‘Let’s see now,’ he muses. ‘She’s stubborn. Impatient. Impulsive. Occasionally hot-tempered. Incredibly cutting when she wants to be.’
I open my mouth in indignation, but Fox isn’t finished.
‘She’s also resilient. Thoughtful. Kind. Clever – almost frighteningly so. She’s brave too, not to mention distractingly beautiful. And I’d follow her anywhere.’
My heart stutters. ‘You would?’
‘I would do anything for her,’ Fox says simply. He smiles a little, then amends, ‘I would do anything for you.’
For you.
The words stick out to me, hovering in the space between us – the echo of a memory. Two ordinary words, and yet, when put together, undeniably familiar.
‘It was you,’ I whisper. ‘The gifts in my chambers, the notes. It was you all along.’
Drizzle clings to Fox’s eyelashes. He makes no attempt to deny it.
I sit there, stunned. Even when I began to doubt they were from Hal, I never considered the alternative. Or perhaps I just hadn’t wanted to.
I make a list in my head, sorting through each gift in turn, starting with the curved leather sheath designed to fit a dagger.Mydagger. I think back to that conversation in the library when Fox confessed to watching my first trial. He’d been impressed with the way I had fought that beast, wielding the pain it inflicted like a weapon. Even before Silverclaw was used to kill the Council, I’d considered it atwisted souvenir from the arena. But now I realize it’s so much more than that. It’s a reminder of what it felt like towin. To triumph over hatred. To defy the odds, even when they were stacked against me.
Then there was the mask – the one I wore to the masquerade ball, the one I was wearing in the maze. It can’t have been a coincidence that it was shaped like a dragonfly – the symbol of the Rain Singers. Such a thoughtful gift. Meaningful. Intimate.
And finally, the burn ointment. I remember how instantaneous it was: the cool salve leaching the heat from my skin, expertly crafted by Healer’s hands. Except …
‘Hold on,’ I say, puzzled. ‘You weren’t there that day in the Keep. You weren’t even in Ostacre. How could you have sent the ointment?’
Fox smiles mysteriously. ‘Oh, I have my ways.’
‘But how did you even know I’d been burned?’ I press.
He reaches up and gently taps the talisman round his neck.
‘I see.’ I try to sound accusatory. ‘Perhaps I’ll overlook the spying, just this once.’
Amusement glints in those green eyes, then it’s gone, replaced by something earnest, almost soul-baring in its sincerity.
‘I meant it when I said it was unintentional, Blaze,’ he says. ‘I didn’t search for you. You were always just … there. Like you were waiting for me.’
He brushes his fingertips lightly against mine, and an image floods my mind – a girl in a blue dress, sitting by the window in Harglade Hall, a book propped open in her lap.
Me.
‘At first all I got were glimpses,’ Fox continues. ‘Fragments of you. I’ve spent years trying to piece them together.’ He smiles again, softly. ‘You see, I’ve known you for a long time. It just took a little longer for us to meet.’
My heart threatens to burst out of my ribcage.
No one has ever looked at me the way he is.
At that moment wildflowers begin to sprout up from the cracks between the floorboards, filling the room with purplish, thimble-shaped blooms – foxgloves.
I don’t remember leaning forward, but all of a sudden his lips are on mine and I melt into him. The kiss is slow. Tender and deep. It seems to say everything I can’t.
Fox pulls me off my chair and into his lap. He doesn’t let go, not even as he lights the fire.
It’s not long before weariness comes to claim me. I fall asleep on his shoulder in front of the crackling hearth, and as I drift off into dreams, I find myself thinking that never have I been held more gently than by the same pair of hands that tore apart the world.
55
