‘They drown,’ she says simply. ‘Their body is lost forever between waterways.’
The ghost of a shiver runs through me.
‘You understand now just how important it is to possess the right training, discipline and concentration required to use water portals?’
I nod, realizing that I’m still holding the silver teacup. ‘And what of this, Your Majesty? Teacups can’t drown.’
‘No, indeed they cannot, which makes portals an excellent means of transporting inanimate objects from place to place. Or, alternatively, excellent places to store such objects, if you wished to preserve or perhaps conceal them.’ The queen holds my gaze, her eyes two more portals, deep blue and boundless. ‘There is much I wish to teach you, child,’ she says. ‘But time trickles on, ceaseless as a stream.’
When I arrive back at my rooms several hours later, I have almost managed to convince myself that I’d imagined the Eye. But as I peer warily into my bedchamber, there it is, sitting in my jewellery box, glinting gold in the early-evening sun.
I pace aimlessly for a while, trying to think. Eventually, I decide that until I get some answers, the Eye is safer being carried on my person. I thread it carefully on to a thin golden chain and fasten it round my neck. Despite the contact with my skin, the Eye remains permanently cool, sitting small and cold next to my heart.
It called to me. It haunted my dreams and it led me straight to it.
Butwhy?
Elva draws me a bath, and I sink down beneath the water, letting the old man’s words wash over me once more.
Sifa, the first sister, had the power to see the past.
I imagine being able to go backwards, to watch events play out just as they had minutes, or days, or even centuries before.
Seera, the second sister, had the power to see the future.
That would be something. To watch what is yet to come to pass.
And then there was Syla, the third sister, the most powerful of them all. For her powerwaspower. She had the power to take power. To return it. Wield it. Protect it. Possess it. Power belonged to her. It ran through her veins.
Syla, the girl who played with power. I reach up and touch the Eye round my neck.
Three sisters. Three Eyes. I think of Sifa and Seera, hunted, captured and executed, but not before they had hidden their talismans where they could never be found. I think of Syla, hunted, captured and enslaved, bound for the rest of her life to serve her sisters’ killers, imprisoned like a criminal and then taken out and exploited like a puppet. A cell made from purest crystal – that’s where the old man had said Syla was kept.
An idea begins to form – a reckless, foolish idea.
I dress quickly, braiding my wet hair back from my face and tucking the Eye beneath the collar of my shirt. As I slip Hal’s nightlight into my pocket, my gaze lands on the dagger. I hesitate, then stuff it inside my boot.
Elva looks startled as I sweep through the reception room.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ I lie. ‘If anyone comes looking for me tell them … tell them I’m indisposed.’
It’s common knowledge that the dungeons are located in the very depths of the palace, so I walk down winding corridors, down countless flights of stairs, down and down until the air grows cold and my stomach swoops nervously with every step.
Most of the Etheri are at the feast, though the handful I did encounter who were sober enough to register who I was hurried past without comment, eager to be out of my immediate vicinity. What I’m worried about are the palace guards. Somehow I don’t think claiming to be lost is going to cut it.
Voices drift into earshot further down the gloomy passageway and I duck behind an ugly golden gargoyle. Taking my dagger, I cut off a piece of my shirt and wrap the fabric round my left hand to conceal the glow of my brandmark.
Suddenly my plan doesn’t seem like such a good idea. What would Grandmother say if she found out I’d been snooping around the palace? What if I’m brought before the emperor?
It’s some time before I muster enough courage to step out from behind the gargoyle.
At the end of the passageway lies a great gaping hole. This has to be the entrance to the dungeons. Sure enough, on either side are several armed guards. Yet to my surprise, every one of them appears to be fast asleep. A few scattered playing cards and an empty bottle of wildfire wine lie next to where the men sit slumped against the wall, snoring.
I frown, puzzling over the lax security. Perhaps there’s not a prisoner valuable enough to place under strict watch,or perhaps it’s a given that once someone is thrown into the dungeons, there is no getting out.
I take a deep breath. It’s now or never, I suppose.
Darting out of the shadows, I edge quietly past the sleeping guards. Then I swallow my fear whole and slip into the darkness beyond.
