32. It Was Arson, Your Honour
32
It Was Arson, Your Honour
Aliza
H alfway up the first flight of stairs, I kicked my crippling shoes off, not bothering to retrieve them as they tumbled down the stairs behind me. The steps of carved ice chilled my feet, but by the time I’d climbed four flights, sweat-drenched my skin.
Panting, I paused to lean against a cool wall. It was quieter up here, the commotion of the lower floors nothing but a distant hum. Eerily quiet, considering that somewhere out there, Idris fought for all of our lives.
Nausea rose in a bubbling froth and I twisted, bowing forward and clutching my stomach, my scorching forehead resting on the wall as I fought to swallow down my fear.
Idris would live. He’d promised to come for me, and he wasn’t the sort to break a promise. He’d rescued me single-handedly from a castle full of enemies. They’d fallen before him, no match for his power and bravery. He would live. He had to.
Hurried footsteps approached. I swallowed down the saliva flooding my mouth and peered down the blue-tinged corridor. The maid who’d dressed me yesterday morning quickened her step at the sight of me .
“Oh, thank the mother,” she said, her shoulders sagging. “There you are.”
Her eyes swept over my dress, but if she thought it strange that I was still wearing it, she said nothing. “Come along, Your Majesty. They’re gathering those who can’t fight below the castle.”
I straightened, sweeping beads of sweat from my brow with my sleeve. “What’s happening?”
The maid closed a delicate hand around my arm, attempting to guide me back the way I’d come. She was the same height as me, but thanks to my human heritage, I was sturdier. I dug my heels in, refusing to take a step. Idris had told me he was coming back. I would wait somewhere he could find me. I would change out of this stupid dress and be ready to run. I didn’t care where we went, as long as we were together.
“Tir o Haf has attacked. I don’t know much, but I know the wards have fallen and they’re fighting in the city streets.”
My stomach lurched again. Maelgwyn had come. He’d come seeking revenge for being thwarted. I’d survived my execution, and now he would make good on his promise to hunt down the princes and make them scream as I had when the flames had consumed me.
“Come along, now. There are tunnels beneath the castle. If the worst should happen, you can make your escape with the others. You’ll be quite alright. There are to be refreshments while we wait.”
I shook my head, making the world sway, and stumbled back a step. I wouldn’t go into any tunnels. If the walls were breached, that would mean Idris was dead, and if he was dead…
Twisting out of the maid’s grip, I took another few steps. She followed, reaching for me again .
“No,” I croaked. My throat burned at the word, as dry as kindling. “No, I’ll be down soon. I just need to get something from my room.”
“I can fetch it for you,” she offered, a steely note sneaking into her voice, “but you should hurry down.”
“It’s best I go myself, I know exactly where it is. I’ll be quicker. You go, maybe see about some wine to settle my nerves.”
Her mouth became a thin line, and I sensed the argument brewing. Though it made my insides shrivel with shame, I tried to inject dismissal into my tone as I said, “That is an order. Go downstairs and prepare me some mulled wine. I’ll join you soon enough.”
The female’s jaw clenched, but she curtsied and hurried away without another word, leaving me to slump against the wall with a sigh. I still had three floors to climb, and my brief rest had done nothing to cool me. My pulse fluttered, and I knew it wasn’t only because I was unfit. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, infused with poisonous fear. That was why I couldn’t draw a full breath. It was why my skin was sopping with sweat.
I lurched away from the wall, hoisting my too-long skirts up, and forced myself to take step after step after step.
When I eventually made it to the top floor and into my room, I stumbled straight for the window, shoving it open.
Icy wind rushed in, biting my flushed skin and lifting my sweaty hair. I might have groaned in pleasure if not for the sight that awaited me, far below.
The distant streets churned, alive with battle. The pale sunlight glinted off helmets and the sharp edges of weapons as they sliced through the air. Every few feet, magic exploded into solid form. Ice and flame, water and rock, nature brought brutally to life, only to inflict death. Nowhere… Nowhere could I see lightning.
Was Idris’ magic absent because he was protecting his secret, or was there a more sinister reason for the lack of blue-white electricity?
The battle raged only a few streets from the castle walls. Maelgwyn was out there. His minions. He’d come for us, for me. If he breached those walls, there would be no time for me to make it down to the tunnels, even if I knew the way. I’d be trapped. He’d find me. He’d burn me again.
No.
No, I wouldn’t allow it. I’d sooner throw myself from the window than endure such a brutal end again.
A boom sounded nearby, rattling the glass. I ducked, clinging to the sill, only to peep over it again a moment later, unable to tear my gaze away. Flashes of light and shadow, the gloom of low clouds, all of it swirling with screams and roars, but no hint of lightning. I’d know if Idris was dead, wouldn’t I? I’d feel the lack of our bond?
