She fixes him with an icy glare, which rapidly melts into a fond smile. Renly tries to dart past her but she catches him by the shoulders. ‘Best behaviour,’ she warns.
Guests are already swarming the entrance hall below. A cacophony of voices reverberates around the stone walls, and a tight knot coils itself inside my stomach like a fist.
‘Stand up straight, Blaze,’ Grandmother hisses as she motions for Flint to walk on her right side, me on her left.
I bite the inside of my cheek, hiding my trembling hands in the folds of my dress. The noise in the entrance hall is deafening now, and many Etheri have started glancing up at the staircase.
Grandmother grips her stick, inhaling sharply through her nose. ‘Ready?’
I think it’s supposed to be a question, but she says it like a command.
No, I think.No, I’m not ready, Grandmother. Not now, maybe not ever.
But I just swallow hard, forcing my feet to move as we begin the descent. The stairs swim in and out of focus. Faces blur. The world tilts.
Grandmother steadies me with a bony hand on my arm. ‘Remember what I taught you,’ she whispers. ‘Grateful and graceful, my darling one. Grateful and graceful.’
I smile and smile and smile, as if I belong.
2
When I was young, a man tried to poison me.
He was one of Grandmother’s guards, one of the few she trusted implicitly to safeguard her home and protect her family. After the storm, many of those sworn to House Harglade and House Bartell left their posts and renounced their oath of loyalty. But not him. He stayed, he obeyed, he put on the show of his life – all to get close enough to kill me.
He misjudged his first attempt. The poison was cheap and strong-smelling, and so the contaminated food, presumed spoiled, was thrown to the pigs, which died writhing around in their own filth.
The man was cleverer on his second attempt. This time, the poison was clear, colourless and completely unidentifiable. It was so strong, so corrosive, that it would take only a few drops to burn straight through the victim’s throat.
Flint and I would often drink hot milk with honey before bed. And in this, the man saw his opportunity. To ensure my death, he poisoned both cups.
There was just one problem – the attendant instructed to take the tray up to our rooms never made it beyond thesecond flight of stairs. Just a sip, that was all it took. She was found in a pool of milk and vomit, blood leaking from the gaping hole in her oesophagus.
Rooms were searched, a pyre was built, and the man died screaming.
I found out years later that his entire family had drowned in the storm. He saw what he was doing as vengeance, not murder. He thought my death payment for the deaths of his loved ones. He looked at me and didn’t see a child, but the bodies of his own children. Their flesh blue and bloated. His home flooded. His world empty.
I could never find it in me to hate him for what he tried to do. There were even times I wished he had succeeded – right now being one of them.
I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. Stares press in from all sides, suffocating me as I gaze down at the sea of upturned faces.
Fear. That’s what greets me first. Then loathing. There’s curiosity also, but devoid of any admiration. And in some eyes lies a commingling of the three. Masked by pleasantries, they bare their teeth at me and call it smiling. To these people I am not a girl, but a monster.
How easy it would be for one of them to make another attempt on my life. The pin of a brooch, a blade slid from beneath a ruffled sleeve – that’s all it would take. And I have no way of defending myself.
I stay close to Grandmother as we reach the bottom of the staircase, pressing closer still as we are announced.
‘Lady Harglade of Valburn, accompanied by her grandchildren, Flint, Renly and Blaze.’
As we make our way across the crowded entrance hall, many of the Etheri bow their heads. Some reach out and take Grandmother’s hand, murmuring words of greeting. Formidable and head of one of the most powerful families in the realm, Grandmother was revered long before Aunt Yvainne was crowned Fire Queen. I’ve heard the stories. Leda Flameslinger, they called her. The most beautiful woman in all four kingdoms. Very skilled in combat, too. The Harglades have produced more Heirs than any other Noble House, and Grandmother was no exception. Though she didn’t win the throne, she served as chief adviser to the old Ignitia King before the last Choosing brought his reign to an end, leaving all three of her daughters – and my father – to battle for the crown of golden flames.
As a Harglade and the son of two Heirs, Flint certainly has a lot to live up to when the next Choosing comes to pass, and I can’t say I envy him.
The ballroom is made entirely from stone, from the gleaming dance floor to the long banquet table, which is heaped with golden platters of food and stacked with towers of champagne-filled glasses. A current of chatter begins to break apart the weighted silence, voices climbing over one another as they fill the cavernous hall.
Ren bounces excitedly on the balls of his feet. I take his hand, which I tell myself is to prevent him from running away rather than me.
Outside, dusk has fallen, dousing the ballroom in gloom. Grandmother raises her right hand, which is branded with the Ignitia fire sign, and in one sweeping gesture lights every candle in the hall, a thousand small flames sparking to lifeand banishing the encroaching darkness. There is a collective gasp and a smattering of applause.
