Chapter 39 #2
‘I thought all the Rain Singers lived in Brava,’ she says. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘Where is here?’
‘Valburn, of course. The flaming heart of the Firelands, as my father calls it.’
Valburn? Of all the provinces in Ostacre, why is this particular vision taking place in the one I grew up in? Who are these children?
‘I sometimes wish my parents were dead,’ the girl muses, as if to make the boy feel better.
‘My mother is more interested in drinking wine and throwing parties than she is in me, and my father – well, he’s in charge of my training.
If I get something wrong, he hurts me.’ She rolls up the sleeve of her red dress to reveal a nasty burn in the shape of a handprint.
‘He says it’s for my own good, that it’s to make me stronger.
He wants me to be queen one day, you see.
Only I’d much rather be a knight, or maybe even a pirate. ’
The rain eases off as the boy’s choking sobs turn to sniffles.
‘What about you?’ asks the girl. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’
‘I … I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure what I am, let alone what I want to be.’
‘How d’you mean? You’re a Rain Singer, aren’t you?’
‘My father was a Rain Singer. My mother was … something else. Sometimes, I think being both feels a bit like being neither.’
‘Then be neither,’ she says, with that childlike conviction that makes everything sound so simple. ‘Be whoever you want to be. Think of it as a fresh start.’
The boy blinks at her.
‘Rain Singers are Aquatori, aren’t they?
’ The girl nibbles on a fingernail. ‘Perhaps you should go to the Waterlands. I’ve heard it’s a lot prettier than here.
And a lot cooler,’ she adds, fanning herself with the sleeve of her gown for emphasis.
‘The only downside is that you’d have to hide your rain, but you could still use your other water gifts.
And it sounds a lot more fun than pretending to be Fidra, which would mean you couldn’t use magic at all.
’ She smiles triumphantly, pleased with her solution. ‘What d’you think?’
‘I …’ The boy pauses for a moment. ‘Aquatori,’ he murmurs thoughtfully.
‘Of course, to be Aquatori you’ll need a brandmark, but that’s easily solved. I can brand you myself, if you like. I’m very good at that sort of thing.’
His gaze travels to the Ignitia fire sign seared into her flesh. ‘Will it hurt?’
‘Yes,’ she replies matter-of-factly.
The boy swallows. ‘All right.’
The girl nods, then presses her palm to the back of his hand.
A moment later, the boy lets out a yelp.
When she releases him, the skin is red and inflamed, branded with a perfect Aquatori waterdrop.
He closes his eyes, and I watch in astonishment as he lowers the temperature of the hot spring before plunging his hand into the now-icy water.
The girl smiles approvingly. ‘I’m Leda,’ she says.
The boy ducks his head shyly. ‘I’m River.’
My heart seems to grind to a halt.
Grandmother. That’s my grandmother as a little girl. And the boy … the boy who is half Rain Singer, half Mage is … River.
The vision changes before I can catch my breath.
I’m in the Waterlands, watching River, now a young man, lugging barrels of freshly caught fish from the harbour to the market.
His snow-white hair has been cropped short, and sheathed at his belt is a familiar silver trident.
Suddenly the people around him begin looking up at the sky, shielding their eyes from the sun, which, moments later, is eclipsed by the moon, drenching the world in darkness.
River drops the barrel balanced on his shoulder, his face a picture of shock as he clutches his glowing brandhand.
The vision changes again, and I’m standing in the banquet hall of the Golden Palace. Eighteen-year-old Grandmother is talking to Prince Caius Castellion, who, with his neatly combed hair and simple gold crown, is almost a mirror image of Hal.
‘Ah,’ he says, nodding at someone standing behind me. ‘Leda, have you met River?’
Grandmother turns and her eyes widen in surprise. River bows, but his gaze never leaves her face. For a long moment they just stare at one another.
Then Grandmother says, ‘Yes, Your Imperial Highness. I do believe I have.’
Memories begin to unravel, and I tumble through them.
Secret glances, long conversations, the brush of hands in a crowded room.
Walking together to the Keep to train. Sharing a bottle of wildfire wine with Caius, the three of them drunk-eyed and grinning, watching the sunrise.
Grandmother’s laughter as she runs through the maze, her dark hair streaming out behind her. River kissing her in the statue garden.
I stiffen in shock. I had known they were friends, but not anything more.
