Chapter 25
Blaze
The seven Magi ambassadors sit side by side along a grand golden dining table.
Across from them, leaning back in his throne as though to better take in the scene, his resplendent spun-gold robes shining almost as brightly as the orbs of light floating lazily around the ceiling, is a young man who looks startlingly like Hal. But of course, this isn’t Hal.
It’s his grandfather, Caius Castellion.
While the Maker – God of Gods who created Etheri – decreed that the four elemental crowns should be won rather than inherited, he ensured that his own crown, the Imperial Crown, would be passed down only to the first-born sons of his line.
It was a way of continuing his legacy and, rather chillingly, immortalizing his face, for the men of House Castellion all bear an unsettling resemblance to their forefather: sleek black hair, porcelain skin and raven eyes.
Caius’s eyes flit between his guests, alight not with kindness, like Hal’s, or amusement, like King Balen’s, but with anticipation, as though he were waiting for something.
Fox and I stand over by the far wall, watching.
It’s not long before several attendants file into the room, each carrying a golden platter complete with a domed lid. I count seven – one for each ambassador.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ says Caius, his voice smooth and pleasant, so different from the grating rasp of the old man I met in the library.
‘You honour me with your presence. For too long our great empires have remained divided. Let us come together to heal the rift of the past. Let us unite and forge a new future, one rich in trade and friendship.’
As the platters are placed in front of the Magi, unease curls round me like a fist. I already know how this memory ends – with all seven ambassadors dead. But what I don’t know is how they were killed. Perhaps the food is poisoned? Or the wine?
That’s when my gaze snags on the attendants. I’m struck by just how burly they are – disconcertingly muscular, standing straight-backed and alert behind the ambassadors, almost as if they were soldiers rather than servants.
My heart plummets.
Caius smiles widely. ‘And yet,’ he says, swilling the dregs in his glass, ‘I’ve often found alliances to be such fickle, fragile things. It’s unfortunate, really, but in my experience, spilling blood is far more effective than breaking bread.’
Seconds later the supposed attendants yank the lids from the platters to reveal seven vicious-looking blades.
The ambassadors leap to their feet, but they aren’t quick enough.
I swallow a scream as every last one has their throat cut from ear to ear.
Blood pools on the table, dripping to the floor, so much that I can smell the iron in it.
The last thing I see before the vision changes is Caius Castellion pouring himself another glass of wine.
We soon find ourselves in a different chamber.
Five thrones are positioned round a circular table in the centre, and the walls are lined with portraits, hundreds of them, each depicting a different king, queen or emperor – generations of Crowned Councils.
Fox leans against a portrait of a rather cantankerous-looking man wearing the Ignitia crown of golden flames.
In one hand the king holds a sceptre, in the other, a pile of ash.
‘Where are we?’ I ask.
‘Welcome to the Council Chambers,’ says Fox. ‘Where you’ll soon be spending an awful lot of time. It’s now the morning after the secret assassination of the ambassadors.’
I open my mouth to say more, but Fox puts a finger to his lips and points towards the far window.
His grandfather is standing silhouetted in a beam of buttery sunlight, as though he were some kind of fallen angel rather than a murderous, bloodthirsty monster.
He’s clutching a scrap of parchment, scanning the contents greedily.
I move closer, trying to peer over his shoulder, but at that moment a set of towering golden doors fly open to reveal a beautiful woman dressed in a billowing red shirt and fighting leathers.
Her dark hair is unbound, her downturned lips painted a rich shade of crimson, and her eyes – deep brown, flecked with gold – burn with unconcealed rage as she hisses, ‘What have you done?’
I’m rooted to the spot, my jaw slack with shock. I know those eyes. I know that voice. Everything about this woman is familiar to me. She looks like my mother, only her face is sharper, more severe, more striking.
Then it hits me.
‘Grandmother?’ I whisper hoarsely.
And so it is. My grandmother, Leda Flameslinger, matriarch of House Harglade, standing right in front of me, barely a few years older than I am now.
Utterly dumbfounded, I sag against Fox then leap away as if scalded, hastily turning my attention towards Grandmother’s companion, whose hand is still raised as though he were about to knock before she decided to burst in.
Dressed in a simple blue tunic, the young man is clearly Aquatori.
He’s achingly handsome, with high cheekbones, close-cropped snow-white hair, and eyes the colour of deep water.
