Chapter 62
Blaze
Aglance at the golden clock on the wall tells me I’m already late. I can’t find it in me to care. Let them wait. I can only hope my tardiness is perceived as a reluctance to attend rather than a desire to build suspense. Though I doubt I’d have to try much on that front.
My return to the palace caused quite a stir.
I think one courtier even fainted. I forced myself to walk slowly through the crowd, and only when I reached my old chambers and shut the door behind me did I allow myself to exhale.
Since then I haven’t opened it to anyone except Flint, who provides distraction, and Renly, who offers comfort – and chocolate.
My little brother greeted me with a kiss on each cheek and a kitten in each hand.
‘I missed you,’ he said, rather reproachfully.
‘I missed you, too,’ I told him.
‘How much?’
‘A lot. More than a lot. The most.’
This seemed to mollify him.
Mouse, who’s quite a bit bigger now, curled herself round my neck like a fur scarf and started purring in my ear.
I thought Grandmother was going to blast the door off its hinges the first time I refused her entry.
Pleading, bribes, threats, endless lectures, emotional blackmail – I’ve had it all.
Yet nothing she said persuaded me to let her in.
I’m still angry with her. I’m not ready to talk about the fact that for seventeen years, she let me live a lie. Her lie.
So I began playing the music box Flint gave me to drown her out.
I also denied myself River’s company, since I knew he’d only try to convince me to speak to Grandmother.
That’s one good thing about becoming queen – I don’t have to answer to anybody.
Others have attempted to visit me. Flint told them not to bother, but they tried anyway. Elaith. Spinner. Elva. Hal.
And Fox.
He sits on the other side of the door for hours at a time. Sometimes he says nothing at all. Other times he’ll try to reason with me.
‘Look, I know this has come as a shock, and it’s not something you’d have ever chosen for yourself. But I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me.’
Because I don’t know if what we had was real, and it feels like my heart is breaking.
The words formed and died on my lips.
‘Tell me what I’ve done wrong and I’ll fix it. Whatever it is, we can work it out.’ Fox’s voice was soft. Pleading. ‘Just open the door, Blaze.’
The ache in my chest was unbearable.
During a moment of weakness I sat with my back pressed to the door, wishing it wasn’t there at all. Then I locked that thought away inside the box I keep in my head and smashed an ornate golden vase into a thousand sparkling pieces.
I picture Fox standing on the dais with the rest of the new Council – the Earth Cleaver, soon to be King of the Terrathian. I wonder how he feels about it.
I think back to what Grandmother said on the morning of the eclipse.
Make no mistake, the real game begins when the winners take their thrones.
Well, if I know anything about Fox, it’s that he likes to win.
Syla’s Eye looks back at me in the mirror, dangling from the chain round my neck.
My coronation gown glints sapphire-blue in the sunlight; the expensive Vosti fabric is supple and fluid, studded with pearls.
My curls are unbound, spilling down my back and framing my face, which is pale and pinched and carefully schooled into a mask of …
forbearance? Resignation? Do I look grateful and graceful, just like Grandmother always taught me?
I’m half tempted to send my decoy in my place.
She seemed to do a pretty convincing job of pretending to be me until Caleb the stable boy saw an opportunity to earn a few coins.
My life, his loyalty – it seems everything has its price.
Minutes trickle by and still I make no move towards the doors.
What would my mother say to me if she were here? Would she hold me close? Tell me everything’s going to be all right?
A cloud of drizzle forms above my head, hazy droplets landing on the mirror, scattering my reflection. Then there’s a crackling sound as the water turns to ice.
I refuse to appear weak. Not now that I own – that I am – power itself.
Yet while I may possess it I still haven’t attempted to use it.
Perhaps once I’ve figured out a way to save Hal and, if I can, return what was taken from the people of the Otherlands, I’ll reject it entirely.
Let the magic lie dormant until it eventually dies with me.
One person should not have this much power. It isn’t right.
At that moment a light breeze caresses my face.
It happens again – softly, running through my hair, skittering down my spine.
That’s when I hear a voice. Smooth like silk, eternally amused, whispering in my ear.
Hello, little dove.
I stiffen. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
The breeze picks up, causing the gauzy curtains to billow outward. An elongated shadow pools on the floor, merging with my own. I whirl round, choking on panic, my hands raised defensively. Yet there’s no sign of the Ventalla King.
Is he really here?
I came to wish you luck on such an auspicious day.
The sound is directionless.
‘Where are you?’ I breathe.
