Chapter 53
Blaze
Today’s theory is that the Eye is sitting at the bottom of the lake.
The idea came to me last night, after a conversation with River, who told me that the Singers believe it to be sacred – oaths are sworn on it, newborns bathed in it, and it’s traditional for newlyweds to drink from it as a means of sanctifying their marriage.
We’ve exhausted countless other theories. I have a good feeling about this one.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Fox says incredulously.
I turn from my heaped pile of rocks. ‘What?’
‘What d’you mean, what? You’re about to jump into a lake with stones in your pockets. Shouldn’t I be a little concerned?’
I roll my eyes as I bunch up the sleeves of his old shirt. My Rain Singer garb didn’t seem best suited to swimming – or, in this case, diving.
‘It’s the fastest way down,’ I explain. ‘I’m being practical.’
‘No, you’re being an idiot,’ he says. ‘What if something goes wrong?’
I sigh impatiently, even as the corners of my mouth quirk upward. ‘Then I’ll carve a few waves, and you have my permission to come and rescue me. Happy?’
Fox pushes off from a boulder and sidles over to me.
I straighten up, regarding him warily, as if half expecting him to toss me over his shoulder and carry me away from the water’s edge.
He looks tempted. Instead, he reaches out and runs a finger along the ridge of my jawline.
I flush, mindful of the dozen or so Singers scattered across the rocky shore – sharpening weapons, washing clothes, and stealing less-than-subtle glances in our direction.
Fox smirks. ‘I’m surprised I haven’t already had an arrow through the back for the impertinence of laying a hand on their beloved Om Shikara.’
He speaks in jest, but there’s truth to his words.
The Singers are adoring, if a little too reverential, and fiercely protective.
For the first time in my life I feel as though I belong.
When I’m not searching for the Eye, I’m learning the histories from Harana, or taking long walks across the mountains with River.
Fox and I have barely had a moment alone since that night in the cliffside pool.
My heart thuds at the memory, then again as he impulsively trails his finger over my throat, along my collarbone and down the side of my arm, calling to mind the ghost of other, more toe-curling touches, each as gentle as it was explorative.
His hands were clever, mine a little clumsy, though he didn’t seem to notice.
I look up at him, his face framed by the veil of clouds hovering overhead. There’s a glint in his green eyes that tells me he’s remembering too.
My breath hitches as he shamelessly tugs me closer.
I arch a brow. ‘Are you finished?’
‘Not quite,’ he says. At that moment the vine curling slowly round his forearm shoots out from beneath his sleeve and wraps itself round my ankle.
I yelp indignantly and a few of the Singers jump to their feet in alarm.
‘What d’you think you’re doing?’ I demand, tugging at the thick green rope binding us together.
‘I’m making sure you don’t drown. Consider it a pre-emptive rescue measure.’
I scowl darkly and reach for Silverclaw to cut myself free, but Fox has already swiped it from my belt.
‘Unbelievable,’ I mutter.
He grins as I stalk back to my rock pile, the vine lengthening with every step. It’s perfectly ridiculous, of course. He’s being unnecessarily overprotective. I purse my lips disapprovingly in an effort not to smile while I toss stones into the boat.
‘Want me to teach you how to row?’ Fox asks as I push it out into the shallows and clamber inside.
‘No, thank you,’ I say waspishly.
Honestly, how hard can it be?
The answer is very.
I zigzag haphazardly through the water, almost dropping an oar.
‘Don’t think about me too much while you’re in there,’ Fox calls from the shore. ‘You don’t want to be responsible for boiling all the fish.’
‘Piss off,’ I yell back, which only makes him laugh.
The vine extends between us, curled securely round his wrist.
It takes an age, but eventually I reach what I judge to be the deepest point of the lake, midway between the rocky beach and the waterfall.
I rest my oars across the bench and pick up two large stones.
If I found the Eye at the bottom of the training pool, then why shouldn’t I find it again at the bottom of a holy lake?
It’s worth a try, and at this point I’ll try anything.
I think of Senna, cursing the Castellion line as an act of vengeance.
I think of Hal, weakening by the day just like his father before him, condemned to die for a crime he did not commit.