He, too, is familiar. But it’s not until I clock the small silver trident strapped to his belt that I realize why.
‘Leda, River,’ says Caius, seemingly unperturbed by Grandmother’s livid expression. ‘Come in, my friends. I have something I wish to discuss with you.’
I turn to Fox, wide-eyed. Ever since I saw them speaking together on my Name Day, I’ve suspected that Grandmother and River knew one another, a suspicion confirmed at the Binding Ceremony when they united to fight King Balen.
So it comes as little surprise to me that they were friends, once.
But what does surprise me – horrify me, even – is that Grandmother was seemingly also friends with none other than Caius Castellion.
Though the way she’s glaring at him in this moment is far from friendly.
‘It would appear our grandparents have history,’ Fox murmurs.
‘You have something to discuss with us,’ Grandmother repeats, stalking into the room.
‘And would that have anything to do with the blood leaking from beneath the door to your private dining chamber? Or the fact I saw seven of those boorish brutes you call your Imperial Guard dressed as attendants for some inexplicable reason?’
‘Have you been keeping tabs on me, Leda?’ Caius asks mildly, as River closes the double doors and moves quietly to Grandmother’s side.
She points at Caius, and several sparks shoot from her fingertip, landing on the floor with a dull hiss. ‘Where are the ambassadors?’
‘Dead,’ he says matter-of-factly, picking a speck of lint from the sleeve of his robes.
River looks stricken. ‘All of them?’
Caius nods laboriously, up and down, up and down, like a solemn child.
‘Are you out of your mind?’ Grandmother snarls. ‘You know what this means, don’t you? This is all it’ll take to start a war.’
‘Precisely.’
Grandmother glances at River, and something unspoken seems to pass between them. She sits down heavily in one of the five thrones. ‘Caius, what are you doing?’
‘I’m creating a distraction.’
‘You’re starting an imperial war to create a distraction?’ Grandmother half shrieks.
‘A distraction from what?’ River asks calmly.
Caius slaps the scrap of parchment on the table. ‘From obtaining the most powerful weapons in the world and destroying the Magi once and for all.’
On the parchment are three identical drawings. As the scene begins to recede, I can just make out the words scrawled beneath each sketch.
The Eye of the Past, The Eye of the Future and The Eye of the Soul.
I jerk myself back into the present. I’m sitting upon a carpet of moss, my arm extended towards the hammock above, which is made from vines and slung between two low-hanging branches.
It sways slightly as Fox glances down to look at me, his gaze lingering on our joined hands.
I pull mine away quickly. It’s cold and clammy and trembling.
‘My grandmother,’ I mumble.
‘I certainly see where you get your looks from,’ Fox muses, chewing on a mint leaf.
I ignore him. ‘She was friends with your grandfather, she knows about the sisters’ talismans, she –’ That’s when another thought collides into me. ‘After the third trial, she sat by my bedside and she saw it – she saw the Eye of the Soul round my neck.’
I remember Grandmother reaching out to touch it.
An Eye, she’d murmured softly.
‘I told her it belonged to Spinner,’ I continue. ‘She didn’t question it.’
‘Of course she didn’t – then she would’ve had to explain how she knew what it was.
’ Fox pauses. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I believe your grandmother is deeply ashamed of the past, and of the part she played in it. I believe she wants to make things right. And I think letting you go was her way of proving that.’
I think back to escaping Fire Mountain. Grandmother had come after Flint and me. She’d begged us to stay. But Fox is right. She’d let us go.
He holds out a hand. ‘Shall we continue?’
The following visions are like something out of a nightmare.
The severed heads of the Magi ambassadors are returned to the Otherlands on golden platters.
A fleet of a thousand ships sails across the Second Sea, bearing the flags of Thresk, Obsidia, Nepta, Veridia, Serolia, Havar and Al Sh’ib – seven isles united as one.
The Ostacrian armies march to meet them. My gaze lands on the Ignitia High General. That must be my mother’s father. Grandfather looks remarkably like Aunt Hester, wiry and graceful astride his horse, his thin mouth set in a grim line.
A war-torn hellscape greets me next.
Screams pierce through the din. The air is thick with magic and blood. Bodies are piled high, pecked at by birds. The Creek runs red.
Back in Cor Caval, Caius Castellion paces through the Golden Keep as his Imperial Guard ride for the harbour.
His words echo in my ears.
