Ember skips into the chamber beside Aunt Yvainne, wearing an extravagant burnt-orange gown, her lips curled in a sickly-sweet smile. I’m overcome with a sudden all-consuming urge to wipe it right off her face. The ice inside me splinters and cracks, and I take a step forward. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Fox give a small shake of his head, which is enough to make me hesitate just long enough for the Ignitia Queen and Heir to sweep past. I glance questioningly at him, but he’s staring straight ahead, giving no indication that he’s done anything to deter me. Breathing hard through my nose, I fall back into step with Queen Hydra, gazing around at the completed circle.
The onlookers fall completely silent as the final door opens and out walks the Supreme Mother of the Valla Jakartis followed by Emperor Alvar, who looks as gaunt as ever. A hereditary ailment, Fox had claimed. I wonder what it could be.
Prince Hal is last to emerge, dressed in a long ceremonial cloak of spun gold. His handsome face is pale and drawn, as though he hasn’t been sleeping.
The Castellions move to stand in the centre of the pedestal. Hal seems to be trying to remain expressionless, but I notice the tremor in his hands as he folds them carefully in front of him, turning his attention to the Supreme Mother. She’s a small woman, tiny really, with wispy grey hair scraped back under an imposingly tall headdress. She wears plain robes the colour of weak tea, which trail behind her as she walks slowly around the congregation.
‘Today,’ she begins, in a powerful, gravelly-sounding voice I was not expecting, ‘is a day of great change, great promise. Today we witness the dawn of a new era.’
The Supreme Mother closes her eyes and begins to pray, the tips of her fingers pressed lightly together. My heart seems to be doing pirouettes. I concentrate very hard on my feet, then gasp with astonishment when I look up again.
Thin tendrils of gold, so fine as to resemble thread, stretch suspended in the air between the emperor and Aunt Yvainne, binding them together. Hal’s eyes are wide, and Zephyr whistles quietly under his breath. I watch in raptured silence as yet more threads of power spring forth from the emperor and glide towards Queen Hydra.
The Supreme Mother’s voice rises from a mutter to achant, her pale robes whispering across the pedestal as the emperor is joined with all three queens.
Just then, Fox, who has been watching the proceedings with only mild interest, turns rigid. I can see the muscles twitching in his jaw, the stiffness of his shoulders, the sparks of intensity in his green eyes as he stares into the depths of something I cannot see.
I glance around at the others, but no one else seems to have noticed.
Hesitantly, I reach out and touch his arm. And suddenly I am no longer in the Choosing Chamber. I am somewhere else entirely.
A large room, filled to bursting with flowers. There’s a rocking horse in the corner, and in the centre, a bed. There’s a child sleeping in it, her long auburn hair spilling over the pillows. It’s the little girl from Fox’s first trial. His sister.
Freya.
The vision turns slightly blurry, but I make out a figure approaching the bed – a man, tall and dark and dressed in robes of steel grey.
I hear the echo of a voice.
To break the world, you must first break his heart.
The man strokes a long, pale finger down Freya’s cheek, and all of a sudden her leaf-green eyes fly open. She begins to choke, convulsing as if her air supply has been cut off.
I look on, helpless and frozen, as her small body goes limp.
The man turns round, and I see his face.
I let go of Fox’s arm and the Choosing Chamber swims back into view. His expression is awash with such an amalgamation of emotions that I can’t quite disentanglethem. But as he steps forward into the circle, I see one that I recognize.
Raw, blinding rage.
‘You,’ he breathes, pointing a finger straight at his uncle.
Every pair of eyes in the room snaps to King Balen, who merely raises an eyebrow. The Supreme Mother trails off mid-sentence, turning to survey the scene.
Fox is vibrating with fury. ‘It was you,’ he says. ‘All this time.’
The Supreme Mother bristles. ‘You dare to disrupt –’
But the emperor holds up a hand, silencing her. The golden tendrils still gleam, connecting him to the members of his Council – all but one.
King Balen steps in front of his brother, his gaze locked on Fox. ‘My dear nephew,’ he says silkily, ‘are you quite well?’
That’s when the ground begins to quake. The onlookers scream, gripping tightly to the golden pews, clutching one another in fear.
During this brief moment of panic, Fox slides my dagger from the sheath at my hip. He advances towards King Balen, still standing protectively in front of the emperor, who seems unable to move, tethered as he is on all sides by unbreakable threads of power.
Fox draws the knife back and lunges for his uncle. Yet the Ventalla King only smiles widely before flitting into thin air, and I watch, horrified, as my dagger is buried deep in the emperor’s heart.