The boat rocks as I get unsteadily to my feet. I glance back to where Fox is teaching a little girl how to skim. He’s already lost one sibling. I won’t let him lose another.
I steel myself, then jump, silver bubbles streaming from my nose as I sink fast towards the lakebed, which is carpeted in a fine layer of silt and festooned with tall, translucent plants billowing eerily in the sway of a phantom current.
Squinting blearily, I turn my head from side to side, searching for a glimmer of gold, a sharp tug on an invisible thread, anything to indicate that the Eye is here. I crawl on my belly, feeling my way through the underwater wilderness until my lungs scream for air.
Frustrated, I release my grip on the stones and swim back towards the surface, grasping the side of the boat and grabbing two more from the pile.
As I sink downward a second time, my mind paints a picture of the future I cannot let come to pass – a future in which Hal will be dead, the Maker’s gift along with him, leaving King Balen to claim the Imperial throne, flanked by his army of Demari.
How many are able to wield the gifts of both Etheri and Magi, like River, or are possessed of one gift that’s no match for their pureblooded counterparts, like me?
How many agreed – or were coerced – to fight for the Ventalla King?
And how long before he makes his next move?
Suddenly, without warning, the lake seems to quiver.
It happens again: a violent, pulsing tremor that wracks my body. I drop the stones and kick my legs hard until I break the surface.
Something is wrong, yet nothing looks amiss. Then I catch sight of Fox. He’s standing stock-still, staring straight at me, one hand clasped round the Eye of the Past. I watch, stricken, as his gaze snaps upward. My stomach lurches and I tilt my face towards the pale sky.
A single feather floats lazily down towards the lake, cradled by a gentle breeze. Sleek and black, flecked with grey, it lands not two feet from where I cling to the boat.
Whispers ricochet across the surface of the water, two words repeated over and over in warning.
He’s coming.
He’s coming.
He’s coming.
That’s when the wind begins to blow.
I barely have time to gasp before the vine round my ankle grows taut, then reels me into shore at lightning speed. A pair of arms scoops me out of the shallows.
Fox’s voice is rough with dread. ‘He knows. He knows about the decoys. He knows we’re here.’
At that moment the first Ventalla soldier materializes out of thin air.
He is followed by another, then another, each flitting into view, their armour gleaming like freshly sharpened knives. My eyes widen with terror as somewhere high in the cliffs a bell begins to clang. The sound of it reverberates through my very bones.
The Singers leap into action. After herding the children to safety, they sprint for their weapons, launch themselves on to the backs of dragonflies and soar high into the sky as the squalls howl through the valley. Rain splatters down in great sheets. Arrows begin to fall.
Fox severs the vine, grabs my hand and pulls me towards the caves. Scout darts ahead of us – a streak of copper through the chaos.
Seconds later, we’re surrounded. The soldiers’ faces twist with frenzied glee as they circle us.
Fox doesn’t hesitate. The first vine winds itself round a man’s legs, swiping his feet out from under him, while a second snakes round his comrade’s neck, growing tighter and tighter.
A third vine seizes another soldier and flings her so hard into the cliff face that her spine snaps on impact.
I follow suit. One soldier lets out a strangled cry as his rain-slicked armour begins to freeze, while another screams in agony as her own begins to heat, burning her skin.
A blast of wind nearly knocks me off my feet, but Fox catches hold of me before I’m thrown backwards, then sends a rock the size of his fist straight at the culprit’s face.
The rain grows heavier still. The Singers fight using their weapons as well as their water gifts.
Dragonflies swoop overhead, their riders armed with bows and spears and fishing nets designed to ensnare.
A stray arrow flies straight at Fox, but my reflexes are faster than they once were, and I send a shard of ice up to meet it, knocking it off course.
My ears fill with a cacophony of screams and voices and clashing metal until, all of a sudden, a silken whisper slips through the din.
Hello, little dove.
Everything inside me seems to buckle. I whip my head round, straining my eyes against the torrent. He is standing right in the thick of the battle, yet is somehow set apart, as though protected by an invisible forcefield or a dense current of air.
King Balen.
