Sunset ^beta

Chapter Text

‘Before you go, I would like to express my gratitude,’ Sofia said, sounding so sincere. ‘Were it not for you, Robert’s life would have been taken by the infection, and mine too would no doubt be – I think – hanging in the balance.’

Nell watched the woman to whom Sofia was speaking; she smiled tensely and averted her eyes, not giving Sofia any real response. Sofia herself seemed to keep her eyes straight on the woman’s face, as if unaware of the evident guilt.

‘Good night, Mrs Bosby, and thank you for your ongoing mercy.’

The door shut and her soft-eyed expression immediately fell away to reveal her true emotion: resentment. Nell bit her lip to keep from laughing at the stark change.

The healer’s wife’s footsteps grew faint, and Nell waited for the sound of a door opening and closing before saying to Sofia, ‘Laying it on a bit thick, weren’t you?’

‘She won’t realise it until after we’ve already left.’

They sprang into action.

There was something a little sad about seeing Sofia put back on her tattered black dress. Nell helped her with her stays – hurrying, so she did not have to touch her for very long – and then stood back to let her do as much of the rest herself as possible. The ill-fitting shift’s tendency to fall off her shoulders did not matter much, as the dress itself was designed to leave the shoulders uncovered. Nell hadn’t seen a dress like it worn by anyone of Sofia's age; she wondered if it was true, about women in the countryside often being a decade or two behind those who lived in the city. She never cared enough before to pay it much attention, and decided to keep her observations to herself as she watched Sofia pull her weathered cloak over her, covering up everything but her hands and face.

It baffled Nell when Sofia told her that she was taking her stained shift; and then it disturbed her when, upon pressing her for a reason why she would need it, Sofia’s reasoning had been that she did not want to leave it where someone might use her blood in a ritual. Nell had decided she didn’t want to know any more, but it made her wonder who Sofia was expecting to use magic, besides herself.

Charles had rounded up medicine bottles and tinctures which they had seen being used on Thomas. At the very last moment, Nell had crept into the room in which Thomas had been treated and left money on his pillow as payment for the stolen goods. It was no ninety pounds, but it was something – and even if the married couple were ready to betray them, they still had saved his wretched life.

It was sometime around midnight when they stepped out under the stars.

‘Thomas and I can share a horse,’ Sofia told Nell in a hushed tone. For reasons Nell couldn’t imagine, she still somehow believed herself to be in charge.

‘No, you won’t,’ Nell said with a scoff, ‘‘cause then you’ll just steal the horse and ride off.’

Sofia ignored her and went towards the horse Charles hadn’t already mounted, but Nell got to it first and hurried to get on before Sofia.

She glared up at Nell and whispered, ‘You know that’s not true.’

‘Not gonna risk it,’ Nell said as she unscrewed the cap of her flask. ‘Come on, hop up.’

Still, Sofia only stood there. Nell took a long swig of water, giving her time to grow some sense, but she really was a stubborn woman, all right.

‘Look, either you ride with me or you ride with Charles.’ She stowed her flask back in a pocket, then looked back at her.

Sofia came to her, casting a look at Charles that made it plain to see that as much as she disliked Nell, the idea of sharing a horse with him was even worse. Charles himself missed the interaction, as he was busy whispering with Thomas while they finished loading the bags on the other horse.

‘Do you need a hand or not?’ Nell asked, leaning to the side and dropping a hand down for her to take – which Sofia ignored, preferring to struggle on her own rather than accept help.

Nell looked back over her shoulder, getting a face-full of Sofia’s grimace. Nell rolled her eyes and turned to face forward; then she looked back, just one more time, as if Sofia might be replaced by someone – anyone – more tolerable; she groaned as she faced forwards on the saddle and determined not to look back at her again until they reached their destination.

The warmth and presence of the woman behind her made it impossible for her to relax. She wanted the distraction of riding; she felt that once she felt wind upon her face maybe she would be able to forget about the trouble she had already gotten herself into again.

‘Ready?’ called Charles softly once he and Thomas were mounted.

‘I’ve been ready to get outta here for a week,’ she replied.

‘We haven’t even been here a week,’ whispered Sofia a little too near to Nell’s ear.

‘Feels like a month with this company,’ she said under her breath. ‘Now hold onto me unless you want to fall off and probably die.’

‘Give me a moment to consider my options.’

‘You’re so funny,’ she drily said.

Nell clicked her tongue and urged the horse onwards, not giving Sofia any choice but to hold onto her.

It had taken the four of them the better part of two days to reach the right location: the area close to a village called Marcham, west of Abingdon. They had not slept at all that night when they had left the healer’s home, and it wasn’t until the next evening that they found shelter to rest in, which had taken the form of a barn that had seemingly been abandoned; despite its absence of animals, it smelt almost as bad as if they were surrounded by livestock, and the roof looked as if it would fall upon them if anyone so much as leant against one of its walls.

That was the morning they had made it to Marcham. On their horses, they circled the village like a pair of wolves, searching for the road the Blanchefords had lost everything on; one which Sofia was certain she would recognise immediately.

From the moment they had both woken up, Sofia had felt Jackson’s presence like a fly noisily buzzing about, constantly too near. Being on a horse together, with Sofia having no choice but to hold onto her, was nearly intolerable; she tried to do it in such a way that would require as little contact as possible, but every so often the horse would jolt and she would find her face nearly pressed to her back.

‘Stop doing that,’ Jackson muttered when Sofia was once more subjected to the smell of her hair. ‘It’s giving me the creeps.’

‘Believe me, nobody wishes to touch you less than I.’

Sofia gripped harder at the woman’s coat as she focused on a row of bushes near the side of the road; they parted almost neatly in the centre, forming a sort of natural fence.

‘I ain’t so sure of that, what with –’

‘Wait! Stop the horse!’

Jackson made a show of loudly sighing as she coaxed the horse to slow.

‘Do you see those bushes?’

‘I do. But you don’t have to whisper in my ear like that, thanks,’ Jackson said as she bucked her shoulder back to shoo her away, nearly hitting Sofia in the chin.

She ignored it, this time, so she could focus on the area around her.

‘The bend of the road there – I could see it from the clearing where we – Over there.’

‘Well, that’s something. And even if this ain’t it, I need a rest – from you.’

‘I too would like a little time away from the person behind me,’ Charles said, gesturing unhappily to Thomas, who was slumped against the other man’s back.

Jackson grunted and swung her leg over the horse so she could dismount. Sofia pushed her skirts down where they had bunched up between the two of them during the ride. She was so busy taking in her surroundings – feeling hope rising within her – that she did not notice Jackson offering her hand to help her down, at first; it was brought to her attention when Jackson started impatiently patting her leg.

‘Don’t touch me,’ Sofia said for what felt like the hundredth time since they met.

‘Get off my horse. He needs a rest.’

Reluctantly, Sofia accepted her assistance, sliding off the horse and immediately adjusting her dress.

‘Thomas,’ she called as she walked towards the other horse. ‘Wake up.’

At the edge of her vision, she could see that Jackson was already sauntering through the gap in the bushes. Sofia smiled at the thought of her being whipped into the air, foot-first, by a hidden snare someone left.

‘There’s a field here, all right,’ Jackson unnecessarily declared.

Thomas finally stirred.

