Chapter 2
Flint
Shit. This can’t be good.
Fear lances through me as the pungent fumes pour into my mouth. My eye smarts and stings, tearing up and spilling over, obscuring my vision even further.
I was watching Blaze in the seconds before the attack, several rows back from the dais, standing with her shoulders curved inwards, face hidden by that veil, gazing up at the sky. But now the world has turned grey, and I’ve lost her in the smoke.
The crackling flames from the pyre writhe wildly. Harglade fire – hungry and merciless, streaks of burning red across a charcoal canvas. The heat is ferocious.
A familiar tremor takes hold. My palms slicken. My heart beats out of time.
No, I tell myself. Not now. Snap out of it. Concentrate.
Streams of air carry King Balen’s voice around the throne room. I can hear it over – no, through – the screams. It slices apart the din, slipping into the spaces between sounds.
I hear Grandmother too, hollering at the guards, ‘Find her! Find her now!’
The words jolt me into action and I begin to move, inhaling more smoke each time I cough.
Someone – I think it’s Seraphine – is calling my name, but the voice is directionless and I don’t stop, don’t turn round, just keep stumbling blindly towards where I think the edge of the dais should be … and go tumbling over it.
Ouch.
I let out a grunt of pain as I push myself up, throat raw, breathing ragged.
Blaze, I think. Where are you?
The Etheri are charging like cattle towards the doors. I squint through the smoke, grabbing hold of arms, peering into faces.
‘Blaze,’ I hiss. ‘Bla–Argh!’ I cry out as I collide headlong into someone standing stock-still, as if paralysed with fright, or indecision, or both.
‘Flint?’
‘Blaze!’ I exhale in relief as I grip her shoulders. ‘There you are.’ Then I take off, dragging her after me through the crowd.
King Balen’s voice slithers through the tumult once more.
I know you’re here, little dove.
I slam into the wall, holding Blaze’s hand tightly as we feel our way towards the back of the throne room.
I practically grew up at Fire Mountain, so I know all the best hiding spots, secret doors and hidden passageways.
This particular passageway is used by the attendants.
My friends Cole and Elaith and I discovered it years ago.
I can’t count the number of times we’ve used it to help ourselves to various desserts and bottles of wine.
Come out, come out, wherever you are.
Blaze rips off her veil and presses it to her nose.
I scrabble for purchase until my fingers finally close round a stone lever, wrenching it down with all my might.
A section of the wall shudders, then grinds slowly to one side, and I yank Blaze through.
The deafening din is cut off as the door slides shut, the dense smoke replaced by cool, clean air.
My sister is on her hands and knees, retching, spitting out globs of grey saliva. Her voice is cracked, dried up. ‘Is … he … here?’
I’ve been wondering the same thing. Would King Balen really risk attacking the Ignitia Court in person, or has he sent the wind in his stead? I’ll say this for him: he can certainly pick his moments. Seriously, crashing a funeral? Talk about disrespect.
‘We have to go, Flint,’ Blaze chokes out, her face streaked with soot. ‘Now. We have to stick to the plan.’
I grimace as I drag a hand across my streaming eye. Of all my sister’s hare-brained ideas, I’m ranking this somewhere near the top. ‘All right, follow me.’
I lead the way down the winding passage.
Elaith once got lost down here for hours, just like she did in the maze at the Golden Palace.
My best friend has many admirable qualities, but a sense of direction is not one of them.
Nor is blending in – not with that fiery hair of hers.
I spotted her standing behind Blaze during the funeral.
I hope she makes it out safely. No, scratch that.
She will make it out safely, for I refuse to consider any alternative.
A cluster of attendants gawk at us as we burst into the kitchens. They’re all wielding pots, pans and knives, as though such things could protect them against smoke and wind.
I reach into my pocket and lay some coins on one of the stone countertops.
‘You didn’t see us here,’ I say firmly, before heading for the large hatch in the corner of the room and heaving it open.
This is where they get rid of all the scraps – leftovers, vegetable peelings, food that’s gone stale.
I turn to my sister. ‘Are you sure about this?’
Grey eyes stare back at me, clear and determined. ‘Yes.’
‘Because if you’re not, now’s the time to say.’
Blaze sticks her chin in the air. ‘I’m sure.’
‘And I’m sure I’m going to regret it,’ I mutter.
She ignores me, gathering up her skirts and climbing into the scrap chute.
‘The space is narrow,’ I tell her. ‘Don’t panic. Keep your arms pinned to your sides and brace yourself for landing. I’ll be right behind you.’
She nods, gritting her teeth.
‘Ready?’ I ask.
Suddenly there’s a clatter, followed by a furious, terrified voice. ‘STOP.’
We turn to find Grandmother panting hard, leaning heavily on her stick, wisps of silver-streaked dark hair slipping free of the red netting at the back of her neck. She points a finger at us, and on it I see the Harglade signet ring, shaped like a coiled cobra.
‘Stop,’ she orders again.
I open my mouth to speak, but Blaze gets there first. ‘No.’
‘Blaze,’ Grandmother growls.
That tone still has the power to make me squirm in my boots, but Blaze doesn’t flinch.
Grandmother turns to me. ‘I’m surprised at you, Flint. Letting your sister put herself at risk like this, knowing just how much danger she’s in.’
A low blow.
‘I don’t let her do anything,’ I snap. ‘She’s her own person. Besides, she outranks us both now.’
Grandmother seems to deflate. ‘Please,’ she says. ‘Stay. Whatever it is, whatever you think you have to do, we’ll find another way.’
There’s a long pause.
But Blaze only shakes her head. ‘There is no other way.’ Her voice is unsteady, but it softens as she adds, ‘I’m not a child any more. You can’t hide me away forever.’
A tear rolls down Grandmother’s cheek. I watch it drip on to the flagstones.
Then, to my surprise, she steps back.
The look Blaze gives her is one of fierce, pure love. She glances at me one last time before disappearing down the chute. I have to hand it to her – the girl has pluck. Or a death wish. One of the two.
‘I’ll take care of her, Grandmother,’ I say. ‘I swear it.’
But the words ring hollow – less a promise than wishful thinking. Because the truth is, I’m not sure I’m capable of protecting anyone. Not any more.
I swallow hard, then plaster on a grin, tipping an imaginary cap to Grandmother before launching myself into the darkness after my sister.