You know what to do.
Nausea rises in my throat.
‘Want to stop?’ Fox asks.
I shake my head. The next moment we’re in a cottage. The walls are painted sunshine yellow, peach-pink, forget-me-not blue – bright, happy colours that clash garishly with the terrified girls standing in front of us.
My stomach flips. The three sisters.
No, the four sisters.
One girl is standing a little apart from the others, her expression far away as she clutches the Eye round her neck.
When she speaks, it is a language I recognize – Threskan.
‘They’re coming,’ she breathes. ‘We have to hurry.’
I turn to Fox, who nods before the words have even left my mouth.
This must be Seera.
‘Let’s go,’ says another. I recognize her from a previous vision, hurrying along a moonlit path to meet her love.
Sifa adjusts the hood of her cloak and beckons to the smallest girl.
Senna looks no older than Renly. She’s crying, tears dripping down her heart-shaped face as she looks up at the final sister – a beautiful girl with long auburn hair.
My breath catches.
Syla.
I watch Syla wrap her arms round her younger sister, holding her tightly. ‘We’ll be all right. We’ll find somewhere safe. Just stay close.’
The vision changes. The sisters are running for their lives through a darkened wood. Behind them comes the sound of pounding hooves, the Imperial Guard jeering and hooting as if this were a hunt and these girls were the foxes.
Syla hurls spell after spell over her shoulder, blasting the men off their horses. One is impaled on a tree branch then torn in half as his mount charges on, feet still wedged in the stirrups. I gasp as another knight lifts a crossbow and takes aim.
The bolt strikes Sifa in the back of the head. She’s dead before she hits the ground.
Her sisters scream.
That’s when another bolt soars through the air and buries itself in Seera’s chest. She crumples to her knees, her last word a strangled, breathless scream: ‘GO.’
Syla chokes on sobs as she half drags, half carries a wailing Senna onward.
Neither of them sees the tree root jutting into their path.
They tumble to the ground just as the Imperial Guard descend.
Senna is lifted on to a horse, while heavy crystal chains are clamped round Syla’s neck, wrists and ankles before she can unleash her power.
One of the soldiers uses his foot to roll Sifa’s and Seera’s bodies over, and I watch in astonishment as their talismans vanish before he can seize them.
The vision changes a final time.
Caius Castellion is sitting smugly on the Imperial throne. At the bottom of the golden steps, peering blearily up at him from inside a crystal cage, is Syla.
‘Such a prize,’ Caius purrs.
‘What do you want?’ Syla spits.
‘What I want is for you to do exactly as I tell you from here on out. And you can start by winning me the war.’
Syla blanches. ‘How?’
‘By stripping your people of their power.’
She barks out an empty laugh. ‘Never.’
Caius smiles. ‘I thought you might say that. Only you haven’t heard what I’ll offer you in return. Something tells me it might change your mind.’ He raises his voice, addressing someone beyond the door. ‘Bring in the girl.’
My heart twists violently as a knight drags Senna into the throne room, whimpering with fear. I don’t realize I’m shaking until Fox touches me lightly on the shoulder.
Syla’s eyes are wild, her hands gripping the bars of her cage. ‘Let her go.’
Caius presses the tips of his long fingers together. ‘Only if you do as I ask. Submit to me. Strip my enemies of their magic.’
At his words, Syla turns very still.
‘And be warned,’ Caius continues pleasantly.
‘If you’re pretending to comply only so that I will free you from that cage, you would be unwise.
For I had one of the Magi prisoners of war cast a rather ingenious enchantment in exchange for his freedom.
If you ever disobey me, young Senna here will die.
So I ask one more time – take away the powers of the Magi. ’
Silence falls like an axe. Past, present and future hang in the balance as Syla looks up at Caius, then over at Senna. The expression on her face is one of pure agony and pure love. It stays with me even when the vision fades. I suspect it’ll stay with me forever.
When I open my eyes, I’m back in the Wildlands, drizzle falling softly overhead.
‘Had enough?’ Fox asks quietly.
I nod, blinking away tears before they can fall. Tremors rack my body. My mind is full, but I feel only sick and hollow.
In order to save Senna, Syla agreed to give up her freedom and use her power to betray her own kind. She condemned her homeland to ruin, her people to a life of poverty and servitude. That was the cost of her sister’s life – everything.
And it was a price Syla was willing to pay.