So it may come as a surprise to many that the answer isme.
Because I don’t. I don’t want it. I wantedmymagic. Power that belonged to me and me alone. But the power running through my veins is not mine. Already I feel drained by it, as though it were some kind of parasite, and I its involuntary host.
And the worst part is I can’t seem to tell where I end and it begins. Did I succeed in opening that portal because I’m a gifted Aquatori, or because I drew from power itself? Did I survive that snake bite because of the strength ofmyblood, or because that blood was steeped in ancient magic? Did I turn the forest to ice because I’m Demari, or because I’m the Eye? It’s little wonder I never figured out the truth. In a way I’m grateful for these past few weeks of ignorance. The responsibility of possessing this much power is a burden too great to fathom. As for becoming queen … if the crown is starting to resemble a shackle, then the Golden Palace is no better than a prison. Even the Lagoon – my court, my link to Queen Hydra, this shimmering ideal of a new home and a fresh start – is beginning to tarnish.
Gilded cages still have bars.
I never wanted this, just as I never wanted to be an Heir. All I’ve ever wanted was to leave Ostacre far behind. To see the world and become someone new.
But it doesn’t seem to matter what I want.
There’s a sense of being pulled backwards through door after door, each clanging shut behind me. The future I’d planned for myself is now forever beyond my reach.
I feel bitter and bruised and small.
So maybe that’s why I’m still here, sitting aimlessly on a rope swing in the Wildlands, stewing in my own misery. Maybe that’s why I’m acting like a petulant child rather than the soon to be Queen of the Waterlands.
Though I just wish it were the only reason.
I pluck a leaf from a branch and tear it into tiny pieces, letting them drift down into the Creek below.
Fox might be gone, but those spring-green eyes are all I can see. This place is his. Everything about it calls him to mind. I started sleeping on the floor to avoid the ache-inducing mint-and-pine scent clinging to the bedsheets. Yet it seems to linger on the air, taunting me. Haunting me. I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve tried. I even drank up the last of the liquor in pursuit of a moment’s reprieve, to no avail.
The Earth Cleaver burrowed his way into my heart and, quite unintentionally, broke it in two. He said himself that the reason we were drawn to one another was the Eyes. Which means that whatever I feel for him, whatever he appears to feel for me, I have no way of knowing if it’s real. Which means I can’t trust my own feelings any more. Which means we can never work, he and I.
And it hurts. It hurts so badly I can barely breathe.
But soon – very soon – I’m going to have to face him. Face everybody.
Part of me wishes I could just stay here forever, indulging my suffering, hiding from the world like my father did. Or sprout wings like Kestrel Calloway and fly far away. Onlythat would be the coward’s way out, and I’m many things, but I am not a coward.
I vowed to do whatever it took to save Hal. I won’t turn my back on the crown I won. I have to see this through.
King Balen was right – this is only the beginning.
And I am the beginning that brought the end.
61
Elva
They arrived as dawn broke, appearing out of thin air in the Council Chambers.
Spinner, Flint, his sullen-looking chaperone and the Earth Cleaver, who wore a slightly tortured expression and held a small copper-coloured creature in his arms.
Hal, who’d fallen asleep with his head on a stack of papers, woke with a start and almost toppled from his chair. He was on his feet in an instant, his gaze locked on his half-brother, a beam of light materializing in his palm.
Fox made no effort to defend himself, but to my surprise the two Eyes positioned themselves protectively on either side of him.
Flint, who was too busy staring open-mouthed between Hal and me, blinked hard, then carefully manoeuvred himself between both parties. ‘Well,’ he said genially, ‘I think several explanations are in order, don’t you?’
Countless conversations ensued, each one more astonishing than the last. I could hardly believe what I washearing – about Rain Singers and Demari, Magi sisters and enchanted talismans, the truth about the Rift and the storm and the Binding Ceremony and … Blaze. I understand now why Caius Castellion called her the key.
Flint’s jaw almost hit the floor when Hal told them how I became his spy, about the break-out from the dungeons, his grandfather’s return, the attempt on his life and the liberation of the serfs, and, finally, about the curse. For hours he barely looked at his brother, until Fox calmly suggested they speak alone, and the rest of us filed out.
‘We haven’t been formally introduced,’ said Blaze’s twin, extending a hand. ‘Flint Harglade – reformed playboy, Ignitia runner-up, and newly discovered Demari.’
‘Elva,’ I mumbled.
