Chapter 19
Flint
The moor seems to go on forever, purple heather stretching in all directions.
The Wildlands are made up of four principal landscapes – moors, meadows, mountains and forests.
Having already grown tired of the endless moorland, frankly, any of the others would be preferable.
At least then there would be some variation – trees, grassy plains, pretty flowers, not-so-pretty swamps.
Even cliffs. I would honestly rather be hiking up a cliff right now, if only to fantasize about pushing Sheen over the edge.
He’s walking several paces in front, shoulders back, spine poker-straight, really milking those few inches of height he has on me.
He tends to do that – walk slightly ahead.
I’ve never been able to work out whether it’s because he likes that I’m forced to trail along behind, or that he hates being in my company so much he needs just a couple of yards of distance between us in order to tolerate it. Perhaps both.
It’s been this way since the day we met.
Sheen seemed to take an instant dislike to me, and as someone who has spent their entire life being more or less adored by everyone, I admit I find it …
well, rather infuriating, actually. I’m not used to people not liking me.
It’s not that I expected it to feel good, but I just never expected it to feel this bad.
Several times I’ve come close to asking him outright.
But it just always sounded a bit stupid.
Why don’t you like me?
All right. Pathetic, even.
Though maybe I shouldn’t take it too much to heart, because Sheen doesn’t seem to like anyone. He’s so different from the other Eyes, with their court gossip and glamorous parties, living so vivaciously, carving out a space for themselves in every room.
In any case, Spinner’s delight at being in my company more than makes up for Sheen’s distaste for it.
Unlike him, she was never immune to my charms. Things between us started just before the second trial, but I knew how she felt about me only days after arriving at the palace.
I have this way of drawing people into my orbit, of making them fall fast and hard.
It’s not intentional. It’s inherent – just a part of who I am. Or was.
Yet while I may have a long list of lovers, I don’t do love. I’m not one for grand gestures or soul-bearing declarations. I only hope Spinner doesn’t see this, us, as more than it is – a bit of fun, a casual, mutually satisfying arrangement with no strings attached.
She’s currently swinging merrily from my arm, chattering about a multitude of people I’ve never heard of.
‘… and then he found out that she was already married. Can you believe it?’
Spinner is, as always, unfailingly cheerful, her face cycling through its repertoire of expressions, which under usual circumstances would cause the tattoos on her cheeks to twist into all manner of different shapes.
But since she was forced to accept that most Fidra don’t, in fact, have swirling golden whorls inked into their skin, I helped her paint over them with a dark shade of panstick – the kind used by actors in theatre troupes.
‘So, I asked him what he was going to do –’
‘And what did he say?’ I ask mildly. I’m only half paying attention to the story but I like listening to her talk. Spinner is so sweet, so lively, so animated. So unlike Sheen.
He adjusts the satchel on his shoulder. I don’t think I’ve heard him speak today. I barely know anything about him other than that he’s an Eye and my chaperone and chronically unpleasant. But wait – that’s not all. I do know something else about him, something he never intended for me to find out.
‘Isn’t it only the most gifted Ventalla who’re able flit?’ I direct the question at Sheen’s back, interrupting Spinner’s steady stream of chatter.
Sheen doesn’t even turn round as he says, ‘Correct.’
‘So what does that make you, then?’
‘Play nice,’ warns Spinner.
I hold up my hands in surrender. ‘It’s just a question. Questions start conversations, Spinner dearest. I figure that if I’m going to be spending the next however many weeks with my darling chaperone, the very least we could do is get to know one another.’
Spinner rolls her eyes. Sheen says nothing.
‘Well?’ Antagonizing him in this way is perhaps as unnecessary as it is unprovoked, but in my defence – I’m bored.
And I’m bored of Sheen’s morose silence.
Maybe I’ll never break through that steadfast wall of composure, but I take considerable pleasure in chipping away at the brickwork. Anything to pass the time.
‘I suppose that would make me exceptionally gifted,’ says Sheen eventually.
