Resurgence (30 page)

I tell her the story of what it is to be an Offering and how Imrin and I helped the others escape. She has seen through many of the lies told about me, but she claps and frowns in the right
places, howling with outrage and anger when I tell her what happened to Martindale and the church. When I speak of Jela’s skill with a crossbow and our escape from the North Tower, she says
she would have loved to have seen it.

By the time I am finished, Lucia is lying flat on her front, those green eyes fixated on me. A young girl full of imagination having just received a bedtime story. She is certainly different
from Xyalis and Bathix.

‘So, Silver,’ she says, propping herself onto her elbows. ‘What is it you want?’

This time I don’t need to think. ‘When I came here, it was out of curiosity and because I didn’t know what else to do. I thought that if things were okay, I could get my mum,
Colt and everyone else I know and bring them here where it is safe.’

‘I can probably arrange that if it’s still what you want.’

I shake my head. ‘It’s beautiful, but this isn’t my home. When I see you looking out the window at what you’ve grown up with, it makes me want to return to
mine.’

‘That isn’t something I can help you with, I’m afraid.’

‘Maybe not directly, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything you can do.’

She looks at me, intrigued, and then crosses her legs and sits up. ‘How about you tell me after tea?’

The van ride back to Hadrian’s Wall is as bumpy as it was the first time. Even if the others wanted to speak to me, they would barely be able to get a word in above the
jolts and bangs as the van soars into the air and crashes back to the ground. Before we left Edinburgh, Knave’s verdict was as sharp as it was short: ‘That’s the stupidest plan
I’ve ever heard.’

In many ways I agree with him.

Lucia might have been able to help me find the parts to fix the teleporter but I didn’t ask. It would be easy to return along the route we took to get to Scotland but, after crossing the
border back into England, we spend a day walking east before heading south. With what we have to go through, walking back to Windsor might provide a final time to enjoy the parts of the country
that are still untouched.

The first few days of travelling are awkward as my friends think through the implications of what I have asked them to do. It is something I could try by myself but this is about making a
statement. Perhaps our last. Everyone insists they will go along with it, and I sense a lot of Knave’s annoyance is down to the fact that he and Opie are not involved in the central part of
my idea. It is nothing against them – just that Hart, Jela, Pietra, Imrin and myself are the ones who share that bond from escaping the castle together. Opie and Knave might not understand,
but it feels right.

We go an entire day barely speaking to each other but are brought back together by the breathtaking beauty of seeing the ocean for the first time. The seven of us sit on the edge of a cliff that
towers high over the water, watching the sea crash into the rocks below. The breeze is cool, picking up the spray of the water and drenching us. For once we don’t mind. Jela says it best:
‘It’s like watching the end of the world.’

We avoid the towns and cities, exploring abandoned hamlets and villages instead. I feel inexorably drawn to places that remind me of Martindale; anywhere with cobbles, lakes and woods. Nobody
speaks about what we have to do. Instead we take it in turns to tell stories about the places we see, imagining who might have lived there and the jobs they did. Pietra has a gift for storytelling
none of us realised, creating back stories for all the people she imagines and coming up with names on the spot. I doubt it is something the Reckoning would have recognised within her.

Eventually we have to head back inland, following the setting sun west and using the small map on my thinkwatch. Perhaps it is fate, perhaps an accident, but as we near our destination weeks
later, we spot the shattered building Imrin found on the night we escaped from Windsor. It doesn’t appear to have changed from the last time we were here, but I can sense the ghosts of Frank,
Faith and the other Offerings sleeping in the corners. Over the ridge is the pub where I slit the throat of a Kingsman. I can still feel his blood on me.

We pile our bags inside and pick out the things we will need the next day. None of us knows what it will bring but it feels nice to spend one final night snuggled under our blankets together. As
the light disappears, a slender drumming rain begins and everyone looks to me, expecting a final hurrah.

‘I didn’t exactly expect things to end like this,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry if you think I should have a better plan but I don’t want to raise an army. Lucia told me
she would never sanction a war but I wouldn’t have asked anyway. If I’m going to do anything then it has to be this. This is me. I can only thank you for supporting me.’