‘No – I don’t want you –’ Thomas’s voice shook. His eyes fluttered open and he clapped a hand to his face.

‘What the fuck is he on about?’ Charles asked, looking uncomfortable.

Sofia watched her brother warily. He proceeded to dig his fingernails into the skin of his face, dragging them downwards and leaving red, claw-like marks. He stared down at her, looking miserable and pale.

‘Thomas?’

‘All right,’ Charles said, clapping his hands. ‘Time to stretch your legs, Tommy.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘The alternative is, “lazy bastard”, if that’s what you’d prefer,’ Charles amiably told him as he began to dismount from the horse, leaving Thomas atop all alone.

‘Don’t call him that, either,’ Sofia warned.

‘Oi! When yous lot are finished tiddling about back there, why not come and help me?’

Charles laughed almost affectionately, as if Jackson had just said something endearing, rather than impatient and rude. He offered a hand for Thomas to take.

‘Ladies first.’

Her brother stared down at him through sleepy, shadowed eyes.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you are a bastard.’ Thomas groaned as he let himself off the horse; like Sofia, he was reluctant to accept the helping hand. ‘I assume your parents met at a nanny-house.’

‘Let’s save the friendly chatter for later,’ Charles told him with a smile. ‘But I’d love to hear all about whatever long line of aristocracy the two of you have brought shame to.’

To Sofia’s annoyance, Thomas laughed – a bitter laugh, but still more than the man deserved. Her brother swayed slightly as he walked, so she went to his side to assist him.

‘He’s a bastard,’ he muttered to her.

Sofia turned back to look at Charles, who was leading the horses to the grass by the road.

‘Here I thought you two were getting along.’

He sighed, leaning heavily upon her. The gap in the dense bushes was narrow enough that they could not pass through it side-by-side, so she went first, walking backwards so she could watch her brother.

Instead of his pained grimace, to which she had become accustomed, he looked empty; beyond his half-lidded eyes and still-hollow cheeks, there was a detachment behind his features which reminded her of when he wore Poynton’s pendant.

She stopped, reaching up to push back against his chest when he nearly walked into her. It took several seconds for her touch to register.

‘Are you in pain?’

He stared gormlessly down at her, and before he could say anything, Sofia heard a voice coming from behind her.

‘What’s the hold-up? Where’s Dev?’ She turned to see Jackson trying to see them over the bushes. ‘Am I the only one who wants to solve this before winter starts?’

Sofia let the matter drop with Thomas and redirected her attention to the familiar clearing.

The patches of scattered grass which were green when she had last stood there were now as flat and brown as the dirt which surrounded them. There was the smooth, flat rock which had the highwaymen's unfinished game of playing cards scattered across it last time they were there.

Nell Jackson looked small standing there in the centre of the clearing. Her head was tilted back so she could look at the clouds, and she had a hand upon her hat to keep it from falling off.

‘How’s this look?’ Nell called to her.

For a second, Sofia thought the woman meant herself, rather than the clearing – and she had nearly instinctively answered, ‘Stupid.’

The rustling sound of the bushes signalled that the two men had caught up.

‘I hope you aren’t thinking about building a house here, Nell. Lordy, no! Location is everything, after all, and this –’

‘It’s the correct place,’ Sofia interrupted Charles. ‘We were standing over there when they began to go through our belongings.’

‘How many of them were there?’ Nell turned on the spot, looking at her surroundings. ‘And why didn’t you use magic, anyway? Surely you could have –’

Jackson stopped once she saw Sofia had closed the distance between them.

‘There were four, and they were all well-armed. I wasn’t going to risk our lives by seeing whether I could cast a spell faster than one of them could pull a trigger.’

‘Probably wise.’

‘Not all of us have been granted your ability to catch bullets in our bare hands.’

Jackson’s only response was a noncommittal grunt. She had her face pointed towards the ground and was running her knuckles over her lips. Sofia would have assumed she was deep in thought, had she thought Nell Jackson was so inclined. She could see that the woman’s eyes were aimed towards her, barely visible through her lashes.

She was paying more attention than she seemed.

‘Did you hear any names?’ Charles asked, his voice coming from closer than she expected; she had only been paying attention to Jackson.

‘Carlisle. I believe that was how the leader of their group was addressed.’ She looked fruitlessly to her brother for confirmation, but he was still useless with inebriation.

‘Carlisle?’ Charles playfully gasped. ‘Isn’t that an earl? A Jacobite earl, perhaps?’

‘Are you trying to say that Charles Howard, Earl of Carlisle, personally robbed my brother and me?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Here, on this road near this insignificant village? Under the guise of a bandit?’

Charles said slowly, ‘Maybe?’

Sofia stared at him as if he was an idiot – something she hadn't even come close to ruling out.

‘Right, because all of us know the same toff shit as you, Sofia.’

Sofia turned for a moment to look disdainfully at Jackson.

‘Well, is he a Jacobite?’ Charles asked. ‘Because if he is, wouldn’t it be rather convenient for him to –’ He waved a hand. ‘– seize anything incriminating?’

‘Whether the Earl of Carlisle is a Jacobite or not, it does not matter, because the thief looked nothing like him.’

‘What, you’ve met this earl before?’

‘Thomas has.’

Her brother nodded in confirmation after a few seconds.

‘It is not the same man, that much is certain. Besides, a man on the Privy Council would not be so foolish as to use a name which could be traced back to him – nor instruct any man working on his behalf to use it.’ She looked again at Charles as she said, ‘That would be incredibly stupid.’

‘Point taken.’

She gave him an unfriendly smile, then continued: ‘Carlisle must simply be this thieving piece of filth’s name.’

Jackson’s eyebrows raised; she looked as if she was insulted. Sofia shook her head questioningly at her.

‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing. Not hypocritical at all.’

Sofia rolled her eyes.

‘Did you mouth off much in front of them?’ Jackson asked.

‘Tell me what you mean by that.’

‘Oh, you know – “piece of filth”, “thieving louse”, “you’ll pay for this” – that sort of sweet talk everyone likes to hear. The kind you’re so good at.’

‘No. I reserve that for you,’ Sofia said in a monotone.

Jackson stared down at her for a moment as if deciding whether or not to fight. Eventually, she put on a forced smile and took a step back from Sofia.

‘So, a man named Carlisle – who isn’t to be confused with the Earl of Carlisle –’ She shook her head and pointed at nothing in particular. ‘– ‘cause that ain’t confusing at all ... This Not-Carlisle robbed you.’

‘Wonderful,’ Sofia said drily. ‘You’re keeping up better than expected.’

‘Oh, go fuck yourself,’ Jackson said quickly before she continued: ‘So this group – four of them – they was just sat here –’ She motioned imprecisely in the direction of the dirt road. ‘– waiting for someone to ride past.’

Sofia curtly nodded.

‘That there road? See, if I was them –’ Jackson paused, perhaps realising that she more or less was them, when she was robbing people. ‘– I’d be on the other side of Abingdon, catching people coming from London. Now, what did Not-Carlisle look like?’

‘Rather unwashed – ungroomed.’ She tried to think of a better description, but could only say, ‘He looked like any other man, at least to me. As forgettable as any other, I should say.’

Charles might have scoffed, but she was focused on Jackson.

‘Fucking useful,’ Jackson said, looking bored. ‘Well, how ‘bout them other fellas?’

