14
‘We will spend today focusing on the art of water whispering.’
There is a collective sigh of disappointment among the Heirs sitting round the pool.
‘You mean we won’t be training?’
River just smiles. ‘On the contrary, Marina. Water whispering is one of the most important lessons you will ever learn. Nobody can ever hope to draw fully from power which they do not understand, and which does not understand them in return. So, as I was saying, we will spend today focusing on the art of water whispering, and we will embrace it, with open minds and closed mouths.’
This shuts Marina up, and the lesson begins with no further objections.
Hours pass, and I hear nothing. We break for lunch and then resume our positions. Still nothing. I lie stretched out next to the pool, trailing my fingers through the water, straining my ears for the faintest, slightest whisper. But none comes.
At least I’m not alone. Fjord is concentrating so hard that beads of sweat have broken out on his forehead and upper lip. As for Marina, every so often she lets out a theatricalgasp and leans closer to the water, cupping her ear for emphasis. Judging by his expression, Kai’s not falling for her little performance either.
It’s been a week. A week at the Golden Palace, a week of training for the first trial, a week of being totally and utterly useless. Every morning I drag myself out of dreams, pull on my blue tunic and join the other Heirs at the Keep. Every evening I let Spinner and Elva dress me in one of my many new gowns, plaster a smile on my face, and submerge myself in the gold-tinted sea of simpering courtiers.
What little drizzle I had managed to summon on the first day of training has been reduced to a miserable mist-like substance that tends to linger above my head. And for all River’s unwavering patience and my brother’s gratingly optimistic encouragement, it appears that I am not getting better. If anything, I seem to be getting worse.
Already rumours are circling about the announcement of the first trial, and the thought fills me with dread. Which is unsurprising, really, since I could wind up dead. It’s not unheard of for an Heir to die in the Choosing – River said it himself. But if, by some miracle, I manage to pull through, what then? Being first out of the running is one thing, but to be first out of the running because I don’t even have the skills to compete is quite another. It seems I’m to be humiliated, made into a laughing stock. And won’t my cousin just love that?
The day shuffles by on two large and uncoordinated feet. When River eventually announces that the four of us can return to the palace, Marina has to nudge Fjord awake before skipping off through the forest, presumably to trackdown Ember and delight in ridiculing me some more. Sighing, I sit up and stretch.
River moves round the pool to stand at my side. ‘Hear anything today?’
I shake my head. ‘Nothing.’
He smiles gently. ‘I’ve been thinking about the trouble you’ve been having with your rain. I wondered if I might set you some homework.’ In the dappled light reflecting off the water, his hair really does look like snow. ‘I gather you like to read,’ he says.
I frown a little. ‘How’d you know that?’
‘I know a great deal about a great many things. I tell you, I have visited many fine libraries in my time, Blaze, but the Golden Library is the finest of them all. It’s also a rather comfortable place to spend an evening when one is seeking peace and quiet. I assume you are familiar with the legend of the Rain Singers?’
I nod. ‘Of course.’
‘They make for very interesting reading, don’t you think?’ muses River.
‘Any book in particular?’ I ask.
‘Perhaps.’
‘How do I find it?’
‘Oh, it’ll find you,’ he says. ‘Now, off you go.’
As soon as I walk through the doors to the Golden Library I understand why River called it the finest he’d ever visited. I’m standing in what appears to be an ocean of books. The towering golden shelves stretch all the way up to the ceiling, which must be at least sixty feet high, and attached to eachis a sliding ladder. The air smells of old parchment and ink and leather. There are no candles, but the library is lit by hundreds of tiny orbs of light. One of them floats lazily over to me as I begin to weave in and out of the shelves.
It’s very quiet, but I can just make out the faint scratching of quills and the rustle of pages. There’s no sign of a librarian, and given the size of the place I’m sure the Choosing will be over by the time I manage to track down River’s book.
I discover a cosy alcove and perch for a moment in the largest of the two armchairs, deciding where to begin my search. But when I glance to the side, there, on the table next to me, is a book. The title is emblazoned along the spine in faded silver lettering.
Rain Song.
My heart races as a wave of excitement surges through me. There are so few books about the Rain Singers. Very little is actually known about them, given that they lived in the treacherous gorges of Brava, the most dangerous province in the Waterlands, where very few Etheri have dared to tread. But part of me has always wondered whether this dearth of information about the Singers is also an attempt to erase them from history. They were powerful and they were dangerous, and severing ties with the Aquatori gave rise to centuries’ worth of resentment. Bad blood stains, after all.
Though if the plan were to erase all memory of the Rain Singers, I certainly must have complicated things.
I slide the book on to my lap, and as I open it up a cloud of dust engulfs me. I swat the dust away impatiently, the sound of my coughing amplified by the silence of the library. Tucking my feet up beside me, I begin to read.
