‘Very well,’ he says. ‘I wanted to ask what you have done to your hand.’
‘My hand?’ I glance down at the strip of white fabric. ‘Oh, my hand. I – I cut it. On a thorn.’ I frown. ‘Why?’
Fox has a strange expression on his face. ‘You cut it?’
‘Like I said.’
‘How deep was the cut?’
I stare at him. ‘What has this got to do with anything?’
Fox ignores me. He reaches out, encircling my wrist and lifting my hand to his face, his fingers warm and rough against my skin. ‘This fabric – it’s from a serf’s tunic.’
‘So?’
‘So, how did you acquire it?’
‘How didyouacquire the serf tunic you wore to the first trial?’ I shoot back.
Fox smiles, but I can sense rather than hear the urgency in his voice. ‘Was there someone with you? When you cut your hand?’
‘I … Yes, my serf. She cleaned me up. Tore off a piece of her tunic and used it as a makeshift bandage. Again,why?’
‘Your serf,’ he repeats.
‘Yes. Can I go now?’
There’s an odd, strung-out pause during which Fox drops my wrist. ‘I believe you have some questions you wish to ask me, Storm Weaver.’
I cross my arms over my chest. ‘I might have some,’ I say grudgingly.
Fox crooks his finger slightly and I watch as the scattered pieces of the leaf I ripped up float into the air and knit themselves back together. ‘You may begin,’ he tells me.
I take a deep breath. ‘How do you know about the Eyes?’
‘One hears many stories on one’s travels.’
Well, that’s irritatingly vague. I try again. ‘Why were you in the dungeons that night?’
‘The party lacked atmosphere.’
‘Seriously?’
Fox examines his signet rings.
‘Fine,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘Then can you at least tell me whether your Eye belonged to Sifa or Seera?’
‘Perhaps. In time.’
I stare at him, furious.
Fox smiles pleasantly back at me. ‘I said I believed you had some questions for me, Storm Weaver. I didn’t say anything about answering them.’
‘You are unbelievable,’ I hiss. ‘You can’t just spring something like this on me and expect me to figure it all out myself. I need answers. I feel like I’m goinginsane.’
A hush falls over the distant crowd as the Thavenian emissary is announced. My heart seizes up and sinks low as the emperor makes an announcement of his own, one that I have been dreading since the night Hal kissed me.
‘It is my pleasure to inform you all that my son, His Imperial Highness, Prince Haldyn Castellion, is betrothed to Princess Mirade of Thaven.’
