Resurgence (10 page)

Opie quickly loses interest. ‘I thought you said you knew where it was?’ he says after we have spent fifteen minutes picking through the debris.

‘I said I knew “more or less”. That’s not quite the same.’

‘Emphasis on the less . . .’ He tries to kick a piece of wood aside but yelps in pain and crouches to hold his toe.

‘It’s there,’ I say smugly, pointing to the object he kicked.

Hart joins us, crouching by the hatch and swiping a few loose stones away. ‘Wasn’t this bolted from the inside when we left?’ he asks.

I nod. ‘Knave told me they only lock it when they’re all inside. It’s night so they’ll have a couple of people in the woods on watch. If it’s locked, we’ll
have to knock.’

I feel a sense of déjà vu; entering Xyalis’ hideout under the castle in Lancaster was so similar to this – except we had Faith with us then. We find the edges of the
trapdoor and wedge our fingers inside until we can lift it out. Since we were here last, someone has connected it to brackets on one of the sides and it pivots upwards easily.

Not wanting an argument, I go first, my footsteps echoing on the solid spiralling steps as the others follow behind. When I reach the bottom, the hatch clanks back into place overhead and a
flurry of footsteps approach along the dim corridor. I stand and wait, holding out an arm to stop Jela moving past. Around the corner emerges Knave, out of breath and only half-dressed. His blond
hair is a ruffled mess and his blue eyes anxiously dart from side to side. Behind him is Vez, a glimmer of light catching the scar that zigzags around his ear. They both slide to a stop, knives in
their hands as more footsteps reverberate behind them.

‘You look like you’ve just got up,’ I say.

Knave looks me up and down before bounding forward, lifting me into the air and spinning me around. ‘Silver! Didn’t I tell you I’d see you again soon?’

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Opie watching disapprovingly but give him my best ‘stop being so stupid’ glance.

When I am back on the ground, I offer a half-wave towards Vez who nods, nonplussed, and then turns to send those who had been approaching back to bed.

Knave starts to lead us through the passages. ‘We’ve been so confused about everything,’ he says. ‘We had a message from Rom to say that you were going to release the
Offerings. We didn’t even know you were going to Windsor Castle.’

Rom is their contact in the towers of Middle England. He’s a strange character, working with the rebels under a pseudonym and keeping his own identity secret. I’m not sure I trust
him but he did help me in the past.

‘Did you help the Offerings from the South?’ I ask.

‘Yes, they appeared in front of us in the field over the way. I’ve never seen anything like it. One minute there was nothing, the next they were there. I’m not sure who was
more confused: them or us.’

‘What happened to them?’

Knave turns a corner, stopping for a moment to make sure we are all following. ‘A few of them remained here. We helped some of them get home, even though we explained it was going to be
dangerous if they returned. There wasn’t much we could do for them after they made that decision. We needed to keep our existence as secret as possible.’

I tell him I understand. I told the Offerings at the castle it would be precarious if they wanted to return home.

‘We thought you were in the Northern Realm,’ Knave adds. ‘It was all over the screens this morning. We saw what happened . . .’

‘We
were
there,’ I reply.

Knave wants to know how we got here so quickly but there are some secrets I should keep to myself, at least for now.

He leads us into the square room where I had my blindfold removed the first time I was here. The roof is low and he unstacks some chairs for us. The only difference from what I remember is that
there is a screen on the large table at the back. I introduce everyone and there are some awkward handshakes and hellos, especially with Opie.

‘We’ve had a bit of luck salvaging things,’ Knave explains as we settle. ‘We have an extra generator now. It’s only small but helps us keep things running. As well
as the Offerings who stayed, we’ve recruited another half-dozen people. We found them wandering, escaping from various towns. We might have to do some more excavating to make room.’

Opie is next to me, sniffing the air. The first time I was here, the damp reminded me of the back room in his house. I wonder if he has recognised it.

‘How are things going?’ I ask.

Knave nods as Vez enters the room behind us. ‘We’ve locked everything,’ Vez says, turning to me. ‘How careful were you? Are you certain you weren’t followed?’
His tone is snipped and harsh.

