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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Gone to the Winter Trials

‘So … the Darlings have no idea you’ve seen the letters.’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘And they don’t know you got arrested last night.’

‘Nope.’

‘And they don’t know the Vulture’s your uncle on your dad’s side.’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘And they’re still throwing you this birthday party tonight.’

‘Technically it’s a ball, but yes.’

‘And you’re not planning to attend, even though you’re the guest of honour.’

‘Don’t see why I should.’

‘And this morning, when they presumably went to wish you a happy birthday, you just … weren’t there.’

‘No, I was at the Deucalion.’

‘Because you’ve made up with Jupiter.’

‘Correct.’

‘And Jupiter knows that you know about the letters.’

‘And about my uncle, yeah.’

‘But you haven’t told him about Squall.’

‘Not yet.’

‘Because of the Guiltghast thing tonight.’

‘Correct.’

‘But you’re going to tell him.’

‘Tomorrow. Definitely.’

‘Right.’ Cadence took a long sip of peppermint fizz and leaned back in her seat, processing. The Trollosseum was buzzing with excited chatter and bursts of marching band music, and the two girls had to virtually shout into each other’s ears to be heard above the din. ‘And, sorry, just going back to your sudden disappearance from Darling House … You don’t think your aunts might find it strange?’

Morrigan shrugged. ‘I left them a note when I snuck back in to get Emmett and the letters this morning.’

‘A note?’ Cadence raised her eyebrows. ‘Saying what?’

‘ Gone to the Winter Trials. ’

‘And that covers everything, does it?’

‘It covers enough so they won’t send out a search party or call the police,’ Morrigan said, feeling defensive at her friend’s mild incredulity. ‘I’ll figure out the rest later.’

The truth was, there were about a million things she wanted to say to the Darlings – that she’d read Jupiter’s letters, for one, and knew they’d been lying all this time. That she suspected she knew the reason for their sudden change of heart about meeting her, and why it had come after she was exposed in the newspapers as a Wundersmith. The pieces were coming together in her mind – Aunt Margot’s plan for the Silver Assembly, and how eager she was for Morrigan to show off her powers all over the district – and the picture beginning to form was an ugly one.

She’d sat on her mother’s bed for nearly fifteen minutes that morning, pen and paper in hand, watching through the window as the first rays of sunrise lit up the Paramour Pleasure Gardens. But her thoughts were too big and unwieldy to shrink into words. ‘ Gone to the Winter Trials ’ was the best she could do.

Cadence was watching her, eyes slightly narrowed in calculation. ‘You’re never going back there, are you?’

Morrigan was about to object, to say yes, of course she would do the grown-up thing and go back to confront her aunts with all she knew, to demand an explanation, demand the full truth. But there was never much point lying to Cadence.

She shook her head, and her friend gave a sombre nod of understanding.

‘Not sure I would either, if it was me,’ Cadence admitted. ‘It’ll be much trickier to figure out who killed Dario from outside the Silver District, of course, but maybe we can use the lintel chain—’

‘I think I should go to the police,’ Morrigan said decisively. ‘It’s time to tell them what I saw at the boathouse.’

Cadence stared at her. ‘You realise you’d be admitting you were near the scene of the crime?’

‘What choice do I have? Somebody lied to the police about Gigi,’ Morrigan reminded her. ‘They’re trying to frame her, and they’re twisting the things I witnessed to do it. And if I’m right – if that anonymous tip was from Aunt Margot – then it’s partly my fault.’

‘How do you figure that?’

‘I could have told the police months ago what really happened between Gigi and Dario. But I was so worried about protecting the Darlings from more scandal, and Modestine from more heartbreak … I was so sure they couldn’t have anything to do with a murder …’ Morrigan scowled, furious at her own stupidity. ‘You were right. I wanted to think the best of them. But Margot’s been lying to me this whole time, and now … What if she’s framing an innocent person for her own—’

‘Whoa, hang on,’ Cadence interrupted. ‘We don’t know that. The Vulture might be crossed off our list, but Gigi’s still a suspect without an alibi, remember? And her parents! Any one of them might still be the murderer.’

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you really believe that?’

‘I don’t know, but we don’t have all the facts yet. And if Margot is the informant, that doesn’t automatically mean she’s the killer – if anything, it might make it less likely.’