A gust of wind ripples through my skirts. I jerk backwards, gasping, trying to focus on the power coursing through my veins. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t attack thin air. I can’t fight a phantom.
Dear Haldyn must have forgotten to invite me. Perhaps his mind is beginning to decline just like his body. It can only be a matter of time before the sun ceases to shine.
Fury undercuts fear. I grit my teeth. ‘Show yourself.’
I feel a tap on my shoulder and recoil, stumbling backwards into the dressing table – but once again, King Balen is nowhere to be seen.
Whispers flit around my head, darting from ear to ear.
I know what you are. I know who you are, too. You’ve tried to hide it, even from yourself. But I have seen it in you – that appetite for vengeance. The quiet pleasure you take in hurting those who have hurt you. In making them pay.
The words chill me to the bone. ‘You’re wrong.’
I meant what I said, little dove. You and I – together we could conquer all.
My voice is a sharp scratch. ‘What do you want from me?’
I want your power. I want your loyalty.
I swallow hard. ‘Never.’
King Balen laughs, soft and silken. We shall see.
And this time, when I turn round, it’s to find a pair of raven-black eyes boring into mine. I try to speak, to scream, but the sound is ripped from my mouth. I reach inward, fumbling desperately for my anchors, preparing to unleash my ice.
‘You know, I believe anyone is capable of changing their mind,’ King Balen murmurs, his cool fingers gently grazing the Eye round my neck. ‘All it takes is the right … motivation.’
Suddenly there’s a loud knock on the door to my chambers.
The Ventalla King smiles. Less than a heartbeat later, he is gone.
I sag against the wall, my breathing jagged. King Balen – he was here, in the palace, in my room. Bile crawls up my throat.
His words linger on the air.
I have seen it in you – that appetite for vengeance.
‘Blaze! Open up!’
Ten seconds – that’s all I have to compose myself before crossing the reception room and wrenching open the door.
‘What time d’you call this?’ Flint asks in mock-disapproval. ‘Everyone’s waiting.’
‘I know,’ I say, voice trembling. ‘I – I’m sorry.’
My brother is dressed in a rich scarlet doublet complete with a matching eyepatch. Renly clings to his back, adorable in a little orange-and-gold tunic. He slides to the ground and launches himself into my arms.
‘Blaze,’ he says, ‘your face is very white. Like a ghost. Are you frightened?’
I feel the frantic pounding of my heart as I hold him tightly, breathing in the calming scent of fresh linen and chocolate.
‘Nerves are totally understandable, sister mine,’ says Flint sagely, ‘but Hal’s beginning to look a tad unsteady on his feet and our dear sweet cousin is seconds away from throwing a tantrum, so best shake a leg.
’ Then he pauses, tilting his head to one side.
‘Hm. On second thoughts, hand me that brush.’
Mouse crawls sleepily on to my lap as Flint dusts shimmering powder along my cheekbones and lines my eyes with slicks of gold.
It’s only when I glance down that I see a sleek black feather perched atop the vanity next to the wooden knight from Renly.
My skin crawls. I don’t trust myself to speak.
I can’t tell Flint what just happened, not with Ren here.
But more than that, I’m still reeling from the Ventalla King’s words.
From the awful, twisted truth of them. And what did he mean when he spoke of motivation?
‘There,’ my brother says with a flourish. ‘That’s better.’
Ren beams. ‘Pretty.’
A phantom breeze kisses my face as the door to my chambers swings shut behind us.
I clutch Ren’s hand. Blood rushes in my ears.
All too soon, we reach the throne room. I can hear the low rumble of voices beyond the towering golden doors.
My knees knock together.
‘Chin up,’ Flint instructs. ‘Shoulders back.’
‘Stand up straight,’ Renly says, mimicking Grandmother.
‘Oh, and whatever you do, don’t trip,’ Flint adds helpfully. He glances at Ren. ‘Remember what I taught you?’
I watch, utterly speechless, as my brothers bow deeply in unison.
Then Flint straightens up and punches me lightly on the arm. ‘All right, sister mine. It’s time. Knock ’em dead.’
With that, he ushers me gently through the doors.
A thousand heads turn in my direction. Hiding my shaking hands in the folds of my dress, I make my way slowly through the crowd of onlookers towards the dais where the new Council await.
A pair of green eyes snaps to mine, burning holes in my skin.
My stomach tumbles and I force myself to look away before I lose my nerve entirely.
Whispering fills the hall.
It’s madness.
