Chapter 47
Blaze
Iopen the door to my quarters before Fox has the chance to knock. His dark hair is tousled from sleep, and his buttonless jacket reveals a sliver of golden torso.
‘Oh,’ I say, startled. ‘It’s you.’
‘It’s me.’ He grins as he sinks into a half-bow then lets his gaze rake upward as he straightens, for gone are the blood-stained shirt and tattered trousers – I am dressed like a Rain Singer.
The swathe of blue and dove-coloured fabric is modest in length but cinched at the waist with a thin piece of rope which I’ve tied in a neat bow.
Fox swallows, then extends his arm. Naturally I ignore it, but fall into step beside him as we make our way out of the cave tunnels and down the gorge, with Scout darting ahead.
The Singers beam as I pass. They dip their heads or reach out to clasp my hands, and their excited murmuring bounces off the stone walls.
Om Shikara, Om Shikara, Om Shikara.
I try not to look as mortified as I feel, but smile and nod as graciously as I can.
‘First Heir, then Queen, and now God,’ says Fox. ‘Talk about rising through the ranks.’
A little girl toddles up, holding out a tiny dragonfly whittled from driftwood.
‘Thank you,’ I tell her, admiring the figurine before slipping it into my pocket alongside Renly’s wooden knight. ‘It’s beautiful.’
The girl ducks her head, pleased, then skips back to her mother.
It isn’t long before River appears and carefully extracts us from the throng. We follow him across the pebbled shore and into the mouth of a large cave, from which faint whirring and clicking sounds emerge. Scout’s ears prick up in interest.
The Elder, Harana, is already waiting for us. ‘I understand that you’re looking for something,’ she says, plucking a torch from a bracket. ‘And that time is of the essence.’
‘That’s right,’ Fox and I answer in unison, then glance at one another, bemused.
‘River suggested that having your own mounts would allow you to cover more ground,’ Harana continues, holding the torch high to illuminate the cave beyond.
It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. Then I see them. Dragonflies – around two dozen of them, their slender bodies a bright cobalt-blue, their long gossamer wings intricately veined and shimmeringly transparent.
I blink. ‘You mean, we’ll be … flying?’
Harana gently nudges two of the dragonflies awake; their bulbous eyes flicker open and fix on us. ‘I assure you, it’s perfectly safe.’
‘Provided we don’t fall to our deaths,’ I mutter.
Fox smirks. ‘Scared, Storm Weaver?’
Yes.
‘No,’ I snap, but inch ever so slightly closer to him and lower my voice. ‘Can you hear their thoughts?’
He nods.
‘And?’
‘Oh, they’re planning all kinds of tricks. Nose-dives, feinting, loop-the-loops.’
I elbow him in the ribs.
River, who’s readying the saddles, watches this exchange with amused curiosity. He finishes adjusting the stirrups, then beckons me forward. I edge towards him nervously and reach out to stroke the dragonfly’s ridged flank. Her eyes are as large as my head.
Fox follows suit, approaching his mount slowly. After a silent exchange he bows respectfully and swings up into the saddle.
I let out a squeak of protest as River half lifts me into my own.
I grip the reins tightly. ‘Aren’t you … you know, going to give us some lessons first? You are my trainer, after all.’
‘The greatest lessons are taught through experience,’ River replies with a smile.
At that moment Harana gives a short, high whistle and the dragonflies take flight, shooting out of the mouth of the cave and soaring up, up, up into the sky.
Fox whoops, jubilant, while the sound of my scream is snatched by the wind.
Fear quickly morphs into adrenaline and, though I’m still clinging on for dear life, my mouth curves into a smile.
I’ve never known anything like it – the rush, the ecstasy.
It’s as though I left all my burdens in that cave and now I’m unencumbered, weightless.
It’s almost childlike, this sense of wonder – so palpable it takes on wings of its own.
My mind gradually relaxes into a state of utter calm.
Up here, safe in the quiet fortress of the clouds, gazing down upon the patchwork of blue and grey, I feel utterly serene.
The Rain Singers have named me Om Shikara, and perhaps this is what it feels like to be a God – untroubled and untouchable, watching the world from above.
I doubt even sailing the Second Sea could feel this free.
Fox’s dragonfly glides beside mine, their iridescent wings gleaming blue-green in the morning sun. They have four wings apiece – two sets working independently in a blur of motion.
We spend the next several hours in the clouds, occasionally swooping down between the gorges, waiting for a sign, a tug of recognition.
I’ve almost given up hope by the time something catches my eye. I stab my finger at an expanse of ragged rocky plains nestled between tall peaks. ‘What’s that?’
‘Let’s find out,’ Fox calls.
Hope sings in my chest as the dragonflies plunge towards the cliffs, hovering a couple of feet above the ground. I hesitate before dismounting. For we appear to be standing in a sea of graves. Thousands of them, the headstones carved from slate.
‘What is this place?’ I breathe as I slide from my saddle.
Fox traces the names with his finger. ‘I think … I think these must belong to the Rain Singers who died during my grandfather’s attack on Brava.’
My heart sinks, folding in on itself as I gaze out at the sprawling graveyard, a cloud of drizzle forming overhead.
