‘My feet are beginning to hurt,’ I announce plaintively.
Sheen continues to march ahead as though I hadn’t spoken at all. Gods, what is hisproblem? And how is he managing to walk like that? The soil beneath the heather is covered with a spongy layer of moss. Twice Spinner has fallen flat on her face. But not Sheen. His tread is as light and graceful as ever, as though he were walking on air. Typical.
I reach up reflexively to readjust my bow, forgetting it’s no longer there. I feel defenceless without it. Magically impotentandunarmed. In other words, useless.
My thoughts drift to Blaze. I wonder where she is. I wonder if she thinks I’m dead. I hope she’s safe.Pleaselet her be safe.
My burns smart and sting as another bead of sweat rolls down my forehead. I’m running low on supplies. My vials of painkiller are almost entirely depleted. There’s only a small amount of salve left and I’m trying to save it for when the pain becomes truly unbearable, as if it were a treat for special occasions. The dull ache in my eye is only made worse by the eyepatch, which traps heat in and rubs uncomfortably against my skin.
All in all, I’m having a brilliant day.
I think of Harglade Hall, of my huge stone bath with taps shaped like little cobras, my four-poster bed with its red-silksheets and mountain of pillows, a tray piled high with all my favourite things – roasted duck, honey-glazed carrots, apple pie and custard …
‘I’mhungry,’ I moan. ‘And I’m tired.’ I glance at Spinner for support. ‘What about you? You’re tiny. You must be exhausted.’
She shrugs. ‘I have a lot of stamina.’
I smirk in spite of myself. ‘NowthatI can confirm.’
A few steps ahead of us, Sheen pretends to shudder.
‘Prude,’ I mutter.
With my request to stop and rest denied, and the pain in my burns increasing with every uneven step, I fall into a prickly silence. This lasts only a minute or two, however, because I’m struck by a sudden realization – that sometimes, in order to get your way, you have to make yourself absolutelyinsufferable.
I clear my throat. ‘Are we there yet?’
‘Oh,pleasedon’t start that again,’ Spinner groans.
‘But are we there yet?’
‘Flint.’
‘Spinner.’
‘Shut up, will you?’
‘No, I won’t. Sheen? D’you know if we’re there yet?’
No answer.
‘Are we there yet?’
Still no answer.
‘Are we there yet are we there yet are we there yet are we there yet are we–’ I stop abruptly, or rather, Iamstopped, as something in the air around me shifts.
Bemused, I try to speak. But it’s no use. It’s as if my voice has been stolen, the sound of it vacuumed into nothingness.
What the –
Then, as Sheen glances round at me, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his usually sullen mouth, I understand.
‘There,’ he says blithely. ‘That’s better. Wouldn’t you agree, Spinner?’
Spinner is looking at the ground, trying very hard not to giggle. I scowl, furious. Sheen turns round again, leading the way across the heather.
Bastard, I mouth at his retreating back.