‘I only remember one other name,’ she said dully, feeling her hope rapidly dwindling. ‘A short man, I believe his name was something to the effect of Algernon.’

‘Hold on!’ In his excitement, Charles came even closer to them, unfortunately. ‘Algernon, you said?’

‘Not a common name,’ she remarked, trying to keep her hopes from rising again.

‘No, sir! Not common at all!’ He looked expectantly at Jackson. ‘Nelly. Algernon.’

She stared blankly up at him. ‘What?’

‘My Algernon!’

She tilted her head in confusion. ‘Your what?’

‘Oh, you know! The academician!’

‘Uh-uh,’ she said, shaking her head.

‘Now you’re just being obtuse.’

Sofia doubted Jackson was feigning this particular stupidity.

‘You talk far too much for me to remember even half of what you say.’

‘Hurtful,’ he said with a tut. ‘But Algernon! You know him! He was with me both times I... well... robbed you.’

‘Tried,’ she corrected, ‘and failed, twice.’

‘Third time’s the charm.’

Jackson shook her head, looking both unimpressed and arrogant.

‘If it’s the same Algernon, I could find him.’ He looked upwards, as if in thought. ‘Well, possibly. But I could find someone who could find him.’

‘Your confidence is reassuring, Charles,’ Sofia said.

‘Not to defend him,’ Jackson said with a suppressed smile, ‘but this is still more than you’d’ve had if he weren’t here.’

‘I am aware.’

Jackson stared at her, as if waiting...

‘Thank you,’ Sofia forced herself to say, going so far as to look at Charles as she said it.

‘That’s it, then,’ Jackson said, marching decisively back to the bushes they had come through. ‘I’ll go and poke around in that village nearby – keep my head down, avoid kicking up a rumpus. I’ll see if I can nab anything good, maybe news-sheets for Dev to read to us –’

‘I can also read,’ Sofia pointed out, but the other woman only waved dismissively.

‘You keep your brother from fucking anything up,’ she called back at them as she waded through the bushes. ‘Yous all stay hidden.’

Sofia followed after her, trying not to let her out of her sight.

There was silence as Jackson frowned thoughtfully, appearing as though she had lost her train of thought. It was something which happened frequently, Sofia had noticed.

Then the woman shrugged, smiled, and mounted her horse.

Sofia found it insulting to believe that the woman who seemed to wander so aimlessly through situations had managed to not only catch her a week prior – with only a cart and a canvas to cover her, no less – but to also foil the plans Poynton and other brilliant minds had crafted and prepared for years.

‘Oh, and...’ Jackson called down to Sofia. ‘Try not to get robbed again, would ya?’

Sofia gritted her teeth as she watched Nell Jackson tip her hat at her and ride off down the road, leaving her with the two men.

During their flight from Broadwater Hall two months earlier, Sofia had planned to take the carriage that had been scheduled to take the Queen north to Scotland, only to find that the driver had left – whether it was before the sky went black or after, she did not know. Sofia supposed that the amount of money he had been paid fell short of risking his life to the infernal magic that had besieged the manor.

At first, it seemed logical to head north, even without the carriage. They could try to make their way quickly, with only their horses and their belongings, and...

But that was exactly what they would be expected to do.

Horses needed time to rest each day, no matter how well-bred and hale they were; and they needed food, which Sofia and Thomas did not have the time to secure on their way out. The royal forces would have the numbers to fan outwards and flush them out of hiding. Unlike the two of them, they'd have the means to swap out their horses as needed; and their uniforms were the only excuse they would need to take whatever supplies they required from those they encountered.

Sofia had seen it all play out within her mind’s eye: she saw her deathly-ill brother, already struggling to steer his horse and hang on to it, being captured; she saw herself being executed on the spot while trying to fight back with whatever magic she could summon.

And so, she had turned her eyes away from her brother and towards the setting sun, and she assumed that by following it, they would have a greater chance to live. She knew the area to the west of London better than the north; better than she would have liked to have known it, in fact – for it was where she lived when she was married.

By going west, they could avoid the first volley of guardsmen and bounty hunters that followed the logical route. They could even head for the far coast and find passage to Ireland, where there were other men who held the same sentiments towards the Queen as Poynton had.

Once they had put a safe distance between themselves and Tottenham, Sofia had intended to stop and search through Poynton’s books; she had some memory of a ritual that would allow her to cast a magical decoy in their image to lead whatever forces were in pursuit of them further astray.

She never had the chance, however. For when they next stopped, it was unwillingly – and what followed was their ruin. However, Sofia’s natural inclination to hold a grudge meant that such humiliation – the details, the location of it, the men involved – would not be soon forgotten.

The siblings had made it to Abingdon by the fourth day of their exile; they skirted around its southern side, keeping their distance from any other travellers.

Once, when they had the horses at a steady gallop and were seemingly making good time, Thomas had suddenly – and with no warning to her – pulled hard upon his reins, causing his horse to rear up on hind legs in its haste to stop. Sofia had only realised he was not still with her when she heard the hoofbeats fade behind her and sensed her sudden aloneness, and she had turned her horse around in the middle of the road to see what had become of her brother.

She had found Thomas to be staring at nothing, his eyes wide and wild. His horse trotted uneasily from side to side as it waited for instruction, but the beast otherwise seemed calm – in stark contrast to its master, who was visibly shaken.

‘What’s wrong?’ The two of them were completely alone, so she felt it safe to say his name: ‘Thomas, what are you doing?’

‘I just wanted to stop,’ she thought she heard him say.

‘This isn’t a good time to stop, Thomas!’

‘No, I want it to stop!’ he cried as he buried his face in his hands. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘Thomas –’

She stopped short when he clumsily dismounted from his horse.

But he only continued to look about him, searching for something that was not there.

‘Go away!’ he shouted. ‘Take it back!’

At his outburst, a flock of birds came bursting from a nearby tree, and he flinched at the sight of them, as if expecting them to attack.

‘Thomas, stop,’ she firmly said.

Feeling as if she had no choice, she carefully got off her horse and joined him on the ground. He did not look at her; he was still searching for whatever it was that had him so frightened.

He barely reacted even when Sofia grabbed him by his shoulders.

‘What is happening?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you like this?”

‘Father – He –’

Her heart went cold as she waited for him to say more.

‘I can’t get rid of him,’ he said through tears. ‘I’ll never be free.’

She softened the grip on his shoulders.

‘Father is dead,’ she told him as she put a hand to his cheek, ‘and unless we keep moving, so too shall be our fate.’

‘You didn’t listen to me.’

‘About?’ she asked, trying not to let her irritation show.

She waited for him to say the name – to throw in her face her misplaced trust of the earl. Instead, he shuddered and leant into her, resting his face atop her head.

‘We need to keep moving, Thomas.’

‘He’ll follow me.’

‘He’s dead. You need to let him go,’ she said, stroking his hair. When he did not respond, she told him, ‘I have.’

‘You aren’t the one who killed him, Sofia.’

She felt uneasy and frustrated by his continued need to speak about it in the middle of a road in broad daylight. Too long he stayed crying into her messy hair, and although she did not wish to be so insensitive as to push him away, she felt the seconds passing in the quick beating of her heart – which she very much wished to keep beating.

‘We’ll talk about this later,’ she said as she detached herself from him. ‘Once we’ve found somewhere safe to stop.’