His lips curl into an amused smile, as if to say, Surprise.
Beside me, Fox goes very still. I reach for him, and as soon as my hand makes contact with his skin I see Emperor Alvar lying in a pool of blood. I see the Council dropping like flies round the golden dais. And I see his sister suffocating to death.
The expression on Fox’s face chills me to the bone. It is fury untethered, bloodlust unquenched. Vengeance itself.
King Balen inclines his head. ‘What are you waiting for, nephew? Come and play.’
Fox doesn’t hesitate before taking off through the fray, cutting down any who stand in his way, carving a path through the throng of bodies. I follow him, encasing a group of Ventalla soldiers inside a frozen wave and shattering it to pieces.
We’re barely ten yards from King Balen when two figures emerge from behind him. One man, one woman, both dressed in long silvery cloaks. They wear no armour, carry no weapons, yet all around us the air seems to thrum with powerful, dangerous magic.
Demari.
The man brandishes something in his palm. It looks like fire, only it’s as black as coal. I stare at it uncomprehendingly until the pieces fall into place, and I realize what it must be.
Shadow flame.
A gift born from inheriting the magic of both an Ignitia Etheri and an Obsidian Mage. Victims would burn blind, engulfed in blazing darkness.
King Balen’s smile widens as his second companion steps forward. I watch in horror as the woman flicks her wrist in the direction of a fallen soldier. The dead man shudders, then lurches to his feet like a puppet on strings, his face a vacant mask.
Death Magi possess the ability to communicate with the departed. Yet this Demari can resurrect them.
Fear fills me to the brim. Fox’s eyes are wide, yet he shows no sign of retreating.
King Balen’s gaze lands on the talisman round his neck. He chuckles. ‘Oh, nephew. Always one step ahead. And yet think of all you have lost, how much more you have to lose.’
I move closer to Fox, ice crystallizing at my fingertips.
‘My spies tell me poor Haldyn is almost at death’s door,’ his uncle continues. ‘How sad that you won’t be able to save him, just like you weren’t able to save your sweet sister.’
With a howl of rage Fox lunges. But the female Demari snaps her fingers and the dead soldier raises a sword to block his advance.
King Balen’s raven eyes gleam as he turns his attention to me. ‘I do so enjoy a family reunion, don’t you, little dove? Tell me, how are those dear brothers of yours?’
I clench my hands into fists and the sky rumbles with thunder.
Seconds later a shimmering wall of ice erupts from the ground, separating us from King Balen. Then River is there, trident in hand.
‘You have to get out of here,’ he shouts over the tumult.
‘We’re not going anywhere!’ I yell back, as the airborne Singers rain arrows down on the other side of the barrier.
Fox snarls as he attempts to hack his way through the sheet of ice.
‘This is what Balen wants,’ says River. ‘He’s protected. You’re outnumbered.’
Far above, a Singer is thrown from her mount by a powerful gust of wind.
‘You can’t win, Blaze. Not like this.’
I hear the truth in his words. King Balen planned this attack.
It is to his advantage. He has the element of surprise on his side, as well as two lethal Demari and an army that is not only disposable but also able to be resurrected.
I watch as the fallen Singer’s body is dashed against the cliffs, and I know the same can’t be said for our own.
My resolve begins to weaken, and I catch hold of Fox’s arm. ‘River’s right.’
He shakes me off and slams the butt of Silverclaw into the frozen barrier. I try again, my eyes burning into his.
‘Fox,’ I say. ‘Please.’
He looks down at me, his face twisted with anguish. Scout appears at his ankles. He picks her up, and I watch him unravel.
River doesn’t waste a second before drawing a portal – a watery sphere glistening blue and boundless at our feet.
I shake my head in alarm. ‘But – but Queen Hydra only taught me how to transport objects. I’ll get us both killed!’
‘No, you won’t,’ River tells me. ‘Concentrate. Clear your mind. Think only of your destination and will yourself to go there with every fibre of your being.’
I swallow.
‘Now,’ River demands.
At that moment the wall of ice finally shatters. King Balen’s furious scream barely has time to pierce my ears before the portal swallows us whole.