‘How generous of them.’
‘A land-based Trial seems most likely,’ Kell says, tapping his finger on the parchment before looking at me. ‘Which means we can work together on this one.’
I bite my lip, considering Kell’s strange flame magic and my own ability to lure a storm. Neither of us have full control, although Kell seems to have a better grasp on his ability than I do on mine. And although we have made allies, we don’t want to show our hand too soon, and for it to backfire. If the ruling council’s dealings hinge on my and Kell’s performance, we have to walka tightrope: survive, place just high enough so that Agnes is not threatened due to our lack of victory, but not appear so strong as to win the ruling council any favours. We cannot show how formidable we can be. ‘We need to focus on agility and working as one.’
‘And beat Skylan this time,’ Hira says, getting up. ‘The ruling council wants to see a win.’
I stay quiet, not mentioning the deal we’ve struck with Sember and Heath. Hira needs us to win for her own ends; if we win she’ll secure the favour of the ruling council for her coven. If the Skylan contenders stay true to their word, then we don’t need to win. We just need to stay in the game. And if they don’t come through for us … I just need to stay alive long enough to find Agnes and get us both out of here – before I become a wielded weapon so vile, so vicious, that the entire continent falls into the clutches of the ruling council, and changes everything for the Fortunate Isles. Forever.
late that night, lowri findsEli in the topmost room of the house, his father’s study. In the light of a lone lamp, Eli is digging through the drawers of a desk, a heap of old correspondence, books and newspaper clippings strewn all around him. Lowri watches from the doorway as Eli frowns, as he casts aside a letter before slumping back in the desk chair.
‘It’s hopeless, Lor,’ he says. ‘I’d need a year to sift through all this. But if my father was here, if we had only left for Fallow a little earlier—’
‘Don’t think like that,’ Lowri interrupts softly. ‘It’ll drive you mad. We can’t change the past.’
Eli looks up at the ceiling, then back at the desk, as though gathering himself together. ‘I feel like I’m chasing a ghost. I’m mourning someone I never got the chance to meet.’
‘You can still mourn,’ Lowri says, moving further into the room. She picks up a paperweight, a snow globe: a depiction of the city of Fallow encased within. ‘Even ifyou can’t get a firm grasp of who he was, you can still grieve the loss of him.’
Eli flashes her a small, grateful smile. ‘You know you are actually my favourite cousin?’
‘Don’t let Caden hear you say that,’ she says, grinning.
‘Or Ethlet.’
Lowri raises her eyebrows. ‘Yes. Skies. Another cousin.’ She shakes the snow globe and watches as the pale, glittering flakes whirl around crooked little houses. ‘You may not have found your father as you hoped, but you’ve found her.’
‘That’s true,’ he says after a moment. ‘Very true. It’s not nothing.’
‘And maybe the Society will give you more of a sense of him. Maybe he’ll seem like less of a ghost.’
Lowri shakes out the umbrella, craning her neck to stare up at the Society headquarters. Set just off centre and not quite in the heart of Fallow, it’s tall and round in the middle, with two storeys shooting out on either side and a sense of grandeur about it. The walls are pale stone, the windows framed in black and just beyond the glass she spies silhouettes shifting.
They ascend the steps to the glossy black double front doors, stepping into a monochrome hallway of chequered flagstones. A huge grey chandelier dominates the ceiling, casting floating shadows over the white walls. Lowri finds her vision still dips and sways at times, her veins still faintly ink-ridden. And when she’s trieda spell, a whispered witch word, shadow wreaths her fingertips like smoke, the spell having less potency, less impact than usual. She is drinking less and less of the Fallow Fog brews, not wanting to tip over and consume too much shadow. It’s now a waiting game, hoping her light magic will heal and expand to fill her veins once more.
Ethlet steps forward to greet a woman with spiked auburn hair wearing a grey checked skirt suit and lurid yellow heels. Lowri places her umbrella in a stand by the door as Eli’s gaze sharpens, lured to the painted portraits on the walls. Ethlet shakes the woman’s hand, and she disappears through a door at the back.
‘Isaiah’s portrait is upstairs,’ Ethlet says, following Eli’s gaze. ‘I’ll show you before we’re announced.’
The woman with auburn hair walks back in, gesturing to the staircase. ‘They’re ready for you, the full complement after your message sparrow arrived … We’re all very intrigued.’
‘Message sparrow?’ Lowri asks Ethlet quietly.
‘We attach a message to the leg of a sparrow, feed it a little fog and away it flies,’ she explains as they walk up the staircase. ‘Sometimes they get distracted by crumbs, but they’re usually mostly reliable. We started using them in the war, when the Rexilium brothers’ forces were bearing down on Fallow and no one could leave. But a small sparrow? Very nippy. The brothers didn’t bother detaining them.’
Eli stalks quietly ahead as they reach the top ofthe staircase, scanning every portrait until, finally, they’re left in an antechamber before a huge set of doors. Beyond, they can hear the murmur of voices, occasionally peppered with a bark of laughter.
‘This one,’ Ethlet says, indicating a portrait on the left wall. Eli moves to stand next to her, eyes hungry as they rake over the painting of his father. Lowri’s heart squeezes, watching him. She’s never thought much about who her father might be, but for Eli it’s a question left unanswered. A man who appeared to be a hero, a scholar or a coward, depending on who spoke of him. And now, so close to his life in this place, Lowri can feel Eli’s need for answers.
‘He has your eyes. Or, rather, you havehiseyes.’
‘Do you think so?’ he asks quickly.
‘The shape.’ She nods, throat suddenly thick. ‘Hard to tell on the colour, with it being greyscale.’
‘But there’s a definite likeness,’ Ethlet adds. ‘You walk like him too. And he was quiet like you, always thinking things through, always following many pathways before speaking his mind. A strategist. Prone to brooding if left too long to his own devices.’
Eli looks at her and blinks. ‘Thank you. That’s – I needed to hear that.’