‘Someone’s a little full of themselves.’
Spinner elbows me in the ribs in Blaze-like fashion.
‘I have another question,’ I say, wincing.
Sheen sighs. ‘Then by all means, ask away.’
‘What other tricks can you do, besides flitting?’
‘I’m not a performing monkey, Harglade.’
‘Oh, come on,’ I wheedle. ‘Give us a show, why don’t you?’
I watch Sheen’s shoulders rise and fall as he marches across the heather, his white-blonde hair gleaming in the afternoon sun.
‘Not a fan of that question? All right, here’s another. Aside from Spinner and me, who else knows you’re Ventalla?’
Sheen glances to the side, but doesn’t turn round. ‘Keep your voice down.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Why? We’re in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that. I just don’t want to listen to it.’
Now it’s my turn to feel irritated.
Spinner loops her arm through mine again. ‘A word to the wise, Flint, my love. Don’t bother trying to take on Sheen. He’ll eat you alive.’
‘Sounds intimate,’ I tell her.
After several more endless hours of hiking, my feet are beginning to hurt.
‘My feet are beginning to hurt,’ I announce plaintively.
Sheen continues to march ahead as though I hadn’t spoken at all.
Gods, what is his problem? And how is he managing to walk like that?
The soil beneath the heather is covered with a spongy layer of moss.
Twice Spinner has fallen flat on her face.
But not Sheen. His tread is as light and graceful as ever, as though he were walking on air. Typical.
I reach up reflexively to readjust my bow, forgetting it’s no longer there. I feel defenceless without it. Magically impotent and unarmed. In other words, useless.
My thoughts drift to Blaze. I wonder where she is. I wonder if she thinks I’m dead. I hope she’s safe. Please let her be safe.
My burns smart and sting as another bead of sweat rolls down my forehead.
I’m running low on supplies. My vials of painkiller are almost entirely depleted.
There’s only a small amount of salve left and I’m trying to save it for when the pain becomes truly unbearable, as if it were a treat for special occasions.
The dull ache in my eye is only made worse by the eyepatch, which traps heat in and rubs uncomfortably against my skin.
All in all, I’m having a brilliant day.
I think of Harglade Hall, of my huge stone bath with taps shaped like little cobras, my four-poster bed with its red-silk sheets and mountain of pillows, a tray piled high with all my favourite things – roasted duck, honey-glazed carrots, apple pie and custard …
‘I’m hungry,’ I moan. ‘And I’m tired.’ I glance at Spinner for support. ‘What about you? You’re tiny. You must be exhausted.’
She shrugs. ‘I have a lot of stamina.’
I smirk in spite of myself. ‘Now that I can confirm.’
A few steps ahead of us, Sheen pretends to shudder.
‘Prude,’ I mutter.
With my request to stop and rest denied, and the pain in my burns increasing with every uneven step, I fall into a prickly silence.
This lasts only a minute or two, however, because I’m struck by a sudden realization – that sometimes, in order to get your way, you have to make yourself absolutely insufferable.
I clear my throat. ‘Are we there yet?’
‘Oh, please don’t start that again,’ Spinner groans.
‘But are we there yet?’
‘Flint.’
‘Spinner.’
‘Shut up, will you?’
‘No, I won’t. Sheen? D’you know if we’re there yet?’
No answer.
‘Are we there yet?’
Still no answer.
‘Are we there yet are we there yet are we there yet are we there yet are we –’ I stop abruptly, or rather, I am stopped, as something in the air around me shifts.
Bemused, I try to speak. But it’s no use. It’s as if my voice has been stolen, the sound of it vacuumed into nothingness.
What the –
Then, as Sheen glances round at me, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his usually sullen mouth, I understand.
‘There,’ he says blithely. ‘That’s better. Wouldn’t you agree, Spinner?’
Spinner is looking at the ground, trying very hard not to giggle. I scowl, furious. Sheen turns round again, leading the way across the heather.
Bastard, I mouth at his retreating back.