Chapter 12
Blaze
The Eye of the Past winks at me in the dappled light filtering through the branches.
I stare at Fox in disbelief. ‘You … you have …’
My mind is spinning. I feel like I might throw up. Is this just another hallucination? Somehow I think not. While my head still pounds painfully, the fog that clouded my every thought has cleared, as though I’ve emerged on the other side.
‘Explain,’ I order, a little breathlessly.
And so he tells me about the replica he had made in case anything were to happen, about how he let King Balen believe it was the real one, when all the while Sifa’s Eye was safely wedged down the side of his boot.
I blink. ‘So what you’re saying is that your uncle …’
‘… does not, in fact, have the Eye of the Past in his possession?’ Fox finishes. ‘Yes. All he has is a useless lump of gold. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Windlands when he figures it out. That sort of rage could warrant a hurricane.’
I grimace. ‘I take it you know about the attack on Fire Mountain?’
He nods. ‘Very resourceful on your part, escaping down the waste chute. Less impressive was your decision to travel through the Ridge tunnels. What were you thinking?’ His tone is more amused than chiding.
I exhale as I sit down and cradle my bandaged arm. ‘That’s how you found me, isn’t it? Using your Eye. You knew where I’d be because you knew where I’d been.’
Fox nods, tucking the pendant back beneath his collar.
‘What about Flint?’
‘I told you, he’s alive.’
‘Truly?’
Fox reaches out. ‘Give me your hand.’
My heart lurches. ‘Why?’
‘Because I can prove it.’
I hesitate. One by one, I count the lines on his palm.
Fox sighs theatrically. ‘Do you want to see your brother or not?’
He already knows my answer. ‘Yes,’ I say, finally moving closer. ‘Yes, show me.’
‘Please?’
‘Please,’ I grit out, and slip my hand into his.
It feels much like it did when we danced together at King Balen’s ball, his skin warm and callused, his grip firm. I’m suddenly keenly aware of how filthy I am. My clothes are grimy; my hair matted with sandstone dust and blood.
‘What now?’ I don’t know why I’m whispering – we’re the only ones here.
Fox shushes me, his eyes closed. ‘I’m concentrating.’
I resist pulling a face and cast my eyes around the willow tree.
Is this really where he’s been living? My gaze lands on the bedroll, medical supplies, pungent herbs and plants, until, quite suddenly, I don’t see them any more.
I see a boy wearing an eyepatch. He’s walking beneath a leafy canopy, his dark curls wet and glistening.
Flint.
It’s him. It’s really him.
Then he’s gone. My surroundings fade back in, and I’m once again sitting face-to-face with the Earth Cleaver.
I feel overcome with the urge to cry – or laugh. ‘Flint’s alive.’
‘Told you.’
‘How … how did you do that?’ I breathe.
‘Practice.’ Fox smirks infuriatingly, dragging the pad of his thumb across my palm. He does it again, his touch feather-light, sending small shivers down the nape of my neck.
I draw my hand back quickly. That’s when another realization hits me. ‘The Ceremony,’ I say. ‘When the Eye gave you that vision …’
It’s instantaneous the way the amused expression slides off Fox’s face.
‘I was able to see it too,’ I continue, ‘because I – I touched you.’
‘I’m aware.’ His entire demeanour has changed, become cool and emotionless. ‘It’s how I discovered I’m able to let others see what I see, if I wish it.’
I open my mouth, then close it again, thinking of what he saw that day. His sister, Freya, a little girl no older than Renly is now. I remember the way her green eyes had bulged as she choked, wild and desperate, then glassy and unseeing.
‘Who else knows?’ I ask quietly. ‘About what your uncle did?’
‘Very few, I imagine.’
‘What about Hal?’
Fox shakes his head, then cracks his neck.
‘Why didn’t you tell him?’
‘You don’t think I tried?’
‘But now you can prove it,’ I say. ‘You can use the Eye to show him the whole story.’
