my world is a roaringfurnace. We were so close to freedom –realfreedom. As the watch’s stronghold on Penscalo went up in smoke, the captives who were set to hang were released. And it felt like an ending. A beginning. The watch couldn’t hurt us any more. We had rid them from the sea and the land of the Fortunate Isles. We would rebuild on Rosevear. Ennor would be safe, all the Fortunate Isles would at last be safe. Eli would take his cousin Lowri, a witch, to his father’s world, traverse between here and there, save her from burnout and finally meet his father. He would get the answers – theclosure– he craved. And then he would return to me, and we would be together. The isles would prosper.
We would all be free.
But as we sailed away from Penscalo aboardPhantom, the witches appeared, too many of them, and that man with the pale hair and cruel features twisted with something akin to hunger spoke those chilling words …
You’re mine.
I piece all of it together, our victory on Penscalo, then all of us sailing for Rosevear, for home. Eli leaving to cross to another world, then suddenly Seth … dead. Blood blooming from a bullet wound in his stomach. The boy who had betrayed me, who was shipwrecked on Rosevear’s shores, who I saved … and who maybe, in time, I might have forgiven. Merryam, his cousin, screaming. They had only just reconciled. Mer, one of Eli’s most trusted, had promised to vouch for him. Then a witch pressed a blade to Agnes’s throat, my best friend, my sister in all but blood, her cries of pain slicing through me … but before I could reach for her, to save her, that witch with ice-blue eyes clamped a hand round my wrist. She whispered a witch word,Inferna.
Then all I knew was fire.
I had been taken by those witches, stolen away from aboardPhantom– I knew that much – and taken to the very heart of my enemy’s stronghold.
‘Mira? Mira, wake up!’
I burned all night, my mind trapped in flame and agony. But now, I blink my eyes open.
‘The Trials begin in three days, Mira,’ the boy says, eyeing me carefully. ‘They captured us both.’
My breathing grows shallow and fast as the words beat in my temples, darkness nudging at the corners of my vision. I leap to my feet and take in my surroundings, go to the window. This room, with its view on to a courtyard far below, the patrolling guards in scarlet jackets, the rifles slung across their shoulders … it’s the royal court.I’m a captive in the ruling council’s court in Highborn. Gripping the window ledge, I sweep my gaze over the room, taking it all in with swift blinks. Whitewashed walls, the sparsest of furnishings, a single bed. More a cell than a bedroom, but high in a tower, rather than in a basement. The boy stands a few feet away, watching me. I can’t be here. I was aboardPhantom.
I was with my friends … We won. We hadwon…
‘Did you say the Trials?’ I ask, my voice coming out scratchy and wrong.
The boy nods. ‘They must think you’re special, like me. That you’ll do well in the Trials, and that Arnhem will triumph and make the other rulers of the continent quake.’ He shrugs, his words echoing around my skull, drawing me back to this room, to this place in which I’m trapped. ‘We have no other choice but to do our best.’
The Trials are something for which no one on the isles ever ventured to Highborn to be put forward – not since the first call went out years back, and none of the hopeful contenders returned home. The rumours and whispers I’ve heard are that this is a series of challenges for which every territory on the continent puts forward contenders to represent them. It’s all political. If a territory does well, they will get more favourable trade contracts or perhaps new alliances will form. The rulers and merchants meet while the Trials are happening, all gathering at court to watch the challenges along with the crowd. I shiver, head still thumping and tender from the witch’s curse. But now the realisation of what lies ahead slowly creeps in.
‘Or what?’ I ask the boy, turning away from the window to face him. As the words draw up my throat, I taste ash on my tongue, as though I was indeed consumed by real flame.
‘Or we could die.’
I haul in a breath, needing it to fill my lungs. Swallowing down that lingering taste of ash and magic, I sink to the cold floor and push the heels of my hands into my eyes. I need to think. My chest is too tight, thoughts flashing and fracturing. How did they get me here? How long have I been here? And the others … Agnes, Kai, Merryam, my crew aboardPhantom… my friends. What of them?
‘My name is Kell,’ the boy continues. ‘They found me on the Far Isles. I was trying to leave with my guardian, Helene. It was becoming too hard to run our inn; we had no customers. We were trying to get to Leicena, where Helene is from, but we didn’t have travel permits. The watch found us and then …’ Kell looks away. ‘Brielle told me not to show anyone what I could do, but when they put their hands on Helene I couldn’t help it. They were going to hurt her.’
‘Did you say Brielle? Brielle Tresillian?’ I ask quickly, getting to my feet again.
Kell nods. ‘Yes. Do you know her? She’s a hunter from a coven in Highborn. I always cook for her. She visited recently, stayed at our inn and—’
Before he can finish his sentence, footsteps sound outside the room and the door bursts inwards, guards inscarlet jackets pouring in. I scramble backwards, spine jarring against the wall before two guards grab me.
‘Just bring the girl. Escort the boy back to his room – he’s not needed for this,’ one of them says, and my gaze darts between them: a sea of scarlet coats, gold buttons blazing down their fronts, the Arnhem lion roaring from each and every one.
‘Get your handsoffme,’ I grit out as hands clamp on my shoulders, shoving me towards the door. But it’s no use – they’re not listening, their features set in stern lines – and I’m pushed along the marble corridor, separated from Kell as the drumming of their boots rings in my ears.
A huge set of double doors comes into sight at the end of a hallway, swinging open ominously before I’m marched inside. The room is dazzlingly bright, all pale marble and white walls, with three gleaming silver thrones on a dais. A map of Arnhem and the continent blazes behind those thrones … behind the three men sitting on them. I realise with a jolt that the one on the left is the man I saw before that ice-eyed witch burned my mind with her magic.
You’re mine …
As his gaze meets my own, I notice his eyes still have the same twist of feral hunger. I wonder if he’s the man Agnes, Seth and I overheard speaking with Captain Leggan in the watch’s stronghold on Penscalo before we were ambushed. If he’s the one who toasted our downfall with Captain Leggan and spoke of a law to control all magic …
The ruling council.
I force down the panic suffusing my veins as the guards shove me to the ground, my knees barking in pain. The three men regard me, not saying a word, two of them propping up their chins on a fist, elbows resting on the arms of their thrones, like this is just an everyday occurrence, kidnapping a girl and forcing her to kneel before them. The panic in my blood turns like the tide and I see red.
‘How utterly wonderful to have not one, buttwochampions from the isles,’ the man in the middle says, breaking the silence, ‘the Far Isles and the Fortunate Isles represented at the Trials. What a proud moment.’ He’s dressed in pale cream with gold thread embroidered over his jacket and breeches, just like the other two. They all look so similar; there isn’t much to tell them apart. Then I realise, of course, that they’re related. They have to be brothers. The ruling council, the rulers of our country, are brothers. ‘We truly have excellent champions this year for the Trials—’
