Chapter 28
Blaze
In my dreams, I scrabble desperately at the bars of a crystal cage, panic rising like the tide.
Far above me, perched smugly upon the Imperial throne, is Caius Castellion.
Only he is no longer the young emperor from Fox’s visions but the old man I met in the library: sallow-skinned and frail, his narrow frame shrouded in robes of pale gold.
Held in his hand is the Eye of the Future.
I can sense its power pulsing in time with my own, like a second heartbeat.
His voice is quiet and yet his words echo through my head.
Your enemy is close, girl. If only you knew what he has in store for you.
And suddenly it’s not Caius smiling down at me but King Balen, his raven eyes glinting with amusement. My insides twist with fear just as the doors to the throne room burst open and a child is dragged inside. Except this time, it’s not Senna.
It’s Renly.
I wake with a start, my breathing ragged. It’s almost dawn – the slivers of sky among the trees are a hazy golden orange. As I push myself upright, I register the dull ache in my lower stomach. I look down to find the front of my trousers stained with blood.
My heart sinks. Not now.
I try to stand, but a surge of nausea courses through me, stopping me in my tracks. The pain spikes. I feel it in my legs, my hips, the base of my spine – a series of sharp, violent spasms. Letting out a low groan, I lean over and vomit into the undergrowth.
When there’s nothing left, I slump back against a tree, shivering, cold sweat beading on my brow.
That’s when I catch sight of Fox standing a few yards to my right.
We haven’t spoken since my careless blunder involving his sister.
I’d remained sitting on that broken tree long after he disappeared into the forest, cursing my own thoughtlessness.
Heat stains my cheeks as he takes in the sight of me. He clears his throat uncomfortably, then abruptly turns and strides off into the trees.
I shrink with shame, but it’s not long before another wave of pain arrives. I take several deep breaths, trying not to think about Fox – hating that he saw me like this, hating how much it hurts that he just walked away.
I must’ve eventually dozed off because when I come to the pain has eased somewhat, and there’s a blanket draped over me.
I turn my head to discover Fox sitting in front of the fire, stirring the contents of a pot.
He pours the concoction carefully into a tin cup and offers it to me.
I reach out to take it, peering down at the liquid within.
‘What’s this?’
‘Ginger tea,’ he responds. ‘I added some fennel and raspberry leaf too. It should help with the pain.’
I blink, taken aback. So that’s why he disappeared.
Fox’s eyes meet mine, and I’m startled by the softness I find there. ‘Drink up.’
The tea is tangy and sweet. I sip it slowly, unsure what to say. I thought it had made him uncomfortable, seeing me in this condition, and perhaps it did – only not because he was embarrassed but because I was suffering.
Fox fills the silence. ‘I can wash your things in the Creek, if you like.’
I stare at him, half astonished, half horrified. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
He shrugs, unfazed. ‘I don’t mind. I’m a Healer. I’m no stranger to blood.’
I run my finger along the rim of the cup, avoiding his gaze.
‘Look, you can wear these in the meantime,’ says Fox, fishing my old pair of tattered trousers from his satchel. ‘I’ll turn round.’
I hesitate, then shuck off my soiled garments beneath the blanket, remembering to snatch Renly’s figurine out of the pocket.
Fox takes them without comment, pausing only to toss me a scrap of cloth and several rolls of gauze before winding his way through the trees.
I glance at Cedar, as if he might be able to offer some explanation for this unexpected display of chivalry, but he just continues to graze half-heartedly at a clump of weeds.
By the time Fox returns, the tea seems to have done its job. The pain has passed, and I feel more like myself again.
‘Better?’ he asks, draping my clean clothes over a branch to dry.
I nod. ‘Much.’ Then I add quietly, ‘Thank you.’
He sits down to stoke the fire. ‘You were tossing and turning all night. Bad dreams?’
‘I can’t get it out of my head,’ I say, grimacing. ‘I can’t get her out of my head – Syla. All she sacrificed, just to save one life.’
Fox leans back on his elbows, sensing I’m not finished.
‘It scares me,’ I admit. ‘What she did. It scares me because …’ I take a breath. ‘Because I know, deep down, that I would do the same thing.’ I force myself to meet his gaze, my voice little more than a whisper as I ask, ‘Does that make me a bad person?’
‘It makes you a good sister.’
My heart twists. He didn’t even hesitate.
‘I want … I wanted to say that I’m sorry. About yesterday.’
Fox half closes his eyes. ‘You don’t need to apologize.’
‘I wasn’t thinking, and I feel awful –’
He cuts me off. ‘I don’t want your pity, Storm Weaver.’
‘Fine,’ I say defeatedly. ‘Forget it.’
‘It’s not that I –’ Fox stops, grinding his jaw. ‘It’s just, I find it … difficult. Talking about her. About what happened to her.’
‘Of course you do,’ I say softly. ‘She was your sister. She is your sister.’
Something flickers in his gaze. There’s a long, strained pause. Then he says, ‘Haldyn prefers to act like she never existed.’
I rest my chin on my knees and look up at him. ‘What about your mother?’
He exhales. ‘Sometimes I’ll find her sitting in Freya’s room. She wouldn’t let them clear it out after. Everything is exactly as it was. Untouched.’
I remember that room. It was overflowing with flowers. Lilies, mostly. Pearly white and beautiful. Lady Calloway’s favourite, Spinner told me.
‘As for my father …’ Fox swallows. ‘Well, because of me, his grief died with him.’
