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A figure hovers beside our table, looking awkward, and I glance up to see Arabella fiddling with the brightAtag on her belt.
“What?” Rory asks bluntly, leaping to Luke’s defense, the gatekeeper of Luke’s attention.
Arabella takes a deep breath. Addressing Rory and ignoring Luke entirely, she says, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened. It should never have come to this.”
I shoot her a skeptical squint.
“Tell yer pals that in HQ,” Finlay snarls.
“Don’t,” Danny murmurs, but in his anger Finlay continues to plow onward.
“Youdinnae get tae say somethin’ and act a’ innocent, like ye’re no’ part o’ it.”
In a sharp voice, Luke says, “Don’t,” and only then does Finlay quieten, still bristling nevertheless. “What do you want?” he asks Arabella, who never once returns his gaze.
“None of this would have happened if your family had just done what the people had asked.”
Our table falls into incredulous silence.Boomerangs, I think distantly, as Finlay eventually snaps, “Are you for real?!”
Rory’s eyes are ice-cold slits. “None of this would have happened had one ofyour lotnot murdered a defenseless woman,” he says in a silky, lethal tone that raises the hair on my neck. “Now leave.”
Arabella scampers away, theAon her belt swinging wildly.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Finlay mutters, stabbing a spear of broccoli with more viciousness than necessary. “I hope that tactless twit disnae have aims tae join the UN or anythin’.”
“I expected this,” Luke says quietly. “They see I’m weakened. The mind games will ramp up. They’ll pounce.”
“We’ll protect you,” Rory says, sounding adamant. “Lochkelvinwill protect you.”
I don’t know where I stand anymore. There’d been a ritual. Magic seemingly exists. Rory, who acts more relaxed now that Samhain has been and gone and apparently completed successfully, puts all his faith into the mystical when he so rarely puts his faith in anything. But what if the call is coming from inside the house? Antiro supporters living side by side with Luke? It’s not sustainable, surely. Magical thoughts don’t neutralize bad intentions.
After dinner, we study in the chiefs’ dorm. It may be the one safe place where we can just chill and hang out. It’s comfortable. It’s companionable. Being together makes the sheer overwhelming task of cramming half a dozen subjects into our brains more palatable. Our mock exams are in January, and only recently have I felt like I’d been getting some kind of handle on the workload expected of this year. But skipping class to go make love on an island has put something of a dent in my progress, and now I’m playing catch-up once again. On the plus side, whenever I get stuck, I can just throw out a question to the group and someone is usually able to help. Brain overloaded, I end up falling asleep early in Luke’s arms, thoughts about democratic deliberation swirling in my head.
Radio static wakes me, and I slide my bleary gaze across the room to where Rory listens avidly to Benji’s camouflage-colored radio. It’s at the lowest volume, and Rory’s pen has stilled on his notebook. He frowns down at the little box, moving his ear closer to the speaker rather than turning it up so as not to disturb Luke, who dozes fitfully beside me. Danny and Finlay are likewise asleep, sprawled sideways across the covers and surrounded by science textbooks. The radio reception isn’t as good in the castle as it had been on the island. Words are broken and spliced, speech is tinny and strained. Rory listens intently to the voices behind the crackles.
His pen drops. His eyes widen.
My stomach clenches.
“What is it?” I whisper, curled against Luke, and Rory’s eyes flick up to me. He shakes his head faintly, listening to the soft murmurs from the radio, his expression troubled.
What now? What in God’s name can have happened now?
Beside me, Luke wakes from his restless sleep with a start. His bare chest is heaving beneath mine, making me rise and fall. “What’s happened?” Luke’s voice is instantly alert, although he looks queasy and slightly out of it. He rubs a large palm down his face, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes. He turns his attention to Rory, reading his face, and glances down in trepidation at the radio. “Something’s happened. What?”
Rory doesn’t look like he wants to share. As he hesitantly turns up the volume, I detect a tone of self-important gloating behind the crackles. My heart sinks.
“It’s justsotypical that a rich nepo-baby like her has chosen to play the victim,” a female voice sneers. “She could have championed her successors, who now have an exciting opportunity to redesign a British constitution for the benefit of everyone.”
Luke pulls away from the covers, crawling closer to the radio to hear more. “Becca?” he whispers, broken.
“Instead, she’s decided to abandon her country of birth, the country her family had beencreatedto serve, and cleared off to America. At least now it’s confirmed her principles are as hollow as her family tree.”
A small, disbelieving huff of laughter falls from Luke’s lips. “She escaped? She’s free?” It’s the first time I’ve seen him daring to be happy, and his dark eyes are wide with a dangerous amount of hope. He glances at Rory for confirmation. “She has diplomatic immunity?”
Rory doesn’t answer, but there’s a knowing gleam in his sharp eyes that I realize I understand. The ritual. He thinks this is the effect of the ritual.
“And isn’t that some gratitude! For too long, we’ve paid our taxes to them — and for what? For them to leave when the going gets tough, when people start to ask them the difficult questions and dare to expect respect in return. It’s not respect we should be asking for now — it’s a rebate!”
