I shut the door to my bedchamber and thank Sheen for his help.
‘I’m his chaperone.’ That’s all he says. Then he leaves.
For a moment I find myself wondering if maybe he’s not quite as sour as Flint believes. The gentleness with which Sheen sponged my brother’s face clean didn’t seem like the behaviour of someone who disliked him. In fact, it seemed like quite the opposite.
Suddenly bone-tired, I sink down into the chair Flint was sitting in, right next to the vaseful of vomit. I take a deep breath then force myself to stand.
My first thought for a gift is a book, one with lots of pictures. Renly likes it when I read to him. But that’s no good, since I’ve decided to avoid the library. I’m in no mood for another of the old man’s peculiar stories.
I rack my brain.
Finally, I decide to try the kitchens, thinking that maybe I could swipe a cake, chocolate preferably, and decorate it.
The palace is filled with the muffled sound of music rising up from a few floors below, and I meet no one as I make my way along the empty hallways. There’s just one problem – I have no idea where the kitchens are. And I dismissed Elva hours ago, so she’s not around to ask. I’m busy contemplating whether to track down another serf when I round the next corner – and crash straight into the Earth Cleaver.
I yelp in pain and surprise, and he holds out an arm to steady me.
‘Easy. You don’t need any more injuries.’
‘Sorry,’ I snap.
‘You sound it,’ he tells me.
I scowl, which makes him smile. He’s dressed in a pale-greenshirt several shades lighter than his eyes, and which is only half tucked into a pair of leather breeches slung indecently low on his hips. I’ve noticed that Fox often appears distinctly unkempt, as though he’s just ridden for miles or been in some kind of fight.
I clear my throat. ‘Why aren’t you at the party?’
He leans against the wall. ‘Perhaps my mind was elsewhere. Perhaps I’m not so easily entertained. And you, Storm Weaver? Why aren’tyouat the party?’
‘I have things to do,’ I say tersely, pushing past him.
He blocks my path. ‘Anything I can help with?’
I sidestep round him. ‘I doubt it.’
He cuts me off once again. ‘Try me.’
I stare at him in bewilderment, heart thumping. What is his game here? I can no more understand his motive now than when he came to my aid with Fjord. But he seems unwilling to take no for an answer, and I’m hardly going to turn and run.
‘Fine. If you must know, I’m looking for a Name Day present. So unless you somehow have the perfect gift for my seven-year-old brother, no, you can’t help me.’
His lazy smile widens. ‘What if I told you I did?’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Is that so? How convenient. And what, exactly, is this gift you have in mind?’
He grins, straightens up and starts sauntering off down the corridor. I stare after him, half irritated, half intrigued.
‘Well, aren’t you coming?’ he calls.
I hesitate. Why should I believe a single word he says? This is the Earth Cleaver, after all. The boy they call destruction itself. He can’t be trusted. Not by me, not by anyone. I’d bea fool to follow him. I don’t have to follow him. I don’twantto follow him.
Fox only smirks. ‘Scared, Storm Weaver?’
Yes.
‘No,’ I mutter, and follow him.
28
