‘You really hate all Etheri?’ I ask, unable to help myself.
Sheen shoots me a warning look.
‘Of course we do. Look at what they’re capable of. And to think, they’re crowning the Storm Weaver Queen of the Fish,’ Briar spits.
‘Look, I’m sorry about your parents,’ I say softly. ‘And that the world was so unkind. But surely you can’t blame every Etheri for the actions of only two of uh–them.’ I catch myself just in time, biting down hard on my tongue, but the damage is already done.
Darrow straightens up, angling his chin, his voice low and dangerous. ‘Knew it.’
Shit.
I feel my bow dig into my shoulder blades as I cringe back against the tree.
‘Take off your gloves,’ Darrow orders.
I glance at Spinner, who looks stricken.
‘Isaid, takeoffyour gloves.’
‘Darrow.’ There’s a note of warning in Briar’s tone.
I swallow. ‘What’re you accusing me of, exactly?’
‘I think you’re one ofthem,’ Darrow growls. ‘I think you’re Etheri.’
I shake my head, my mouth as dry as sand. ‘I assure you, you’re mistaken.’
Darrow grins, baring his teeth. ‘Well, I suppose there’s an easy way to find out.’
‘What d’you –’
But I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence, because Darrow has already raised his arms, his hatchet gleaming as it soars through the air.
I can’t move. Can’t think. All I can do is screw my good eye shut as everything goes quiet.
34
Blaze
Cedar is waiting for us outside the forge, freshly shoed.
Fox takes his reins, tossing the blacksmith a few coins before we set off down the winding road, Scout tucked out of sight inside Fox’s satchel.
Wellwall is just as vibrant and bustling as it was the day before, yet I barely notice. Visions of the Otherlands still cling to the corners of my mind, dangerous and magnificent. For hours I’d gazed with childlike wonder at a world I thought beyond my reach, a world so vast it made everything else feel small, even if just for a night.
What Fox gave me … it’s a gift I can never repay. A taste of the freedom and adventure I’ve dreamed of all my life.
He keeps stealing glances at me, and I keep pretending not to notice, trying not to think about the way he looked while he was sleeping – all long lashes and softened edges, his untidy dark hair strewn across the pillow. I swing my arms as I walk, flexing my right hand as if to shake off the memory of his fingers entwined with mine.
It meant nothing, I tell myself firmly, even as my heartbeats patter like raindrops against my ribcage.
At that moment, a clamour of voices rises up ahead. I crane my neck to glimpse a large wagon trundling along the road. People begin spilling from doorways to watch it pass.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask an elderly woman selling broth from a copper cauldron.
She sniffs as she stirs the contents with a ladle. ‘Looks like the Baron’s new toy has arrived.’
Perplexed, I glance at Fox, who’s gone rigid, his brow furrowed in concentration.