But they did not speak of it later. Instead, his mood had become sullen by the time night had fallen and they found a quiet place to stay the night. The next day, he still did not bring it up.

And it was the day after that when everything fell apart.

Mid-afternoon sunlight lit their path along the edge of a wooded area. Autumn had only just begun to make itself known in the form of cool air and shortening days, and they had wanted to make the most out of the daylight hours. As far as they could tell, they were outpacing any search parties that had been sent westwards, and Sofia wished to keep it that way.

Her brother hadn’t stopped them again with panic over unseen horrors, but they were evident in the way he tossed and turned in the night. When she had asked if he was dreaming of Poynton, he had only looked at her peculiarly.

Neither of them had slept properly in days. It was too difficult, due to the fear of being caught, the discomfort of sleeping unsheltered and – worst of all – the nightmares from which they had both suffered those first nights. Sofia’s were about the events which led to their flight, Thomas would not answer when she asked what his were about.

Though he was still lethargic from the spell which had nearly killed him, it was Thomas’s mind which seemed to be particularly strained, and even the way he handled his horse caused her to worry. She thought maybe it was hunger which was agitating him, so she was ready to suggest they take shelter in the woods for an hour or so, where they could eat some of the apples they had taken with them – but the sight of a man on a horse in the centre of the road ahead of them put an end to that thought.

They slowed their horses so that there would be no collision – their first mistake.

‘Ho there!’ the lone man called out. ‘Sir! Miss!’

Sofia shared with Thomas a quick look of wariness, for neither of them wanted to take their eyes off the stranger for very long. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thomas’s hand hovering near his pistol. The one she had taken for herself was not nearly as accessible to her.

‘What is it?’ Sofia called back to the man. ‘We’re in a hurry.’

‘No bother, I was just hoping you could tell me –’ The man stopped for a moment, turning away from them as if he had heard something coming from behind him.

She tried to sit up straighter on her horse to look past him. Her unease grew, but they were near enough to him now on the narrow road that the horses would need to be steered carefully around him to pass.

‘Sofia, we need to –’

She knew. Even if the man was merely a traveller who had taken the wrong turn at some point and wished only for guidance, their lives were at stake.

‘We don’t have time for you, I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, in too great a hurry to feign pity for whatever comparatively trivial situation he had found himself in.

‘Oh, miss, but I only wanted to ask you –’

She waited, glaring at the man.

There was an explosive sound that came from behind her and Thomas – a firearm discharging straight upwards. Their horses shied away from the unexpected noise; Sofia’s grip tightened on the reins.

‘I wanted to ask you what is in your bags!’ he said, his last several words done in singsong.

His smile was broad. He was clearly pleased both with his pathetic joke and the chuckles coming from the group of three men on foot who had spread out across the road behind them when they had been focused on the horseman. All three had firearms out and at the ready.

‘Well, if you won’t answer, I don’t mind taking a look myself,’ he said jovially as he dismounted.

Sofia’s blood was boiling. They should have just ridden past him without a word. They should have pretended not to hear him call out to them.

Instead, they were ushered down from their horses under the threat of four firearms – three pistols aimed at Thomas and the rifle at Sofia. The man who had stopped them had the nerve to walk towards her, a hand stretched out in an offering of help, the other still pointing his pistol at her. She hastened to dismount before he could get too close.

‘One of them independent women, I see,’ he laughed. ‘Very well. Not screaming or crying, either – a welcome change.’

Sofia stared down at the muzzle of his pistol, which – were she to speak her mind – would be in perfect position to discharge a bullet straight into her chest.

She was exhausted, emotionally raw; and no matter her natural talent for magic, she was no Nell Jackson. She could not risk fighting off four men with firearms, even with magic. Yet in the frigid, hungry nights ahead of her, she would question again and again whether it would have been better or not if she had attempted to fight back.

‘Oh, but let’s all take this somewhere a little more private, why don’t we?’ He whistled at them like they were dogs, jerking his head in the direction of the edge of the road. ‘Wouldn’t want to hold up any busy travellers, would we?’

They were led a short way down the road to where there was a gap in the bushes, past which there was a clearing. Sofia’s dress made it difficult for her to pass through the overgrown foliage, and at one point, her skirt had become tangled on the low-lying branches. Thinking fast, she took the opportunity to duck down and – under the guise of setting herself free, under the cover of both leaves and her own petticoats – she was able to remove the small pistol she had in a pocket. But rather than stand and take aim like a fool, she stayed crouched and tried to plan her next move.

‘Just – give me a moment, please, to free my skirt,’ she said through gritted teeth. She was concentrating, making her motions as subtle as possible while still rustling the bushes enough that they would assume she was still working to free herself.

One of the men had already pulled one of their bags from their horses, and he very nearly kicked her in the head as he passed right over her.

‘You fucking buffoon,’ Thomas spat at him. ‘Touch her and I’ll gut you, pig.’

‘She ain’t my type,’ grunted the man disinterestedly. He knocked into Thomas’s shoulder intentionally as he passed. Her brother, still weak from all that they had been through, stumbled backwards a couple steps, to the amusement of the thieves.

It was the distraction she needed, and by the time she stood back up, her pistol was nestled near her knee, tied precariously with the ribbon holding up her stocking.

She walked stiffly into the clearing and stood there numbly as she took in the makeshift camp in front of her. There was a horse left untied that was grazing, and a smooth flat rock low to the ground which had playing cards spread out upon it.

‘Let’s hope you two are worth the fuss,’ the first man said, yawning, completely indifferent to the fact he was taking from them their only possessions, their only hope for survival.

‘I’ll be taking this,’ said one of the men to Thomas, ‘since you clearly don’t know how to use it.’

Thomas tried in vain to wrestle the pistol back from him, but threw his hands up in surrender when another pistol was pressed solidly against his cheek. Her heart sank at the sight. It was unlikely that these men would be as foolish as Nell Jackson had been; she had no doubt that their guns were loaded.

‘Not that it would do much damage.’ The man laughed. ‘Look how small it is, Carlisle!’

The man who had stopped them – Carlisle – looked at the firearm with a sort of pity.

It was the pistol that had ruined her family.

‘Carlisle, you should see this!’ called a different man. ‘They’ve some jewellery here, too. Lord! Lots of it, in fact.’

‘Books and papers here. Not nearly as exciting.’

‘Ah, toffs’ll go mad for them, anyway.’

‘Look at this mantua! It’s even prettier than the one she’s wearing.’

‘I’m giving that to my wife!’

‘You don’t have a wife, idiot.’

‘Fuck you, I will soon.’

Their banter all ran together as she watched them take apart their supplies. The man with the rifle stayed by them, watching the others, but ready to react if either of them tried to stop them.

‘Would you look at these books!’ Carlisle let out a low, appreciative whistle as he opened one and flipped through it. ‘All sorts of pictures in this one.’

‘Can you even read?’ Sofia asked through gritted teeth.

He looked up at her sharply.

‘Don’t need to, really, to know that this’ll fetch a high price – even just for the leather.’ He turned another page with his dirty fingers. ‘I’m sure someone can tear all these creepy drawings out, replace them with something cheerier.’

It horrified Sofia to imagine the destruction of the irreplaceable books; and even more so, the idea of their pages being replaced by something mundane.

