He holds his hands up. ‘All right. Wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of that temper of yours. I can think of better ways to go than freezing to death.’
Silence descends. It feels a bit like being doused in cold water. I rake a hand through my curls and nibble at my lower lip.
Fox edges closer, sitting down next to the fire.
‘I … I don’t know what happened back there,’ I confess eventually. ‘I’ve never done anything like that before. I never knew I could.’
Fox eyes me thoughtfully for a moment, then pushes a bowl of soup towards me. ‘You should eat.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘I didn’t ask if you were hungry; I said that you should eat.’
I stare at him. ‘Am I really expected to believe that you’re concerned for my well-being after what you did this morning?’
He shrugs. ‘Believe it. Don’t believe it. That’s not really the issue here.’
I wrinkle my nose as I peer into the bowl. The soup is cold and looks like bog water, and I imagine it tastes much the same.
‘I appreciate it’s not exactly what you’re used to,’ Fox says airily. ‘You may have grown up a glorified prisoner, but at least that prison was a castle with a pastry chef.’
I bristle. Then, with a grim surge of determination, I pick up the spoon.
Fox watches with mild satisfaction as I eat, screwing up my face with every mouthful. ‘Good?’ he asks innocently.
I swallow, shudder, then mumble something incoherent.
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Storm Weaver, why is it that you would spill my blood yet won’t insult my cooking?’
I purse my lips.
‘Well?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, exasperated. ‘It just seems –’ I search for the right word, recalling Grandmother’s endless lessons in etiquette – ‘impolite.’
Fox laughs, then catches sight of my nettled expression and laughs harder. ‘And slicing my shoulder open doesn’t?’
I drop my gaze, a guilty blush creeping up my cheeks.
‘It’s all right,’ he tells me. ‘I probably deserved it.’
‘For spying on my memories?’ I drive the end of my spoon into the packed earth. ‘Yes, I’d say you did deserve it. In fact, I’d say you got off easy.’
Fox has the decency to look a little sheepish. ‘About that,’ he begins.
I fold my arms expectantly.
‘I told you before, this thing is unpredictable,’ he says, gesturing to the talisman round his neck. ‘Just because it shows me something doesn’t mean I was searching for it.’
‘And I’m supposed to believe that, am I?’ I ask sharply. ‘That the Eye of the Past justhappenedto reveal my most guarded secret? Or that it gave you a vision of a private conversation that took place between your brother and me purelyby chance?’
Fox cracks his neck. ‘It wasn’t just a conversation though, was it?’
My blush deepens while my voice turns icy. ‘Why do you even care?’
‘Who says I do?’ His own voice is perfectly even. Almost toneless.
I laugh, harsh and empty. ‘Of course. How foolish of me to think that you might ever view somebody as anything more than a pawn in whatever game you seem to be playing.’
