Chapter Seventeen #2
Var drew a deep breath and then flung up a shield.
It couldn’t be used to smother, because it always allowed air through.
Var and Tor had experimented with this underwater when they were teens until their mother had caught them at it and told them in no uncertain terms that they would not be let out of their rooms until they were one hundred and twelve if they ever tried such a stunt again.
But by then, they knew from real-life experience that you could breathe underwater while you were shielded—for hours.
So he couldn’t choke the fire, but he could prevent it from spreading further.
He could contain it, and then it could be put out.
Fire wasn’t exactly an object the same way that something solid was, but it wasn’t like air, either.
He and Tor had experimented until they’d been able to keep fire in (or out, depending on what they were trying to do).
It had been years since Var had tried to use this particular skill, but from what he remembered, the hard part was moving the shield and forcing the fire to move with it.
Var let his magic well up and out into the shield, trying not to think about the fact that his magic felt subtly off—as it had since Var had bound his brother’s magic.
Var needed to deal with that, but he could only do one thing at a time.
He pushed back against the flames, slowly shrinking the shield and letting the edges of whatever the fire had been burning slip out of the shield.
It was no easy task. If Var lost concentration, the whole shield would fall.
The trick was to let the object you were releasing from the shield just sort of…
slide out. Getting the speed and effort right meant the shield didn’t treat the object like something piercing the shield, which would make the shield fall.
He also had to move the shield slowly because he was treating the fire like an object, and so it was behaving like one.
If he shrank the shield too fast, he ran the risk of the fire bursting forth.
If he removed enough of its fuel, it would grow small enough that it would go out, or it could be put out by conventional means.
Var directed the guards to wet down the areas that he was freeing from flame to ensure that there were no embers that could spark back into flame.
Bit by bit, he corralled the fire and removed its fuel…
and thought about how he and Tor had come across a wildfire when they were seventeen.
(They’d been visiting Lotar and had sneaked out to the forest.) They hadn’t known to move slowly, and when they’d tried to shrink the shield, it had buckled under the force and exploded, sending the fire raging further.
They’d both wound up singed—and Tor had insisted they stay and try again.
Var had wanted to run for help, but Tor had argued there wasn’t time.
Var had been the one to suggest moving slowly, and though they’d not been nearly as skilled as they were now, that’s what they’d done.
They’d broken trees and lost the shield multiple times, but they’d persevered.
They’d put out the fire. Var could still remember Tor’s stubborn face, shining with insistence that they see this through.
They’d returned to King Stronex’s castle soot-covered and blistered. Their mother had been furious, had hugged them, and had told them never to do something so foolish again.
Had they not come up with the correct method, they might have died. But had they run like Var suggested, the fire might have reached villages or fields, imperiling even more people.
And now, thanks to Tor’s persistence, Var knew what to do today. He lost track of time until the fire was finally out. His limbs trembled faintly, and he could feel sweat slicking his body. A cheer went up, and he smiled.
He caught sight of the captain of the guard waiting by the entrance and turned to her. Darmila had a gash across her forehead, and she was cradling one arm. As soon as she saw that he’d finished, she strode across the room to greet him. Her expression was worryingly serious. His stomach sank.
“Your Majesty.” She bowed.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“The fire seems to have been set as a diversion,” she said crisply.
“My wife?” he demanded. “The baby? My brother?”
“The Queen has been secured in the secondary location.” Darmila hesitated for a moment. “Prince Torex is no longer in his cell.”
Var felt a headache coming on. “Are you saying that a force used the cover of that fire to liberate my brother?”
Tor would know that Var could put it out, but he wouldn’t have been able to know exactly when Var would arrive or if anyone would be harmed in the meantime. Surely, he wouldn’t put people in danger like that, not deliberately. Var frowned.
Darmila hesitated again, and she wasn’t someone who normally hesitated. Var’s stomach sank.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“Part of the attacking force appears to have made their way to the dungeons,” she confirmed slowly.
“And the other?” He couldn’t keep the sharpness out of his voice.