‘Certainly ain’t the Good Book, what with all these skulls and shite.’ His expression was becoming more perturbed by the second. ‘What kind of person needs a book like this? The Devil?’

‘Then give it back, if it bothers you so,’ she told him. ‘Clearly, you have no use for it.’

The book snapped shut.

‘Oh, but someone will, and I’m sure they’ll give good lolly for it,’ he said with that false smile. ‘Nice try, though, sweetheart.’

‘Oi, Carlisle,’ said the man who had been throwing the books onto the ground, not even bothering to stack them. ‘We’ve got some fancy papers, too.’

The document had already been wrinkled by its hasty stowing within the bag, and now it was being handled by hands which were unfit to even touch the playing cards left upon the flat stone.

‘Give that to me,’ said Carlisle as he plucked it roughly from the other man’s grasp. The way he squinted in concentration, how his gaze roamed across the paper but seemed to fix on spots for several seconds – it altogether made Sofia realise that he could read, at least a little. He raised his gaze back up to Sofia, looking at her even more closely than before.

‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’ He jerked his head in her brother’s direction. ‘What’s his?’

‘I won’t tell you that,’ she told him steadily.

‘Is he an earl?’ Even as he asked, he looked at Thomas doubtfully. ‘He’s clearly someone important.’

However improper given the situation, she felt resentment sink in at his implicit disregard of her own worth.

‘We kidnapping them?’ asked one of the men far too eagerly.

‘Lord, no!’ Carlisle laughed. ‘You idiots are hard enough to keep fed! Especially you, Algernon, you bloody runt.’

Two of the other men laughed; only the shortest of the men did not, suggesting it was he who had been insulted; he busied himself with the jewellery Sofia had taken to potentially sell, trying to slip a ring on his finger despite how clear it was that it would not fit.

‘Pretty stamp on this one,’ said the man on the ground, waving another precious document like it was a flag. ‘I’d bet you this one’s important.’

‘They very well might all be,’ Carlisle said softly, still trying to pick out familiar words from the first document. ‘They’re certainly interesting.’

‘So that’s it? You’ll take everything we have, and then what?’

‘And then what?’ he mocked as he walked to her and lifted her wrist. ‘Easy now. I wouldn’t be thinking about punching anyone, were I you – what with Barnaby and that rifle of his.’

Sofia felt the muzzle of the rifle press into the back of her stays, pushing her towards Carlisle.

‘We ain’t even so much as bruised you, sweetheart. You wouldn’t want that to change, would you? Now, relax your hand. Alls I wants is your rings.’

It took all her will to force herself to unball her hand. As he delicately pulled her mourning ring off her finger – the ring which she had received at her father’s funeral – she finally began to cry; his farce of chivalry upset her far more than if he’d roughly prised the ring from her finger. It was Sofia herself who reached up to take her wedding band off, and she held it out for him to take.

‘Oh, my love, I accept!’ He gasped playfully and snatched it from her fingers. ‘I’m so glad you feel the same, milady.’

 The muzzle at her back jabbed at her again in warning, but she was already angry beyond words and wanted only for it to be over and done with.

‘And you know what, my dear?’

Carlisle looked her up and down, then her brother.

‘You may otherwise keep your clothes, pretty though they are. See? I’m plenty generous – and so have you been, giving us such a haul – being so compliant and –’ Carlisle raised his eyebrows at Sofia in a way that disgusted her further. ‘– so lovely.’

She tried to tap into her energy to draw a spell – any spell – that could distract or harm them, but all it did was make her knees weak; and she feared that if she stumbled, the pistol would come loose and clatter to the ground.

Over the course of the next ten minutes, the last belongings of the Blanchefords – save for their clothes and the hidden weapon – were taken and loaded onto the men’s own horses; they did it with a practised efficiency, yet she still felt that they did not handle the books and papers with enough reverence. The highwaymen took even the pair of horses they had ridden out of Tottenham, once they were deemed worthy of the cost of feeding them.

To further insult her, two of the men waved cheerfully at her as they rode away; Carlisle himself blew her a kiss.

Sofia looked down at her fists, forcing herself to uncurl them.

In the end, Sofia and her dazed brother were left alone in the clearing, with nothing but numbing despair.

‘“By the Queen, wanted. Sofia Wilmot. Reward of Thirty-Five pounds is offered to the Apprehender of this dangerous Jacobite, attempted Queen-Killer and known Practiser of Witchcraft and Diabolical Magic.”’

Charles’ voice echoed across the clearing, where they had decided to stay for the night. Nell had expected Sofia and Thomas to argue when she suggested they camp there; Sofia might have, Nell thought, if Thomas hadn’t looked so peaky. But aside from the bad memories they had of the place, it was safer than the nearby town – where Nell had earlier pinched the stack of papers Charles was reading from.

‘Looks like they’ve let the lady title drop,’ Nell said to Sofia with a tight smile.

Sofia didn’t respond, only stared at the little fire they were huddled around. Charles had his back to it, using its light to read by.

‘Shh, Nell, you’ll like this part!’ Charles said, throwing a grin at her over his shoulder. ‘“Wrongful Accuser of Nell Jackson, Heroine of England.”’

‘I liked it – up until the end.’

Before Charles could say anything, Sofia snatched the sheet out of his hand. She gave her own ugly portrait a murderous look, one which was then raised to Nell – whose only response was to hold eye contact, eyebrows raised to show how unimpressed she was, while she took a drink from her flask.

Sofia had been moody all day – worse than her usual.

When Nell had come back from the village with a stack of wanted papers in hand, Sofia had still been right where she had left her: in the middle of the road, looking like a ruffled little raven, and with a most hateful scowl on her face. Had it been nighttime, and had Nell not already been expecting such a show of gloom from her, she might have thought she had run into some dreadful spirit that haunted the road. In a way, Sofia was more dangerous than any spirit, even if she didn’t look nearly as menacing now, huddled near the fire with the news-sheet in her hands.

It had been Sofia who had started the fire – all she did was stare at the twigs Nell had piled up, and she had barely given Nell time to pull her hands away before setting it alight. She had ignored Nell’s pointed glare, settling down across from her and holding her hands out to warm them as the fire grew faster than what seemed natural.

She’d been looking at Nell all night, far too intensely for comfort; and because of it, Nell had taken to watching her with suspicion. If she and her brother were to try to flee, Nell wouldn’t have any choice but to stop them, even if just to prevent them from getting themselves killed.

The woman handed the paper back to Charles and took up a different one to read for herself.

‘How are people stupid enough to believe that any of this other stuff is real?’ Sofia asked. ‘Is attempted regicide not exciting enough for them?’

‘It’s what gets people talking,’ Charles told Sofia. ‘Besides, the more grotesque you’ve become to people of all standings – the less sympathy you get – the more likely you are to get caught.’

‘Yes, I’m aware. I just don’t appreciate how many rumours there are of me eating newborn calves.’

‘They just don’t learn, do they? Them papers,’ Nell said. She scowled right back at the portrait of Thomas she was holding, then turned that scowl upon Charles. ‘How much was Mogs paying to keep them from spreading such lies about you, Dev?’

‘Nelly, I think you’re missing something important here.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘I liked the rumours. Besides, it isn’t as if she knew for certain that I was Tulley.’

‘Didn’t you say you told her when you was drunk once?’

