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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Theatrics

Existing in the world as Ezra Squall’s secret apprentice without the comfortable, hazy oblivion of the Hush felt even worse than Morrigan had imagined. She was crushed by the weight of the secret; it needled and gnawed at her. After an agitated morning and several imaginary conversations with Jupiter that devolved one after the other into imaginary shouting matches, Morrigan couldn’t even bring herself to knock on his study door and find out if he was home yet.

Instead, she’d decided to start with what she hoped would be the easier task: telling Hawthorne and Cadence.

She was mistaken.

‘I wish you’d stop crying, Hawthorne, you’re making a dreadful fuss. Cadence, make him stop, will you?’

‘Wish I could.’ Cadence cast a disdainful look in Hawthorne’s direction. ‘He’s not that easy to mesmerise these days, unfortunately – none of our lot are. I think we’ve been spending too much time together.’

Too nervous to wait until lunchtime, Morrigan had skipped her first lesson of the day and dragged a reluctant Cadence out of her free period, insisting they accompany Hawthorne to his stable cleaning duties down on Sub-Five.

She’d always imagined the dragon stables in the Extremities Department as a bigger version of the horse stables at Crow Manor: filled with loose hay and the stench of unnimal dung. The reality, however, was a surprising combination of mountain hot spring, luxury hotel and treasure-filled cave of wonders.

Hawthorne had snuck Morrigan and Cadence into the cavernous ‘stable’ of Volcano in the Sky, where they were hit by a wall of tropical heat from a rockpool in the corner intermittently spouting great bursts of steam. The walls sparkled with veins of opal and quartz, and huge platforms cut into the stone at varying heights were piled high with jewel-coloured velvet cushions and bracketed with burning torches. Volcano slumbered peacefully on the uppermost platform, her shiny silver-white body curled around an enormous crackling bonfire. The girls’ moment of quiet wonder at the place had been short-lived, however, since Morrigan couldn’t help blurting out her secret almost the second they were alone.

It was a cathartic rush of relief to tell her friends the truth, but it didn’t take long to wonder if unburdening herself hadn’t been the best idea after all. Hawthorne had been pacing ever since, whimpering occasionally and tugging his curls nearly straight, while they waited for him to work through his big feelings.

‘Anyway,’ Cadence continued, suddenly turning her scorn on Morrigan, ‘even if I could make him stop, why should I? He might be an idiot, but he’s right to be upset. Because, actually, you’re the idiot on this occasion.’

‘Morrigan, this is dangerous !’ Hawthorne wailed, his voice bouncing off the walls. ‘Ezra Squall is the most dangerous person in the whole realm, this is —’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Morrigan hissed.

‘— completely mad !’ he finished in a dramatic stage whisper. ‘You can’t seriously trust him?’

‘I don’t need to trust him.’ She slid to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest, resting her back against a section of warm, dry rock. ‘I only need to learn the Wundrous Arts from him.’

‘What’ve you been doing on Sub-Nine all year long, then?’ asked Cadence. ‘In those ghostly hours. I thought you were learning from the other Wundersmiths.’

‘Dead Wundersmiths.’ Morrigan almost winced at her own bluntness; those dead Wundersmiths were real people, after all, and she’d grown rather fond of them. But she needed to be blunt. She needed Cadence and Hawthorne to see her certainty, and to trust it. ‘Old, dead Wundersmiths who can’t answer my questions or move at the right pace for me. Most of the lessons are too easy or much too hard. Hawthorne, imagine if you had to learn everything you know about dragonriding by watching a hundred-year-old movie about someone else learning dragonriding, and you could never be in the arena with Nan ever again! It wouldn’t be the same, would it? The ghostly hours are helpful, but they’re not the same as having a living teacher, one who’s right there in the room with me, who can—’

‘What do you mean he’s right there in the room—’

‘Figure of speech, Hawthorne,’ she said hurriedly, as his face turned grey. ‘He’s still in the Wintersea Republic and locked out of the Free State! But that distance doesn’t matter. It’s just so much easier learning from someone who can see me and hear me and talk to me.’

‘Even if that someone is the evillest man who ever lived?’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Even if it’s him.’

