Chapter 34
Blaze
Cedar is waiting for us outside the forge, freshly shoed.
Fox takes his reins, tossing the blacksmith a few coins before we set off down the winding road, Scout tucked out of sight inside Fox’s satchel.
Wellwall is just as vibrant and bustling as it was the day before, yet I barely notice.
Visions of the Otherlands still cling to the corners of my mind, dangerous and magnificent.
For hours I’d gazed with childlike wonder at a world I thought beyond my reach, a world so vast it made everything else feel small, even if just for a night.
What Fox gave me … it’s a gift I can never repay. A taste of the freedom and adventure I’ve dreamed of all my life.
He keeps stealing glances at me, and I keep pretending not to notice, trying not to think about the way he looked while he was sleeping – all long lashes and softened edges, his untidy dark hair strewn across the pillow.
I swing my arms as I walk, flexing my right hand as if to shake off the memory of his fingers entwined with mine.
It meant nothing, I tell myself firmly, even as my heartbeats patter like raindrops against my ribcage.
At that moment, a clamour of voices rises up ahead. I crane my neck to glimpse a large wagon trundling along the road. People begin spilling from doorways to watch it pass.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask an elderly woman selling broth from a copper cauldron.
She sniffs as she stirs the contents with a ladle. ‘Looks like the Baron’s new toy has arrived.’
Perplexed, I glance at Fox, who’s gone rigid, his brow furrowed in concentration.
As the wagon draws nearer, I see it’s not a wagon at all, but a large cage on wheels. Inside – hackles raised, teeth bared, grey fur matted with blood – is a wolf. I notice with a pang of recognition the distinctive silver markings round its eyes.
‘Is that …’
Fox nods grimly.
Before the cage walk the hunters, each armed with a spear. I recall their words that day in the forest: Remember, the Baron wants it alive.
There were five of them before, yet now I count only three. The wolf must have put up a good fight – just not good enough.
I turn back to the old woman. ‘What do you mean, new toy?’
‘Every month the Baron selects a new contender for his fighting pit. Sometimes man, sometimes beast.’ She sprinkles a handful of herbs into the bubbling broth. ‘There’s a fight tonight, I hear. Perhaps you should stay and watch. It’s quite the show.’
My insides curl in disgust. ‘Come on,’ I say, nudging Fox. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
He blinks dazedly, unable to tear his gaze from the wolf as the cage rolls past. ‘Where are they taking it now?’
‘To the Baron’s estate, I should think,’ replies the old woman.
I look at Fox. He looks back at me. I shake my head. ‘No. Whatever you’re planning, you can forget it.’
‘How d’you know I’m planning anything?’
I raise an eyebrow.
He takes my arm and pulls me into a nearby alleyway. ‘Listen –’
‘No, you listen,’ I say, shaking him off. ‘That wolf is not our responsibility.’
Fox’s expression is inexplicably pained. ‘I can’t just leave it.’
‘Why?’ I splutter. ‘Because it decided not to eat us that one time?’
He shrugs. ‘Something like that.’
I lean against the wall. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘No.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re impossible,’ I growl.
‘I prefer daring.’
I fix him with a glare. ‘This is a stupid idea.’
‘I never said it wasn’t,’ says Fox. ‘Go with Cedar and wait for me in the treeline.’
I snort, folding my arms across my chest. ‘Like that’s happening.’
He mirrors my stance. ‘Meaning?’
I sigh, half exasperated, half resigned. ‘We’re allies, remember? And if you’re really insisting on this ludicrous rescue mission, then I’m coming with you.’
For a moment I think he might be about to kiss me.
Instead, he just grins. ‘Then what are we waiting for?’
The Baron of Wellwall lives on a sprawling estate at the very edge of the province.
The manor itself is reminiscent of a child’s dollhouse, with butter-yellow brickwork and diamond-paned windows.
A twelve-foot wall encircles the manicured grounds, accessible only by way of towering wrought-iron gates which clang shut behind the wagon.
‘So what’s the plan, exactly?’ I ask sceptically.
‘We go round the back,’ says Fox. ‘Scale the wall.’
‘Brilliant,’ I mutter. Yet still, I sense it beneath the coiled spring of apprehension – that strange, giddy rush that accompanies recklessness, the thrill of doing something I know I shouldn’t.
Like escaping Fire Mountain or walking straight into the Ridge tunnels.
