I take a sip of something pink and sour as an excuse not to answer him.
‘What about the Gusters?’
Gusters is the slightly less derogatory nickname for the Ventalla.
‘Zeph,’ answers Cole, jerking his thumb towards a boy in dark-grey robes.
Flint looks pleased.
‘And of course, there’s still one Heir yet to arrive,’ says Elaith.
‘Only one?’ I glance over towards the two empty chairs at the end of the table.
‘Oh, the last Pyro’s here, all right,’ Elaith tells me, making a face. ‘She just considers the feast far less important than her training schedule.’
Flint leans on his elbows and begins to count. ‘Full shoal of Fish. Full set of Pyros and Gusters. Which only leaves …’
The Terrathian.
‘So, who’s our last Green?’ Flint asks, cracking open an oyster shell.
Elaith clicks her long red nails against the side of her wine glass. ‘Well, that’s the thing. Nobody knows. There are some rumours of course, but nothing particularly believable.’ She nods in the direction of a girl wearing a gown of tightly woven grass. ‘I tried asking Amaryllis, but they’re all none the wiser. It’s starting to cause quite the stir.’
My brother grins. ‘How very mysterious.’
I look at him, and suddenly my heart clenches as I imagine him sitting upon the great stone throne in Fire Mountain. Flint, a king. Born of flame. Born to rule. And I imagine myself, trapped in the Lagoon, bound to the crown I wasn’t powerful enough to win.
I think of the tapestry in the gallery, history stitched with needle and thread, and in my mind I weave a tapestry of my own, this one with Hal in the centre, a prince turned emperor, flanked by his Crowned Council – only I can’t make out their faces.
I glance round at the Heirs, with their bright eyes and glowing brandmarks.
I think you’d do well to start acting like one, Hal had said.
Maybe he’s right. There’s no escaping this, which means I have a choice to make. I can choose to hide under the table, or play the game.
Even if I’m going to lose.
11
Iwalk along a winding path, feeling myself pulled, as if by an invisible tether, towards something gold up ahead, something that knows me, waits for me.
I hear a voice in my head, soft, like a whisper.
Blaze.
Just a little further.
Yet when I gaze up at the patches of sky between the canopy of leaves above, I find they are no longer blue, but as black as coal.
‘Blaze.Wake up, you idiot.’
I open an eye, the dream disintegrating. Flint lounges at the end of my bed dressed in a plain red tunic, a spoon poised over a tray of half-eaten food.
‘Finally,’ he says, grinning. ‘Rise and shine, sister mine. Today is a big day.’
I groan, burrowing down under the sheets and clutching at them with all my might as my brother attempts to yank them away. He wins the tug of war and I emerge, disgruntled.
‘Is that my breakfast?’ I ask, pointing at the tray.