She didn’t say the other stuff she was thinking. That of all her teachers, Squall had surprised her by turning out to be the best.

And it wasn’t just because he was alive. It was the way he taught.

Squall moved quickly, but always made sure she kept up. He taught her as if their time was running out. As if they were coming last in some race Morrigan hadn’t known she was running and had miles to make up. She did have miles to make up. She was thirteen, turning fourteen in a matter of months, and she’d only just made her first pilgrimage to a Divinity (something Squall achieved by age eight, as he loved to remind her).

‘But what if he doesn’t really want to teach you the Wundrous Arts?’ Hawthorne persisted. He’d given up his den-tidying duties and was sprawled across a gigantic plush cushion, one forearm thrown across his face. ‘What if he just wants to murder you ? Wipe out the Wundersmith competition?’

Fortunately, Morrigan had rehearsed for this line of questioning. ‘He can’t murder me through the Gossamer. When we signed the contract, it built a bridge between us – between Nevermoor and the Republic. But it only works if we meet halfway. It can’t be forced by either side.’

She was once again leaving out key information to spare poor Hawthorne’s nerves. What she wanted to say was, If Squall wanted me dead, I’d be dead already . She’d thought about this a lot. He could have paid someone in Nevermoor. For that matter the Hunt of Smoke and Shadow could probably manage it, but Squall seemed to have appointed them as her personal taxi service rather than her assassins.

‘A bridge ? ’ said Hawthorne. ‘But what if he finds a way across it into Nevermoor? What if—’

‘It’s not a real, physical bridge,’ she explained again, trying not to get frustrated. ‘It’s a connection between his powers and mine, and it only works in the Gossamer.’

‘I just don’t understand why you’ve taken weeks to tell us,’ Hawthorne went on, lifting his forearm to glare at her. ‘We’re your best friends !’

‘I told you, I couldn’t say anything, it was the Hush!’ They were going around in circles now. She’d explained the Hush three times already. ‘I’m really sorry. And I’m telling you now, aren’t I?’

This was another slightly uncomfortable half-truth, and Morrigan knew it. Squall had put the Hush on her … but he’d kept it there at her request, after all.

‘When will you tell Jupiter?’ asked Cadence.

Morrigan shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck. She felt suddenly warm and prickly all over, and it had little to do with the steam from the hot spring. In truth, she couldn’t help feeling resentful at the thought of Jupiter’s inevitable reaction. It wasn’t as if he’d never kept a big, important, life-altering secret from her .

Cadence gave an impatient sigh. ‘Well, we should plan what you’re going to say. Write down a few lines. Practise. ’

Morrigan exhaled, flooded with relief at Cadence’s casual offer of help.

Hawthorne stopped pacing and looked up, lightning-struck. ‘I’ll do it! I’ll write the script.’

‘It’s not a script ,’ Cadence grumbled. ‘This isn’t a play . I just meant—’

‘A PLAY! Brilliant idea. Written by me, directed by Cadence and starring Morrigan!’

Cadence’s face slightly perked up at the phrase ‘directed by Cadence’, while Morrigan’s dropped entirely.

‘I’m listening,’ said Cadence.

‘I’m not,’ said Morrigan.

‘Costumes by me, obviously,’ Hawthorne gabbled on. ‘Since I’m the best at fashion – no offence.’

Cadence cocked her head to the side. ‘Offence taken.’

‘Music by Arch!’ he shouted, ignoring her. ‘Thaddea can construct the sets. We’ll begin rehearsals tomorrow …’

The bell rang, but Hawthorne was in full flow now and the girls had to endure his breathless planning all the way from the stables to the Sub-Five railpod bank.

Morrigan knew her friend was only grasping for something to control in a situation that felt wild and scary. But as she listened to an elaborate description of the costume he envisioned for her (‘… a ball gown, but with black feathery wings! Like a crow, get it?’), she almost wished he’d go back to fretting.

‘Important question, Morrigan, and hear me out,’ he said, wide-eyed and solemn, as they boarded a railpod. ‘Do you think you could learn how to twirl a baton? Just for a bit of wow factor.’

Cadence pulled the levers for Sub-Three and turned to Morrigan. ‘I would once again like to propose kicking him out of our friendship group.’