‘We didn’t walk here,’ I say cryptically. ‘No one followed us.’

Vez wants to question us further but Knave cuts across him. ‘Things have been growing. You’ve been on the news a lot and the reward for your capture is massive. Every time the screen
comes on, we’ve been expecting it to be because you’ve been caught. We saw that your brother and mother are wanted.’

‘They’re safe.’

‘Good. There was coverage from Middle England and Rom filled in a few blanks, saying you escaped from the North Tower by walking through a crowd of Kingsmen. More rebel groups have been
forming and Rom has helped us to get in contact with each other. It’s how we coordinated the Offerings’ escape at our end. In the East, all of the Offerings you rescued are staying in
one of our camps. We’re in more regular contact now.’

‘What does that mean?’

Knave and Vez exchange a look. ‘Not too much,’ Knave replies. ‘Rom told us about someone named X who they thought would be able to organise us all further. We had some initial
contact but haven’t heard anything in a week or so.’

That’s because Faith killed him as he pointed a gun in my direction.

Knave’s final sentence is ominous. ‘We heard you were visiting him . . .’

Opie breathes in deeply as if he is about to answer but I don’t give him a chance. ‘It was X’s device that helped us get the Offerings out of Windsor. We left that night to
return to Martindale and assumed he’d be in contact with everyone through Rom.’

Knave glances across to Vez but something isn’t right. Can they know what actually happened? Perhaps even about the existence of the blood bomb? I realise I have rested a hand on the
device without thinking about it.

‘No worries,’ Knave says. ‘That’s what we thought. We’ll see what Rom thinks. Whatever we do, it has to be with everyone involved. We’re gaining numbers now.
Everything you’re doing has been helping.’

My features harden.

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he adds quickly. ‘I know people have been hurt.’

I wave a hand, knowing what he meant, but we are both distracted as the screen behind him fizzes to life with the usual fluttering flag and national anthem. It fades into images of the village
hall in Martindale burning, thick, clogging black smoke spiralling into the air. There are no Kingsmen in sight but no villagers either. Opie takes my hand, squeezing me until my fingers crack. The
angle moves backwards, showing a male presenter with a solemn look on his face.

‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is the final remains of Silver Blackthorn’s home town.’ The screen fades to show the picture taken of me from the spy bird and then
focuses back on the presenter. ‘Earlier today, there were reports of Silver Blackthorn being in the area. The rebels here defied the law and helped her evade the King’s forces. We have
shown mercy and captured them, rather than taking any further extreme action. They have been charged with treason and will be locked away for life in order to keep you safe. We urge you to be
vigilant and remind you of the vast reward on offer.’

Words scroll across the bottom of the screen, telling viewers that reward now includes increased rations for life and a work-free promotion to Elite. There isn’t much more they can
offer.

The presenter stares into the camera, eyes firm and serious. ‘The King’s forces have been working tirelessly to protect you and we have caught one of the more dangerous
outlaws.’

I know what’s coming as the screen changes to show the inside of Windsor Castle. It is the area where we used to eat, where we were forced to fight as the Kingsmen and others watched from
above.

The Minister Prime is standing with his hands behind his back but I am more surprised to see the King strolling purposefully in front of him. On most occasions, he sits impassively as others
speak for him. He turns to face the camera, eyebrows arched, forearms pressed firmly onto a lectern.

‘These are grave times,’ he says, features fixed and serious as he stares into the camera. Despite everything I know he has done, there is no doubt he has a natural charisma when
sober. The words drip seductively from his mouth and I find myself being drawn in.

The screen starts to show familiar images of war: bombs, bodies, children. Lots of children. All the while he continues to speak, apologising for having to address the nation so early in the
day. He asks if people want to return to those times of war, telling us how many people died and how close we came to destroying each other. What he is saying might even be true but every word is a
manipulation, a blackmail, as if the only choice is keeping things as they are or fighting to the death. Perhaps if it comes down to it, he will not allow the people to have a choice that falls
somewhere in the middle. It could be all or nothing.