I couldn’t tell if the sickening fear crippling my body belonged to me or him. I didn’t know which to hope for; I wanted to feel him, to know he was alive, but I didn’t want him to be afraid.
Shoving away from the window, I pressed my hands to my sternum, willing something, anything to answer. Was a bond something I could touch? Was it a physical thing within me, or just a vague, unidentifiable sense of rightness? To hell with his insistence that we ignore it. I should have read that chapter on the forged bonds of Rhodd Anfarwol. I should have been brave enough to ask. To confess everything that I thought I felt, voice every suspicion .
Whatever I felt for Idris, this bond, or connection or these emotions or whatever the hell it all was, it didn’t mean nothing. It had never meant nothing, not even when I’d awoken in that cave and he’d told me that we could ignore it. I’d tried. I’d tried so hard to do as he wanted and not bring it up, to suppress it, but I’d been wrong. He’d been wrong, and now there was no lightning and for all I knew, it was too late.
A scream of frustration tore from my raw throat, and I balled my hands into fists. With a rush of hot air, flames erupted, billowing up my arms in a roaring plume.
My skin seared, and for a second all I could see was leaping orange light. My frustrated scream warped into a shriek of terror, and I staggered backwards, colliding with the windowsill as I flapped my flaming hands, frantically trying to shake out the fire and heat.
No, no, no. Not again. Not this. Anything but this.
I didn’t want to die.
Fire flew in all directions, catching the sofa and rug, curling rapidly into life on a nearby tablecloth. The flames engulfing me subsided slightly, but not enough. I could do nothing but stagger backwards, my trembling, burning hands held out before me.
It didn’t hurt.
The realisation waded through the terror crippling my mind. It was hot, maybe too hot, but only in the way a steaming bath might be as I eased into it. Beneath the dancing flames, my skin remained intact, on the edge of pain, but not.
Panting, I spread my fingers. Flames rushed to fill the gaps, pouring out of my palms and leaping into the air.
Was this… magic ?
Sage had said I would get powers. I hadn’t really believed her, but now, my room was burning. Smoke curled to the ceiling, and the crackle turned to a roar as the flames took hold of the soft furnishings, rising higher, leaping and spreading from one surface to another.
Shit.
I darted across the room, seizing a blanket in the hopes of suffocating the fire, only to realise too late that my trembling hands were still ablaze. I yelped, dropping the fabric as my flames engulfed it. The rug it landed upon smouldered and kindled, and the flames merged, swelling in a destructive glow.
This was bad. Every inch of the floor was layered with rugs. The fire would spread. There would be no stopping it.
Holding my breath against the acrid smoke, I squinted. There had to be a jug of water or… or… anything. Anything that would put out my hands and free me to douse the flames before I lost control. Sweat clung to me, running down my body in rivulets, but not enough to quell the magical fire curling around my outstretched hands.
Ice!
Turning, I thrust my hands at the wall. The ice hissed and sizzled as a cloud of steam erupted from my touch. I rolled my wrists, pressing every part of my skin against the frigid bite of ice. The flames sputtered and died.
Oh, thank god.
Trembling like a leaf, I lowered my hands. The wall, once smooth and straight, now sported a melted pit. Water oozed from the hole I’d made, running down to the floor.
What the fuck? Had I really done that? Was this really my magic?
How could I melt ice that was warded against flame ?
I spun, pressing a hot hand over my mouth and nose. The room was alive with fire. Gone was the ethereal, cold glow of light filtering through opaque ice. There was only orange and red and black. Smoke hung like a veil in the crackling air.
Despite the lack of burns on my hand, my stomach bottomed out at the sight.
It was too late. There was no stopping it.
Through stinging, streaming eyes, I squinted, trying to catch my bearings. Everything was ablaze. I couldn’t recognise the burning shapes, or even glimpse the window. I didn’t know the room well enough to fumble my way out.
I cringed away from the approaching flames, pressing myself against the mutilated wall. Cool water soaked my back. It was melting rapidly now, wilting in the heat. If only it would melt faster, I’d be able to climb through and flee down the corridor.
This was my fire, my magic. I’d made it, somehow. Surely I could control it, the same way Idris did his lightning?
Dropping my hands from my face, I promptly swallowed a mouthful of smoke and dissolved into a coughing fit. Every involuntary gasp of breath choked me further. I had to get out. The flames might not burn me, but the smoke would finish me off before I could test that theory.
I needed my magic back.
Gasping, eyes streaming, sweating, I thrust my hands toward the melting wall in a push. Nothing happened.
Shit.
“Come on,” I rasped, cajoling my magic into cooperation.
Again. Nothing .
