Autumn Rose

  “Murder,” he said after a while. “Have you . . . have you ever thought about revenge?”

  “I would if I knew who her murderer was,” I snapped, surprising myself with my change of tone.

  The prince turned toward me as far as he could without taking an eye off the road. “I’m sorry, but have I done something to offend you? I know I haven’t seen you for several years, but we used to be friends and now I might as well have the plague.”

  “Other than reveal my title, Your Highness?” I retorted.

  He let out a sharp breath. “I was just trying to help you—”

  “Why?”

  He passed the wheel through his hands as he took a sharp left, and then sped up as the road widened into two lanes.

  He shook his head slightly and frowned. “Well . . . we go back a long way, you used to come to court a lot. Why wouldn’t I help you?”

  I rubbed a clear patch in the condensation on my window and stared out of it. “I don’t like you.”

  There was a long silence, in which the muted whirring of the engine and the beating of the windshield wipers was the only sound. I didn’t look at him, and silently wondered how many times—if ever—someone had actually admitted that to him.

  He finally hummed in acknowledgment. “May I ask why?”

  I hadn’t thought this far ahead in my impulsiveness. I had just said what I felt . . . for once, I had just let go and admitted my feelings. But what I wanted to say in reply was an accusation . . . treasonous even. But when else will I get the chance to ask?

  “I think you, and the entire royal family and council, are withholding information from me. I think you know why my grandmother was murdered, and by whom. I think that because I heard mutterings at her funeral . . . and why else would no answer have been given by now?”

  His knuckles went instantly white on the steering wheel, and eighteen months of suspicion was confirmed by his paling complexion. “What makes you think I would know that kind of information?”

  “You’re second in line to the throne. You’re good with politics; better than the heir. I think your parents would trust you.”

  I averted my gaze at the unexpected compliment I had paid him. I kept it averted, and waited and waited, until I rested my head against the window in defeat.

  “I have orders not to tell you,” he said stiffly.

  I gasped, and the surge of hate and pain I felt every time I thought of her trebled. I wanted to say something, but words failed me. A tear eased itself down my cheek, squeezing between the window and my skin. I closed my eyes, preventing any more from forming, and allowed my hair, wet and beginning to curl, to cover my face.

  I felt a pressure on my knee—his hand. I jerked my leg away and pulled my bag protectively onto my lap, feeling my cheeks flame a very bright red. His hand hovered between the gear stick and the steering wheel, as though he was unsure of what to do with it. He settled for the steering wheel.

  “I’m sorry. I really am. And I’m sorry for revealing your title, too. It was wrong of me.” I waited for him to continue. He took the hint. “I thought it might ease relations with the students and, though I know this will sound selfish of me, I wanted to treat you as an equal. People accept that more when they can put a title to a name.”

  I opened and closed my mouth again, feeling remotely like a fish out of its depth.

  “I suppose I didn’t understand that you wanted to . . .” He seemed to search around for an appropriate phrase. “Well, live as a human.”

  I felt my chest split into a bizarre mix of anger and confusion. “That’s not what I want.”

  “Sure? When was the last time you used complicated magic? And I don’t mean to tidy your hair.”

  I couldn’t even answer that, and I slumped back in my seat.

  “Exactly. If you mean what you say, then why don’t you practice your magic?”

  Again, I couldn’t answer him until we approached my road and I told him to turn right. We climbed past the church and the adjoining graveyard, turning left onto the tree-lined avenue. I could see his eyes glancing left and right, taking it in, judging. I knew that behind those eyes, he was thinking how unimpressive it all was. Though the houses were of an intimidating red-brick Victorian design, detached and comfortably spacious, I knew this was not the norm for someone of my standing.

  I told him to stop halfway down and unbuckled my belt. I hesitated, my hand on the handle, about to open the door.

  Decorum, child, I heard her voice say. Decorum is everything.