Her jaw tightened. “Went after the Princess, Your Majesty.”
Var felt the blood drain from his face, a moment of light-headedness that he couldn’t give in to. Urgently, he asked, “Where is she?”
Darmila’s jaw clenched. Stiffly, she said, “The fighting was intense, Your Majesty. There are dead on both sides out in the corridor. Everyone on our side was dead by the time the door was brought down. By the time reinforcements arrived, there were more dead in the nursery.” Another brief pause, and then she admitted.
“We can’t reach the cradle. The ceiling caved in.
We have yet to find the body of the Princess or her nurse. ”
Black spots danced across Var’s eyes, and he gulped in air. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, all of them crowding up into his throat, but he didn’t let any of them out.
After a momentary struggle, he said simply, “Take me to my wife.”
Darmila bowed and led the way. There were an absurd number of guards outside the receiving room—or so Var would have said in any other circumstances. Clearly, it could never be enough.
“May I continue the recovery efforts, Your Majesty?” Darmila asked carefully. “We’re searching the castle from top to bottom.”
“Yes,” Var told her, glad that she had a plan, because Var felt entirely at sea, and like there was no land in sight.
Darmila bowed and withdrew. Var strode into the room. Yomil was there with Ferna, and they both turned when Var arrived.
Ferna cast herself into his arms, wailing. “Var! Your brother! How could he? The baby!”
Var looked up, and Yomil, looking very grave, said, “It pains me to report this to you, Your Majesty. I was making my way to ensure the safety of the baby myself when I heard the mercenaries crying for Prince Torex, who was at their head.”
Var stared at the man with incomprehension.
They were saying that his brother had gone after Cala, had led mercenaries to kill her?
He knew everything had gone wrong, but to attack his baby?
No. That wasn’t possible. Surely not. It made Var’s brain spin in useless circles, frantic but with nowhere to go.
The door opened, and an apologetic guard stuck their head in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty, but it’s Lady Nawila, and she says it’s urgent. She has Pamuna with her. They—”
“Send them in!” Var bellowed. “Immediately.”
The guard bowed, and a moment later, the two disheveled women appeared. For some reason, Pamuna was wearing a blanket like a cloak.
“Pama!” Ferna cried. “Oh, Pama! What happened?”
“Your Majesty,” Pamuna said. Her face was streaked with blood, and she bowed. She cleared her throat. “I was bid to come to you, and you alone. I’m sorry for the delay.”
She flipped back the blanket, and Var sucked in a sharp breath even as Ferna cried out. His baby girl was curled up against Pamuna, wrapped in the sling that she liked to use when she wanted to be held forever and ever.
Var felt as though his legs were going to go out from under him—but then Ferna’s actually did, and Var caught her as she swooned.
It took a moment to get Ferna settled into a chair, and then Pamuna was handing him his baby.
Cala stirred briefly and then settled against his chest. Belatedly, he realized he was a smoky mess, but he couldn’t bring himself to release her, even for a moment.
“Is she all right?” he demanded hoarsely.
“She took no injury,” Pamuna said.
There was something funny about her voice, and Var looked at her sharply. What was that expression?
“It’s a miracle!” Yomil declared, sounding relieved. “Your Majesty, we must send guards after Prince Torex at once. We cannot allow such a travesty to go unpunished!”
“Your Majesty, it wasn’t Prince Torex,” Pamuna said urgently.
“I’m afraid I saw him myself,” Yomil reiterated, “leading the mercenaries that went after the baby. I can only apologize for being knocked out, or I might have been able to intervene!”
“It wasn’t!” Pamuna insisted. “It can’t have been Prince Torex, because he was never in the hallway.”
“That’s a lie!” Yomil hissed. “Clearly, she is under his influence!”
Pamuna didn’t look away from Varex. “He was in the nursery with me.”
“You see! She is in league with him!”
Pamuna ignored him. “He climbed in the window.”
Var choked on a laugh. His chest somehow felt both tight and hollow at the same time. Of course Tor would climb in the window. But Darmila had told him…