‘Get your hands off me.’
Astrophel releases me, steps back. ‘What are you about, holding court with vermin?’
‘For your information, I was back here, spilling my guts up, when Blayze approachedme. Not that it’s any of your concern whom I talk to. I’m not your property.’
Astrophel fixes me with a wry smile. ‘Not yet.’
Notever.
‘As your betrothed, I’ve the right to object to you talking, unchaperoned, with another man.’
‘You want to talk about improper conduct?’ I fold my arms and glare up at him. ‘Fine. Let’s discuss your behaviour at Thawtide, then.’
Astrophel straightens his cloak. ‘I’ve already told you I bitterly regret my behaviour that night.’ His eyes narrow. ‘Anyway, stop deflecting. What would your father say about your secret assignations with that brute? We can’t trust the Outrealmers. I see the way you look at them, the way you’re behaving. Have you forgotten what they are? What they’ve done?’
‘And what have they done, exactly? Tansy saved my mother’s life – your Queen’s life. Blayze left his home – everything and everyone he knows – to help us. They all did.’
Astrophel laughs. ‘If you see kindness, it’s self-serving. If you see eagerness, it’s duplicitous. They’re the reason your mother’s sick in the first place, the reason my father…’ A muscle jumps in Astrophel’s clenched jaw. ‘What were you discussing with the sand-rat anyway?’
‘I can’t tell you. I’d be breaking a confidence.’
Astrophel turns his back, aura flaring carnelian.
Well, that’s perfect. Just about everyone aboard this ship hates me.
Instead of preventing our alliance from unravelling further, I’ve created an even more tangled mess. My first instinct was right, I’m not up to this. I ruin everything and everyone I touch.
My confidence shatters into a thousand pieces. A supernova only I can hear.
NEW PATTERNS
LEILANI
THEHILLSEITHERside of the river rise steeper here, the air tastes different too – thinner, though not yet tainted. Honeyed, in fact, suggesting we’re fast approaching Lulana, though we’re yet to pass the starfruit plantations this region’s famed for.
We bank a sharp bend in the river. Maris manipulates the lines with deft, practised movements.
A hamlet, larger than most we’ve passed, emerges close to the riverside. The stone houses are small and weathered. Several boast missing roof tiles, others cracked chimneys. The woodwork is warped and peeling. Its occupants, massing on the riverbank, are no less tattered.
The burning outrage that flared when we passed the Gaspings, when I realised the true privation beyond Meissa’s walls, has dampened a little with every ragged settlement we’ve chanced upon. It’s been replaced by sour squirms of guilt, a lingering hopelessness, something deep-seated coming undone inside me.
I see now why there’s unrest north of the capital, why my father fears reprisal and rebellion. He’s protected Meissa, and abandoned the rest of the realm.
But something’s different about this hamlet. At first, I think the houses are smeared with blood, but as we drift closer I see they’re daubed – branded – with crimson flames. Plague houses. I draw my pomander to my face, breathe the sharp vinegar till my nose stings.
Astrophel’s face darkens. ‘Sister-blooded Flamefever.’
‘I told you not to call it that,’ Blayze snarls.
‘I’ll call it whatever I damn well please.’
‘Go on then, Peacock. I dare you. Say it again.’
Astrophel’s throat bobs, but his voice rings out clear and strong. ‘Flamefever.’
Blayze grabs him by the cloak, fisting the thick grey wool in one hand, drawing back the other to strike him.
‘Honestly,’ Tansy chides, ‘you’re worse than Leotie and Oakson. And my boys haven’t seen their second tree-ring yet.’
