Fox returns his attention to the Crowned Council, who are all whispering frantically to one another, and dips into a sweeping bow. ‘Father. Uncle. Your Majesties.’ Then he turns to Hal, and smirks. ‘Brother.’
The prince grips the arms of his throne. ‘Fox. It’s been a while.’
This doesn’t surprise me, given Fox’s vocation. I imagine it must be pretty time-consuming being a slaver, what with all those trips across the Second Sea on expeditions to the Otherlands. They say he hunts magical creatures too, in his spare time. With all those delightful hobbies, it’s a wonder the Earth Cleaver comes back to court at all. But return he does, every year on the anniversary of the Cleaving. Perhaps he enjoys commemorating it. Maybe he raises a toast, congratulating himself on perpetrating the greatest massacre in Etherian history at only thirteen years old and walking away unscathed.
A memory surfaces.
In my experience, those with that kind of power, they … take pleasure in it. They like that it is known. They want it to be known.
Even then, I’d guessed who Hal might have been referringto, and here, now, looking down at the Earth Cleaver, I think I guessed right.
Fox cracks his neck. ‘Let’s get this over with, shall we? I’ve been travelling for weeks and could really use a hot meal or three.’
The emperor still appears stunned, but the small smile he shoots Fox is one I’ve never seen him give to Hal. ‘Very well, my son. Let the final trial begin.’
Fox paces up and down the arena with hands behind his back as numerous people spit out terrible things. It’s almost amusing how unfazed he is by it all.
Only once does his smirk falter. It happens when a child appears in front of him, a little girl with flowing hair the colour of autumn leaves. But after a moment Fox just turns his back on the girl and uproots the ground she is standing on without even bothering to watch as she morphs into his beast – a tentacled creature with bulbous milky eyes.
He makes short work of it. With a few casual flicks of his wrist, tree vines begin to curl round the beast’s tentacles until the thing is completely ensnared. Fox sidles over to where it waits, strung up and almost pitiful. Then he holds out a hand, and a large branch soars into his palm as if pulled by a magnetic force. The Earth Cleaver snaps the branch across his knee and doesn’t hesitate before driving the splintered end into the beast’s heart.
He wipes the sleeve of his tunic across his blood-spattered face and grins up at the Council. ‘Well, that was diverting. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ He gives a low bow. ‘Oh, and brother?’ he says, turning once more to Hal. ‘It’s good to see you, too.’
With that, he disappears through the tunnel.
Rigid with shock, I watch as the pool of blood Fox left behind begins to spread, staining the green meadow crimson. I realize my mouth is hanging open and snap it shut, swallowing a whimper as the pain in my limbs becomes unendurable.
The last thing I remember before the darkness drags me under is the sound of a door opening, the back of a hand pressed gently to my burning forehead, and a low voice murmuring softly in my ear.
When I open my eyes several hours later I’m lying in my bed in the Golden Palace. My cuts and grazes have been cleaned and bandaged, and a small pillow has been propped under where my broken wrist sits in a sling, alleviating some of the weight round my neck. I turn my head to the side and find a vial of medicine waiting for me on my nightstand. There’s a sound, too, soft and tinkling – Flint’s music box, propped open beside it. The pain is still there, but it’s kept at bay by whatever new painkiller is surging through my veins.
I screw up my face as I come to, unable to recall how I got here. Perhaps Grandmother managed to track me down and sent for a physician?
At that moment, a few orbs of light float gently into my bedchamber, banishing the shadows from the walls. They are followed by Hal, holding an enormous bunch of golden roses. My heart leaps at the sight of him, then sinks slightly as I imagine the sight of me. I must look a mess – exhausted, battered and bruised, my hair still wild and loose around myshoulders. Yet Hal doesn’t seem to mind. His gaze is nothing but warm.
He lays the flowers on a chair before sitting down gently on the side of my bed. ‘How are you feeling?’
I shrug, then wish I hadn’t as heat sears through my joints.
‘You were incredible out there,’ he tells me. ‘You had more to face than anyone else and I’m sorry for that.’
‘You mean you’re sorry so many people hate me?’ I ask wryly.
Hal half smiles. ‘If it’s any consolation, Blaze, I don’t hate you.’
‘Thank you, Your Imperial Highness. I’ll try to remember that while I’m polishing Marina’s boots.’
This makes him laugh. ‘Don’t count yourself out just yet,’ he says. ‘Look.’
Hal gestures to my left hand, and my jaw drops.
When an Heir is axed from the Choosing, their brandmark ceases to glow. Yet the Aquatori waterdrop seared into my flesh continues to glimmer faintly beneath the bandages.
‘The trial was designed to test how the Heirs react to hostility and respond to fear,’ says Hal. ‘It seems Fjord was ill-equipped to deal with either.’
Fjord. Smug, stuck-up Fjord is first out of the running. Which leaves Marina, Kai … andme. Conflicting emotions jostle one another for space, but for a moment all I can think about are the orbs of light reflected in Hal’s raven eyes, and the scent of lemons on his skin.
‘Your brother performed well, too,’ he says. ‘Very well, in fact.’