He waved dismissively and said, ‘Unimportant.’

‘Why’d you do such a thing? Can’t hold your liquor?’

She gave him a doubtful smile when he said, ‘Of course I can. Again, unimportant.’

He leant forward in his seat upon the ground, as if he and Nell were the only two there.

‘I wasn’t Isambard Tulley. How many babes he ate, how many warts he spread –’ Sofia looked up from her paper, face twisted in disgust. ‘I was Charles Devereux. Hmm? You see?’

Nell sighed loudly. ‘I knew who you was the moment I met you in London, so you really wasn’t as good a sneak as you think.’

‘But you still would have to go through the courts to prove it. Even with all those witnesses – all those people I robbed and terrified –’ He stopped when he saw Nell’s expression. ‘Well, even then, I almost got away with it. I would have, had that bitch not tried to slander me as a Jacobite.’

He looked at the Blanchefords.

‘And that is precisely why these poor souls are now Robert – ah – Brokehill and Maggie... Let’s see...’ He trailed off as he tried to think of a surname. ‘Maggie Markeley.’

For some reason, he winked at Nell before saying, ‘I’ve a friend with that name. I’ll introduce you when we go to London, after we drop these two off somewhere.’

‘Would you stop talking like we aren’t here?’ Sofia muttered.

‘He might as well not be here, in his condition.’ Nell nodded at Thomas, who had his elbows resting atop his knees and his face resting upon his crossed arms.

The man’s sister reached over to touch his arm, to try to wake him, but he only groaned and stayed put.

‘Thomas?’

He still did not lift his head, so she shook him harder.

‘I was sleeping, Sofia,’ he whined.

‘Because of your medicine,’ she said as she picked up the bottle that he had set beside him on the ground just after taking a swig from it.

He finally lifted his head, as if sensing she was going to take it away from him. He snatched the bottle out of her hand, cradling it against his chest and ducking his head once more to rest upon his arm. She looked as if she was about to try to take it again, but he stopped her.

‘Do you want me to get better or not?’

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she set down the paper in her hand and got up off the ground, dusting off her skirts. She walked carefully around the fire and came to stand by Nell.

‘Walk with me.’

Nell looked up at her with a frown. Sofia stared down at her, expecting for her to comply.

‘Nah, I think I’m comfortable here,’ she said, tapping her foot against the dirt.

‘I need to speak to you.’ When met with only Nell’s stubborn silence, Sofia added, ‘Alone.’

Making a show out of rolling her eyes, Nell hopped up off the ground. She scooped up the last apple from the sack which she had bought earlier in town and followed Sofia away from the fire.

‘What, you didn’t get enough alone time with me back at the house?’ Nell called out to her, not bothering to keep up.

‘I got more than I would ever want, actually.’

‘Yet here we are!’

‘Yes,’ Sofia curtly said. ‘Here we are – in the place where I had everything taken from me.’

She didn’t want Sofia to get the idea that she was giving her undivided attention to her, so she tossed the apple high up into the air and caught it.

‘Not the worst place for it. It’s shaping up to be a nice enough place to sleep. Warm night, too, so that’s –’

‘You’re going to London,’ Sofia said, pointing out the obvious.

Nell shrugged and nodded, her eyes following the apple’s trajectory as she tossed it even higher.

‘Well, I will stay with you for a little longer, at least. Even if it does look like your highwaymen have gone underground. Then I’ll drop yous two off somewhere safer, and then Charles and me –’

‘Take me with you.’

‘Hmm?’ Nell caught the apple. She stared at it for a couple seconds, then turned to Sofia and laughed. ‘Oh. No.’

‘You will,’ Sofia told her very confidently, moving closer to her. ‘You can do so very easily, in fact, because the drawings in the news are completely devoid of any resemblance to us, so Thomas and I can –’

‘Can what? Go and get caught immediately?’ Nell scoffed and rubbed the apple against her shirt to get any dirt off.

‘We have an uncle there.’ Sofia looked at Nell almost expectantly when she added, ‘James Ogilvy.’

‘What, you think I know him or something?’

Sofia ignored her question, saying instead, ‘I could send him a letter, tell him to keep it a secret –’

‘You really want to see how far common blood will get you with him, do ya?’

‘He cared for Thomas, once.’

‘Did he, now? I’m sure that went well for him.’

The dark-haired woman gave her another moody look, then she went right back to thinking so hard that Nell could practically see her brain at work.

Nell recognised that Sofia Wilmot was a smart lady – underneath all the failed plots, poor judgement, and terrible company she kept. She gave the impression that she was always thinking – always cooking up some plan or another. It was tiring just to watch her sometimes.

Nell bit into the apple. It was pretty good.

‘I’ll wear a veil,’ Sofia said, nodding at her own words. ‘And Thomas can continue to grow out his beard.’

She chewed, watching through unfocused eyes as Sofia paced back and forth in her tattered dress, looking like some strange forest ghost – but one which held little terror for Nell.

Then, because Sofia just couldn’t help but speak as if she was in control: ‘You’ll find us suitable clothes, of course.’

‘Oh, of course!’ Nell played along, though much of her attention was on getting the last edible bits of apple close to the core. She looked up, her expression bored, and asked, ‘And then what, Maggie? Someone still recognises you and you start throwing fire at innocent people?’

Nell found it rather telling that Sofia did not deny the sarcastic suggestion.

‘With Uncle James’s financial assistance, Thomas and I could leave the country.’

‘Go where?’ Nell stopped to spit out a seed. ‘France?’

‘God, no,’ Sofia said in such a way that Nell almost laughed. ‘We shall go to Scotland.’

‘Right, I’m sure that’s just what the Scots want –’ Nell put on her best Edinburgh accent: ‘Just a couple high and mighty English nobles – and these two on the run from Queen Anne, at that. What’s a couple more of yous? Sure, they’ll be pleased to have you as guests.’

She took Sofia’s initial silence as her being impressed.

‘Gifting us a spare castle is optional.’

She nearly laughed at the glimmer of self-awareness, but caught herself just in time, and hoped the darkness would hide any remnant of it in her expression.

‘Where am I supposed to find you a dress pretty enough to go oppress the Scots with, huh?’

Nell heard her laugh, however faintly, and she smiled as she tried to push a shred of apple skin out from where it had become lodged between her teeth.

‘Why, from your uncle, of course.’

Nell’s smile faded.

‘By which, I mean one of his daughters. You said he has many, including one close to your sister’s age, so surely –’

‘Oh, of course! Stupid of me not to think of that.’

‘Then you’ll do it?’ Sofia asked with a delicate, hesitant smile, and with eyes full of cautious hope.

‘No.’

In the low light, so too did Sofia’s smile fade; first into a look of confusion, then into her more common anger.

‘No?’ Sofia asked in a clipped tone, the sort which suggested she would not accept that answer.

Nell nonchalantly tossed the apple core into the darkness; Sofia’s head turned to follow it as it disappeared.

‘We ain’t going to my uncle’s. I ain’t bringing the two of yous near any family of mine, after what you did.’

‘What we did under very different circumstances.’

‘Didn’t you hear me? I fucking said no, Sofia.’

The glowering face turned away from Nell and a heavy silence fell, allowing the choir of the night to fill the space. After a long moment, she saw Sofia’s hand come up to rub tiredly at her brow; she could hear the hiss of a sharply-drawn breath cut through the crickets’ chirps.