We walk among the headstones, sobered by the scene before us.
The euphoria of flying is replaced by a heavy, melancholic silence we both seem reluctant to break.
The graves stretch on and on. So many people: mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, all dead and buried.
Entire families gone. Generations wiped out and unavenged.
My stomach twists the way it often does when I think of the storm.
I didn’t mean to almost drown the empire, the same way Fox didn’t mean to cleave the earth in two.
Yet Caius Castellion knew exactly what he was doing when he sent his soldiers to slaughter the Rain Singers.
This was intentional, premeditated. A cold-blooded massacre.
‘How could he do such a thing?’ I whisper.
‘Because he’s despicable,’ says Fox simply. ‘Deranged. The worst man who’s ever lived. Though I doubt you’ll find many emperors who aren’t morally bankrupt. Power tends to suck the goodness out of you. That’s if there was any to begin with.’
‘Hal’s an emperor,’ I argue. ‘He would never do anything like this.’
‘No,’ Fox agrees. ‘But then, he never does anything at all.’
I hesitate before asking quietly, ‘What really happened? Between the two of you?’
‘You know what happened,’ says Fox. ‘I accidentally killed our father. My brother exiled me. The end.’
I shake my head. ‘I know there’s more to it than that.’
‘Do you now?’
‘Yes, I do. Hal hated you long before the Binding Ceremony. Why?’
‘Families are complicated, Storm Weaver. You of all people can understand that.’
I hold his gaze defiantly.
Fox sighs, defeated, and my heart thumps in anticipation. ‘You really want to know why my brother hates me?’ he asks bluntly.
I nod tentatively.
He drags in a deep breath. ‘It’s because I told him he was going to die.’
I recoil in shock. Of all the things I thought he might say, it isn’t that. ‘What’re you talking about?’
The tendons in his neck are stretched tight.
‘Fox?’ I urge.
Green eyes shutter at the sound of his name. He runs his tongue over his teeth. Then he says, ‘You remember Senna, the fourth Magi sister?’
I nod, bewildered. ‘What about her?’
‘She didn’t have an Eye, nor was it thought that she possessed any magic,’ says Fox. ‘But after Syla died, Senna’s power awoke.’
I blink in surprise. ‘But … how? If the Magi had been stripped of their gifts, then how could …’ I inhale sharply as understanding dawns. ‘She was Demari,’ I say slowly. ‘Senna. She was like us, wasn’t she?’
Fox dips his chin. ‘She had a different father – one with Etherian ancestry.’
I take a moment to process this. Though I still don’t see what it’s got to do with Hal.
‘What … what was her gift?’
‘She was a Cursemaker,’ Fox replies gravely.
‘A Cursemaker?’ I repeat.
‘Yes. And she told my grandfather that he would pay for what he’d done.’
I shiver as Fox brushes his fingers against mine and I hear a voice – it belongs to a girl, yet it burns with age-old fury.
You took my sisters. I will take your sons.
‘She cursed the first-born sons of his House,’ Fox says quietly. ‘Cursed them to slowly sicken and die until the Castellion line died out.’
I lean heavily on a headstone as a memory surfaces – the emperor. I remember thinking he looked so gaunt, so ill. Fox told me he suffered from a hereditary ailment. Now I realize this was more or less true, for Emperor Alvar had inherited his father’s punishment.
And that means so did …
‘Hal,’ I breathe.
‘Hal,’ Fox echoes.
A tight knot lodges in my chest.
‘As one might imagine, he didn’t take it well,’ continues Fox. ‘At first he thought it a cruel joke. A vicious lie meant to unsettle him. But then …’
‘I remember,’ I whisper. ‘He had those dark circles beneath his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. His hands would shake. I assumed it was all the pressure he was under …’
Fox clenches his jaw. ‘The curse was designed to make my grandfather suffer. To strike his Heirs down in their prime, forcing him to watch as they withered away to an early grave. For years he searched for a way to break the curse. And suddenly … there you were.’
There is a long, loud silence.
‘Me?’ I choke. ‘What? Why?’
‘Think about it,’ says Fox. ‘Why d’you suppose he told you about the three sisters? What did he want you to find?’
Realization strikes, lightning-bright. ‘The Eye.’
‘You were always going to find it, Blaze,’ Fox says.
‘Seera must’ve foreseen it, and so did my grandfather.
There is nothing – nothing – more important to him than his legacy.
Haldyn is the last Light Wielder. If he dies, the Maker’s gift dies with him.
Our grandfather will do anything to stop that from happening.
’ He laughs hollowly. ‘Believe it or not, Caius Castellion is on our side.’
I exhale shakily, stunned. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Find the Eye. Break the curse. Kill my uncle.’
I rub my scar, hard enough to bruise the skin. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘There was already so much depending on you,’ Fox answers quietly. ‘How could I tell you that Haldyn’s life does too?’
My eyes widen hopefully as I’m hit by a sudden idea. ‘What about lachrymortis? There’s still one vial left.’
‘Lachrymortis is designed to heal wounds, not break curses. It wouldn’t work.’
‘Then Hal’s really …’ I swallow. ‘He’s …’
‘He’s dying, Blaze,’ Fox says softly. ‘My brother is dying.’