Suddenly the dancing stops and silence falls. I turn to see the emperor striding through the parting guests, flanked by his Court of Eyes.
‘The time has almost come for us to take our leave,’ he announces, his voice rebounding off the stone walls.
Relief floods through me.
‘Almost,’ he continues, ‘but not quite. I am a patient man, but I have waited long enough. Bring me the Harglade twins.Bothof them.’
The relief curdles like milk. The emperor has hardly travelled from the Golden Palace just to wish Flint many happy returns. Not when tonight is the Storm Weaver’s first ever public appearance. Mydebut, as Grandmother called it. Some debutante I make.
Prince Haldyn’s gaze meets mine from across the ballroom, and slowly every head begins to turn in my direction. I am pinned up by stares like a specimen on a wall.
Grandmother gives me a little push and my feet reluctantly begin to move. A path clears as we walk slowly through the crowd. Flint is already standing before the emperor, who says nothing as he takes me in, his head slightly tilted.
‘Blaze,’ he says eventually, the piece of irony that is my name uncertain in his mouth. ‘We meet at last, Storm Weaver.’
His golden cloak looks heavy enough to flatten me. I sink into a deep curtsy, concentrating on keeping my voice, and knees, steady. ‘Your Imperial Majesty.’
It’s so quiet that I swear you could hear a raindrop.
The emperor turns to my brother. ‘Flint, dear boy. What a fitting way to celebrate a young man such as yourself. A rare diamond if ever there was one. I have little doubt that when the next eclipse comes to pass, you will be branded an Heir to the Ignitia throne, continuing the legacy of the Harglade name. How proud your family must be of you.’
Flint bows. ‘Thank you, sire. I strive to be worthy of their love and your words.’
The emperor smiles. Then King Balen is there beside him, appearing so suddenly it’s as though he’s materialized from thin air.
The Ventalla King’s tone is conversational. ‘Oh, I’m sure his thanks are not necessary, are they, brother? There are gifts far more valuable than gratitude.’
I can tell Flint is confused, but his smile never falters. ‘Your Majesty?’
‘Why don’t you give us a gift, Flint Flameborn?’ King Balen says smoothly. ‘A trick you have been working on, perhaps. A display of your many talents. Surely the emperor must have something in return for the honour he has bestowed upon you this night?’
I glance at Flint, but he’s already looking at Aunt Yvainne, who nods. Flint bows once more to the emperor, then raises his hands. I watch as every bud-like flame from every candle in the ballroom rises gently into the air until they are hovering above their wicks, burning freely. I clench my jaw to stop my mouth from hanging open in astonishment. My brother rarely uses his gift around me. I’ve always assumed it’s because he feels sorry for me, since his power flows inabundance and mine is gone for good. No wonder he enjoys spending so much time at the Ignitia court, Fire Mountain, where he can revel in his abilities guilt-free.
With a small jerk of his wrist, the thousands of tiny flames begin to move, gliding over one another, filling the hall with flickering light. Next, he opens his arms wide, and the flames shoot towards him, skimming over the heads of the crowd and coming to rest in his outstretched hands. I watch, dumbstruck, as fire blazes in his palms.
Flint holds the fire there for a few moments, then, with a satisfied grin at Aunt Yvainne, he throws it up into the air. The flames cascade towards the ceiling in a roar of heat before drifting apart once more, floating lazily back to their wicks.
Grandmother is beaming, the guests are applauding and the emperor claps my brother on the shoulder, calling for a toast. Attendants dart among the crowd, laden with trays of glasses filled to the brim with wine. I accept one and hold on tightly to the stem.
‘What better way to toast a Harglade than with the words of his House?’ The emperor raises his glass high. ‘Flicker, flare, flame.’
We echo him, then we drink. The wine tastes bitter.
‘And yet,’ says King Balen, his voice slicing through the air, ‘there is one Harglade who has no affinity with the words of her ancestors. One who does not ignite the flame, but drowns the fire. If the brother is a rare diamond, then the sister is the rarest, the most exquisite, of pearls.’ He smiles at me, his teeth sharp and white. ‘Isn’t that right, little dove?’
Once again, I feel like I might lose my footing.
The Ventalla King twists his golden signet ring round his finger. ‘What do you say, brother, to receiving not one gift this night, but two? Two birds with one stone, so to speak.’
The emperor looks at him questioningly.
‘Humour me,’ King Balen continues. ‘Young Flint here has delighted us with flame. Perhaps his sister could dazzle us with rain.’
The effect on the crowd is instantaneous. Some shriek, while others pale in horror. As for me, I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
‘Come now,’ King Balen soothes. ‘Seventeen years ago a storm shook the world to its core, and for seventeen years we have lived in the shadow of the past. It is time, I think, to bathe in the light of the future.’ I can barely hear his words over my heartbeat. ‘Blaze, sweet girl. Tonight the emperor gives you the chance to prove to the people of our glorious empire that to them you mean no harm. That you are not a danger, but a gift.’
The crowd murmurs nervously.
