I’m about to tell him that I know, that I was there, but I stop myself. Because I wasn’t supposed to see Flint’s trial, or anyone else’s. Especially not –
Just then Flint comes bounding into the room, followed by Spinner and Elaith, whose hands are thickly bandaged. Hal stands up so quickly he practically gives me vertigo.
My brother raises an eyebrow before throwing himself on the end of my bed, causing me to wince. He whoops gleefully, pointing at my brandmark. ‘Iknewit!’
I take in his own brandmark, and Elaith’s, both of them glowing. I imagine Ember’s must be too, if her trial was anything to go by. That means Cole has been cut from the pool of Ignitia Heirs. Elaith seems a little subdued, which only confirms my assumption.
To my disappointment, Hal crosses to the door. ‘I should return to the party. Congratulations, all of you.’
‘Hal?’
He turns back round to face me.
‘Thank you for the flowers.’
The prince smiles, then leaves, the orbs of light floating along in his wake.
Flint flutters his eyelashes at me. ‘Thank you for the flowers.’
I make a gesture I would never dare make in front of Grandmother.
‘We heard about what happened during your trial,’ says Elaith, pulling at the fraying edge of her bandage. ‘You were really brave.’
‘I’ve certainly had better days,’ I concede. ‘Though things could be worse. I could have broken both wrists.’
Flint pats my foot affectionately, sending a jolt of pain up my leg. ‘That’s the spirit, sister mine. Speaking of breaking things, you’llneverguess who the fourth Terrathian Heir turned out to be.’
My chest constricts as I recall being cradled in a pair of strong arms, peering dazedly up into the face of the most beautiful boy I have ever seen.
Spinner busies herself fetching a vase for Hal’s roses and doesn’t meet my eyes.
Elaith leans forward, lowering her voice theatrically. ‘He’s here. In the palace.’
‘Who?’ I make myself ask.
‘TheEarth Cleaver,’ says Flint. He seems to interpret my silence as my being paralysed with terror, because he then adds, ‘It’s all right, Blaze. You don’t have to speak to him. You don’t even have to go near him. I’ll make sure of that.’
A little too late, brother, I think.
21
After seven full days of bedrest, I am exceedingly restless. Etheri tend to heal more quickly than Fidra. Because of our power, our bodies are more durable, drawing from magic to mend. My cuts have long since scabbed over, the steady influx of drugs has turned my broken wrist from a painful inconvenience to just an inconvenience, and I can even walk with the help of a ridiculously ornate golden crutch. When Spinner first presented it to me, Flint had pretended to mistake me for Grandmother and then rolled about laughing. His laughter soon turned to spluttering after I’d brandished the crutch and jabbed him in the ribs.
I reach for it now as I carefully manoeuvre myself out of bed. Grandmother had wished to stay longer to nurse me, but I insisted she return to Renly as soon as possible.
It’s late evening, and I can hear the muffled sounds of a revel several floors below, meaning that the rest of the palace is pretty much deserted. I meet only a couple of drunken courtiers and a handful of serfs before the towering doors of the library come into view.
I limp between the groaning shelves and tiny orbs of light until I find the comfortable alcove. As before, as soonas I take my seat a book appears on the golden table beside me – another of River’s recommendations. I pick it up, expecting to find a title detailing the lives of the Rain Singers or an advanced guide to ice making, but instead I find a small, slightly battered volume entitledThe Dance of the Waves.
Wave carving. River must think it time I discovered my third water gift. A shiver of excitement runs through me as I prop the book open in my lap.
The first section revolves around the art of water whispering. I swallow a groan, remembering the day River had us sit by the pool, straining our ears to catch the faintest sound carried on the still – and stubbornly silent – surface.
I pore over the pages until my eyelids begin to droop.
I’m just snapping the book shut when a voice startlingly close to me croaks, ‘So, you’re her, are you?’
I look up to find an old man I’ve never seen before sitting in the armchair opposite. Everything about him is pale, from his sagging skin to his wispy beard to his crumpled golden robes. Everything apart from his eyes, which are so dark they seem to be all pupils.