Sofia let her hands fall in front of her, clasping them demurely before turning once more to face Nell. Sofia shut her eyes for a second, as if willing herself to take the step she took towards Nell, then dropped her head apologetically.

‘Please.’

‘Oh, Lord,’ Nell muttered.

‘I have seen the error of my –’ She paused for a second to think, yet still had the audacity to say, ‘– my choices, which proved to be harmful.’

Nell gaped at her for her apparent inability to truly admit fault.

‘Right, because clearly you had to see it all play out to realise that trying to murder me –’ Nell had begun to shout. ‘– was a bad choice of yours!’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Sofia scolded.

‘You’re either mad or you’re taking the piss!’ Nell said just as loudly. The way the woman was acting now, all superficially submissive, had her quite certain it was the first one: that Sofia Wilmot was as mad as a March hare.

‘Shh,’ Sofia said, keeping her voice quiet and her movement towards Nell slow. ‘If you would please keep your voice down...’

‘You don’t regret a thing, do ya?’ Nell asked, moving away – but Sofia doggedly pursued her. ‘Other than getting caught – other than Poynton turning on you last moment.’

‘No, he did not turn against me,’ Sofia said patiently. ‘It was I who turned against him.’

Nell pretended to think for a second – pretended to care.

‘Oh, well that makes a difference, surely!’ she said with a big, false smile. ‘Oh, wait... No it don’t! You fucked everything up before that! Your disloyalty to him near the end? It don’t mean shit.’

She gestured to Sofia’s breast as she said, ‘You didn’t do it because you grew a heart – you’ve nothing but a snake curled up there in your chest.’

The woman’s expression of open hatred was once again stifled, and then it slipped away to make room for something else – something Nell didn’t recognise, and certainly didn’t like.

‘You saved Thomas: my only brother, and the only person I have left in this world.’ Sofia spoke softly, smoothly, and came even closer. ‘You’ve tried to help me find what was stolen, despite how little you seek to gain from doing so.’

She was far too close for comfort, and she sounded far too grateful for Nell to believe a word she was saying, despite the objective truth in her words.

‘I... know that you owe me nothing. I know that I am terribly...’ Her façade seemed especially strained, as if she had to will herself to finish. ‘– unworthy of your further assistance.’

Nell wanted to laugh at how her unhappy expression which had slipped through in that moment did not fit well at all with her supposed gratitude nor the polished tone she was using to try to make herself sound sincere.

‘But I still need you, nonetheless.’ Her tone was steady, not nearly as desperate as her words demanded; it was a little too smooth, too low and artificial; it was the voice of someone trying to get their way by charm or sweet talk.

The fact that it was coming from Sofia – an unrecognisable Sofia, with sad, softened eyes – was disorientingly strange to Nell.

‘Right, you’re very bonny,’ she said, trying to look unimpressed, ‘so I’m sure that trick works on all the fellas, but –’

‘What trick?’ Sofia's strained pleading look slipped away and was replaced with disgust. ‘And don’t call me that.’

Nell walked to a tree and leant against it. The other woman followed as if she had been invited, standing within touching distance. Nell frowned and looked her up and down.

‘You put me through hell, Wilmot. I’m only doing this because I don’t want another bloody war.’

‘I starved in the forest for two months,’ she growled, ‘and had to watch on helplessly as my brother nearly died.’

‘My sister nearly died! My baby sister! She’s only eight – practically an infant – and she’s already worth a dozen of your brother.’

‘Thomas is...’ She frowned thoughtfully, then looked at Nell imploringly. ‘He’s different now. He has changed. He would never –’

Nell’s stomach turned as she thought of Billy trapped within him, stuck trying to make the wretched man worth the air he breathed.

‘Why’s he different? Eh? Is it because he has no more dads to kill?’

To her surprise, Sofia moved towards Nell, quickly and like she was about to attack. She could see Sofia shaking with rage.

Nell took it as her cue to continue: ‘If it had been you who was injured, how do you know he wouldn’t have just let you die? It don’t seem like he cares much about family.’

It was a cruel thing to say; Nell would have felt bad if she had said it to anyone else. But Sofia had her blood pumping and wouldn’t back away, neither literally nor figuratively. Nell leant towards her; it was her turn to intrude upon Sofia’s personal space. The woman didn’t flinch, even when Nell’s face was less than a foot away from hers.

‘Be honest, Sofia, for once – at least to yourself,’ she whispered. ‘Your brother’s a murderer who don’t care ‘bout nobody but himse –’

Out of the corner of her eye, only a second before impact, Nell saw a pale little fist come up from the shadows; she felt its sharp blow upon her jaw.

She stumbled sideways, away from the tree, and caught sight of Sofia shaking her hand, then clasping it protectively in the other. Nell was pleased to see that the punch had hurt her, too.

‘Oh, not as easy to do with your own hands?’

Sofia’s eyes glittered malevolently in the low light.

‘Wish you had another person to use to fight me? Or maybe another press to crush my head with?’ Nell laughed bitterly. ‘God, that was dirty of you. Would’ve left a real mess – but that’s for someone else to clean up, yeah? Never someone like you.’

Nell appraised her as she began to circle around her, looking for a weak point. Every word she said made her jaw hurt more, but she couldn’t stop herself: ‘No wonder you couldn’t even keep yourself clean – you’ve never had to do any hard work in your life, have ya?’

The batty woman rushed at her and grabbed her by the shoulders. They danced violently together for a frantic moment as Nell tried to keep her balance, but the other woman pressed viciously at Nell until she inevitably fell backwards – but she took Sofia with her as she crashed to the ground.

Except that only meant that she was the one who broke Sofia’s fall.

‘Fuck!’

Opportunistically, Sofia raised a fist to punch her in the face. Nell barely caught it in time.

‘You ruined my life!’

‘After you tried to end mine how many times?’ Nell grunted as she tried to shove her off, but Sofia had a tight grip on the collar of her shirt. She didn’t like her fingers being that close to her neck. ‘Fucking get off me!’

This time, Sofia’s punch slipped past her hand and slammed into her brow.

‘Make me,’ Sofia said, like a bully. Nell caught the flash of white teeth – either a grimace or else a cruel smile. Sofia breathed heavily around the words, ‘God, I should have –’

Sofia’s words were cut short by her groan, for Nell had given her a good slap across the face. The force of it dislodged Sofia’s grip on her shirt and Nell took the opportunity to push her off her; she wasted no time in rolling atop Sofia, reversing their positions.

‘Should have what? Should have fucking what, Sofia?’

The damned little witch’s face lit up with outrage when Nell put her arms up over her head, pinning her to the ground by her wrists. Quickly realising that this was no time for gallantry, Nell lowered herself onto Sofia further, putting weight on her legs to keep her from trying to knee her. Altogether, it put Nell in a position that neither of them wanted, but she felt she didn’t have much choice.

‘Should’ve what?’ Nell panted, her teeth bared in a defiant grin. ‘Killed me? Then who would have saved you and your brother from Poynton? From the woods? Eh? From your own stupidity?’

There was a sharp buzzing of sorts in Nell’s ears as she shouted down at her, dampening the sound of her own voice. Sofia’s lips had begun to move, but she couldn’t hear her even when she herself went silent; the only sounds were their heavy breathing and the pounding of blood inside her head. Try as she might, she couldn’t make out whatever threats Sofia was making.

