‘I …’ My mouth is dry. I wet my lips. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You might want to figure that out,’ says Fox wryly, pulling me closer as we change direction. ‘Let me know when you do.’
I let out a squeak of surprise and protest as he lifts me up effortlessly by the waist.
Fox does not dance like a courtier. His movements are not poised or practised. He dances roughly, wildly, his body cutting through the space like a blade and taking mine with him.
Faster.
Colours blur and bleed into one another.
Faster.
The air around me fills with the scent of pine and fresh mint.
Faster.
I twirl. The world spins. A pair of green eyes is all that tethers me to the earth.
When the dance eventually comes to an end, clarity hits me like a cold, hard slap across the face. I stumble, my feet suddenly clumsy and graceless, my gaze snagging on stare after stare.
Beside me, Fox bows sharply from the waist before striding from the dance floor without a backward glance.
35
The golden eye rests at my feet, watching me.
I sense its power, raw and devastating. It reels me in and I am overcome with the desire to let it consume me.
Blaze.
So close.
My fingers have yet to brush the surface when the ground begins to quiver, then shake. I lunge for the eye, but I’m too late. The abyss swallows me whole and I fall down, down, down, landing in a pool of shimmering gold.
I jolt awake, gasping for air. Propping myself up, I knit my hands together to stop them from trembling.
The eye continues to gleam in the corners of my mind. It remains with me all day. Nothing can distract me from it. Not my training session with River, not Fox, not Hal, not even the thought of the third trial, which is now less than a fortnight away.
It was easier to dismiss the dreams at first. But the old man’s story has got under my skin. I don’t believe it, of course. At least, I don’t think I do. But either way, it’s getting harder and harder to pretend that it doesn’t unsettle me, and I want some answers.
Spinner pounces on me the moment I return to my chambers that evening, steering me towards the pile of expensive fabrics fresh off the ship from Vost. She starts jabbering on about silks and satins and sapphire-blue velvets, but I brush her off gently.
‘Where are you going?’ she calls as I scoop a sleeping Mouse up into my arms and slip out of the doors.
When I reach the library, the old man is waiting for me.
‘The girl is back. And she’s brought a cat.’
He gestures for me to take the armchair opposite but I remain standing. ‘I came to hear the end of the story.’
‘What more is there to tell?’
‘You said that Syla spent her life as a puppet of the Etheri. You didn’t say what happened when her life came to an end.’
‘Your point being?’
‘When she died, what became of her Eye?’
