The Hidden Princess by Katy Moran Page B

the way he was when he got old and saggy and Rose lost interest. What’d happened to him down there? He’d followed Lissy and the Swan King through the Gateway, looking for Rose. Not that he’d find her. I’d made sure of that.
    The cold intensified and I looked down to see water lapping around my knees. Just a few steps further. That’s all it would take, and then that rushing, rushing of grey water past my eyes, opening them again to find myself in the White Hall, my clothes dry as a bone. I was so close. Within reach—
    But there was Connie to think of.
    She was just a kid, even if she was bloody annoying, and she had no one else looking out for her, no one except me. I couldn’t leave her alone. It hurt so much to walk away, though; every step took me further from Lissy, and I’d been so close to seeing her again.
So close
. Mud sucked at the heels of my boots, and when I reached the lakeshore I was on my knees in thick, algae-stained muck, unable just for that moment in time to take another step, spent and hollow. I put a hand to my face to push away my hair and the skin was wet with tears.
    Lissy was out of reach, just like always, and I couldn’t even see for the tears, crying just like a little kid. Blurry-eyed, I forced myself up onto my feet and walked back across the lawn to the house. It looked so innocent and warm, sprawling on the lawn, June sunshine glancing off the windows, ancient stone glowing gold in the morning light.
Goddamned place should have been burned to the ground years ago and then we wouldn’t be in this mess
. And I could have done it then. I swear I would have struck a kitchen match and laid it against the dusty old curtains, just watching them light up. I would have gone with them, too. Not even looking back, I’d have burned myself to the bone.

13
Lissy
    In the darkness of the Halls, I run my finger along the edge of the metal object in my hand, feeling a small ridge running almost along its entire length. Miles’s penknife, now forced shut. I tuck it into the wide silk belt of my gown, a rigid little thing digging into my side. A steel blade. Steel is made of iron. I’ll never get another opportunity like this to kill the Swan King – there’d be no more threat of plague, of mass-murder on an unimaginable scale. The Hidden will be free. I’ll see Mum again. Dad. Connie. I’ll breathe fresh air again and see the sky. My family. My old life. But do I really need to be a killer? The Swan King has changed his mind, I’d swear on the lives of all my mortal family. He’s given up the idea of revenge at last – at long, long last.
    Don’t honour her memory with blood. Honour it with love
.
    I follow Iris along the tunnel, leaving Miles’s bones to their long and lonely eternity in the forgotten reaches of the Halls. Iris is right: I have to kill him. I can’t take the chance that he might use Connie to open the Gateway. I’m going to be a killer whether I like it or not: I have no choice.

14
Joe
    The front hallway was cool and dark as ever, a single stream of dusty light pouring in through the tiny window. I could hear a steady pattering as my clothes dripped onto the flagstones. What was Connie going to think when she saw the state I was in? All I could do was hope she’d shut herself in her room, looking at some crap on her phone or writing emo poetry – whatever it was girls like her did when they were pissed off with the universe – although knowing Connie she was probably just smoking a fag out of the nearest window.
    It was lighter in the kitchen when I came down in dry clothes. There was something different about it but I couldn’t put my finger on what. Still the same enormous black stove in the fireplace, but the old wooden table was now covered with a bright cloth, there were flowery curtains and boxes of cereal lined up on top of the fridge, a bottle of washing-up liquid stood by the sink and a new radio was plugged in next to the kettle – all signs that