Then an orange glow caught her eye: embers were forming in Sofia’s hand.

‘What is wrong with you?’ she demanded. She almost laughed as she said, ‘You’re really gonna try to kill me? Ain’t one for learning from past mistakes, are ya?’

The sparks had grown into a swirling ball of fire nearly the size of the apple she had been eating just minutes before.

‘Fuck! Billy,’ Nell said through gritted teeth: a desperate prayer. ‘C’mon, Billy.’

‘“Plea?” I’ll never plead,’ Sofia spat back, evidently having misheard her.

Nell could feel a scalding heat against her knuckles. She slid her hand down Sofia’s arm to get away from the fire, all while trying to keep a firm grip on her.

‘Where are your powers, Nell Jackson?’ Sofia sounded more winded than scary, if only because Nell was crushing her. ‘Why are you holding back?’

Nell glared down at her, hating her all the more for having noticed her helplessness, which she had tried so hard to hide. She tightened her grip on her forearms to the point she knew that it must be hurting her, but Sofia showed no pain.

‘I could burn you alive.’

Sofia smiled up at Nell, her eyes rolling upwards in the direction of her flaming hand. The tremor of Sofia’s arm gave Nell the impression that she was struggling to keep the growing magic leashed.

She whispered, sounding more menacing, ‘Look.’

Realising nobody was coming to help her, Nell felt she had only one option: so she smacked her forehead against Sofia’s.

The witch’s shout in her ears hurt almost as much as the impact.

‘Fuck, you really are hard-headed,’ Nell grunted, feeling her own head going light.

The flames had disappeared, just as surely as if they’d been blown out, and Sofia’s head lolled to the side; her pained groan, however, let Nell know that she hadn’t been knocked out.

Meanwhile, Nell had hurt her neck when she jerked it back and then forward; and for a moment, the pain was bad enough that she couldn’t hold her head up, forcing her to rest her brow against Sofia’s cheek, like it was some kind of terrifying pillow.

Her head was still swimming when Sofia shoved her, and all she could do was roll onto the ground, limply staring up at the sky.

‘Not again –’ she grunted when she felt Sofia climb atop her once more.

Her mad laugh of victory rang in Nell’s ears as she weakly tried to swat at her hands to prevent her from getting a solid grip on her; then, when they did find purchase on Nell’s shirt yet again, all she could do was try to push at Sofia’s torso while she wriggled beneath her to try to throw her off.

All of a sudden Nell’s pushing seemed suddenly to come easily, and for a second she thought Billy had finally –

But no, it was only Charles who had come to help her.

He dragged Sofia off Nell. She looked like a cat being picked up by the scruff; she hung onto Nell’s clothes for as long as she could, pulling Nell halfway up into a sitting position in the process.

‘Good Lord ! Five minutes!’ Charles laughed. ‘I can’t leave you two alone for five minutes!’

‘Let go of me!’ Sofia snapped.

‘I will, I will!’ Charles laughed, giving her an almost-playful shake. ‘But only once I know you’re not going to burn her pretty face off.’

Sofia stopped struggling and tiredly sagged against him. Nell could feel her eyes on her as she got up off the ground.

‘Are you all right, Nelly?’

‘It’s “Nell”,’ she corrected him through gritted teeth. ‘I’m fine, she didn’t even draw blood this time. Wait, fuck, never mind – my lip’s split again. It’s never going to heal fully, if this keeps happening.’

Sofia’s laugh sounded far too pleased with herself.

‘I think it suits you,’ Charles said, but Nell ignored him.

‘Right, well...’ she sighed.

She really didn’t want Sofia to feel like she won, or that she was getting her way. But with her face all freshly-bruised, Nell only wanted to sleep off the pain.

She felt she had no choice but to say, ‘We’re all going to London. I’m going to have a word with the papers. Yous two can see if your uncle will take you.’

Sofia looked on in astonishment, rather than the gloating Nell had expected.

‘Speaking of uncles, there’s somewhere I need to stop first.’

Then Sofia just looked exasperated.

‘How kind of you to reconsider,’ she said insincerely to Nell. ‘I’m so grateful.’

‘Terribly unworthy and all that, yeah?’

Sofia sprang away from Charles as soon as he let her go. She looked him up and down with distaste, sent Nell one last dirty look, and then left them.

‘Fuck her,’ Nell muttered.

Her face really did hurt. Just under a week’s worth of proper meals had given Sofia just enough strength to do some damage. As Nell prodded at the tender spots on her face, she felt a familiar stickiness. She wasn’t sure where the blood was coming from, but it was minor enough that she wasn’t too concerned.

‘Since when do you need my help?’ Charles asked. He held up a finger and clarified: ‘In a fight, I mean. You’re a disaster without me in every other way, and we both know it.’

‘No,’ she weakly argued. ‘I just didn’t want to hurt her, now that I know what pitiful shape she’s been in.’

He came closer, making a noise that was something between sympathetic and amused.

‘Here, allow me...’

Because she had still been looking in the direction Sofia had gone in, she didn’t expect it when he lifted a handkerchief to her face; it caught her by surprise when she was suddenly blinded and there was an unwelcome sting at the brow Sofia’s fist had collided with before.

So tired and distracted was she from the fight, it took her a moment to react to him.

‘Oh. Thanks,’ she said, reaching up to press the handkerchief against her bleeding brow, but finding it difficult to find a place where their fingers would not overlap.

‘I’m happy to help,’ he said with a little smile. ‘At least she didn’t manage to light you on –’

‘Thanks for the handkerchief. I’m all –’

‘Nell, you know I’d do anythi –’

‘Uh-huh,’ she said quickly as she reached up to tug his hand out from under hers. ‘And to you. Much obliged.’

She felt the hand she had freed herself from brush against her cheek for barely a second before he took a step back.

Nell, too, stepped back from him. She blinked hard – so hard it made her brow hurt more – and looked in the direction Sofia had gone.

‘Blimey, she’s the worst,’ was all she could say.

He did that laugh: the same one she had recognised in London. The one that was a little rude, perhaps, but real. His laugh was familiar and comfortable, unlike the look he had been giving her.

She smiled, relieved by the sound of it, and hoped he’d let it drop, whatever he’d been about to say.

‘So...’ Charles said, following her gaze towards where the fire burnt. ‘Are we still helping them or not?’

‘Huh?’

‘Did she not just try to kill you?’

‘Fuck, I suppose, but...’ Nell sighed. ‘I’m fine. She’s fine. Really, this changes nothing.’

It had changed something, though.

In the morning, when it was time for them to leave for Abingdon, Sofia had climbed onto the horse behind Nell without complaint, and her arms had looped around Nell’s waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Nell didn’t even feel like the woman’s eyes were boring holes into the back of her skull. She leant forward to subtly peer down past her own chest at the hand that had cradled deadly fire in it last night, and saw that it was relaxed, holding her coat securely, but not even clutching the wool as if wishing to strangle.

‘Ready?’ Nell asked everyone.

Charles made a sound of confirmation. Thomas said nothing. The arms tightened painlessly around her from behind, a wordless confirmation from Sofia of her readiness.

Nell urged their horse into a trot.