It is Hart who replies. ‘You shouldn’t thank us, we should be thanking you. Not just us – everyone. You’ve given all these people hope, a glimpse of a different
life.’

I sleep well, the rain creeping into my dreams and letting me forget where I am. By morning the drizzle has stopped and we awaken to a misty haze of water evaporating from the grass into the
sunshine. This time we follow the route that most of us already know. The last time we used it, we were escaping the castle in the dark. We were worrying about being followed and whether Hart would
survive his injuries. I was hungry, terrified, hurting. As we retrace those steps, I can’t figure out what I feel. I’m not scared but I don’t feel brave either. The only emotion I
recognise is relief that things will be over soon.

In so many ways, I have already lost.

As we emerge from the trees, the outline of Windsor Castle falls into view. Opie and Knave wait unhappily but without protest. Knave has not been here since his own escape, years before ours.
Opie was here with me the last time we entered the castle to rescue the fresh batch of Offerings, but he can never understand those long nights I spent lying in bed, wondering if the next day would
be my last.

I expect to see an army of Kingsmen guarding the enormous wooden doors that lead into the castle but there are just four of them. At first they are black dots in the distance but they start to
become animated as we near. One talks to another, pointing in our direction. A Kingsman unsheathes his sword. Soon they are all standing, swords drawn, eyes fixed, as the five of us approach. On
one side I have Pietra and Hart, on the other Jela and Imrin. We don’t break stride, walking as one until we are halfway across the drawbridge. The Kingsmen stare at me, wondering what the
trick is, but I stand unmoving, hands out to my side, showing I am no threat. I can feel my hair drifting in the breeze, the silver splash as visible as it can be.

I don’t need to introduce myself, or even speak. Within moments, the doors are wrenched open and the Minister Prime strides out, passing through the Kingsmen until he is on the drawbridge
too. More Kingsmen are behind him: twenty, thirty, forty. They are taking no chances with the King’s well-being now, standing in line, weapons drawn, waiting for the order.

‘Silver Blackthorn,’ the Minister Prime says, the words purring slowly from his lips, every syllable deliberately caressed.

People seem to like saying my name.

Above us the sky blazes a clear blue, but everything about him is black, his eyes the worst of all. The thin beads of darkness pierce into me but I don’t flinch.

‘It’s over,’ I say.

‘What’s over?’

‘I don’t want to do this any longer.’

I unclip the knife from my belt and toss it into the moat flowing underneath. It disappears with a splash as Pietra, Imrin and Hart follow my lead, throwing theirs in after mine. Only Jela is
unmoving, her crossbow safely in Opie’s hands.

The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into the faint glimmer of a smile. ‘You can’t think this is something you simply walk away from?’

I shrug wearily. ‘I’m so tired.’

‘You expect me to believe you’re here to surrender?’

I crouch and roll up my trouser leg, unstrapping my second knife and throwing that away too. I take off my sweater and drop it onto the ground and turn a full circle until I am facing him again.
‘I’m unarmed.’

With a minuscule flick of his head, the Minister Prime sends a dozen Kingsmen striding towards us. Their hands flash across our bodies, checking for anything that might be concealed. Two of them
frisk me, thick fingers pressing painfully into my skin, willing there to be something hidden.

One by one they step away, hands clenched in frustration. They form a second line at the back of the drawbridge, blocking an escape we haven’t planned.

The Minister Prime is unsure how to react, his hint of a smile disappearing. ‘Inside,’ he hisses, turning elaborately with a swish of his cape and heading through the doors.

We are quickly surrounded by Kingsmen, who half-lead, half-shove us into the castle until we are on the all-too-familiar path leading to the main hall. The mass of heavy boots echoes like a
drumbeat as we are led along the empty corridors. When we were here the first time, there was always a sense of activity, a Head Kingsman to pass, or other Offerings nearby. Now there is nothing
but the sound of us marching to our destiny.

