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wasn’t until Sahara pushed off from the tree trunk that Henri spotted the familiar carving. There, in looped cursive, was one word: OREMERE.
playing at, kidnapping the king’s prisoner and assaulting his guards? The Henri he’d known had been smarter than that.
Swinton thought of the jars he’d carried through the mountains, and what he’d released among the old trees there,
unknown to even his most trusted friend. He was playing a dangerous game.
‘Interesting choice of companion, Henri,’ Queen Allehra said. ‘It’s not every day you bring a mist dweller into our keep.’
What is it saying? Dash strained to hear, even though the voice seemed to sound as though it was coming from all around. It was in his ear, and far away at the same time. Oremere.
‘There is a register, yes.’ ‘I gathered. And what of you? Does the king know?’ Swinton’s heart leapt into his throat. His eyes snapped up to Henri’s. Her cold gaze bore into his. How much did she know? How much was just speculation?
Just as she was about to turn back to Fiore, one of the rocks just beyond her reach caught her eye. She stood in the shallows of the pool,
feeling the fresh water swell and swirl around her ankles. She moved towards it. Markings had been carved into the stone – letters spelling out a word she’d never heard or read. Oremere.
For a second, he reminded her of someone – someone at the back of her mind, though she couldn’t quite place who … And then his thoughts slammed into her. Oremere.
Oremere … Where had she heard it? No, seen it. The forest. Valia. A carving on a stone; a name or a phrase, from long ago. The fifth continent, the boy’s mind told her.
The little boy from the hall. He’d looked at her with recognition, and he seemed familiar to her as well. But that was impossible.
was her. The odd-eyed girl from his vision.
‘People talk, Dash,’ his father had said once. But Dash still didn’t know what that meant.
‘I always found it odd that the leader of my army had such … well-worn attire. I took an interest in where your salary seemed to disappear to.’ The king looked out to the throng of people. Swinton followed the king’s gaze, which fell upon Dash, the stable master’s boy in the crowd.
Yes, Swinton thought, his terror, his guilt thick in his chest. He’d be whatever he had to be, to keep his secret safe. To keep Dash – to keep Zachary – safe.
She could have sworn she’d just seen the dark-haired boy from the castle. His own expression of shock mirrored her own. And then he was gone.
