Long Live the Queen (Book 5 of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Nineteen: Little Red

When they stepped outside, the cold leapt and tore at her throat like a wolf. There was no point using an umbrella – it would have been wrenched out of her hands in seconds – but the scarlet cloak had a hood, and the wind was at her back, so it stayed up.

Edinburgh at night was always shiny, perhaps because it was always lashed by rain. There never was such a town for glimmers and reflections. The pavements were cracked and uneven, and harboured numerous puddles for reflecting the light of the gas-lamps back at you.

And all the time the castle loomed over you, on its extinct volcano, looking as bleak as any fortress set on a rock five hundred miles out to sea.

Robin led her along the Vennel, the ancient walkway to the castle. He was carrying a lantern – there would be no streetlights on the moorland leading up to Pandemonium – but he seemed restless, shifting the light from one hand to the other every few steps. And whenever his right hand was free, it wandered up to his ribs, as if he was aching there.

The black railings that divided the city in two ran straight down the middle of the Vennel. Ellini trailed her fingers along them, gloveless again, enjoying the sensations.

"How does it feel to be home?" said Robin. He was looking over the railings with a sort of acid-faced longing. The way he used to look at her. Again, she saw his hand wander up to his ribs, and then back again.

"That place was no more my home than the fire-mines," she said.

"You should say 'no less'. The places where you've suffered make you who you are, and what better definition of home is there?"

Ellini didn't answer. In some way that was difficult to pin down, she wasn't feeling herself – even though she had only been this version of herself for a matter of days.

She was glad she was with Robin. She couldn't betray the slightest fear – or the slightest hesitation – with Robin. And yet she wasn't sure she had any of either to betray. She couldn't think about what she was going to do. Her thoughts veered away from it every time she tried.

This, as she well knew, was what it would feel like to be under a spell. Myrrha was reeling her in, she had always known that. But equally – and for no reason she could fathom – she knew it wasn't all going to go Myrrha's way.

At the top of the hill, the familiar iron sign straddled the entranceway: Now Entering Hell on Earth.

Robin was agitated, in his casual, swaggering way. He came to a halt under the sign, raised a hand to his ribs, and then clasped both hands on the handle of the lantern behind his back. "I can't come any further than this."

"I know," she said. "Thank you."

He looked as if he wanted to say something – or as if he had to say something which he wanted very much not to say. Either way, he was silent.

"I'll be all right, Robin," she assured him. "If that's what's distressing you."

One side of his face jerked into a smile. She couldn't tell what it meant. "Two pieces of advice?"

He said it tentatively, as if he was requesting advice from her. But Ellini knew he would never do that, so she pursed her lips and waited.

"Firstly," he said, "if you can't trust me, trust your instincts."

She stared at him. It sounded so much like the advice Jack had given her before she'd left – the adorable summary of everything he'd learned: You are very, very clever.

Of course, Robin wouldn't be so direct. He didn't want her to think too highly of herself – it would lessen his power over her. He would tell her she had a fighter's instincts, not a discerning mind. Still, for Robin, it was almost... sweet.