‘Justa friend?’
‘I have lots of friends, sister. I’m a friendly boy, well known for my friendliness.’
I roll my eyes.
‘Though it is true that Caleb and I enjoy a particularly close friendship,’ he continues. ‘You could say we know each other rather well. Intimately, in fact.’
‘What about Spinner?’ I ask, feeling somewhat defensive of my friend and former chaperone, who fell head over heels for my brother during our time at the Golden Palace.
‘What about her? I adore her, of course I do, but we’re notmarried.’
As if in response, my horse lets out a disapproving snort. Smiling, I reach up to stroke her silky muzzle. A memory jolts through me, almost knocking me off balance.
This is Cedar.
He’s beautiful.
He is, but he’s not why I brought you here.
I drop my hand, the Earth Cleaver’s voice still echoing in my ears.
Though it was a celebration for many, news of his exile filled me with nothing but dread. For he may be callous and arrogant and sometimes cruel, but he also understands what I have to do, better than anyone. And he seems to understandme– more than I care to admit.
I can’t help but wonder where he is. Drinking his days away at the card tables of Katteran? Sailing the Second Sea? He may have been banished from Ostacre, but try as I might, I cannot banish him from my mind. He lives there now, taking root among my thoughts, colouring them green. Does he dream of me, just as I dream of him?
Oblivious to my musings, Flint opens the satchels and begins laying out our supplies – another waterskin, enoughfood to last several days if we’re careful, blankets, oats for the horses, chalk, a coin purse, a map, a bar of soap, bandages, burn salve, painkillers, my nightlight from Hal, a bundle of clothes and two pairs of leather riding boots.
‘Was that really necessary?’ I ask as Flint produces a bottle of wildfire wine from the bottom of the second satchel.
‘Yes,’ he says, wiggling an arrowhead into the cork and twisting it round.
It loosens with a muffledthunk, and Flint throws it at me. I manage to catch it, then glance down at my grimy palm, suddenly conscious of how filthy we are.
‘Stand up,’ I instruct.
Flint takes a gulp of wine. ‘Why?’
‘Just do it.’
He sets down the bottle and gets to his feet.
‘Move a few paces over there.’
My brother exchanges a look with the horses but does as I say. ‘Well? What is it?’ He folds his arms expectantly, then yelps as he’s drenched by a shower of rain.
I toss him the bar of soap. ‘You’re welcome.’
Grumbling, Flint shucks off his doublet and trousers until he’s standing in his undershorts, and scrubs himself clean. ‘You couldn’t make it a bit warmer, could you?’
I shake my head. ‘Still haven’t figured out how to simmer, I’m afraid.’
He hands me the soap when he’s done, and I follow suit, placing Renly’s little figurine carefully atop a shelf of rock before moving to stand under the cool shower. Flint feeds and waters the horses, and we sit in the sun to dry off.
‘So,’ he says through a mouthful of bread and cheese. ‘Let’s go over the plan.’
I spread the map out between us, pinning the corners down with stones.
The Windlands are at the very top of the empire, as far north as you can go. The Firelands sit just below, bordering the Wildlands, which in turn border the Waterlands, occupying the south of Ostacre. Beyond the Aquatori kingdom lies nothing but the treacherous, azure waters of the Second Sea.
