Murderer.
Changeling.
Freak.
I grit my teeth.
When we reach a quieter passageway, Prince Haldyn and I start speaking at the same time, then both trail off, smiling.
‘Please,’ he says. ‘After you.’
I take a deep breath. ‘I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. For what I did at Harglade Hall.’
‘Don’t apologize,’ he says. ‘You lost control. It happens.’
‘How do you know?’ I ask, surprised. ‘That it wasn’t intentional, I mean.’
‘I didn’t,’ says Prince Haldyn. ‘Not for sure, anyway. I imagine most of the other guests think you did it on purpose, but during our short acquaintance, Blaze, I’ve learned to expect the unexpected, especially when it comes to you.’
I glance away, not sure whether to feel embarrassed or pleased.
A flock of Eyes dressed from head to toe in gold silks gape at us as they pass by. I wait until they’re out of sight before speaking again.
‘I never meant to hurt anyone.’ My gaze lingers on the criss-cross scar below his eye.
The prince reaches up, brushing it lightly with the tip of his finger. ‘Put it this way,’ he says, ‘you certainly made your mark that night.’
A blush creeps slowly up my neck.
He makes me nervous, there’s no use in denying it, but the sensation in my chest isn’t sharp, or tense. It’s unfamiliar but not unpleasant – warm and tingling and curious.
We round the corner into a large candlelit gallery where a gigantic tapestry adorns one wall. I stop in my tracks, stunned by the sheer size of it.
‘Gods,’ I mutter.
‘Precisely,’ says Prince Haldyn, adjusting the collar of his doublet.
As I peer more closely at the tapestry, I realize he’s right. Five figures are depicted – three men, two women.
On the left, a beautiful man in nothing but a pine-green loincloth stands with his arms extended towards the undergrowth, where an array of twisting plants and flowers bloom around his feet. This can only be Tellus of the Terrathian, God of the Earth.
Beside him is a woman wearing a long crimson gown. She cups a small fire in her hands, the flames reflected in her eyes, which are golden brown and eerily familiar. This is the Fire Goddess, Vesta. My own ancestor.
On the right, a man in billowing grey robes seems to be levitating a single feather. Avel, God of the Air.
And there, carving a perfect wave above her head, is a woman dressed in a flowing blue gown with hair as whiteas morning frost. The Water Goddess, Morwenna, Mother of the Aquatori.
Prince Haldyn watches me as I gaze up at the Gods, each of them as formidable and exquisite as I had imagined. ‘I’m reminded of why I try to avoid this gallery,’ he says mildly. ‘Really feels like they’re looking back at you, doesn’t it?’
In the centre of the tapestry stands the fifth and final figure. He is the most imposing of all, and the most unnerving, for he is almost a mirror image of the prince at my side.
The Maker himself.
It was the Maker who created us. Etheri, I mean. He had the power to wield light – and life. My mother used to tell me the story. Thousands of years ago, at the dawn of the new age, the Maker moulded Tellus from the earth, forged Vesta in the fire, shaped Avel from the winds, and pulled Morwenna from the water.
The First Etheri – the four elements incarnate.
Gifts were spread among a chosen few, and passed down to offspring. The number of Etheri began to grow, the Noble Houses were born, and the Maker claimed this land for his people. He had Fidra build the Golden Palace and he had Magi fill it with enchantments. He formed his Crowned Council, quartering his empire and giving each of the First Etheri a kingdom to rule over in exchange for binding their power with his own. Then, once he was in possession of light, earth, fire, air and water, the Maker crowned himself Emperor of Ostacre.
