I can still hear the faint rumble of the crowd in the streets below, yet they grow more and more distant with each step I take towards the towering golden doors. It’s instantaneous the way the thick, heavy air becomes gloriously cool inside, the oppressive heat of the city gone in less than a blink. The entrance hall is vast. It is also empty.
My brother and I exchange an uncertain look.
Flint scratches his nose. ‘Hmm. Is it embarrassing to admit that I was anticipating aslightlybetter turnout?’
Footsteps sound, accompanied by a shrill voice. ‘Gods, is that the time?’
The voice belongs to a girl who comes into view moments later, skipping daintily down one of the huge golden staircases. The first thing I notice about her are the tattoos on her face – golden whorls inked along both cheekbones.She’s small and impish with dark skin and jet-black hair that’s been carefully styled into little gold-tipped knots all over her head.
Flint reaches an arm out to steady her as she skids to a halt in front of us. ‘Careful!’
She takes a step back and cocks her head. ‘You’re very alike, aren’t you? I can’t decide which of the two of you is the better looking.’
This makes Flint laugh. ‘And you are?’
The girl grins. ‘My name is Spinner, Flint Flameborn.’
‘Nice to meet you, Spinner,’ my brother says. ‘Quick question. Where is everyone?’
Spinner glances around at the empty entrance hall. ‘Oh, they’re in bed. The celebrations have been going on pretty much non-stop since the eclipse. All those festivities take their toll, you know. The palace is asleep. As was I until about five minutes ago.’ She rubs her pond-green eyes for emphasis. ‘So, as far as welcoming committees go, I’m afraid it’s just me. And … ah. He was meant to be here by now.’
Spinner smiles at us, finally pausing for breath. Then she cups her hands round her mouth and screams, ‘Sheen! Shee-een! SHEEN!’
‘You called?’ A boy seems to materialize behind us as if he has just stepped through thin air.
I jump with fright, moving closer to Flint.
The boy is tall and thin with pale, white-blonde hair. His eyes are a dark shade of violet, his smooth skin the colour of wet sand. Like Spinner, he is also dressed entirely in gold – an ornately embellished golden doublet and matching gloves.
Spinner points a finger at him. ‘This is Sheen.’
‘So we gathered,’ says Flint.
Sheen’s eerie violet eyes flit to my brother and rest there for a moment.
I decide it’s probably time for me to say something. ‘So … you two are … what?’
That came out slightly ruder than I meant it to, but Spinner only laughs.
‘We’re your chaperones, of course,’ she says. ‘Well, technically, I’myourchaperone, and Sheen is Flint’s.’
I frown. ‘Chaperone?’
‘Yes. Every Heir is assigned a chaperone from the Imperial Court for the duration of their time at the Choosing. It’s my job to escort you from place to place, plan your wardrobe, organize your schedule, things like that. Think of me as your guide, your stylist, your confidante, your shoulder to cry on. You don’t have to worry about a thing.’
I listen out for any trace of hatred or fear, but find none.
‘What about you?’ Flint asks Sheen. ‘Are you going to bemyshoulder to cry on?’
Sheen purses his lips, unamused.
Flint chuckles. ‘I guess not. So, what now?’
I’m suddenly aware of how dishevelled we must look after our journey.
‘We’re to take you to your chambers,’ Sheen says, his voice a dry monotone.
‘Unless you want the grand tour first?’ suggests Spinner. She doesn’t wait for an answer before skipping off up the stairs, leaving us with no other choice but to follow her.
