbed paperbacks.

‘And you’ll come too?’ Hawthorne asked her. ‘On Sunday?’

‘Winter Trials? Course I’m coming,’ she said, laying out her bounty on the floor. ‘Check it out. I had to sneak these from my gran’s bookcase. I’m not technically allowed to read them, so obviously I’ve read them all.’

The books were bound in various pastel shades, a dozen in all. Each cover bore an illustration of a beautiful young person dressed in fine clothes, striking some melodramatic pose, with a shiny foiled banner across the top that read: A Tale from the Silverborn Saga.

‘What exactly are we looking at here?’ asked Hawthorne.

Cadence looked appalled. ‘Are you serious? Only one of the most popular book series ever written. Used to be, anyway – they’ve fallen a bit out of fashion now. But there must be about a hundred Silverborn books, and anyone who’s ever read the society pages knows they’re obviously about real people from the Silver District.’

‘Who reads the society pages? You? ’ asked Hawthorne, bemused.

‘Like this one,’ Cadence went on, ignoring him. ‘This is obviously about Lord Conrad Carrington, heir to the Grand Old House of Carrington.’

She thrust a thin lavender volume under Morrigan’s nose. The cover showed a foppishly handsome man in a fancy brocade coat, gazing at himself in the mirror with obvious adoration.

‘ Clarence Coxcomb ,’ Morrigan read the title aloud, and turned it over to the blurb on the back.

The rumours are true: Lord Clarence Coxcomb III is in search of a spouse!

With all the marriageable young people of the District throwing themselves at his feet, Clarence is sure to be wed by summer’s end. His dashing physique, wardrobe to die for and eye-watering inheritance make young Lord Coxcomb the most eligible Silverborn bachelor of a generation!

When Clarence finally looks beyond his own perfect nose and falls for the charming, yet serious, Ahmed Astute, he is in for a rude awakening. Ahmed’s beauty and wealth are easily a match for the arrogant lord’s own, but his wisdom and modesty set him far beyond Clarence’s reach.

Will a reputation as the vainest man in the District ruin Lord Coxcomb’s chance at true happiness? Or can Ahmed tame his mighty ego?

Morrigan giggled. ‘ Tame his mighty ego? ’

The three friends took turns giving dramatic blurb readings from titles such as Wilhelm Whispers (the searing story of a salacious gossip-hound getting caught in his own scandal) and Gigi Grand (a beloved high-society daughter is disinherited and disowned when she runs away to be a singer in a jazz band).

‘Who are all these people?’ Morrigan wondered aloud.

‘That’s the game.’ Cadence leaned in, eyes gleaming. ‘There are whole book clubs and societies devoted to unpicking exactly who each book is about. My gran used to be in one called The Silver Sleuths. I reckon she just liked the mystery part of it, because the books themselves are pretty stupid if you ask me.’

‘Couldn’t the author get in trouble for writing about real people?’ asked Morrigan.

Cadence gave a short bark of laughter. ‘No one from the Silver District has ever publicly admitted to reading the saga or even knowing about it. Gran says they’re too dignified, but I think they’re too embarrassed. Oh and by the way, this one?’ She tapped a fingernail on the mint-green cover of Marguerite Misanthrope with the gleeful air of someone who’s been waiting to bestow a precious gift. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s about your dear Aunt Margot.’

Morrigan gasped, and her head shot up to see Cadence smirking.

‘Yeah, you can borrow it,’ she said, before Morrigan could ask. ‘But if you dog-ear the pages, I’ll dog-ear you.’

Morrigan’s bedroom rudely woke her the next morning with bright sunshine pouring in through uncurtained windows three times their normal size, accompanied by a trumpeting alarm clock and a furious beating on her door. She’d stayed up half the night devouring the first ten chapters of Marguerite Misanthrope, the tale of a pretentious ice queen who spurns her every would-be suitor, declaring she will never marry because nobody is clever or interesting enough to catch her attention. Ultimately, the haughty Marguerite is swept off her feet by a humble tradesman and scandalises the district by marrying far beneath her social station. It wasn’t Morrigan’s usual fare, but she found herself compelled by the story, wondering how much of it was true. Lady Margot hadn’t seemed like an ice queen to her.

She reluctantly left the warmth of her duvet and plodded to the door, opening it to find the entire doorframe filled with a giant grey head and a pair of huge amber eyes glaring at her.