As the vision shifts, I think back to my Name Day ball, when I saw them speaking with their heads together. Sitting with them in my tent as I waited to battle Marina. Watching them fight King Balen side by side. Have they really loved each other all this time?
An irate man with golden-brown eyes hurls flames at Grandmother, accusing her of threatening the reputation of House Harglade, demanding that she keep her distance from that lowborn Fish or she’ll come to regret it. Afterwards, River tends to her burns.
My stomach jolts as the amphitheatre swims into view. I look on helplessly as they both lose their third trials. Now they sit at opposite ends of the Choosing Chamber while Caius is bound to his new Crowned Council.
The next vision is one I’ve seen before. Grandmother bursts into the Council Chambers, her steely glare fixed on Caius as River closes the doors behind them.
It’s not long before the War of the Empires begins.
River begs Grandmother not to fight. She tells him she has no choice – the Noble Houses have pledged allegiance to the emperor and called their bannermen to war.
I see her on the battlefield, Leda Flameslinger, her fighting leathers slick with blood, burning her enemies to dust. River watches from atop a high hill before turning and riding away.
Now Grandmother is standing at the altar, dressed in a scarlet wedding gown, while her family watch on proudly. A single tear rolls down her cheek as my grandfather, the Ignitia High General, lifts her veil, his signet ring – a golden swan – glinting in the candlelight.
The vision shifts again.
Letters. So many letters. Grandmother keeps them hidden beneath a loose floorboard, tied up with blue ribbon.
She watches from the window as my grandfather departs for a military posting, accompanied by a battalion of Ignitia soldiers. Two little girls play at her feet. I realize with a jolt who they are – my aunts. Yvainne and Hester.
Rain pours down from a darkening sky. Grandmother rides out of the city walls, her face obscured by the hood of her cloak.
River waits for her on the outskirts of Valburn, standing at the edge of the hot spring where they first met.
She slides from her horse. Time seems to slow as she takes a step towards him, then another, before falling into his arms.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers.
‘I love you,’ he tells her.
The scene changes once more.
Grandmother stands before the mirror in her dressing room, a hand on her growing belly, her expression twisted with dread.
My insides turn to stone as the next vision descends.
Grandmother’s screams echo through the birthing chamber.
A physician beams as he holds up a squalling baby. ‘Another girl, my lady.’
The moment the child is placed on Grandmother’s chest, a fire roars to life in the hearth, burning so fiercely that some of the attendants squeal in fright.
Even the physician looks alarmed as the candles begin to flare and gutter, followed by the torches in the courtyard beyond the window.
Grandmother’s face floods with relief, as if she’d feared the flames would not appear.
As if she knows the child in her arms is not pureblood Ignitia.
She gazes down at her daughter. ‘Analiese,’ she murmurs.
My mind is spinning.
River. River is my mother’s father. River, son of a Rain Singer and a Mage. Which means …
I fall to my knees as the vision shifts for a final time.
It’s no longer my grandmother clutching a newborn, but my mother, her jaw clenched with determination as she stumbles through a torrent of rain so violent I can’t see where the sky ends and the ocean begins.
At the very top of the cliff, the baby holds out a tiny hand and closes it into a fist. All of a sudden, the storm comes to an end.
I look down at the child and see my own eyes looking back at me.
Fox’s voice fills my head.
Over the years, there have been cases – very rare cases – of children born half Etheri, half Magi. Children born to those children would then be part Etheri, part Magi, and so on, forever tainting a bloodline.
My breathing turns ragged.
Someone with dual ancestry might only inherit one gift. They may appear to be either Etheri or Magi. But their gift could be … distorted. Too strong. Too dangerous.
I stare at the utter devastation left by my storm. The empire flooded. Bodies blue and bloated, washed out to sea.
These people … they were never supposed to exist. They inherit too much power.
I emerge from the visions as if from icy water.
A strangled sound escapes my lips as I fling the Eye of the Past away.
But there is no escaping the truth that slams into me again and again like the butt of a knife.
History plays on a loop in my head, each memory opening a wound beneath the skin, bruising my heart, colouring everything I thought I knew the deep blue-black of betrayal.
My entire life has been a lie – one that was created and covered up by those I trusted the most. It is not so much a question of who I am, but what I am.
The words dance round my mind, each one given new meaning.
Rain Singer. Storm Weaver. Etheri. Mage.
Demari.