There’s a pause, then Spinner says, ‘Her name was Freya.’
Freya. Fox and Freya. Born of love, torn apart by death.
‘She died of the sweating sickness, didn’t she?’
Spinner stops walking and turns to face me. ‘What’s brought this on?’
‘What d’you mean?’ I ask, self-conscious.
‘All these questions about Freya. You’ve never asked about her before. Has someone said something?’
‘No.’ I swallow. ‘No, I was just … curious. That’s all.’
I sense her again, that other Spinner, watchful and suspicious, coiled just beneath the surface.
‘I’ll tell you something I’m curious about,’ she says, seeming to let it slide and reaching out to touch the chain round my neck. ‘Of all the beautiful jewellery from Thaven I spentweekssourcing and selecting for you, why ohwhydo you insist on wearing this old thing?’ With one quick tug she pulls the talisman out from underneath the front of my dress and examines it. ‘I mean, no offence,’ she continues, ‘but it’s not even that pretty.’
I brace myself, waiting for the Eye to come alive, for Spinner to scream in agony as the full force of its power surges through her the way it did me. But nothing happens.
Exhaling in relief, I shrug in what I hope is a casual, non-committal sort of way. ‘You’re right,’ I tell her. ‘It’s just, well, it belonged to my mother.’
The lie immediately smooths over the sharp scepticism on Spinner’s face. She lets go of the Eye and I tuck it back beneath my dress.
‘And this,’ Spinner says, nodding to my hand, where the bloodstained scrap of fabric is still wrapped round my palm. ‘Would you care to explain this? It’s not exactly complementing my masterpiece.’ She gestures to all of me, from the silky sky-blue gown to the pearls woven among my hair.
I examine my hand, thinking about how hard I must have been squeezing that rose to lodge the thorn so deeply into my flesh. ‘Sorry. Clumsy.’
Spinner rolls her eyes at me, the golden tattoos on her cheeks merging into different patterns as she smiles. ‘Come on, then, Clumsy. I’m dying for a canapé.’
We soon reach a part of the palace gardens I’ve never been to before, where what appear to be gold-painted people are standing on small podiums dotted around the lawn. On closer inspection I realize that they are in fact statues, dozens of them, and no matter which way I turn, I am watched from every angle by blank, pupilless golden eyes.
Spinner spots Flint, Elaith and Zephyr in the crowd and bounds over to them, dragging me with her. But a familiar voice makes me stop short.
‘Blaze?’
‘Kai!’ I exclaim. ‘You’re here! I mean, you’re better. Are you better? You look – how – how are you?’
Kai wears a deep-blue doublet that suits his complexion, his dark hair tied back from his face with a strip of cloth. There’s nothing – no scab or scar or bruising – that suggests he’s been bedridden, but of course there wouldn’t be. Coming seconds away from drowning doesn’t leave a mark. Water doesn’t cut – it chokes.
‘I am better,’ he says, smiling. ‘Much better. And I wanted to congratulate you, Blaze. I always knew you had it in you.’
I return his smile, reaching to embrace him. He wraps his arms round me. As I draw back I become aware of someone watching us.
The Earth Cleaver leans against one of the golden statues, one ankle crossed over the other. He wears a loosely buttoned shirt in such a dark shade of evergreen it looks almost black, fitted leather trousers and scuffed, mud-flecked riding boots. His golden chain glimmers in the light from the orbs floating above our heads.
My breath catches. All week I’ve managed to avoid him.
Now he’s found me.
Fox pushes off the statue and strides towards us, his gaze only leaving my face to flit briefly over Kai.
‘Storm Weaver. Friend of Storm Weaver. How are we this evening?’ His voice is smooth and charming, laced with just a hint of sarcasm.
When I don’t respond, Kai clears his throat. ‘Well enough. Yourself?’
Fox doesn’t answer him. I watch as he slides his hands into his pockets, stepping ever so slightly closer. He really is infuriatingly beautiful.
‘What do you want?’ I ask rudely.
