Should I pull away? Push him off? Demand an explanation? Because Sheen can’tstandme. Nothing about this makes sense. Am I really expected to believe that, underneath all the coldness and disdain and downright hostility, he …likesme?
My limbs are still frozen in astonishment, yet treacherous heat pulses at my core. Am Ienjoyingthis? Is he?
Tentatively, I reach out a hand and let it rest upon his shoulder. Then I tilt my head back further, deepening the kiss, tasting him, breathing in the scent of fresh snow.
Call it an experiment.
But if anything, my response seems to wake Sheen from whatever trance he appears to have fallen into. He jerks away, releasing his grip so suddenly I almost topple over. His shirt has ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of russet skin low on his hips. He’s panting, violet eyes wild as he takes a stumbling step backwards. Gone is that marble-smooth composure, the graceful fluidity with which he moves.
As for me, it’s not often I’m rendered speechless. I open my mouth to say something, but the words stick in my throat.
The air around us seems to crackle and thrum.
Before I can recover the ability to string a sentence together, Sheen turns and walks away into the gloom, leaving me alone.
43
Blaze
Ifloat through dark nothingness.
I have no way of measuring how long I’ve spent in this shadowy place, conscious yet unconscious, suspended somewhere between sleep and waking. Occasionally chinks of light appear, as though shining through cracks in a wall. Other times I hear a voice, deep and familiar, murmuring soothing words. The sound sends my heart racing, yet before I can remember why I slip even further into oblivion.
Dreams morph into one another. I see Flint summoning the flames of a thousand candles from their wicks. I see my mother telling me a story while the fire in the hearth brings her tale to life, burning fiercely, twisting into different figures and faces. I see the storm, the rainfall flooding entire provinces, drowning men, women and children. And I see River, spinning Grandmother around the dance floor, pulling her into the statue garden, his hand cupping her face, his gaze soft, almost reverential.The orphaned son of a Rain Singer and a Mage. A little boy who met a little girl who played with fire, and decided to trust her.
When I wake, I’m surrounded by water.
The small boat sails smoothly along the Creek, the glassy surface a mirror to the sky, which is pale grey and brimming with swollen clouds. No trees line the banks. In fact there is no greenery in sight – just miles and miles of craggy, treacherous-looking gorge.
My eyes widen, confusion tinged by fascination.
Scout is lying curled up at my side, her coppery-red fur the single streak of colour amid this strange rocky wasteland. And there, his eyes fixed on the horizon line, the corded muscles of his weather-beaten forearms pulsing with each dip and drag of the oars, is Fox.
I lurch away from him and hit the back of my head on the prow of the boat, the memory of his hand clamped over my mouth fresh in my mind.
‘You,’ I spit. ‘What did youdo?’
‘Ah, good,’ he says, glancing down at me. ‘You’re awake. Sleep well?’
I stare at him, my head throbbing like a heartbeat. He drugged me. Hekidnappedme. And he’s acting like I just woke up from a nap?
I reach for Silverclaw, but my boot is empty.
‘Looking for this?’ Fox glances down at his belt where my dagger is sheathed at his hip. ‘Since our dear friend the Baron stripped me of Soulkiller, I was in need of a weapon. And given your rather stormy temperament, I thought it prudent to ensure youwere unarmed upon coming to. Don’t worry,’ he adds brightly, as the oars in his hands grow slick with ice, ‘you’ll get it back. But for now, just sit tight and enjoy the view.’
I watch him chew on a sprig of mint as he rows. He must’ve abandoned his bloodied shirt in the forest, for he isn’t wearing one at all – just a thin dark jacket gaping open, exposing the golden planes of his chest and the Eye of the Past nestled next to his heart.
Fox smirks. ‘I didn’t mean this view, though I’m flattered nonetheless.’
I grit my teeth and avert my gaze. We’re not in the Wildlands any more, clearly. Nor does the terrain match the rocky wasteland or red-sandstone canyons of the Firelands.
‘Where are we?’ I demand.
‘We’re in your kingdom, of course,’ says Fox with a grin. ‘Welcome to the Waterlands.’
My insides curl with disbelief and frustration. ‘But … but … this is where we were headed all along!’ I half yell. ‘What possible reason did you have forknocking me out?’
‘I prefer the termsedated,’ Fox muses. ‘And because, Your Majesty, once you’ve made up your mind, it’s exceedingly difficult to dissuade you.’ He smiles fondly, as if he finds my stubbornness enchanting. ‘You wished to track down the missing Eye and to be reunited with Flint, and you were convinced that the Lagoon would be where you would accomplish both.’
