Suddenly there’s a clatter, followed by a furious, terrified voice. ‘STOP.’
We turn to find Grandmother panting hard, leaning heavily on her stick, wisps of silver-streaked dark hair slipping free of the red netting at the back of her neck. She points a finger at us, and on it I see the Harglade signet ring, shaped like a coiled cobra.
‘Stop,’ she orders again.
I open my mouth to speak, but Blaze gets there first. ‘No.’
‘Blaze,’ Grandmother growls.
That tone still has the power to make me squirm in my boots, but Blaze doesn’t flinch.
Grandmother turns to me. ‘I’m surprised at you, Flint. Letting your sister put herself at risk like this, knowing just how much danger she’s in.’
A low blow.
‘I don’tlether do anything,’ I snap. ‘She’s her own person. Besides, she outranks us both now.’
Grandmother seems to deflate. ‘Please,’ she says. ‘Stay. Whatever it is, whatever you think you have to do, we’ll find another way.’
There’s a long pause.
But Blaze only shakes her head. ‘There is no other way.’ Her voice is unsteady, but it softens as she adds, ‘I’m not a child any more. You can’t hide me away forever.’
A tear rolls down Grandmother’s cheek. I watch it drip on to the flagstones.
Then, to my surprise, she steps back.
The look Blaze gives her is one of fierce, pure love. She glances at me one last time before disappearing down the chute. I have to hand it to her – the girl has pluck. Or a death wish. One of the two.
‘I’ll take care of her, Grandmother,’ I say. ‘I swear it.’
But the words ring hollow – less a promise than wishful thinking. Because the truth is, I’m not sure I’m capable of protecting anyone. Not any more.
I swallow hard, then plaster on a grin, tipping an imaginary cap to Grandmother before launching myself into the darkness after my sister.
3
Blaze
Ihurtle downwards, each breath-stealing second carrying me further away from Grandmother, and from the expression on her face that nearly tore me in two.
Forgive me, I think.
Then I bury the guilt deep, refusing to let even the slightest crack show in my untarnished resolve. I know what I have to do.
The chute is slimy and smellsbad, but it’s a mercy compared with the acrid smoke of the throne room. King Balen’s voice still echoes in my ears, a threat wrapped in silk.
The angle of the chute grows steadily steeper until I’m almost vertical, shooting towards the pinprick of light far below, pressure building and popping in my ears.
I tuck in my limbs and pray to every God I can think of – and more – that they haven’t brought forward the daily incineration of the debris waiting at the bottom.
Because that could pose a problem, Flint had said.And by problem, I mean imminent and agonizing death.
There’s a brief sensation of weightlessness as I emerge from the other end, suspended momentarily in mid-air before landing face-first in a mountainous pile of rotting food. I’ve barely had time to gag before Flint comes crashing down on top of me, letting out a high-pitched yelp, followed by a whoop.
‘We did it,’ he says, a browning banana peel stuck to his cheek.
‘We did,’ I agree, managing a shaky grin.
