I nod.
‘Well, my record in the fighting pits was one part of that.’ His fingers clench around his left bicep, tracing the inkings that circle his arm.
I counted over twenty of the strange markings in Meissa, back when Blayze was still in the grip of his aversion to clothes. Most are red, but a handful are stark white. He tugs his hand through his tousled, flame-kissed hair. The memory is clearly making him anxious.
‘But Fifi was the key,’ he says at last, shaking the branches again in an effort to dislodge her. ‘How much do you know about conditions in Oralia?’
Shame knots my stomach, but I answer truthfully. ‘Not much.’
‘Not exactly a priority in the royal curriculum, eh?’ Blayze frowns. ‘Long story short, my people have been reduced to living in the Delves – underground mineshafts, a warren of tunnels we call the Necropole – for five generations. No palaces or jewelled libraries for us. Not anymore,’ he says with a wry smile. ‘We rely on ignastium, the sacred ore forged in the belly of the Burning Mountain – the core of Oralia’s Flame-Aether – to fuel the Necropole and power the Dark Farms. They don’t produce much, but it’s enough to keep people from starving.’
Again, that dragging sensation in my gut. The same I felt when we passed the Gaspings, when I stood in the ruined starfruit fields. Realisation of the devastation the Sickening’s wrought. This is why the other members of the Quaternity agreed to put their lives on hold and leave their loved ones when I offered them the promise of the Starlight Staff.
I sold them hope. Worse, I lied. Or, at least, withheld the truth about our chance of success, the obstacles we’ll face, my true motivations and intentions.
‘Around six scorchings ago, reserves of the ore were running low. My father dispatched clansmen to the Smelts, molten rivers that flow from the Burning Mountain, to bring back what they could, but they returned empty-handed, or else didn’t return at all. It’s still possible to survive the Over for short periods, but temperatures have risen so high, and the air’s so thick with volcanic gas, the Waste destroys most foolhardy enough to brave it. And if those conditions don’t kill you, the choking sandstorms, showers of needle-sharp volcanic glass, and raging wildfires, soon will. But I was young, cocky, and desperate to prove my worth to my father, so I resolved to get the ore myself. Felt it was my calling.’ Blayze clears his throat, scans the overhead branches again. The lantern flickers, casting his face in dancing shadows as he bites his lower lip. Hurt and anger harden his features.
I recognise that look – that pain.
‘For whatever reason, the Sacred Flame warmed to me. I managed to reach the Smelts and retrieve the ore.’ Blayze chafes at the torc around his neck, tugging as if it’s too tight.
I’ve a feeling he’s glossed over something important. I reach for the silver threads of my magic, try to push against the barrier of his mind, to discover what he’s not telling me. But the threads won’t curl around my fingers. I still can’t read the Clanschief at all.
‘It was a proof my father couldn’t ignore. I’d superseded my brother’s birthright.’ Blayze’s eyes burn with something like triumph. ‘Especially as the ignastium wasn’t the only thing I brought back.’ He cranes his neck again, his eyes softening to rich, liquid gold as he searches the branches.
‘Serafine was in bad shape when I found her at the foot of the Burning Mountain. A runt with a broken wing.’ His voice is gentler too, somewhere between a croon and a choked whisper. He’s talking more to himself than me. ‘The flock must have judged her unworthy and cast her over the crater. She was a scrawny bundle of bloodied feathers, but something inside me took pity on her. I carried her all the way back to the Necropole, nursed her to health. I’d never looked after another living creature before, but I became both father and mother to Fifi. Emberwings are never seen anymore. One used to serve each of the five clan leaders, but they can’t abide the darkness of the pit. When we were forced to make our home there, they left. Returned to their mountain nests. But Fifi stayed… My having an emberwing bound to me – even a runt – was further evidence of my right to rule. She matters to me. She’s the only creature in this world I’ve ever…’ He stands straighter, conscious of my presence again. ‘She’s important to me, that’s all.’
There’s a long pause while I try and reach for the right response. Blayze fills it by tossing a piece of dreamroot into his mouth, grinding it between his teeth.
He’s the most bewildering person I’ve ever met. Scarcely a word since we met, save for jibes, then two emotional outpourings in the past few moonsrisings. He’s talking to me as though we’re friends instead of enemies, yet I know he can’t stand the sight of me. He thinks I’m a… What was the word he used? An abomination.
He makes my head spin, but he’s a loose thread I can’t help but pull at, a book I can’t read, a future I can’t scry, a puzzle I can’t solve. And yet I want to understand. I want to decipher. I want…
I don’t know what I want.
Why did I ask him about Serafine in the first place? Why didn’t I listen to Orthriel and return to my tent once I realised there was no danger here? Why did I stay out, shivering in my nightdress looking for a bird that hates me? A bird I’m sure would relish clawing my eyes out.
As if in answer to that question, bloodcurdling cries shred the silence. Bronze flashes across the sky as Serafine swoops down and comes to roost in the neighbouring tree. The flap of her wings as she glides overhead snuffs out the candle in Blayze’s lantern, plunging us into darkness.
I’m relieved. This puts an end to the search – to this whole awkward encounter. Though the hollow ache that spreads through my chest as Blayze stalks away to his own tent, after escorting me back to mine and admonishing me not to leave it till morning, doesn’t feel like relief.
This time, I’m not sure I can pass it off as cramps, or an after-effect of too much flamead. And I’m glad the door between my mind and Orthriel’s remains firmly shut.
It’s all very well for Blayze to chide me for being reckless, but though my boots and cloak are dank after wandering the hills, my resolve is not dampened.
If I am possessed, it’s because of the remembrance garden. Those little lost souls haunt me. I carry them in my heart now, as surely as I carry the starstone around my neck.
Come first light, we advance to Galtair and whatever awaits us there.
For too long I’ve been led. Now it’s time to lead. I’ll let no one get in my way.
SEEDS OF DOUBT
LEILANI
DAWNRISEHASSTAINEDthe sky a pale pink by the time we start our climb – the colour droplets of unmarked blood might make in a basin of water. With every step, my ankle throbs in protest, and I resent the weight of my pack more. I didn’t relish the idea of riding after being dragged through the mud and almost having my skull dashed against the rocks, but now I’m regretting leaving the horses tethered at our campsite. But the air is too thin; they were never going to make it up the hill. And we have to. I grit my teeth. I need to lead by example – sore ankle be damned.
I should have listened to Orthriel and returned to my tent last night, not traipsed after Blayze. I’ll need to keep weight off my ankle when we get to Galtair – ask Tansy to examine it properly. She should take a look at Delphine too; the loan of Blayze’s bedroll doesn’t appear to have done much good. The shadows under her eyes are more pronounced than ever, and she’s pale as sea-foam, her hair an ominous shade of ink. Even the vial of liquor around her neck has turned muddier, and there’s a strange limpness about her, as if her bones are wilting.