‘I’ve been knocking for ten minutes,’ Fenestra growled. ‘Why’s your door locked?’

Morrigan dragged her feet back to bed. ‘Have you forgotten that two weeks ago you waltzed in here at five o’clock in the morning trying to recruit me for your ambush of the milkman?’

‘I haven’t forgotten your lack of loyalty,’ said Fen, pushing the door shut with her great fluffy behind. ‘I’d have handled it myself, but we don’t all have the luxury of opposable thumbs, do we?’

‘I have nothing against Doug, and I really don’t think he deserves to be egged.’

‘He always forgets my two bottles of cream-top! I don’t drink that half-fat rubbish and he knows it. Anyway, shut up. I’m not here to talk about Doug. Sit down.’

Morrigan, who had already crawled back under the covers, opened one eye to glare at the Magnificat. ‘I’m horizontal.’

‘Good. Now, listen.’ Fenestra jumped onto the octopus armchair in the corner. ‘I know Jove is an idiot. Jove knows Jove is an idiot. He’s messed up plenty of times and in plenty of ways. But I also know he’s never had a bad intention in all the years I’ve known him. Especially not when it comes to you or Jack. I know this time it feels different—’

‘He lied to me, Fenestra. About my own family! For three years. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just forget it.’

Fen sighed, batting away a wandering tentacle. ‘I’m not suggesting you forget anything. I’m just saying, talk to the idiot. He’s been in his study fretting all night long and, lucky me, I’m the one who gets to hear all about it. Just go see him and put me out of my misery, will you? At least let him try to explain.’

‘Did he put you up to this?’

‘He specifically asked me not to interfere.’ She licked a paw and swiped at her long whiskers. ‘Now, tell me you’ll do what I said and I’ll be on my way.’

Morrigan gave a small, resentful shrug. ‘I’ll consider it.’

‘Good enough.’ Fenestra leapt from the chair to the door in one big pounce, then looked back over her shoulder. ‘And you’ll also consider—’

‘I’m never going to help you egg Doug.’

By the time Morrigan knocked on his study door, she wasn’t sure whether she’d come to give Jupiter a chance to explain, or a piece of her mind. But it didn’t matter either way, because the only person she found inside was Jack, leaning on the mantle and frowning into the fireplace.

‘What are you doing here?’ she blurted out by way of greeting.

Jack stirred from his brooding to look at her, uncomprehending. ‘Hmm?’

‘It’s Wednesday, I thought you weren’t home until the weekend.’

‘Uncle Jove sent a message this morning. He needed to see me.’ The eye patch he wore to guard against the constant visual bombardment of being a Witness was pushed up on his forehead, but he snapped it back into place and sank into one of the two armchairs by the fireplace. A table beside him held two full mugs of cold milky tea that had congealed on top.

‘Where is he then?’

‘Gone,’ said Jack, exhaling heavily. ‘He had to travel off-realm for the League of Explorers.’

Morrigan made a loud, angry, wordless noise, clenching her hands into fists and pressing them over her eyes. How could Jupiter have gone off-realm now ? She vented her feelings by kicking the side of his heavy wooden desk, hurting her toe quite badly in the process.

‘OW!’

‘ What is your problem?’ Jack stood up in surprise.

‘He’s done this deliberately,’ she said fiercely as she hopped on her other foot, eyes watering. ‘He knows I’m angry with him, so he’s gone on some bogus trip just to avoid me!’

‘Er, no ,’ said Jack. ‘He was summoned to catch a gateway before it closed. It was an urgent assignment.’

‘Sure,’ she scoffed.

‘ Maybe – and I know this’ll sound absolutely wild to you,’ Jack snapped, ‘but maybe the world doesn’t actually revolve around whatever stupid thing you’ve got going on? Maybe he’s gone off-realm because he had to, because it’s his job ?’

Morrigan flinched. She’d thought Jack of all people might understand how she felt. He was as familiar with Jupiter’s sudden and unpredictable absences as she was; they’d vented their annoyance about it to each other plenty of times.

Fine , she thought, furiously blinking back tears all the way to her room. If Jupiter was too much of a coward to talk to her, if he was so gutless he had to run away to another realm just to avoid having a conversation, then for all she cared he could never talk to her again.