‘You’re telling me that the very reason I’m reviled by some is the same reason I’m revered by others?’
‘Om Shikara has long been a myth, a folktale,’ he says. ‘She who brings destruction, then peace.’
‘Well, I don’t believe in any of it,’ I reply stubbornly.
‘Then don’t,’ says River calmly. ‘But they do. They will pledge allegiance to you and you alone. No Aquatori sovereign has ever had the loyalty of the Rain Singers. And there may come a time when you need them.’
We talk for hours, until the tea has gone cold and the fire is reduced to embers.
‘You should rest,’ River tells me. ‘Quarters have been prepared for you.’
He leads me to a cave that overlooks the pearlescent surface of the lake. In one corner sits an ovular tub carved from pale stone, the steaming water scented with jasmine and citrus. In the centre lies a large bed fashioned from driftwood. Lying atop the sheets is a swathe of fabric the colour of water and sky – the same garment worn by the Singers.
‘I’ll leave you now,’ says River, hovering by the door. ‘But we’ll talk again tomorrow.’
‘Wait!’ I call, struck by a sudden thought. ‘You said you came to Ostacre by accident. What place were you thinking of when you fell through the portal?’
River’s eyes burn as bright as sapphires. ‘Something I wished to find. Somewhere I could finally belong.Home.’ He smiles softly. ‘Though as it turned out, mine wasn’t a place.’
I feel a twinge of understanding. I see sun-bleached plains, a bubbling hot spring, a little girl in a red dress, extending her hand.
I’m Leda.
The moment the door shuts behind River, a single tear rolls down my cheek. I fall asleep to the sound of rain and awaken to a golden dawn.
46
Flint
Sheen doesn’t return.
If it weren’t for the erratic throbbing of my heart and my swollen lips, I expect I would’ve begun to wonder if I’d imagined it – the way he’d held me against his chest and kissed me like he hated me. Hard and rough and mind-bendingly intense.
But there waswantthere, too. A bitter, burning desire. I could taste it.
Is that why he can hardly bear to be around me? Have I truly got under his skin, in more ways than one? Has he really wanted me all this time? I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. Bewildered, of course. Furious that he left me here alone. Because who treats someone like dirt, kisses them likethat, then pisses off without a word? I should be fantasizing about punching him in the face, not running my fingers through his hair.
When at last it became evident that Sheen was not coming back, I gave myself a little shake, adjusted mybow, and set off in the direction he’d vanished into the gloom.
I’m not sure how long I spent tripping through the undergrowth. Hours? Days? I know it can’t have been weeks or else I’d have starved to death. After a while I came across a thin stream. The water was cold and fresh, and I drank my fill, then carefully soaked my burns, dousing my filthy eyepatch and wringing it dry. I stopped to rest a few times, curling up on a carpet of moss and gritting my teeth against the chill. Sleep was elusive, and when it did come, so did the nightmares. Blaze was there, calling out to me. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t reach her. Then there was Ember, her face twisted with glee as she prised my fingers one by one from a ledge, laughing as I fell into a lake of fire, as I was roasted on a spit, burned at the stake. I almost bit through my tongue in an effort to stop screaming.
This morning – or perhaps this evening, I can’t tell day from night in this Gods-forsaken forest – my pace has slowed to a lurching stagger. I walk hunched over, my body curling round the hollow ache in my stomach, which grows worse with every step I take. As for my eye, the pain is nauseating, and the packet of dillweed Iris gave me is almost empty. All in all, the idea of knocking myself out against a tree is growing increasingly appealing. Maybe I should just ask the dryads to finish me off, since my hopes of making it out of the Greenwood alive are dwindling by the hour. At this rate, a quick death would be mercy. But then what about Blaze? Renly? Grandmother? What about Spinner – did she find her way back to the Bandits’ camp? What would she say if she knew what happened between Sheen and me? And is itwrong that I’m thinking about kissing her, if only to compare what it felt like kissing him? Quite possibly, though I doubt I’ll ever get the chance.
I kick at a tangled clump of weeds, which instantly transform into pretty pink-and-silver blooms, stretching as tall as my waist. It appears the nymphs have not had their fill of taunting me. I jump at the sight of a beautiful elfin face peering out from among the stems, but it disappears before I can do so much as scowl.
The growling in my stomach reaches a crescendo and I sag against a tree, sliding down to the ground. This seems as good a place as any to curl up and die. Tipping my head back against the trunk, I let my eye fall shut.
When I was young, I used to sneak into the throne room in Fire Mountain. I’d climb the rough-hewn steps to the enormous stone throne, gaze down at the chamber below and imagine the day it would be filled with my adoring subjects. I dreamed of a glittering future, one that had been promised to me from birth. If I’m being entirely honest, I could never quite work out whether being king was something I wanted or something I was conditioned to want. Either way, want it I did. More than anything, in fact. It was my true and unwavering purpose. Yet what purpose do I serve now? I’m not an Heir. I’m notanythingany more. I’m the runner-up. Once a prodigy, now a punchline.
The idea ofservingEmber, of being granted a position inhercourt and watching her sit on the throne that should have been mine … I can’t imagine anything worse. So in some ways, the fact I’m most likely going to die here bringsme a modicum of comfort. At least I won’t have to live with the shame of losing both my crown and my eye to my cousin for evermore.
I realize I’m shivering and wrap my arms round myself. The cold is biting, but the idea of attempting so much as a spark sends my stomach roiling.
I take a long, deep breath and begin to count – the leaves, the trees, my arrows.
What would Aunt Yvainne say, I wonder, if she knew I could no longer use my gift? I think back to all those years of training, the pains she took to ensure that I was without equal and would one day take her place as the rightful ruler of the Ignitia.
It’s what you were made for, she told me after the second trial.