‘I think you’re forgetting one small detail,’ says Fox. ‘I’ve been exiled.’
‘But you’re not in exile,’ I point out. ‘You’re still here in Ostacre.’
‘As ever, Storm Weaver, your observational skills are second to none.’
I scowl, growing impatient. ‘He’s your brother –’
‘Half-brother,’ Fox corrects. ‘And I assure you, whatever familial bond existed between us has long since been severed.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ I say, remembering the way they had looked at one another in my chambers the night I returned Elva’s magic – Fox’s offer of help, Hal’s reluctant acceptance, a flicker of an old trust, fragile yet unbroken.
Fox leans forward. ‘Then tell me, would your brother ever turn you away? Refuse to hear you out? Threaten to have you killed if you returned?’
I stare at him. After the Ceremony, many called for the Earth Cleaver’s execution, demanding his life as payment for the deaths of the Council, but I never for one moment imagined that Hal would consider such a thing.
And not just because killing an Heir is an insult to the Gods, but because, for better or for worse, Fox is his family.
I think of my own brother. He would never do anything to hurt me, even if I were the one who had hurt him.
‘I have to find Flint,’ I say so loudly I startle even myself.
‘And how do you propose to do that?’ Fox drawls. ‘Stroll into the forest and call his name? Ask any low-flying birds if they happen to have seen him?’
I glower, any last dregs of sympathy drying up and turning to dust. ‘Strangely enough, no. What I’m going to do is stick to the plan and make for the Lagoon.’
‘Ah, so that’s where you were headed,’ says Fox, wiping his hands on his shirt. ‘I take it you’re searching for the missing Eye?’
‘I’d have thought you’d have worked that one out for yourself by now, what with all the spying you seem to have been doing on us lately.’
Fox rolls his eyes fondly, then tosses me a waterskin. ‘Here.’
I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until I take a drink. A sudden whinnying sound causes me to choke in surprise.
‘It’s just Cedar,’ Fox says as I turn to him in panic, water running down my chin. ‘You should really eat something. We have a long ride ahead of us.’
I stare at him. ‘We? What do you mean, we?’
Fox leans back against the trunk of the willow. ‘You thought I’d let you just wander out alone into the Wildlands?’
I hesitate. I’ve heard tales of creatures roaming the mountains, people going missing on the moors, beautiful flowers that secrete deadly toxins in the meadows, even a haunted forest called the Greenwood, filled with bandits and dryads.
‘You think I can’t do it alone?’ I challenge.
Fox clicks his tongue and mutters something in Veridian. ‘Syrath velena.’
Stubborn girl.
‘Fazari velen,’ I bite back.
Stupid boy.
‘Nice pronunciation.’ He grins, impressed, then changes tack. ‘Listen, you may be a future queen, but that doesn’t mean you know how to navigate without a map, or forage for food. Your chances of survival are far greater by my side.’ He dips into a mocking half-bow. ‘I am but your humble servant.’
‘Humble is not a word I associate with you,’ I say waspishly.
‘What about handsome?’ Fox muses.
I blush, scowling, remembering what I’d said to him the first time we met, woozy with painkiller.
‘Face it, Storm Weaver,’ he says. ‘You need my help.’
I waver, conflicted.
The sooner I get to the Lagoon, the sooner I find Flint.
Plus, Fox has a horse, which should make the journey to the Aquatori Court a whole lot faster.
He also has the Eye of the Past. Fox told me once that the Eyes are sisters, just like their original owners – that they’re drawn to one another.
What if staying close to Sifa’s talisman could help me find Syla’s?
I may not have complete faith in the superiority of his moral compass, but what I do know with absolute certainty is that whatever happens, he won’t let the Eyes fall into King Balen’s hands.
Surely a shared enemy is all the foundation needed to build an alliance?
Besides, he’s right. By all accounts, the Wildlands can be treacherous. And as the Heir once destined to rule over them, perhaps he might prove useful.
Perhaps it really would be safer to remain with the most dangerous Etheri in the realm.