‘Maybe … maybe just a couple of hours,’ I concede. ‘And then –’
‘I know, I know, and then we head to the Lagoon.’
‘And find Blaze.’
‘And find Blaze,’ Spinner echoes, patting my arm.
Settling myself down on a pile of thick furs, I drift off slowly with my head in Spinner’s lap. For someone who started his day on the brink of death, this is certainly not the worst outcome in the world.
12
Blaze
The Eye of the Past winks at me in the dappled light filtering through the branches.
I stare at Fox in disbelief. ‘You … you have …’
My mind is spinning. I feel like I might throw up. Is this just another hallucination? Somehow I think not. While my head still pounds painfully, the fog that clouded my every thought has cleared, as though I’ve emerged on the other side.
‘Explain,’ I order, a little breathlessly.
And so he tells me about the replica he had made in case anything were to happen, about how he let King Balen believe it was the real one, when all the while Sifa’s Eye was safely wedged down the side of his boot.
I blink. ‘So what you’re saying is that your uncle …’
‘… does not, in fact, have the Eye of the Past in his possession?’ Fox finishes. ‘Yes. All he has is a useless lump of gold. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Windlands when he figures it out. That sort of rage could warrant a hurricane.’
I grimace. ‘I take it you know about the attack on Fire Mountain?’
He nods. ‘Very resourceful on your part, escaping down the waste chute. Less impressive was your decision to travelthroughthe Ridge tunnels. What were you thinking?’ His tone is more amused than chiding.
I exhale as I sit down and cradle my bandaged arm. ‘That’s how you found me, isn’t it? Using your Eye. You knew where I’d be because you knew where I’dbeen.’
Fox nods, tucking the pendant back beneath his collar.
‘What about Flint?’
‘I told you, he’s alive.’
‘Truly?’
Fox reaches out. ‘Give me your hand.’
My heart lurches. ‘Why?’
‘Because I can prove it.’
I hesitate. One by one, I count the lines on his palm.
Fox sighs theatrically. ‘Do you want to see your brother or not?’
He already knows my answer. ‘Yes,’ I say, finally moving closer. ‘Yes, show me.’
‘Please?’
‘Please,’ I grit out, and slip my hand into his.
It feels much like it did when we danced together at King Balen’s ball, his skin warm and callused, his grip firm. I’m suddenly keenly aware of how filthy I am. My clothes are grimy; my hair matted with sandstone dust and blood.