Perhaps, deep down, there’s a part of me that likes risks.
Even ones with green eyes and a death wish.
Fox murmurs something, and Scout darts away in a flash of copper, slipping easily through the bars of the gate, while Cedar trots obediently towards the trees.
‘How do you propose we get over the wall?’ I ask Fox as we skirt the perimeter.
He snaps his fingers, and a host of vines spring forth, creeping up the stone.
‘I thought we were supposed to be acting like Fidra,’ I point out.
‘A necessary exception,’ he tells me as he laces his fingers together.
I place my foot carefully in his cupped hands and grip his shoulder as I hoist myself up. He follows suit, scaling the wall with ease. Together, we peer over the top.
The rear of the manor is just as grand as the front.
Opposite are a row of empty horse stalls.
The wolf’s cage is stationed next to them, a scrap of tarpaulin draped over it.
I suspect the hunters are off claiming their reward.
About thirty yards away, I spot a lone attendant pruning a rosebush, his back to us.
There is no one else in sight, except for Scout, standing guard at the bottom of the wall.
Fox lands lightly beside her, then glances back up at me. ‘Jump,’ he orders.
I swallow, steeling myself, and wonder what it would feel like to break both my legs. Fortunately, I don’t find out, for Fox catches me before I hit the ground. I stare up at him, a little breathless, a little indignant.
‘This way,’ he says, setting me back on my feet.
‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ I hiss as Fox tugs the tarpaulin off the cage.
The wolf shrinks back warily, a low growl rumbling in its throat. I watch its yellow eyes linger on Fox and, just as before, something unspoken seems to pass between them, as though they were engaged in a wordless conversation.
‘Storm Weaver,’ Fox says, without looking at me. ‘Freeze the lock.’
‘But what if –’
‘He won’t hurt us, I promise. Just do it.’
I take a deep breath and concentrate. A moment later the large brass padlock is encased in a thick layer of ice. Fox smashes it with the hilt of his dagger, and it falls to the ground. I back away as he slowly opens the door to the cage.
The wolf springs free, landing silently at Fox’s side. It stares up at him one last time, then, in a streak of grey, it’s gone.
‘Let’s go.’
We follow Scout round the back of the stalls, where we discover a crumbling cleft at the base of the wall, just wide enough to crawl through.
Fox jerks his head. ‘After you, Your Majesty.’
I’ve only made it halfway when an enraged cry splits the air.
‘Hurry,’ Fox urges.
But it’s too late. I scream in fright as hands clamp down on my ankles and drag me back under the wall.
Fox barely has time to pull Soulkiller from his belt before he’s surrounded by the three hunters.
A fourth man hauls me up by my hair. I struggle frantically, but he pins me tight to his chest. Fox snarls, lunging at him, but the hunters brandish their spears.
Scout curls around his legs protectively, but my captor aims a kick at her.
‘Go,’ Fox whispers.
She shoots him a mournful look before bolting through the hole.
‘Well, well, well,’ says a reedy voice. ‘What do we have here?’
I look up to see a fifth man waddling towards us, his fair hair thin and oiled, his large nose purple with broken blood vessels.
Round his neck he wears a plum-coloured silk cravat, and stretched across his portly frame is a green-velvet waistcoat that looks in danger of popping a button.
He peers at us through watery-blue eyes, one of which is oddly magnified by a gold-rimmed monocle.
‘We caught them trying to escape, Baron,’ my captor responds, twisting my arms painfully behind my back.
‘And what of my wolf?’
‘Gone,’ Fox says bluntly.
For a moment I think one of the hunters might spear him through the throat.
The Baron tuts. ‘A pity. It would have made an excellent addition to my fighting pit.’
My captor sneers. ‘Do you know what happens to thieves in Wellwall?’
‘I don’t,’ Fox tells him. ‘But I’d wager it’s not pleasant.’
‘Now, now, Garrick,’ says the Baron. ‘No need to be hasty. I agree they must be punished, but there’s more than one way to skin a cat.’
‘You would know,’ Fox mutters.
‘One more word,’ says Garrick, gripping me so tightly I cry out. ‘Just one more word and I’ll snap her neck.’
Fury spikes. How dare he? I could end him right here, without so much as lifting a finger. I could drown him where he stands.
Fox’s eyes are dark with rage, but when he speaks, his voice is calm. ‘She did nothing. It was all me.’