The emperor must be out of his mind.
I don’t care if she wears a crown. I’ll never bend the knee.
What d’you reckon this weapon of hers is, then?
I just hope it’s not another storm, or we’re all dead.
She looks like she’s going to vomit.
Excellent.
I spot Elva, beautiful in a glittering gold dress.
Next to her is Elaith, bouncing up and down excitedly on the balls of her feet.
My friend and former training partner, Kai, gives me a little wave from where he stands with a few Aquatori courtiers, all craning to get a glimpse of me.
I catch sight of Sheen, who looks as sullen as ever, and Spinner, who blows me a kiss.
Cole gives me a look that suggests he’d prefer it if this were my funeral rather than my coronation.
As for Marina, I can practically hear her grinding her teeth from several rows away.
Then my gaze lands on Caius Castellion and my insides turn to ice. Beside him, River nods in encouragement, his silver trident catching the light. Grandmother is gripping her ruby-encrusted stick, her expression unreadable. And there, standing at her side, is –
My breath catches, my already-fraying resolve unravelling until it hangs by a thread. It’s all I can do not to come undone.
My father looks back at me with hollow, haunted eyes. Seven years of soul-shredding grief have rendered him almost unrecognizable, a ghost of the man I once knew. Emblazoned on the pocket of his carmine doublet is his House emblem – a silver peacock.
Pain flickers across his face as I pass. If he found my resemblance to my mother torturous before, what must it be like for him now, with my dark hair flowing freely to my waist, the same age she was when they first met here in the Golden Palace?
I wonder what Grandmother said to convince him to leave the confines of Bartell Manor. I doubt his attending the coronation came from a sudden desire to see his children.
By the time I reach the dais the whispers have been replaced by thick, smothering silence. The Supreme Mother of the Valla Jakartis purses her lips. Zephyr inclines his head. Ember fixes me with a sickly-sweet smile. Hal looks relieved. And –
My heart twists out of shape.
I stare at the floor as I take my place beside Fox.
The Supreme Mother bids each member of the new Council to kneel before the five thrones and the ceremony commences. I only half listen to the recital of ancient scriptures. I’m too busy talking myself out of making a break for the doors.
I can feel Fox looking at me. It’s almost painful, the urge to meet his gaze – to be close to him. Is it real, this feeling? Or is it just a response – a result of the talismans drawing us together like a magnetic force? I don’t know. And that’s the problem. It’s killing me.
I swallow a gasp as my brandmark suddenly glows blindingly bright – so bright I can hardly see – before extinguishing entirely.
The Supreme Mother presses her fingertips together in prayer, then signals for us to rise. One by one we take our thrones.
Hal is crowned first. The Imperial Crown is magnificent – an intricate fusion of golden feathers, flames, leaves and waves set round a glimmering sun.
He had a second Ventalla crown made for Zephyr, since the original is still worn by King Balen.
Tension coils between my shoulder blades as the King of the Air’s soft laughter echoes in my ears.
Ember is up next, grinning triumphantly at Aunt Hester.
Then Fox, who’s still looking at me. I grip the arms of my throne as the Aquatori crown is produced – a circlet of curling waves nestled on a gold-silk cushion.
I recall that night after the second trial when I overheard those courtiers discussing my prospects in the hedge maze.
Mark my words, the Veridian Desert will turn to ice before the Storm Weaver is crowned Queen of the Fish.
Perhaps if I felt less like I were about to self-implode, I’d take a moment to revel in spite.
The crowd stare up at me – a sea of gold, grey, green, red and blue. I see fear in their faces. I see hate and horror, anger and awe. I feel it, too, deep down to my bones.
Murderer. Changeling. Freak.
The words are always there. I can hear them in the silence. The Riftkeeper once told me that I understood the value of a name. Unsurprising, really, since I’m known by so many.
Storm Weaver.
The girl who wove the storm that shook the world. Responsible for almost drowning the empire on the day of my birth.
Rain Singer.
I think of my people back in Brava, still alive after all these years. I am no longer the last of my kind. I never was.
Demari.
Part Etheri. Part Magi. The product of a love that changed the tides of fortune.
Eye.
Power hums beneath my skin, raw and restless, a caged beast fighting to break free. When I touched Syla’s talisman, I became the key.
And now, today, I become something new.
The Supreme Mother clears her throat. ‘I hereby pronounce you, Blaze Harglade …’
The whole world seems to hold its breath as the final crown is placed upon my head.
Queen.