I graze the cool surface of the Eye with my fingers, tucking it carefully beneath the neckline of my dress.
It’s now the night before the third trial, and all five courts have been summoned to the throne room, where the eight remaining Heirs are to present themselves before the Council.
Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new age, a new life. Tomorrow, I fight Marina for the Aquatori crown.
And I am completely, utterly, terrified.
Stand up straight, Blaze, I tell myself as I walk along teeming hallways and through a set of towering golden doors.Shoulders back.Smile.
‘There they are!’ Spinner exclaims, pulling me over to a crowd of familiar faces and launching herself into my brother’s arms.
The very air seems to ripple with excitement as the Crowned Council sweep into the room. The emperor, gaunt as ever, the Imperial Crown glinting atop his head. Aunt Yvainne, in a red dress that flickers like candlelight. Queen Aspen, her beautiful waist-length hair threaded with flowers. Queen Hydra, dressed in a simple blue gown. And King Balen, wearing his cloak cut from morning fog, and an amused smile.
Elaith slips her arm comfortingly into mine as heads begin to turn in our direction. I feel her grow rigid as she catches sight of Cole standing a few yards away with Ember and Marina. He smirks as he leans forward and whispers something in their ears. Moments later Elaith jumps backwards in shock just as the hem of my dress catches fire.
I shriek, eyes wide with alarm as the flames begin to lick up the side of my skirts.
Disentangling himself from Spinner, Flint leaps into action, the flames shooting into his outstretched palm which he quickly clamps into a fist. With a slight hiss, the fire is extinguished. I sway on my feet, the blood rushing to my face.
And then they begin to laugh, Ember, Marina and Cole. Several others join in, and the sound of it twists something inside of me, something cold and quiet and unforgiving.
Flint is at my side, his expression anxious. Kai is restraining Elaith, while Zeph shakes his head in disgust. I catch sight of Hal among the crowd. He looks furious.
Laughter fills my head, echoing through me. I grit my teeth, glancing slowly around the room, committing this moment to memory.
For they can laugh all they like when I lose.
They won’t be laughing when I win.
43
Voices fade in and out of earshot as the spectators make their way past the Heirs’ tents and towards the gigantic golden amphitheatre which teeters right at the edge of Cor Caval, overlooking the Rift. The stands will soon be filled with Etheri, Fidra, foreign emissaries, courtiers from each of the Crown Courts, and various royals from neighbouring kingdoms – all of them having travelled to the Imperial Province to watch the third trial.
I’ve barely slept. I spent last night tossing and turning, sick with nerves, taunting laughter still ringing in my ears, thinking about the vow I made to myself in that throne room. I suppose in part it was fuelled by spite, a desire to triumph in the face of adversity. But I meant it all the same. I want to win. And for the first time I feel as though I’m in with a chance. The crown is within my grasp. I just have to be brave enough to fight for it.
Elva is still recovering in the serf quarters, which means Spinner has been tasked with making me look less like a frightened child and more like a future queen, poised and ready for battle.
‘Holdstill, Blaze. Gods, I’ll never understand why anyonebothers having such long hair. I mean, look at mine,’ Spinner says, gesturing to her own. ‘Practicalandstylish.’ She eyes me mischievously. ‘You know, I do believe I saw a pair of scissors somewh–’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ I tell her firmly.
Spinner rolls her eyes then claps her hands briskly. ‘Now, let’s get rid of thoseginormousbags under your eyes, hmm?’
Flint appears through the tent flap. ‘There you are.’
‘Here I am.’
He doesn’t sit down, choosing instead to pace the length of the tent. There are eight tents in total, one for every Heir. Each of them contains a dressing table, several low couches, a scattering of large cushions and a selection of food. Spinner has been coaxing a bowl of broth into me for the last half-hour, but my appetite has abandoned me.
‘How are you?’ I ask Flint.
My brother shrugs. ‘Oh, you know. Vaguely petrified. Mildly nauseous. I also can’t seem to stay still without feeling as though I’m about to detonate. That sort of thing.’ He opens and closes his fist as he walks, a small flame igniting and extinguishing in his palm. Eventually he comes to a stop. ‘Father wrote to me.’
I feel myself stiffen.
‘He wanted to wish me luck.’
‘Did he?’ I say in the same flat voice I always use when I talk about my father.