The Baron tilts his head. ‘And who are you, boy?’
‘No one of any consequence.’
‘And yet you break into my grounds and steal my property. That sounds rather consequential to me.’
‘All right,’ Fox concedes. ‘Then I’m someone who believes that men who slaughter innocents for sport are not men at all.’
I tense as a spearhead grazes his neck.
The Baron chortles as if he’s said something amusing. ‘You certainly have a great deal of backbone for a common thief. I should hate to see such courage go to waste. But Garrick is right – no crime should go unpunished. So I’m going to offer you three choices.’
‘Which are?’
‘First, the standard sentence for stealing – having one’s hand cut off.’
Nausea curdles in my gut.
Fox merely grimaces. ‘Pass.’
‘Second, I ask Garrick to kill your pretty little friend here.’
‘He can try,’ I mutter.
Garrick chuckles, and I recoil as he reaches down to stroke my cheek. Fox watches him with an expression that suggests he’d like to sever each of Garrick’s fingers and feed them to him one by one.
‘Again, I must decline,’ he tells the Baron.
‘Then what do you say to putting that admirable courage to the test?’ the Baron asks.
‘In what regard?’
The Baron grins. ‘By winning your freedom,’ he says. ‘You stole my wolf, thus robbing me of an evening’s entertainment. My offer is this – take his place in my fighting pit.’
I suck in a breath, feeling the whole world shift beneath my feet. ‘What?’
Fox tilts his head to the side, mulling it over.
‘No,’ I hiss.
He ignores me. I scowl and stamp down hard on Garrick’s foot. We should end this. Now. Escape while we still have the chance. Cover be damned – I’ll turn the lot of them to ice statues if I have to, then leave them locked up in the stalls to melt.
Fox shakes his head, as if he knows what I’m planning. I glare furiously at him. What other choice do we have?
Deep inside, my power stirs, hungry and impatient, longing to be released. Only … only if I were to dispense with the Baron and his henchmen, how long would it take for word to spread? For rumours to be picked up on the breeze and carried back to King Balen?
I chew the inside of my cheek.
Fox is right. In order to maintain our ruse, we can’t use our magic. The Baron hasn’t once questioned our being Fidra, nor does he seem to care where we come from. What he wants is a show. And if there’s one thing Fox knows how to do – it’s perform.
‘Deal,’ he says.
I let out a low groan.
The Baron claps his hands, jubilant. ‘Until tonight, then.’ He nods at Garrick, who begins dragging me towards the manor.
‘Stop!’ Fox yells. ‘What’re you doing?’
‘You didn’t think I’d just let her go, did you?’ The Baron snorts. ‘It’s not only your freedom you’re fighting for, boy.’
Fox clenches his jaw. Neither of us thought to clarify the terms of the deal. He goes rigid, as if struck by a second realization. I watch, puzzled, as his expression clears and he turns to glance beseechingly at the Baron. ‘At least let me say goodbye.’
The Baron’s lip curls. ‘How touching. Very well, then.’
Garrick gives me a shove and I stumble forward into Fox’s arms as the rest of the men guffaw. For a moment he holds me close. I breathe in the scent of him, heart thudding in my chest, before he lowers his mouth to my ear and murmurs, ‘Take the Eye.’
Understanding washes over me. Of course. In my panic, I’d almost forgotten about the Eye of the Past.
I hesitate, then hook my arms round Fox’s neck, cursing the heat flaring in my cheeks.
He leans down a little, resting his brow against mine.
My fingers find the clasp of the chain beneath his collar, and after some fumbling, I feel it come loose.
Fox reaches up to encircle my wrists, and my hands skim the solid planes of his chest as he guides them back down between us before carefully extracting the talisman from my fist.
My breath hitches as he pulls me closer, then, slowly, slides his palm down the length of my spine and slips the talisman into my back pocket.
I swallow hard. My skin burns and burns, but I don’t pull away.
‘All right,’ a voice drawls. ‘Time’s up, lovebirds.’
Fox brushes his lips to my forehead. ‘Whatever happens,’ he whispers, ‘promise me you won’t reveal yourself.’
Seconds later we’re wrenched apart. I yelp in protest as Garrick tosses me roughly over his shoulder.
‘Wait!’ Fox calls as the hunters begin herding him away. ‘Who is my opponent?’
The Baron’s expression is one of pure glee. ‘Tonight, the thief will battle the bear.’