Wintercraft: Blackwatch by Jenna Burtenshaw Page B

talk?’
     
    ‘You are in no position to make demands.’
     
    ‘I think I am in an excellent position,’ said Silas. ‘I have information you need. Tell me why you want her, and she is yours.’
     
    Silas’s face was unreadable, and as his demeanour changed so did the atmosphere in the room. He did not need the veil to affect the environment he was in, and the threat from his words spread around the room like smoke, making it feel small and airless, as cold as a place cut deep underground. Bandermain reacted to the change at once. His eyes narrowed briefly. Fear, Silas knew, was a powerful weapon. ‘I did not need the veil to incapacitate your men,’ he said. ‘I did not need it to lead them across Grale on a chase through the night, and I will not need it to put an end to your life when the time comes.’
     
    ‘You cannot even stand up on your own,’ said Bandermain. ‘And even if you could, killing me would not help the girl.’
     
    ‘I do not doubt that,’ said Silas. ‘You are not that important, Celador. Your men are sworn to obey the orders of the Continental leaders, but I doubt even they would waste so many of you scouting along the coast just in case one enemy were to swim ashore. You have already admitted that your goals are no longer the same as theirs, and you are not known for your ability to think for yourself. You are the sword, not the hand that wields it. You are a man who takes orders, which means that someone else sent you here. Who was it?’
     
    ‘Where is the girl?’
     
    ‘I think I am not the only traitor in this room,’ said Silas. ‘Your men will see it too before long.’
     
    ‘My men know exactly why we are here,’ said Bandermain. ‘They are loyal men. Loyal to me, and to our country. We know what we must do, even if our leaders do not.’
     
    ‘Kidnapping a young girl,’ said Silas. ‘Since when have the Blackwatch begun hunting the innocent?’
     
    ‘She is not innocent. The Skilled are no more than a valuable resource to be found and exploited. They are secretive and underhand and she is the only one left alive who has dared to show her face in public long enough to let her identity become known. She is wanted by your High Council yet she has no interest in helping them. She is affiliated to no one, and that makes her useful.’
     
    ‘Useful to whom, exactly?’
     
    Bandermain clenched his fists, and when he opened them again Silas caught a glimpse of his open palms. His left hand had a deep cut sliced across it, one that could only have been made by the slow cut of a sharp blade. The skin was healing slowly and someone had stitched it together neatly with thin black thread.
     
    ‘What happened to your hand?’
     
    ‘War is bloody. Or have you hidden away from it for so long you have forgotten?’
     
    ‘That is not a war wound.’ Silas opened his own hand, revealing an old white scar that matched Bandermain’s cut exactly. ‘Who gave you that cut? Who are you working for, Celador?’
     
    ‘Someone who hates Albion as much as I do,’ said Bandermain. ‘Someone who has a deep interest in you and your life, pitiful as it has become. You may enjoy living in the gutter like vermin while your country falls apart, but I still have a hand in influencing the direction of this war. Albion will die much sooner than you think, and my men and I shall be the ones to strike the final blow. I serve my country in my own way. That is honour. Perhaps you will recognise that before the end.’
     
    Bandermain walked to the door and faltered in the doorway. One of his knees gave way and an officer stepped forward to support him, but he leaned against the doorframe and waved the man away.
     
    ‘What’s wrong with you?’ asked Silas as a bone in his own neck snapped back into place. ‘Old wounds giving you trouble?’
     
    Bandermain ignored him and gave an order to his men. ‘Have the carriage prepared,’ he said. ‘We are leaving now.’
     
    ‘Yes,