  I pursed my lips. “I’m sorry if the way I live offends you, Your Highness. I’m sorry if you don’t think I’m entitled to be upset over your stupid orders. But I’m afraid I do not have much choice in it.” He turned to me so sharply that I felt my weight fall against the door, away from him. His expression was completely puzzled, but something in his eyes bordered upon recognition as they widened ever so slightly. “Thank you for the lift,” I finished and got out as quickly as I could, scuttling around the car to the pavement and under the shelter of the tree. As I closed the garden gate behind me, he turned around and pulled away. I watched the car disappear around the corner, recalling his outburst in my mind.

  A smile appeared, bigger than the one I had worn earlier. It was a bitter smile, displaying itself only in triumph.

  So you know. You know why she’s dead. And I’ll get it out of you; and I’ll never like you until I have!

  Behind me, light pooled across the garden from the glass panels on either side of the front door. The cars were parked in the driveway. My parents were back. I groaned and prepared myself.

  The door was unlocked and I tried to open it as quietly as possible. I slipped my shoes off and had one foot on the stairs when my mother appeared from the living room, where curtains had no doubt been twitching.

  “And where have you been? It’s almost nine o’clock!”

  “I was asked to tutor a student by Mr. Sylaeia.” I hung my bag on the rack above the radiator for the morning and turned back to her, hoping she would vent quickly so I could get changed into something dry.

  “And I suppose if I rang the school he would verify that?” she replied, rather testily.

  “Yes.” I knew he wouldn’t mention the detention; he had punished me enough.

  She huffed, pointing out the closed front door. “And who was that driving you home?”

  “A friend.”

  She wasn’t falling for that one. “None of your friends are old enough to drive.”

  “A friend in the sixth form,” I rephrased. Yet she still wasn’t buying it as she moved to stand in front of the mirror to remove her earrings—they had clearly only just got back, as she still wore her business suit and her hair hadn’t re-curled, still resembling the short sleek bob she maintained for meetings.

  “I don’t know many sixth formers who can afford the insurance for a Mercedes, Autumn.”

  My eyes rolled toward the ceiling and I took a long, slow breath. “Fine. A new Sage has started at school.”

  She smiled in a motherly, patronizing way that was reserved for moments when she knew she had beaten me. “Ah, we settle upon the truth.”

  I returned the smile and was about to make my way upstairs when my father’s voice sounded from the kitchen.

  “What are my two lovely ladies arguing about this time?” He appeared from behind the staircase, a glass tumbler and tea towel in his hand.

  I clutched my tongue between my back teeth, wishing they would let me go and get changed before my soaked clothes flooded the hallway.

  “A new Sage has started at school,” I repeated.

  He looked mildly interested and continued rubbing the inside of the glass. “That’s nice for you then, isn’t it? What family?”

  This time I really did hesitate, chewing my tongue frantically. But there was no putting off the inevitable. I looked from one parent to another. “The Athenea.”

  The glass shattered on the floor, and the tea towel flut
tered after it, covering the shards. My father’s mouth fell open and closed again as he tried and failed to mask his emotions.

  “My God,” he breathed, clutching his chest. My mother moved to his side, rubbing circles in his back but looking just as shocked as he was. “Which one?”

  “Fallon.”

  “Their seventeen-year-old?” my mother asked, her eyes widening.

  I nodded.

  “But he’s second in line to the throne. What on earth is he doing here?”

  I shrugged but, having already embarked on the truth, knew it would be as good a time as any to reveal the rest.

  “He said he wants to avoid the press. He’s staying with the duke and duchess of Victoria.” I took a deep breath. “And they have bought a property on Dartmoor.”

  The two of them exchanged worried looks, before turning to me. I didn’t have much in common with my parents, but this was something we were united in: we didn’t want the Athenea anywhere near.

  “And I asked him not to, but he also revealed at school that we’re the duchy of England.” That wasn’t strictly true. Only I was the duchy, but as I was underage and my father managed my finances, he was able to use it as a courtesy title.

