Fox takes a mint leaf from his pocket, pops it into his mouth and grins at me while he chews. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says. ‘Given this morning’s little outburst, you really need to be more careful. A girl who turns the forest to ice when provoked will have a hard time convincing somebody that she doesn’t possess any magic. If this plan is going to work – if we’re going to make it to the Lagoon without detection – then you’ll have to find a way to defend yourself that doesn’t involve your water gifts.’
‘Such as?’
Fox pushes himself to his feet and walks across to Cedar. Puzzled, I follow him, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles.
‘Have a look under there,’ he says, gesturing to the saddle.
So I do, and my eyes widen with horror as I take in the object strapped beneath. Small and silver and curved like a scythe.
‘My dagger,’ I whisper. ‘Why … why do you still have this?’
‘I kept it for you.’
I shake my head slowly. ‘I – I don’t want it. How could I ever want the weapon that killed the Council? It’stwisted.’
There’s a long, drawn-out pause, punctuated by the violent thudding of my heart.
‘I’m …’ Fox clears his throat. ‘I’m sorry about your aunt.’
I dip my chin, slightly taken aback. ‘Aunt Yvainne only ever cared for Flint. I grieve for his loss, and for my grandmother’s, but it’s Queen Hydra I mourn. She taught me so much. She was always …’ I trail off, my voice unsteady. ‘She was always kind to me. I’ll never be able to repay that kindness.’ My chest aches, and I will away the cloud of drizzle threatening to form above my head. ‘And if it weren’t for her, King Balen would have the Eye of the Soul.’
It was Queen Hydra’s final act – opening and closing that portal. Her parting gift to me. It’s why I feel sure that wherever I sent the Eye must be connected to her in some way. The Lagoon is a place of meaning to us both. It’shome. Her former, my future. An everlasting bridge between us.
Fox strokes Cedar’s flank. ‘What Queen Hydra did was honourable, and I have no doubt you’ll find a way to honourher,’ he says. ‘I understand why you don’t want this dagger back, and I don’t blame you. But while it may be the murder weapon,I’mthe murderer. The Council are dead because of me. It was never my intention, yet their blood is still on my hands, and will be for the rest of my life. It’smyburden to bear, not yours.’
Something flickers in his green eyes, something dark, almost wretched. I watch warily as he unsheathes the dagger from the saddle belt.
‘Look, it belongs to you, whether you want it or not. I took it from you, and now I’m giving it back. At any rate, you’d be wise to learn how to fight without magic.’ Fox’s gaze rakes over me, lingering on the leather glove concealing my brandmark. ‘You want to pass as Fidra? Then stop acting like an Etheri. Because pull another stunt like this morning’s and you’ll bring my uncle’s soldiers down on us faster than you can blink.’
I glance at my feet, conflicted. Perhaps he has a point. We’re supposed to be undercover, after all.
Fox slips the tip of the blade underneath my chin, tilting my face up to look at him. ‘I’ll even teach you how to use it,’ he says.
My mouth parts in surprise. ‘Really?’
He shrugs, then flips the dagger round and holds it out to me, hilt first. ‘Why not? Consider it a peace offering.’
I almost smile. ‘Your peace offering is proposing to fight with me some more?’
He almost smiles back. ‘It’s what you and I do best.’
21
Blaze
Over the following week Fox is as good as his word. Our days begin to fall into a pattern, though it’s nothing like the monotonous routine of my childhood, in which hours were measured by mealtimes and page numbers. Here, we rise at dawn, ride until late afternoon, set up camp, and then train until sundown. By the time night falls I’m so ravenous that I eat every mouthful of whatever root-based concoction I’m presented with, and I’m so bone-tired that sleeping on the forest floor no longer feels like some sort of punishment.
We began with footwork. Fox would bark instructions while I ran through a sequence of steps, learning how to keep my tread light in order to better dodge, duck and lunge.
‘Fighting,’ he said as he walked in a slow circle around me, correcting my stance, ‘is a bit like dancing. Your opponent is your partner. Wherever they go, you go. Whenever they move, you move. Except rather than trying to spin you, they’re trying to stab you. You must always be anticipating what they’re going to do next. Remember, every step counts.’
I would repeat the series of drills over and over while Fox lounged against a boulder, chewing lazily on a sprig of mint, braiding Cedar’s mane, or shaving with his dagger.
At long last, I was allowed my weapon.
‘You should always name your blade,’ Fox told me.
‘Really?’ I asked sceptically. ‘I thought people only did that with swords.’
