17. Lucina #4
“Oh, but I do,” Callan drawls deeply, standing so close that his folded arms brush against my chest. “I’m very observant, Chaos.”
Fury ignites at the nickname he’s chosen. I snort, forcing myself away and straight up the porch steps, death-gripping the rail as I go. I stumble on the final stair, but he’s there, of course, a hand pressing into my lower back before I even have time to fall.
“Do you trust me, Lucina?”
Trust? I turn to face him, blinking back stoically at his question.
He has my trust—well, a surface-level kind.
I trust him with my training, with my magic.
I trust him when he gets my meals directly from the kitchen just to ensure no one has tampered with my food.
I trust him when he stays out here all night, guarding my cabin, but that trust isn’t real.
He has direct orders from Delia to ensure my safety, but would I trust him if he were free of those orders and under no obligation to protect me?
I’m not stupid. He has no loyalty to me aside from this forced… guardianship.
“I don’t really have a choice, Captain.”
He inhales deeply, his stare falling to the silver pendant around my neck. “And what if you did have a choice?” Callan’s hand moves across my lower back, and my spine snaps straight. His fingers reach up to roll the end of my braid across his knuckles, then he whispers, “Would you trust me then?”
I force a breath in through my nose, heat flaring along my skin, and sharp pricks of static ripple across my body.
I’m consumed entirely by the smell of rain-soaked cedar, how could I not be when he’s this close?
His fingers flex along my back, and my body leans towards him, softening against his hold even though I didn’t tell it to.
Callan closes the distance between us, near enough now that his nose is only an inch from the tip of mine–
“No,” I force out, and the heavy breath he releases fans across my cheeks. The Captain blinks, yanking himself out of some trance.
His hand falls away, and I stumble backwards, pushing through the door to my cabin and shutting it behind me.
It smells of damp stone and sweat, the twinge of smoke causing my nose to crinkle.
The sound of quick and fast footsteps is drowned out by a symphony of coughs and muffled cries. It plays ahead of us and at our backs, chasing us down the corridor.
“Hurry,” he begs, pleading with the woman.
My lungs constrict, and a cough bursts free.
Then another.
And another.
My mouth parts to suck in a breath but there’s no oxygen left, it’s all been sucked out of the room. It’s the fabric over my face; I can’t breathe through it.
I can’t breathe.
My eyes shoot open, and my retinas burn. Everything is burning. I hear the crackle of flames as smoke shrivels my lungs, poisoning any oxygen left behind.
My cabin is tinted blood-orange, black smoke rising between the floorboards, and a roar like an impending stampede rattles the glass panes.
Fire. Holy gods. My cabin is on fire.
I shout for help, but my voice is a muffled wheeze, my throat too tight for words to slip through. I roll out from underneath the sheets, hitting the floor with a thud. “Help!” I shout again.
I start to crawl, my knees and hands burning from the fire crackling beneath the floorboards, and the smell of burning flesh brings tears to my eyes. My forearms begin shaking as I try to pull myself to the door. I need to get out. Now.
I wheeze again, fighting for air, and spots dance across my vision.
Flames lick the windowpanes, raging through the front window…and the side…and the back… heat coming up beneath me. Unless I can find a way through the roof—
I’m surrounded. Trapped. And I can’t breathe.
“Help,” I wheeze, only a few feet from the door.
My skin is burning, my movements are slow, and my limbs are too heavy to carry.
The room spins, my head fills with deadly static, then my lungs fold in on themselves.
I have nothing to smother the flames, but Callan does.
Why hasn’t he snuffed them? Did he leave?
Please don’t leave.
My fingers graze the wood trim of the door, and I jolt forward, blindly reaching up the frame for the handle—
A scream rips from me then, shredding my vocal cords as I grab the metal knob, and it burns straight through my flesh.
I fall back to the floor— more heat waiting for me there. There isn’t enough air in my lungs to scream, but I gasp for it anyway.
Right as my eyes slide shut glass shatters.
Someone forces the collar of my shirt over my nose and mouth, but it’s too late for that. Even with all the time in the world, I’d never get rid of all the smoke. I’m one with it now. I’m going to drown in it, just like I drowned in that riptide. Drowned, then resurrected, except this time—
I’m yanked from the floor, and the collar of my shirt slips from my face.
Wood splinters and heat flares so bright and hot and unyielding that I hear a muffled string of curses. Callan.
I feel the flames at my back. I feel his arms tighten around me.
Then I feel nothing.