  This was all too much for him. He slumped against the banister, burying his face in his hands. My mother guided him toward a sofa in the living room, and I took the chance to escape. I didn’t feel much pity for them. They didn’t want the Athenea here, either, but they didn’t have to deal with them like I did.

  When I got to my room, I stripped out of my clothes and found my longest nightie, pairing it with a pair of thick socks. Despite the warm clothes and the hot radiator, I was still cold.

  “Inceandia,” I murmured, and an oval flame sprang to life in my palms. Removing them, I let it float and grow into an orb in midair, warming my room in seconds.

  I watched its solid, unflickering mass as the prince’s words came back to me. Impulsively, I waved my hand and the flame was snuffed out. Hearing a curse in Sagean escape my lips, I threw myself facedown on the bed, pummeling the mattress until the tears began to seep across the pillow.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  CHAPTER TEN

  Autumn

  It was the sound of grunts that first reached my ears: rhythmic, unbroken, and oblivious to the whimpers that began to emerge as an echo.

  It’s just a dream, I told myself as the scene gradually came into a blurry focus, pillars disappearing into the darkness as I moved toward the source of sound, though really I wished to get as far away as possible.

  Two trees stood close together, like prison bars, and between them I could see the outline of a figure, grotesque and hunchbacked, with the hair and skirts of a woman; it was from this creature, thrusting itself against the tree, attacking it, that the sounds came.

  Shards of bark floated to the ground like sawdust as its pale skin met with the trunk, drops of blood joining them from a set of fingertips drooping toward the forest floor.

  But as I slipped between the two trees, I realized the horrible truth that the gloom had concealed.

  It was not one figure, but two: a man with his back to me, hunched over the collapsing form of a woman, her torn skirts bunched up around her thighs; it was onto her, and not the tree, that he forced himself.

  I circled them, trying to move closer but never managing to close the distance. Instead, she came into sharper focus, and I could see how her hair was so dark it neared black, and how her eyes shone a disturbingly familiar color: violet, glossy because she sobbed.

  The rest of her face was in shadow. But I could hear her pain. I closed my own eyes, wishing to blot away their forms with darkness, but their outlines were burned onto the back of my eyelids. Only then did it occur to me to scream. And I did. A horrific, dreadful, spine-chilling scream that was not my own as it chased around empty hallways, echoing.

  I woke to the sound of the whistling kettle downstairs. Though my clock read seven, I did not move. Another one. Worse this time. I closed my eyes, trying to merge the dark and tangled curling hair of the woman I had just seen with the straight, sleek hair of the girl whose image I knew to be Violet Lee’s. I hoped it was a struggle because they were not one and the same.

  I knew there was no way I could face school. Sliding out of bed and pulling a dressing gown on, I approached my mirror to see what damage needed to be done. Not much. I look awful. My eyes were already puffy—I must have been crying in the night—and my nose and cheeks were red-raw from the cold the evening before. My hair, too, was a mess.

  Shuffling into the kitchen, I saw my parents unpacking papers from files. I continued shuffling toward the fridge, allowing my slippers to screech against the tiled flooring. I contemplated adding a cough for effect, but my father was already blocking my way; hand on my forehead, feeling my temperature.

  “You’re freezing, Autumn.” He took another look at me. “I think you should stay home from school. You must have caught a chill from being out in that rain yesterday.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mother narrowing her own eyes.

  I knew I should put up some sort of protest myself, for authenticity. “But Father—”

  “No disagreeing. Just blame the mean prince for it all,” he joked, but his eyes, also puffy, told the real story. He bent down to kiss the top of my head and turned me by my shoulders so I faced the hallway again. “Now back to bed with you.”

  They were going out for the day, and as soon as I heard the front door shut, I changed into fresh clothes and cleaned away the smudged leftover makeup from under my eyes. Then I curled up on my window seat and watched the people who lived on my road beginning their days, shifting dustbins around, starting cars, and herding schoolchildren along the pavement. Opposite, the fisherman’s son threw lobster pots into the back of his truck, stamping his cigarette out with his boot.

