Page 42 of The Last Necromancer
"Gilly tells me he's tried to escape."
"He has."
"And yet you allow him outside?"
"He needs exercise."
I needed exercise? Ha!
The general regarded me. "He'll try to escape again while he's free."
"Then I'll catch him."
"I'm sure that will not be a problem for you. He looks rather scrawny."
"Street urchins usually are."
"Hmmm." He paced around me, hands at his back, then came to a stop in front of me again. He thrust his chin forward. "Show your face, boy."
I backed away and kept my gaze down.
"You're going to defy me?" He clicked his tongue. "I don't think you're in any position to do that, do you?"
"I'm ugly," I said. "My ugliness embarrasses me."
Gillingham snorted, but the general simply continued to regard me with his cool eyes, his out-thrust chin. If he ordered Fitzroy to hold me while he swept my hair back, I would not be able to resist.
"Time is running out," Eastbrooke said. "You have this necromancer, but what of the other? If the girl is found by V.F, he will succeed. We need to win her to our side first or the battle is lost."
"We'll find her through Charlie. I'm sure of it."
Hearing Fitzroy speak about his suspicions of a link made my heart stop in my chest. How much did he know, and how much was a guess? He gave nothing away.
"And how will you do that?" Gillingham sneered. "He doesn't care what we're trying to achieve. He only cares for his own skin."
"I can't blame him for that, considering how he's lived."
"You're too soft, Fitzroy. Never thought I'd hear myself say that, but there you have it."
"Enough, Gilly!" Eastbrooke snapped. I wasn't sure if a lord outranked a general but Gillingham shut his mouth. Perhaps he was as awed by Eastbrooke's military bearing and powerful frame as I was.
"Do not forget what we're trying to achieve here," Gillingham muttered to Fitzroy.
"I haven't forgotten," Fitzroy said. "It's all I think about. It's all that matters to me."
Eastbrooke nodded. "Your loyalty and dedication to achieving the ministry's goals are not in doubt." He cut a flinty glare at Gillingham.
Gillingham bowed. "You're right, and I didn't mean to imply otherwise. It's just that your methods—"
"Are not up for discussion," Fitzroy told him.
Gillingham cleared his throat. He tapped the carriage steps with his walking stick. "Shall we leave your man to his work, Eastbrooke? It's too hot to stand around out here, and it doesn't seem as if we'll get an invitation to go inside."
His man? What an odd thing to call Fitzroy. He didn't seem like he could be anyone's anything. I would have called him his own man. Yet Fitzroy did call him "sir," while Eastbrooke called him "Lincoln" in turn. I still wasn't sure what that implied about their relationship.
"I look forward to your report, Lincoln," Eastbrooke said. "Let's hope I don't have to wait too long." The general turned to me. "If the queen or her family suffer because of your refusal to help us find the other necromancer, you will be blamed."
"And if I suffer because I helped? Who will be blamed then?"