I gasp as the image changes to show a figure chained to a post, arms wrenched high above him, his battered body hanging limply.

Imrin has something wrapped around his waist but it is the only item of clothing he has on. The camera lingers, showing a gaping slice along his side and brutal black, purple and yellow bruises
across his torso. His head is drooped but blood has pooled and dried around his nose. Both of his eyes are black, one of them closed completely. His dark hair has grown but is matted with dirt and
blood.

This time it isn’t just Opie who holds me. Jela, Pietra and Hart rub my back, my shoulders and my hips, whispering soothing things that mean little. The truth is in front of me, being
exposed to the country slowly and viciously. Only when each mark has been highlighted does the screen change until it is showing the King again.

‘This is Imrin Kapoor,’ the King says firmly. ‘He attacked a local school dressed as one of my Kingsmen, trying to cover his heinous crimes by deflecting attention.’

It is a crude lie but everyone has seen the pictures of me wearing a Kingsman’s uniform when I was spotted in Middle England. That gives it a degree of plausibility, which I only hope
people can see through. This is the King’s last resort. There was only one reason to keep Imrin alive – to draw me to them. Now I have escaped again, they have little choice.

The King clears his throat with a gentle cough and leans in further to the lectern. Behind him, the Minister Prime hasn’t moved, staring directly ahead. ‘Imrin Kapoor is a traitor to
this country. He would happily murder you and your children in an attempt to implicate my Kingsmen. He will be publicly executed in Wellington Square in the historic city of Oxford at midday in two
days’ time. The day will be a national holiday. I invite subjects from the Southern Realm to attend. There will be trains to ensure anyone who wants to be there can be and it will be screened
to allow those from other districts to watch.’

He relaxes and his eyes flicker off camera, where someone must be directing him. ‘I am, of course, a forgiving man.’ He pauses, letting people believe it is true. ‘I am willing
to offer Mr Kapoor a full pardon
if
– and
only
if – Silver Blackthorn trades herself for him.’

Vez and Knave spin and Jela inhales sharply. Their eyes are on me, trying to predict what I might do. For me, this is no shock – I have expected this since the moment I realised Imrin was
not with us in Xyalis’ lab.

The King continues firmly, arms stretched wide to show his honesty. ‘This offer is made in good faith in front of you, my subjects. I am a fair and honest King.’

Even I believe him.

He pauses to stare straight into the camera. Straight at me. I know he is telling the truth. ‘If you’re watching this, Silver Blackthorn, all you have to do is appear in Oxford. We
will be there from sunrise in two days. The offer expires at midday. After that Mr Kapoor will be executed.’

From the moment I saw Imrin staring across the table at me at the first banquet we had in Windsor Castle, there was always something about him. We locked eyes, feeling guilty
at the amount of food on offer compared to what our families had at home. We never spoke about that fraction of a second, but I knew there was something between us. He glanced away nervously before
we inevitably ended up gazing towards each other again, as if there was an invisible string between us. A gentle twinge in my stomach, a tingling in my fingers. I tried to ignore it because I
didn’t realise then what we had been led into. Minutes later, Wray was dead and everything changed.

My stomach cramps again, a gentle churning as if I am hungry, but it isn’t food I need. Only now do I realise how much I have missed him. Because of what happened to Faith and in
Martindale, I haven’t had time to dwell on what I’ve lost. That voice of reason, his determination, my conscience.

And so I have my choice – me or Imrin.

He would exchange himself for me, walk right into the square and give himself up so that I could walk free.

The others are expecting me to say something but the King hasn’t finished talking. He stares into the camera, extra steel in his eyes as he gives a message intended only for me. ‘You
should know that your little trick will not work this time.’

The image fades into the flag and national anthem and then fizzles to black.

‘What trick?’ Knave asks.

I know Jela, Pietra, Opie and Hart assume the King is talking about the teleport – and maybe he is – but he has no way of knowing I have been able to modify Xyalis’ design.