‘ How? ’

‘You think she overheard you telling Noelle about Gigi and Dario,’ said Cadence, ‘and then told the police a distorted version to make Gigi look like the killer, right? But if Lady Margot only learned about the affair that night at the feast, it means she didn’t spot them together at the wedding, which means—’

‘—there goes our motive for her,’ Morrigan murmured.

‘Exactly. And if she did spot them at the wedding and murdered Dario in anger or revenge, why would she wait this long to use that information to frame Gigi? She could have done it right away. Double revenge!’ Cadence cast her a knowing, sympathetic look. ‘I understand why you’re ready to point the finger at one of the Darlings. After those letters—’

‘It’s not just about the letters ,’ Morrigan huffed irritably, then twisted in her seat for the umpteenth time, suddenly desperate for a change of subject. She squinted around the crowded Trollosseum stands, hoping to spot a curly brown head bobbing towards them. ‘Where is he? He knows where we’re sitting, right?’

Hawthorne had left a note of his own that morning, stuck to his station door.

Early training sesh!!!! C U l8r at Trollosseum!!!!!!

‘Don’t panic,’ said Cadence. ‘The events don’t start for another half-hour.’

‘Yeah, but Hawthorne hates missing all this preliminary stuff.’ Morrigan waved vaguely at the dance troupes entertaining down in the arena. ‘Why would Nan make him train on the last Sunday of the Winter Trials? It’s so mean.’

‘Mmm,’ Cadence hummed in agreement, but it was clear she wasn’t really listening. Her eyes kept darting to the satchel sitting by their feet. ‘Did you read any of it yet?’

‘No.’ Morrigan bent down to retrieve the pastel blue paperback her uncle had given her. She turned it over in her hands, unable to make herself open it. ‘Don’t know if I will.’

Cadence’s mouth went slack. ‘Are you joking ?’

Avoiding the question, Morrigan craned her neck to look for Hawthorne again, but instead spotted Anah, Mahir and Arch returning from the concession stand loaded down with snacks. She and Cadence pulled their legs in, letting the others shuffle past to their seats.

‘They’re out of salt and vinegar crisps, Cadence, so I got you – oh!’ Anah gasped, almost tripping over when she saw the book in Morrigan’s hands. She dropped into the seat beside her. ‘ You found a copy? What does—’

‘She hasn’t read it,’ said Cadence, sticking her head around to watch Anah’s reaction, which didn’t disappoint.

‘ Why not? ’ she shrieked, accidentally splashing peppermint fizz over Mahir in the next seat.

‘I didn’t say I’m never going to read it,’ said Morrigan, flicking a disgruntled look at Cadence. ‘Just … not yet. I need time to think.’

Morrigan rubbed her face, yawning widely. After a long and eventful night, she’d barely snatched three hours of sleep before the trials, and the prospect of explaining this sudden reversal to her friends was only compounding her fatigue. She could barely explain it to herself.

Part of it, at least, was that she kept hearing Squall’s words in her head about patching together a false image of her mother based on lies and hearsay. It was aggravating to admit that he might have a point. Once she read that book, she could never unread it. The words would live in her head forever, and she’d never know for certain which were true, and which were lies.

Anah chewed thoughtfully on her lip. ‘If you’re not going to read it, you might want to consider selling it.’

Morrigan’s mouth fell open in horror. ‘Of course I’m not going to sell it !’

‘Not the worst idea ever,’ said Cadence. ‘You could probably buy a house with that thing.’

Anah looked dubious. ‘Not a house . Maybe a bike? A really nice bike, given it’s a first edition.’ She reached for the book before Morrigan could stop her and flipped to the beginning. ‘Our club president, Mike, told me how to tell. See this serial number on the copyright page?’ She pointed to a long sequence of seemingly random numbers. ‘The one at the beginning means it’s from the very first print run. But Madeleine only ever had one printing anyway.’

Morrigan reclaimed the book, holding it up close to read the page of tiny text. ‘“Copyright Hillary D’Boer. The moral rights of the author have been asserted,”’ she read aloud. ‘ Immoral rights, more like. “First published in Nevermoor, First Pocket of the Free State, by Clark a few people were casting curious looks at his uniform. ‘No questions at this time, thanks. And, er, which one of you is—’ He consulted his clipboard, then turned to the rest of Unit 919. ‘Mahir Ibrahim?’