The weight of Sifa’s Eye in my palm seems to drag me down into the very recesses of the earth.
‘Is that why you wanted to find them?’ I ask quietly.
A smirk. ‘Do you really have such a low opinion of me, Storm Weaver?’
‘Do you really want me to answer that?’ I shoot back. ‘You ripped the realm in two.’
‘And you summoned a storm that nearly drowned it. Same difference.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ I snap. ‘Because I regret what I did, but I don’t think you do. In fact, you actually seem quite proud of it.’
Fox’s eyes are fixed on me, unblinking and unreadable.
‘Besides, I was a baby,’ I continue. ‘You have no such excuse.’ My gaze falls on Elva. ‘Then there’s the fact that you’re aslaver–’
‘I’m not a slaver,’ says Fox abruptly.
I stare at him. ‘What do you mean? They call you thePrince of Slavers.’
Fox huffs a laugh. ‘Oh, Storm Weaver. You of all people should know there’s a difference between who you are and who people say you are.’ He smiles slightly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘We all have our roles to play.’
Silence stretches between us, punctuated by my heartbeat. I can’t work out if he’s telling the truth. But then what reason would he have to lie?
‘Believe what you will,’ he says, holding out a hand for Sifa’s talisman. ‘We have more important things to discuss.’
I return it to him, watching as he pulls the chain over his head. ‘How did you even find out about them? The Eyes.’
‘I told you already. I heard stories on my travels.’
‘And the emperor? Does he know?’
Fox shakes his head, dismissive. ‘My father barely knows what day it is at present.’
I think of Emperor Alvar’s haggard appearance, the dark circles beneath his eyes. He had seemed larger than life on my Name Day. How could he have changed so much in just a few months?
‘Your father,’ I say tentatively. ‘Is he … unwell? Only I couldn’t help noticing that lately he’s looked …’
‘Like death warmed up?’ Fox suggests.
‘I was going to say under the weather, but yes.’
Fox turns away and begins clearing the table, reaching across Elva for various pots and tinctures. ‘He suffers from a hereditary ailment. Nothing to concern yourself with. Hand me that vial.’
I do as he asks, not wishing to pry. ‘So, what are we supposed to do now?’
Fox smiles lazily at me. ‘I love it when you say we.’
I shoot him a look.
‘All in good time, Storm Weaver.’ He dangles Syla’s Eye in front of me. ‘First I need to know – are you in or are you out?’
‘But why would you give it back?’ I ask, sensing a trick.
‘Because it didn’t choose me,’ he says, matter-of-factly. ‘It chose you.’
I force myself to hold his gaze, which is almost intimate in its intensity. He has always looked at me this way, like he knows me better than I know myself.
I wet my lips, self-conscious. ‘That night in the dungeons, you said,I knew it was always meant to be you. What did you mean?’
