Fox smiles up at him. ‘That’s the wrong answer, I’m afraid.’ He glances around at the stunned crowd. ‘What do you think, shall we teach him a lesson?’
The Etheri gaze back at him, horrified, exhilarated.
‘Let’s see,’ Fox continues, his brandmark glowing brightly on the back of his hand as he raises it. ‘Why don’t we start by washing your filthy mouth out?’
I gasp as a vine disentangles itself from the others and shoots into Fjord’s open mouth. His eyes bulge and he begins to choke, turning his head this way and that, staring wildly at the crowd of onlookers. No one moves to help him. No one dares. They just watch, utterly transfixed.
There’s a kind of sickening intoxication to the fear Fox inspires. I can’t seem to look away, no matter how hard I try.
He waits until Fjord is seconds away from asphyxiation before deeming himself satisfied. The vine halfway downFjord’s throat grows limp, and he coughs and splutters, his entire body heaving. Then he vomits all down himself.
Fox snaps his fingers and the rest of the vines release Fjord, who falls ten feet to the ground, landing in the contents of his own stomach. He tries to stand, but loses his balance and goes crashing down once more, letting out a low groan of pain.
The crowd are whispering. Some are sniggering. A couple of Aquatori courtiers move forward, pulling Fjord up and supporting him between them.
Fox isn’t paying attention. His eyes are fixed only on me, and it burns, the intensity of his gaze. It burns and keeps burning, long after he turns away.
‘You might want to clean that up,’ he says to no one in particular, gesturing to the pool of vomit. ‘We wouldn’t want anyone to slip.’
24
My heart beats loudly in my ears as I hasten from the room, pushing my way through a golden sea of whispers. I don’t stop, not even when I’ve put three floors between myself and the Earth Cleaver, walking without direction, trying desperately to come up with an answer to the question that pummels at me relentlessly.
Why?
Why would he do that? What possible reason did he have to come to my defence? We’re not friends. We’re not anything.
‘Blaze!’
I turn to find Hal striding towards me. At the sight of him, the tension in my chest eases, just a fraction.
‘I saw you leave,’ he says, as he draws level. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ I lie, willing my hands to stop trembling.
‘Fjord’s been taken to the medical wing,’ he tells me. ‘Though I think it’s his pride that’s hurting more than anything. You were speaking to him, right before all the commotion. Do you know what it is he said that got Fox so riled?’
My heart jolts furiously at the memory of Fjord’s words,at his accusation that I have been offering myself to the prince in exchange for my place in the Choosing.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I don’t.’
Hal nods, torchlight glancing off his face. There isn’t much of a resemblance between him and Fox. Hal is a Castellion through and through, a mirror image of the Maker – his frame lean, his skin porcelain, his eyes a deep raven black. Fox, on the other hand, has his mother’s eyes, and his skin is golden, his build more athletic. And while they both have the same dark hair, Hal’s is forever sleek and neat, and Fox’s is longer and permanently untidy.
I wonder when the dislike between them began, or whether it’s always been there, growing worse with every passing day, like a festering wound.
Hal sighs. ‘Knowing Fox, he was probably just looking for a fight. He likes to make a spectacle out of it. A show of his strength. It’s utterly deplorable, but hardly out of character. You’d do well to steer clear of him entirely.’
‘Yes,’ I agree, trying not to think about the way Fox had smiled as that vine slithered down Fjord’s throat.
Tension ripples across Hal’s clenched jaw, and I get the feeling it’s not just his half-brother who’s plaguing him.
‘Was there anything else?’ I ask tentatively.
There’s a long pause, during which Hal seems to deflate. He glances around, as if making sure we’re alone, then, taking my hand, he pulls me through a nearby door and into complete darkness. I tense up reflexively, bewildered. Moments later an orb of light materializes in the prince’s palm and floats gently upward, illuminating our surroundings. We’re standing in what appears to be a broom cupboard. Itsmells strongly of polish, and is so cramped that Hal’s head almost brushes against the ceiling.
‘I didn’t want to be overheard,’ he says.
A spark of unease. My gaze snags on the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way he keeps flexing his hands, as if he’s not aware he’s doing it.