I baulked, buckling forward as coughs racked through my chest. Time was almost out. Panic clawed at me, a caged animal, as desperate for escape as I was. Its claws raked inside my ribs, clattering over my bones.
I slammed my fist against the wall. If I couldn’t melt it, maybe I could shatter it where it was thinnest. Unyielding ice struck my skin, echoing through my bones. I hit again, my nails biting into my palms.
Again.
I couldn’t see. My eyes were pits of pain, unable to open.
Another strike, weaker this time.
Sweat ran down my back in rivers.
Another strike.
Would Idris feel it when I died? Would he feel the bond break?
I curled my throbbing hand tight, whacking the wall with every scrap of my failing strength. Heat flared over my skin, searing as a blast of hot air billowed over my face, like I’d opened an oven door. Blind, I did the only thing I could think of and threw my hands forward. My thoughts were only of the flames pouring through my palms, of trying to harness them, direct them. They raged, not only from me but in me, a searing, all-consuming heat that swallowed me up but didn’t quite burn.
Through the crackling roar, something groaned. A deep, brittle sound. A floundering beast.
I tried to scream, to direct everything I had into that power raging within me, but my body convulsed with hacking coughs and rasping splutters. I barely heard it over the deafening rush of my flames. My fingers strained, reaching, anticipating the sharp contrast of ice against their burning. Nothing came. I took a tentative step forward and slipped in a slick puddle.
Yes.
Another step. My toes met a wall, and yet my hands found only empty air. A hole in my prison. My knees buckled with relief as I slumped over the ledge I’d created. Cool, crisp air kissed my face. I hauled myself through the hole, my hands hissing as I grappled with the slick ice.
Like a foal being born, I slithered free, falling briefly before landing in a spluttering heap in the corridor.
Behind me, the fire still raged. My eyes stung and leaked as I forced them open, peering through the watery haze.
I was in the pits of hell.
The corridor flickered and danced in shades of orange, cast by my fire battering the ice. The hole I’d melted wept, a portal into a scorching hellscape, but the walls were failing too. Water ran down them like a garden feature, even out in the corridor. If the walls were melting, the floors and ceilings would too. I had to move.
Tripping on my ash-stained dress, I forced myself to my feet and ran. Or rather, I tried. My lungs refused to work. My chest crushed in on itself. Gasping my shallow breaths, I splashed through the runoff, aiming for the stairs before they turned into a waterslide.
I took them at a reckless speed. If the top floor collapsed, it would take the next one with it. Getting crushed by ice after my all too narrow escape was not something I had any intention of doing. When I reached the next landing, I threw my skirt over my arm and forced myself to go faster. The ceiling glowed orange, water dripping like rain from the sharp points of the stalactites, but the walls and floors down here were still a glittering, opaque white.
If I could make it to the courtyard, away from the castle, I would be safe, at least until Maelgwyn’s army broke through.
No. That wouldn’t happen.
But the castle would come down, and it was full of people. The heat raging through my body was finally doused by that thought, replaced with icy cold. I had to warn them. I had to get them out.
Down and down I went, wishing I knew how to teleport, wishing I could suck down a full breath and make myself go faster.
Level four. Three…
Finally, I hurtled into the deserted entrance hall. Where had the refugees gone? I spun on the spot, trying to remember the door they’d gone through. God, why hadn’t I paid better attention? There wasn’t time for this.
My breath seared my lungs as I threw open door after door. A deserted dining hall. An art gallery. An empty receiving chamber. I’d just opened the door to a cavernous library when I heard a voice.
“Ma’am! There you are.”
I almost sobbed at the sight of the maid I’d encountered earlier, but her face paled as she looked me up and down. “Your Majesty, what—”
“Fire,” I gasped, “on the top floor. The ice… the whole thing’s coming down.”
For the space of two heartbeats, she dithered on the spot, then scooped her skirts. “Out into the courtyard with you, Ma’am, I’ll raise the alarm.”
It was all I could do to nod after her retreating form. With the weight of my responsibility handed over, the strength sapped from my body. After my mad dash up to the seventh floor and back down again, it was the walk across the entrance hall that almost proved impossible. By the time I made it to the doors, the refugees were already rushing past me with renewed terror on their faces.
At least the frozen ground beneath my feet didn’t hiss and steam as I trudged my way down the steps and into the courtyard, marking me out as the guilty party. In fact, I shivered, my magic drained, leaving me cold and hollow. I managed a few steps before sinking to the ground, huddling in the sooty skirts of my beautiful gown. I lifted my raw eyes to the sky.
Drained my magic may have been, but not without marking its debut. High above me, flames and smoke billowed into the sky, destroying the only refuge the fae had left.
Rhewlif Palace burnt, and I had struck the match.