‘You don’t have to talk about it,’ I mumble, ashamed of my intrusion.
But now Fox has started, he can’t seem to stop.
‘They said Freya must’ve caught the sweating sickness.
There was an outbreak in the citadel, with many of the courtiers dropping like flies.
It was some time before a falcon arrived at my grandparents’ cottage, summoning me back to the palace.
When I got there, my mother didn’t even need to tell me. I saw it on her face. That’s when …’
But I already know what happened next. I’ve known ever since the Binding Ceremony. There was a reason King Balen murdered his niece. It set in motion a chain of events that changed the course of history. It was the trigger to destruction.
I taste bile as I recall what Fox told me about his uncle hunting down those with both Etheri and Magi heritage.
Demari. The isle of Al Sh’ib was once home to a number of prophets.
It would appear that some of their Demari descendants have inherited that gift, one the Ventalla King used to further his own gain.
The words of the prophecy echo in my ears.
To break the world, you must first break his heart.
‘The Cleaving … it was because of Freya, wasn’t it? Her death caused the Rift.’
A long, strung-out silence follows. Then Fox says, ‘Yes.’
I lean back slowly against the tree.
‘I didn’t mean to do it,’ he continues quietly. ‘The power – it was too strong. All-consuming. I – I couldn’t stop it.’
So it’s true. My suspicions confirmed. Fox never meant to create the Rift, just as I never meant to summon that storm. Both were tragedies, yet both were unintentional. Uncontrollable.
‘And nobody ever suspected?’ I say weakly.
A muscle flexes in his jaw. ‘The palace had already moved on. In their minds, Freya was just one of the emperor’s bastards. Not worth mourning. Not worthy of respect.’
I shake my head. ‘That’s … awful.’
‘There was a time the Calloways weren’t exactly held in high esteem. The court did their best to disguise their hostility, but I still felt it, even as a child.’
His words strike a chord, and I glance away. Because I know that feeling all too well – to be an outsider stuck on the inside.
‘In short, my sister and I were considered to be nothing more than the consequences of my father’s ill-advised infatuation with a lowborn Terrathian girl,’ says Fox.
I think of his adoring bunch of sycophants who hang on his every word. The awe he inspires among the courtiers – part admiration, part terror. It’s difficult to imagine that their fawning deference was once scornful contempt.
‘It made me angry,’ he continues. ‘I resented their resentment. The way nobody seemed to care when Freya died.’
His voice cracks. Without thinking, I reach for him. Fox catches hold of my hand. For one breathless moment, I wonder if he’s going to snap my wrist. But he only runs a finger over my scar, briefly caressing the waxy, mottled skin – the remnants of my first brandmark.
‘The Cleaving changed everything,’ Fox continues, his tone now infused with bitter triumph. ‘Afterwards, when all eyes were on me, I knew I had a choice to make. I could grovel and cower and beg for the people’s forgiveness. Or I could own it.’
A memory stirs.
Sometimes we must claim our accidents. Intention can define you. And better to appear wilful than witless, wouldn’t you say?
‘I knew I couldn’t make them accept me, but I could make them fear me.’ Fox shrugs. ‘And that’s what I did. Little did I know I was playing right into my uncle’s hands. What I’d done, who I became – it was all by his design.’
My gaze flickers upward, latching on to his.
‘I’m going to kill him,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m not going to stop until I’ve made him pay for what he did. To the Council, to my sister, to me.’
I nod. I’d guessed as much. ‘So that’s why you’re still in Ostacre – to find the Eye?’
‘Yes,’ Fox admits. Then he adds softly, ‘But that’s not the only reason.’
I feel it in my chest: fragile roots that begin to spread, a seed that sprouts into something gentle and curious, unfurling like flower petals in the sun.
I have no name for it, the feeling. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever known.
And for a moment, as I look into a pair of eyes the colour of spring, I’m torn between ripping it out or letting it bloom.
Fox moves forward, or perhaps it’s me. I can’t be sure.
All I know is that suddenly he’s close enough for me to see the tiny freckle at the corner of his mouth.
His eyes scour my face, as though searching for a sign, something to tell him what I want.
Only the trouble is, I don’t know what I want.
Or maybe it’s that I do know, and I just won’t admit it.
All at once, something small and coppery-red comes darting into the clearing. I scramble backwards in fright, but Cedar tosses his mane happily and Fox’s face lights up. I stare, nonplussed, as the creature curls up in his lap, its beady green-gold eyes fixed on me.
‘Storm Weaver, meet Scout.’
‘This is Scout?’ Laughter bubbles up my throat as I try, and fail, to hide the amusement in my voice. ‘Of course you would have a pet fox.’
Fox grins. ‘Too subtle?’
‘A little on the nose, perhaps,’ I reply, echoing what he said about Silverclaw.
‘Then tell me,’ he says, smirking, ‘because I’ve been desperate to know. What did you name that kitten I gave you?’
I clamp my mouth shut.
Fox looks jubilant. ‘Let’s hear it.’
‘Mouse,’ I mutter under my breath, blushing crimson.
He cups a hand to his ear. ‘Speak up, Storm Weaver.’
‘Mouse.’
Fox tips his head back and laughs.
‘What?’ I say haughtily. ‘She’s scared of mice. I thought it was sweet.’
He only laughs harder. I fold my arms across my chest defiantly, but can’t suppress the smile tugging at my lips.
I feel it then, unexpected yet unmistakable – warmth, as well as heat. And in that moment, the Earth Cleaver just became a thousand times more dangerous.