I was wrong. It’s not fear itself but a fearofsomething. Something feverish and devouring that I’ve tried to suppress. Something that, just now, I finally surrendered to.
My anchor to simmering – it’sdesire.
The corners of Fox’s mouth quirk upward. Either he’s figured it out too, or he’s simply amused by the mortified expression etching itself on to my face. But before I have time to decide which it is, his arms encircle me, lifting me up against his chest so that our eyes are level, his glinting wickedly, mine painfully unguarded. So much for burying my feelings.
The next kiss steals the air from my lungs. I feel a tightening in my lower stomach as I wrap my legs round Fox’s waist, his tongue dancing against my own. To my horror, the water responds with enthusiasm, roiling and frothing as it begins to heat. I curse, and Fox chuckles softly as he trails his mouth down my throat before nipping at my shoulder.
His lips are just brushing mine once more when I draw back with a chastising look. ‘Lie to me again, and I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.’
He scoffs as he hooks a stray curl behind my ear. ‘That’s not very inventive.’
‘Fine,’ I say, lacing my fingers round his neck. ‘Lie to me again, and I’ll drown you in this pool. Or feed you to my dragonfly. Or strangle you with the cord of my dress.’
Fox’s answering smirk makes my toes curl. ‘That’s more like it.’
52
Elva
The day of Ingra’s execution is ushered in by a molten dawn studded with sea-foam clouds.
I watch from a window as the gallows is erected, a noose dangling from the wooden crossbeam. Already the sprawling courtyard is filling with people.
Hal and I haven’t seen each other sincethatnight. Or rather, he hasn’t seen me. I’ve been keeping tabs on his movements, his deteriorating health, and the resultant increase in his opium intake. I followed him when he stormed into the library to confront his grandfather, only to find a few orbs of light floating lazily above an empty armchair. I watched his usually pristinely kept chambers grow more and more disorderly, littered with rolls of parchment, glass vials and golden roses. It appears his research has extended beyond the Demari, for I’ve also found him poring over books detailing the War of the Empires and the Magi, desperately seeking answers – about my magic, aboutme.
It seems neither of us has been able to let go. Yet what I’m about to do today will undoubtedly cut the last thread binding us together. Because I’m not going to let my friend die up there, choking and helpless, at the hands of her oppressors.
I suspect the only reason Hal has allowed me to remain here, roaming the palace freely, is that he believes me too much of a coward to strike back. I used to think myself a coward. A trembling, fragile little flower, afraid of her own shadow. Then I became a Mage, and there was a sweet kind of irony to my gifts. If fear is a response to danger, then my magic is a response to fear. And I’m not shutting it out any more. I’m inviting it in. Because without fear, there cannot be courage.
I think of protecting Pip from the lash, of risking exposure to save Hal, and of what I’m about to do today. For what is courage if not the impulse to stand up for another?
I’ve realized that Icanbe brave.
Iambrave.
When the horns are blown, I join the throngs of spectators moving towards the gold-paved courtyard. I walk with my head down until I’m just a stone’s throw from the scaffold. There’s no breeze, and yet the noose seems to quiver, as if in anticipation.
A sudden hush falls, blanketing the excited chatter.
My skin grows cold as two members of the Imperial Guard drag Ingra into view. Her hair is matted with grime, her skin ashen and covered in bruises. Bile rises in my throat as I notice more of her fingers are bent and swollen. Yet her face remains a perfect mask of defiance – jaw rigid,chin in the air, wearing an expression that is almost bored. The knights fasten the rope round her neck and leave her standing upon a wide trapdoor.
I try to regulate my breathing, but the attempt proves futile, for someone is already climbing the steps to the scaffold.
Hal is dressed in a pale-gold doublet with solid-gold epaulettes, a grand ceremonial cloak fastened at his shoulders. His father’s, I think. The finery only exacerbates his gaunt appearance. I’m close enough to see his hands trembling as they reach up to straighten his crown. Not the Imperial Crown, since the coronation still hasn’t taken place, but his old simple circlet, gleaming against his neatly combed dark hair.
He doesn’t so much as glance at Ingra as he moves to the centre of the scaffold. I can barely hear his greeting over the thundering of my heart.
After the answering applause has died down, Hal clears his throat. ‘We are gathered here today to witness justice prevail,’ he begins. ‘The prisoner you see before you conspired to commit a heinous crime.’
Ingra stares off into the distance. Her eyes are clouded, far away. I wonder where she’s gone. Veridia, I bet – racing across the sand dunes towards a glittering mirage.
‘She sought to take a life,’ Hal continues. ‘My life. And, in so doing, she threatened the future of House Castellion.’
The crowd respond angrily, shaking their heads.
‘A serf who plotted to kill an emperor.’ Hal holds out his arms. ‘Who here would see her punished? Who here demands her death in retribution for seeking mine?’
Cheers ripple through the throng, with many of the Etheri stamping their feet. Ingra’s gaze flickers to Hal, and for a moment hatred like I’ve never seen flashes across her deliberately blank expression. She’s bleeding; the rope binding her wrists has chafed her skin raw. I press my lips tight together, balling my hands into fists before my shadows can spring free.
