‘Of course you do,’ I say softly. ‘She was your sister. Sheisyour sister.’
Something flickers in his gaze. There’s a long, strained pause. Then he says, ‘Haldyn prefers to act like she never existed.’
I rest my chin on my knees and look up at him. ‘What about your mother?’
He exhales. ‘Sometimes I’ll find her sitting in Freya’s room. She wouldn’t let them clear it out after. Everything is exactly as it was. Untouched.’
I remember that room. It was overflowing with flowers. Lilies, mostly. Pearly white and beautiful. Lady Calloway’s favourite, Spinner told me.
‘As for my father …’ Fox swallows. ‘Well, because of me, his grief died with him.’
‘You don’t have to talk about it,’ I mumble, ashamed of my intrusion.
But now Fox has started, he can’t seem to stop.
‘They said Freya must’ve caught the sweating sickness. There was an outbreak in the citadel, with many of the courtiers dropping like flies. It was some time before a falcon arrived at my grandparents’ cottage, summoning me back to the palace. When I got there, my mother didn’t even need to tell me. I saw it on her face. That’s when …’
But I already know what happened next. I’ve known ever since the Binding Ceremony. There was a reason King Balen murdered his niece. It set in motion a chain of events that changed the course of history. It was the trigger to destruction.
I taste bile as I recall what Fox told me about his uncle hunting down those with both Etheri and Magi heritage.Demari. The isle of Al Sh’ib was once home to a number of prophets. It would appear that some of their Demari descendants have inherited that gift, one the Ventalla King used to further his own gain.
The words of the prophecy echo in my ears.
To break the world, you must first break his heart.
‘The Cleaving … it was because of Freya, wasn’t it? Her death caused the Rift.’
A long, strung-out silence follows. Then Fox says, ‘Yes.’
I lean back slowly against the tree.
‘I didn’t mean to do it,’ he continues quietly. ‘The power – it was too strong. All-consuming. I – I couldn’t stop it.’
So it’s true. My suspicions confirmed. Fox never meant to create the Rift, just as I never meant to summon that storm. Both were tragedies, yet both were unintentional. Uncontrollable.
‘And nobody ever suspected?’ I say weakly.
A muscle flexes in his jaw. ‘The palace had already moved on. In their minds, Freya was just one of the emperor’s bastards. Not worth mourning. Not worthy of respect.’
I shake my head. ‘That’s … awful.’
‘There was a time the Calloways weren’t exactly held in high esteem. The court did their best to disguise their hostility, but I still felt it, even as a child.’
His words strike a chord, and I glance away. Because I know that feeling all too well – to be an outsider stuck on the inside.
‘In short, my sister and I were considered to be nothing more than the consequences of my father’s ill-advised infatuation with a lowborn Terrathian girl,’ says Fox.
I think of his adoring bunch of sycophants who hang on his every word. The awe he inspires among the courtiers – part admiration, part terror. It’s difficult to imagine that their fawning deference was once scornful contempt.
‘It made me angry,’ he continues. ‘I resented their resentment. The way nobody seemed to care when Freya died.’
His voice cracks. Without thinking, I reach for him. Fox catches hold of my hand. For one breathless moment, I wonder if he’s going to snap my wrist. But he only runs a finger over my scar, briefly caressing the waxy, mottled skin – the remnants of my first brandmark.
‘The Cleaving changed everything,’ Fox continues, his tone now infused with bitter triumph. ‘Afterwards, when all eyes were on me, I knew I had a choice to make. I could grovel and cower and beg for the people’s forgiveness. Or I could own it.’
A memory stirs.
Sometimes we must claim our accidents. Intention can define you. And better to appear wilful than witless, wouldn’t you say?
