Page 69 of The Bone Season

I tasted blood. ‘You were trying to make me angry.’

‘It seems to work as well as fear.’ He took another blade from his doublet. ‘Try again.’

‘Are you—’ I could hardly catch my breath. ‘Are you joking?’

‘By no means.’

‘Ileftmy body. Without life support,’ I ground out. ‘I also fell on my face.’ I touched my throbbing cheekbone. ‘I can’t just … do it again, you idiot.’

‘Think of your spirit as a muscle, tearing from its natural place,’ Warden said, unmoved by the insult. ‘The more you use it, the stronger it will become, and the better your body will handle the shock.’

‘You don’t know anything … about dreamwalking.’

‘Neither do you, as we have established. Walk in my dreamscape, I challenge you.’

I rose with caution, finding my balance. I seemed to have avoided a concussion.

‘I know what Nashira is. Now she knows what I am, too.’ I clutched my chest. ‘Does she really just want me to be a red-jacket?’

‘What else do you think she wants?’

I fell silent. If I admitted what I knew about the angels, I might get Liss in hot water.

‘Nashira has plans for you,’ Warden said, ‘but you should first concern yourself with mine. I chose you. Your progress reflects on me. You will not shame Magdalen with your incompetence.’

‘That isn’t going to work again.’

‘Then embrace your own rage.’ He pitted his gaze against mine. ‘You must despise me – your jailer, your tormentor. I did not intervene to save Sebastian. Seize your chance to punish me for that, if nothing else.’

My fist clenched. I thought I could resist until my fingers protested. They ached from the strain of cleaning his arm – that act of mercy he refused to acknowledge. A mercy he had not shown Seb.

Two guards entered the pen. I held my whole self in place, body and spirit. Warden waited, hands behind his back, as the red-jackets stacked cushions between us.

As soon as they had shut the pen, I let my spirit fly.

In the hour we spent on Port Meadow, I barely dented his dreamscape. Even when he dropped his defences, I couldn’t get any farther than his hadal zone, the outermost ring. His mind was just too strong.

He goaded me the entire time, always in the same callous voice. At first the needling did its job, but the closer we got to the end, the less his insults provoked me. By then, I had a crushing migraine.

In the last few minutes, he threw another knife, taking me by surprise. Though he aimed wide, the sight of the flying blade was still enough to set my spirit loose again. I woke on the pile of cushions.

In all, I managed a dozen jumps before my vision darkened and the migraine grew unbearable. I crumpled.

Warden knelt in front of me. The ground was cold under my palms.

‘Let me guess,’ I said, once I was confident I could speak without throwing up. ‘You’re going to tell me I’m pathetic.’

‘Quite the opposite. You did well.’

‘Keep your praise. You’re forcing me to do this.’

‘It is necessary.’

I tried to stand, but the migraine was sickening in its intensity, bringing hot tears to my eyes. Warden held out a gloved hand.

‘Allow me.’

If he left me on the meadow, I would freeze before dawn. Not for the first time, I was going to have to swallow my pride. I took his hand.

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