  “You were right, Fallon Athenea,” I whispered. “I do want to live as a human.”

  It took a lot of willpower to go in to work the next day. But I knew that having to cancel for my detention had put me on very thin ice with my employer, and it was the only café on the harbor willing to take on a Sagean teenager.

  The air was still damp and speckled with rain, but I walked into town anyway. The bus wasn’t an option, as I was running low on money—I had no access to my wealth without my parents’ permission; they certainly weren’t going to give me an allowance—and I needed what I had left for the bus to and from school if the weather turned bad again.

  As I walked, I passed the newsstand and paused, scanning the headlines of the tabloids and local newspapers. There wasn’t even as much as a hint about the Athenea, and royals would have made the front page. I had already checked the broadsheets at breakfast. Again, there had been nothing. The injunctions are working so far then.

  The Closed sign was still up on the door when I got to the café. Inside, my boss glowered at me from where she sat working out pay slips, and all was quiet behind the counter. I lowered my eyes and hoped she was angry because I had missed work for my detention and not because of what had happened last time I had a shift.

  Sophie was working again, and when I entered the kitchen she backed behind Nathan.

  There were no pleasantries this morning.

  “You didn’t answer my texts again,” Nathan accused.

  I halted and stood my ground in the doorway. “You gave those humans hope when you knew I couldn’t save that man!”

  “I was just trying to help,” he countered.

  “You made me look awful. School has been hell!”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, but didn’t really sound it.

  I shrugged and went out to prepare the café for opening. Even though seeing the man’s dead body had been an all-too-horrible reminder of the death of my grandmother, it wasn’t the death that bothered me, or even the appearanc
e of the Extermino. It was Nathan’s reaction . . . it hadn’t been him that day, and it hadn’t been him in the kitchen just now. He was too callous, and not the lighthearted person he usually was.

  But when I went back to the kitchen, he had recovered.

  “C’mon, enlighten me then,” he said, leaning on the edge of the sink. “What was so important on Thursday that you ditched us all?”

  “There is a new guy at school—”

  “Oh, there’s a new guy, is there?” He brushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes, and I saw they were full of mischief.

  “A new Sagean guy, whom I had to tutor.”

  The sheen on his eyes faded and he faltered. I wasn’t surprised. One Sagean teenager around here was more than enough for the human population to cope with. “Anyone we’ve heard of?” He glanced toward Sophie, who had stopped shifting plates around to listen.

  I didn’t answer, feeling my teeth close around the tip of my tongue.

  Nathan noticed. “You Sage and your privacy. Seriously, who am I going to tell? I’m a computer geek who dropped out of uni. I have no friends. And you won’t tell, will you, Soph?”

  Sophie blushed and shook her head, but when I caught her eye, she returned to the crockery.

  I sighed. “He is of a higher status than me.”

  His mouth fell open, comprehension dawning, and then he promptly swore. I didn’t need to give further explanation. Nathan was the only human outside of my family who had known about my title—he had “accidentally” found my supposedly deleted Wikipedia page—and more importantly, he knew where it put me in the ranks. He waited until Sophie had left the kitchen before he spoke again. “What the hell? Here? Which one?”

  “No. I’ve said too much already.”

  He fell back against the counter, gripping its edge very tightly. “Aren’t you pleased? They’re supposed to be heartthrobs, aren’t they?”

  I laughed drily, gathering up the baskets of salt and vinegar to put on the tables. “I think every other girl at school is pleased. I’m not.” He smiled in confusion. I continued, lowering my voice, “If the press find out about this, and they will eventually, then I will be dragged in, too. Can you imagine what a field day Arn Etas would have if they found out that I work in a café?” It was only part of the truth, but I certainly wasn’t telling him what I knew the Athenea were hiding about my grandmother.