My stomach jolts as the amphitheatre swims into view. I look on helplessly as they both lose their third trials. Now they sit at opposite ends of the Choosing Chamber while Caius is bound to his new Crowned Council.
The next vision is one I’ve seen before. Grandmother bursts into the Council Chambers, her steely glare fixed on Caius as River closes the doors behind them.
It’s not long before the War of the Empires begins.
River begs Grandmother not to fight. She tells him she has no choice – the Noble Houses have pledged allegiance to the emperor and called their bannermen to war. I see her on the battlefield, Leda Flameslinger, her fighting leathers slick with blood, burning her enemies to dust. River watches from atop a high hill before turning and riding away.
Now Grandmother is standing at the altar, dressed in a scarlet wedding gown, while her family watch on proudly. A single tear rolls down her cheek as my grandfather, the Ignitia High General, lifts her veil, his signet ring – a golden swan – glinting in the candlelight.
The vision shifts again.
Letters. So many letters. Grandmother keeps them hidden beneath a loose floorboard, tied up with blue ribbon.
She watches from the window as my grandfather departs for a military posting, accompanied by a battalion of Ignitia soldiers. Two little girls play at her feet. I realize with a jolt who they are – my aunts. Yvainne and Hester.
Rain pours down from a darkening sky. Grandmother rides out of the city walls, her face obscured by the hood of her cloak. River waits for her on the outskirts of Valburn, standing at the edge of the hot spring where they first met. She slides from her horse. Time seems to slow as she takes a step towards him, then another, before falling into his arms.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers.
‘I love you,’ he tells her.
The scene changes once more.
Grandmother stands before the mirror in her dressing room, a hand on her growing belly, her expression twisted with dread.
My insides turn to stone as the next vision descends.
Grandmother’s screams echo through the birthing chamber.
A physician beams as he holds up a squalling baby. ‘Another girl, my lady.’
The moment the child is placed on Grandmother’s chest, a fire roars to life in the hearth, burning so fiercely that some of the attendants squeal in fright. Even the physician looks alarmed as the candles begin to flare and gutter, followed by the torches in the courtyard beyond the window. Grandmother’s face floods with relief, as if she’d feared the flames would not appear. As if she knows the child in her arms is not pureblood Ignitia.
She gazes down at her daughter. ‘Analiese,’ she murmurs.
My mind is spinning.
River.River is my mother’s father. River, son of a Rain Singer and a Mage. Which means …
I fall to my knees as the vision shifts for a final time.
It’s no longer my grandmother clutching a newborn, but my mother, her jaw clenched with determination as she stumbles through a torrent of rain so violent I can’t see where the sky ends and the ocean begins. At the very top of the cliff, the baby holds out a tiny hand and closes it into a fist. All of a sudden, the storm comes to an end.
I look down at the child and see my own eyes looking back at me.
Fox’s voice fills my head.
Over the years, there have been cases – very rare cases – of children born half Etheri, half Magi. Children born to those children would then bepartEtheri, part Magi, and so on, forever tainting a bloodline.
My breathing turns ragged.
Someone with dual ancestry might only inherit one gift. They may appear to be either Etheri or Magi. But their gift could be … distorted. Too strong. Too dangerous.
I stare at the utter devastation left by my storm. The empire flooded. Bodies blue and bloated, washed out to sea.
These people … they were never supposed to exist. They inherit too much power.
I emerge from the visions as if from icy water. A strangled sound escapes my lips as I fling the Eye of the Past away. But there is no escaping the truth that slams into me again and again like the butt of a knife. History plays on a loop in my head, each memory opening a wound beneath the skin,bruising my heart, colouring everything I thought I knew the deep blue-black of betrayal. My entire life has been a lie – one that was created and covered up by those I trusted the most. It is not so much a question ofwhoI am, butwhatI am.
