‘Is there anything I can do? To help get Serafine down, I mean,’ I say, changing the subject.
‘If she won’t listen to me, there’s little chance she’ll listen to anyone else. Especially you.’ There’s a bite in Blayze’s voice as he locks eyes with me, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m only wearing a nightdress beneath this cloak.
‘Leilani, go back to bed. You’ll catch a chill standing out here. Make your ankle worse.’
I stiffen at the sound of Orthriel’s voice. In my surprise at almost bashing Blayze’s head in, I’d forgotten they were listening. Ugh! I can feel my cheeks blanching all over again.
My Guardian’s right, of course, I should leave. Go back to bed. And yet I don’t move.
I have the sense of Orthriel shaking their head, then feel them drift further away, as if they’ve closed the door joining our consciousnesses. But the weight of my Guardian’s disapproval lingers, settles on my shoulders, as I watch Blayze circle the tree nearest to him, lift his lantern and rifle its branches, scattering a shower of residual raindrops.
‘If you’re staying, you can help figure out which tree she’s hiding in.’
‘I’ll carry this for you,’ I say, reaching for his pack.
But he wrenches it away. ‘Don’t touch my things.’
I start back from the force of his words.
‘Force of habit,’ he says, with a shrug. ‘You keep your things close in the pit, or they disappear.’
I follow after him as he searches the copse, shifting my weight onto my good ankle, and using my moonsight to scour the upper branches for the flash of crimson feathers.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Blayze says, after a few minutes of fruitless searching.
I stop walking and fold my arms. ‘What?’
‘That trick you pulled at Thawtide – with the light. Did it hurt?’
I wrap my arms more tightly around my chest. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’
Blayze shrugs and parts more branches. ‘I’m just curious. No Branded have been born to the pit for over a generation. The few conceived when my father was a child were ripped from their mothers’ arms. Left to die overground.’
My stomach hollows.
His face twists with that same expression of revulsion mixed with something approaching pity I noticed when he first saw my brand at the Council of Four. ‘After what Arden did, the Flameborn are considered unnatural by most, harbingers of misfortune. Abominations better off destroyed. My people are glad to believe them eradicated.’
At least I understand now. No wonder I disgust him.
The standing of the Branded is little better in Meissa, but at least I’m tolerated there. Whispered about in corners, but not abandoned as a helpless babe to meet a cruel death. I’ve always hated my magic, wished I could purge myself clean of it. But the callousness of Blayze’s words shocks me, makes me defensive. I shudder, remembering my father’s warnings in the Sanctuary, his insistence that only the privilege of my birth protects me, shields me from the full force of the prejudice against my kind.
I gaze up at the crenellated towers of Galtair. Fear claws my gut. What am I leading us into?
Serafine’s high-pitched shriek rends the night air. I start back. Blayze’s lips curve into the barest of smiles.
His gaze travels upwards. ‘Looks like we found her.’
He holds up his lantern. I can just make out a faint glow of burnt orange streaking through the branches, the silken susurrus of beating wings. Memories of feathers dark as onyx, the blended stench of blood and bird, float to the surface of my mind. I shut my eyes, ducking this relic from my childhood nightmares safely back into the depths, before turning to Blayze.
‘Has Serafine always been your Guardian?’
‘It’s a long story,’ he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand.
‘Oh, so you’re the only one allowed to ask questions?’
He laughs. A deep, throaty sound – surprisingly warm. Though whether he’s laughing with me or at me, I’m not quite sure.
‘Technically, you didn’t answer mine,’ Blayze says. ‘But if you really want to know, I’ll tell you.’ He pauses to draw breath, runs a hand across his stubbled jaw. ‘Do you remember I told you a moment came that forced my father to change his mind about the succession?’
