He doesn’t react, just cradles Serafine, murmuring to her in Flametongue. Guttural, lilting sounds with a tender melody. My throat tightens.
‘Blayze…’
He looks up. Eyes glittering – wild and desperate. Very slowly, he stands. Blood drips from his gashed cheek.
I only need a drop of it.
‘I’ll give you my blood,’ he says, reading my thoughts as I wish I could his. ‘I’ll help you get the sceptre, and afterwards, I’ll help you find the others. But only if you help me.’
I swallow. ‘I don’t understand.’
He looks down at Serafine. ‘One wish, you said?’
Ice sweeps my veins. He can’t mean that – couldn’t possibly ask that of me.
‘But-but my mother,’ I stammer, praying I’ve misunderstood him.
‘Your mother might still have time, time for us to find some other way to save her – but Fifi…’ His voice cracks, his shoulders slump. ‘Look at her. She’s got minutes, maybe not even that. Please.’
It’s that last broken plea that tugs at my heart, thawing even the icy callous that’s hardened there. Blayze begs for nothing, to no one. But he’s begging now.
It’s hard to look at Serafine, but I make myself. I force myself to study her charred body, her chest that’s barely rising. She risked herself for us – for me – to give me the chance to fulfil Noelani’s prophecy. Can I really let her die? But my mother’s face swirls before me too.
If Blayze refuses to help me, I can’t claim the sceptre, can’t earn the wish at all. I look again at his ravaged face. I could take blood by force, but he’d never forgive me. Besides, Noelani’s letter said the offerings must be freely given. I need Blayze to agree to search for the other lost sceptres; without those I can’t save Arcelia. But if I do as he asks, my mother will die. There is no other way to save her – my father tried everything, spared no expense.
And then I think of the garden of neverborns, of Lulana’s ruined fields. Of Tansy’s children. Of Delphine. Of the clansmen forced to eke out a pitiful existence in an underground prison like this every moonsrising of their sorry lives. More will die than just Serafine if I refuse him. It’s saving one life, or saving all life.
My body sags. I know what I have to do.
‘Fine.’ The word is barely a whisper.
‘Swear it,’ he growls.
I lift my chin. ‘I swear.’
His hooded eyes dart and narrow as they search my face. I’ve given him no reason to trust me.
‘You have your dagger?’ he says at last.
I exhale and point to his slashed cheek. ‘I can gather from this.’
Still staring into my eyes, Blayze raises a hand to his throat and wrenches at his torc, sends it clattering to the ground. ‘From the brand you said – that’s how the Elemagi did it?’
There’s a collective gasp as the others realise what he’s said – what he is.
I try to keep my voice steady. ‘Tansy, the vessel please.’
She nods, fumbles in her pocket and hands me a small earthen vial.
‘Do it quickly. We’re running out of time,’ Blayze urges.
Seizing hold of my stiletto, I press its point against his brand. I hesitate, but Blayze grasps my hand, holds my gaze. His calloused fingers clamp around mine. Together, we guide the blade home.
Blood beads the incision and I siphon a few garnet droplets into the vessel. Once I’ve taken his offering, Blayze falls again to his knees, rocking Serafine. He doesn’t spare me a second glance.
‘Astrophel, take this.’ I hand him the vial. There’s a sharp pain as I slice my wrist and silver blood wells in the centre of my own brand. I motion for Astrophel to collect my offering. His eyes narrow, intent on mine. Once it’s done, I take back the vessel.
I approach Maris next. She and Delphine are both still staring at Blayze, like they’ve seen a ghost.