The main hall is as I remember, empty rows of seats banking upwards, almost invisible because of the heavy lights shining towards us. The Kingsmen lead us in and then back away until they are on
the far edges of the arena, leaving us standing and waiting. So much of the space holds memories; I can see where Wray died and the place where Hart and I were taunted with food after being
starved. The spot where I am standing is where Imrin and I fought. In the royal box above, Jela sat for weeks, staring into nothingness with the King by her side until he discarded her.

At either end of the royal box, there are cameras. As I stare from one to the other a red light begins to blink under each – a sign that they are recording. Two large screens hum down from
above, locking in place over the doors. I have seen them before – when Rush was forced to whip Lumin and we saw in graphic detail what would happen if we attempted to escape.

I associate this place with nothing but pain.

Minutes pass where nothing happens, until the ground-floor doors are flung open and the Minister Prime bounds in, not stopping until he is a short distance in front of me.

‘What are you up to?’ he growls.

‘Nothing. It’s over.’

‘You know we’re going to kill you?’

‘Will you let my mother and brother remain free?’

He crunches his teeth together, wrinkles appearing around his eyes as he thinks. ‘You’re not in a position to negotiate.’

‘I was hoping I could appeal to any good that’s left in you.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘It’s subjective what one person considers to be good.’

‘It’s hard to call yourself good when you are responsible for massacring children.’

His mouth is closed and he breathes deeply through his nose, meeting my gaze unblinkingly. In a flash, his hand shoots behind his back and suddenly there is a gun in it. He strokes a finger
along the barrel, caressing the metal.

‘I used to love my gun during the war,’ he says. ‘It was so instant, so decisive. It’s such a shame they’re rare nowadays.’

He holds it up higher, allowing the light to glisten from it, and stretches out his arm, aiming it at Imrin’s head.

I feel Imrin tense next to me as the Minister Prime turns to address him. ‘Imrin Kapoor. There’s only one thing worse than a snitch and that’s one who lies too.’

He is talking about how Imrin drew him in when we were at the castle, telling him enough of our plan to implicate me – but not enough to stop us escaping. Imrin doesn’t move, meeting
the Minister Prime’s stare.

‘What are you up to?’ the Minister Prime asks again.

Imrin says nothing, staying silent and staring ahead.

The Minister Prime cocks the weapon with an ominous click, turning to face me but not moving his aim from Imrin’s head. His eyes glare into me, forehead wrinkled.

‘Last chance, Miss Blackthorn. Why are you here?’

‘Because we don’t want to fight any longer.’

His lips twitch into a full smile for a fraction of a second, before he pulls the trigger.

Imrin slumps to the floor, face-down with a hand by his head. Blood is seeping onto the floor, running along a gentle incline towards my foot. I knew there was a chance this
could happen, but it’s still beyond words to see Imrin on the ground, motionless. I can hear Jela suppressing a sob, her short gasps for air the only sound.

The Minister Prime’s face is a mixture of surprise and amusement. ‘You really thought you could just come here and give yourself up, didn’t you?’ he says.

I stare at Imrin, the words sticking in my throat. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

He laughs, a deep, evil cackle erupting from his stomach. He slides the gun into the back of his trousers. ‘What did you think was going to happen if you came here? Did you think
we’d wave you away, saying everything was forgiven? You’ve caused His Highness far too many problems to be forgotten.’

‘I thought I’d try one final time to see what you were like. Somebody told me talking should be the first option, not the last resort.’

His grin widens. ‘That sounds like a very silly piece of advice.’

He turns and I feel the swish of his cloak breezing across me. He keeps walking until he has left the room, the doors clanging shut behind him. None of the Kingsmen moves as I sink to my knees
and smooth Imrin’s hair away from his face.

‘Knave said this would happen,’ Hart says quietly.

This is exactly what he predicted. I told them all I wanted to talk to the Minister Prime, to the King, to say that things could be different. Knave said it would be a bloodbath and here we are.
I remember Lucia’s words: ‘If your King had come to our wall himself and simply asked for an audience, he would have been granted it. He never came.’