Fox sets me back on my feet, rakes a hand through his dark hair, looks at me for a little longer than a heartbeat, and walks away without saying anything at all.
I don’t have time to process what just happened, because at that moment the Council sweep into the banquet hall, as magnificent and as imposing as ever.
Reeling, I take my place at the table, waiting to see who will claim the empty seat beside me. My answer wears a doublet of purest gold, his brandmark, the Imperial sun and eye, glowing gently as he tucks my chair in. With the news of Hal’s betrothal to Princess Mirade of Thaven still a secret, his attentiveness causes many eyes to flit towards us and linger, including Ember’s, who looks as though she’d like to flay me alive.
The emperor welcomes us all, and I notice again just how ill he looks. It’s worse than before, the dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced. He also appears to have lost weight – that resplendent golden cloak of his now positively swamps him.
As he makes a few introductory remarks, I watch the Ignitia trainer’s beard dip in and out of his goblet each time he nods his head.
It’s not long before the feast begins, and the emperor sits down heavily, two fingers pressed to his temple. It can’t be easy, being father to the realm. It’s aged him. But then I suppose that’s the whole point of the Choosing – replacing those past their prime with the next generation.
Various conversations ensue. Several of the Heirs seem to be trying desperately to impress the Council. Some sitsilently, seemingly overwhelmed. Then there’s those like my brother, who’s not paying attention to anything other than his food, and Fox, who seems to be bored senseless by the whole thing as he leans back in his chair, one foot propped on the other knee, swirling wine inside his glass.
I can still feel his hands – one on my back, the other on my waist, breaking my fall.
Elaith called him the perfect conundrum, and she’s right. I can’t work him out, no matter how hard I try. Does he pay me attention because he knows it’ll score him a point against Hal? But then why does he see to it that our meetings always take place away from prying eyes? If it were really about provoking his brother, then surely Fox would have taken every opportunity for him and me to be spotted together.
He’s disconcerting. Unpredictable. I never know which side of him I’m going to get, and I don’t know what it is he wants from me. Because if he thinks we’re the same, he’s mistaken. I regret what I did to Cole. He deserved it, but I regret it. I am not the Earth Cleaver. I do not take pleasure in other people’s pain, and I never will.
Hal touches my arm, startling me. ‘I’m sorry for my absence this past while.’
‘You’re the prince,’ I say, as if he’s somehow forgotten. ‘You have far more important matters to attend to than visiting me.’
Hal smiles. ‘More pressing, perhaps, but not more important. I assure you, Blaze, visiting your chambers is my most favourite part of the day.’
My heart leaps feverishly. Does he really mean it? I lowermy gaze to the small criss-cross scar on his cheek – the scar I gave him. ‘I don’t believe that.’
‘Try,’ he says. ‘For I’m not a good liar. Never have been.’
‘What gives you away?’
‘I’m told it’s my eyes. I can never seem to look the person I’m lying to in the eye.’
Raven eyes that can’t lie.
A tinkling sound fills the air, and I glance up to see King Balen holding his glass in one hand, his knife in the other. ‘A toast,’ he says, his voice wrapping round me like silk.
More serfs appear, placing a fresh glass of wine down in front of every Heir. Twelve brandmarks glimmer like stars as we raise them high.
‘To you, my young friends,’ says King Balen. ‘May you continue to shine as brightly in your second trials as you each did in your first.’
We toast. We drink.
Flint downs the contents of his glass in one gigantic gulp. Fox wears an odd expression on his face, as though it were soured milk and not wine on his tongue. His brows are furrowed, fists clenched. He does not swallow. Puzzled, I turn to Hal.
Who does not meet my eyes.
All at once, my surroundings start moving. Gently at first, as if I’m on a rocking boat, and then faster, spinning like a top. I lose my grip on my glass and it falls to the floor. One by one, the Heirs slump down on to the table.
The last thing I hear before the darkness descends is a soft, silken chuckle.
31
When I wake, the banquet hall is deserted.
My head throbs dully as I raise it from the table. I glance around at the empty chairs, unfinished food, sharp slivers of glass strewn underfoot. Slowly, I get to my feet, swaying slightly. The silence amplifies my footsteps as I cross to the double doors at the end of the room. I try one handle, then the other. Both are locked.
Panic pools in my mouth. It tastes a bit like metal. I spit it out.
