AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“For Luke,” Rory clarifies, and Finlay nods.
“I can gie him my Christmas present, then.” For some reason, Finlay’s words sound almost like a threat.
“If your Christmas present is another stinkbomb as in previous years, then you’re forbidden from using it in my mother’s apartments.”
“Damn it,” Finlay mutters, and he lies back against the tree trunk with an unhappy sigh.
I thread our fingers together. “I think we can do better than a stinkbomb.”
“After last night, sassenach, I think we can dae anythin’.”
Finlay’s warm tone makes me glow. It fends off the slight disquiet of our future plans.
Once Danny wakes, we ready the wooden rowboat. With the sun already bright and watery as it splits the sky, I surmise that breakfast must have already begun in the castle.
It had been nice, being without teachers for once. Free from their judgment, allowed to just… be.
We journey back to them, knowing that more punishment probably awaits us on the other side of the loch.
Whatever. It’s almost Christmas. But then maybe they’ll cancel that for us, too. They seem the type.
To entertain us on the journey home, Rory listens to the radio as we row, his oars slicing through the remainder of the ice, his expression thoroughly distracted.
It worries me. There’s only so much preaching and disinformation from the other side that a sane person can take. There’s no benefit to listening for every sly dig against Luke and royalists in general, and those they seem to hold in even greater contempt than theex-Royal family: the apparently completely insignificant numbers of Antiro detractors who dare to exist. There’s a short, dismissive piece on them as we skim our oars across the water, and I listen in deep exasperation as they’re branded fakers, traitors, never true Antiro supporters. Jonie had been one of them. She’d been high up within the Antiro ranks — friends, and more, with Benji. Leaving a political cult was enough to paint a massive target across her back — and still she thought it better than pretending.
It gives me courage. It gives me hope that these detractors exist.
Nevertheless, I’m barely listening to their hokum radio station when Finlay interrupts sharply, “Is this the Nicola Miller case?”
Rory nods, leaning forward to turn the volume up.
News junkies. I’m dating news junkies. I have no idea who Nicola Miller is or why she’s important, and from Danny’s blank expression, at least he shares with me this state of being. It’s something of a side-effect, having been separated from Finlay for a month: I’m out of the loop again with the current news cycle.
Whoever Nicola Miller is, the radio is scathing about her. “So according to latest developments, she’s found unexpected support from formerTattlejournalist Queenie Barton-Keyes.” The male radio presenter scoffs. “I mean… that just says it all, doesn’t it? The standards!Tattle! These aren’t journalists, they’re gossip merchants. Muckrakers.”
Finlay makes a small, thoughtful noise as he pulls the oars into his chest, his biceps firm beneath his shirt. “Barton-Keyes… Is she no’ the one who wrote that big piece on yer da last year?”
“Yeah,” Rory murmurs. “My father asked for her specifically. She was a smart pick. People used to buyTattlespecifically to read her columns. She graduated top of her year at St. Camford — she knows how to write, how to persuade the public. Told me on the day of the interview that she wants to do more investigative journalism.”
“The thing with Nicola Miller is,” the radio presenter interrupts sharply, “she thinks she can get away with it.” He’s clearly seething, but it’s disguised by a thin layer of coolness that his burning anger doesn’t melt. “Saying Antiro was behind the incident with Sophia Milton isn’t a tell-all. It’s alie.”
“Libel,” the other presenter adds knowingly.
“Exactly. You can get sent to prison for defamation like that. It’s a complete fabrication that Antiro had anything to do with Sophia Milton’s unfortunate passing. But no, Nicky’s hunger for a dramatic story has made her write insulting guff. It’s turned her into a partisan hack, and now she’s siding with the people she used to write actual serious, important exposés about. It’s embarrassing. It’s sotabloid. I feel dirty just thinking about the way this woman’s mind functions.”
“She thinks Antiro is the one with the drama. Ha! There is no drama here, Nicky. People just really, really like us — and hate liars like you.”
I nurse my forehead. What is it about this stupid radio station and the utter glee in the presenters’ tones when they get to rant about a woman brave enough to break out of line?
“Thing is, she used to begood. She used to be on our side. What do you think changed her?”
“I don’t know… Probably old age — she’s getting on a bit, isn’t she? — and maybe she’s also getting funding from the royalist evangelical faction.”
Beside me, his knees comfortably brushing against mine, Danny gives a loud snort. “Excuse me — the whaty-what?”
“Yeah, there’s a lot of dark money on their side,” the presenter adds solemnly, and speaking of complete fabrications, this sounds like a total heap of made-up bullshit. “Sad that she’s sold out like this. It’s a popular narrative to push the idea that we’re all murderers when we just want what’s best for our country. She’s just another traitorous bitch.”
“I’m gettingrealtired of women with different views being called traitorous bitches,” I mutter.
