Chapter 25
Liana
Darin fell to his knees, clawing at the arrow in his chest. Liana knelt beside him, grabbing his hand. There was no pulling the arrow out, it had to be pushed through the flesh. Blood sprayed out in a bright arc, unstoppable.
The guards swirled around them in a wild vortex of panic. Shouts, the thunder of running feet, hooves, the crowd roaring, Amron’s face a pale dot among the blue uniforms.
She opened her mouth and the word she never wanted to utter again broke out. “Mother!” she cried. Her fingers raked the air until there was a hint of resistance, a gossamer fabric tearing beneath her nails.
The swirl of colors around her sped up, the noise grew—and then it stopped.
The crowd, the smell of smoke, the screaming, the cobbles under her knees, it all disappeared. Only silence remained, interrupted by birdsong and the wet, mossy smell of the forest. Dappled sunshine flickered on the clearing surrounded by magnificent oaks.
She still knelt beside her father, arms wrapped around his torso, blood soaking them both. The forest green of his eyes was clouded, his chest barely moved.
A woman walked out of the thicket, dark-haired and young and sharp-faced like a bird of prey. A translucent green dress wrapped her body like smoke.
“Help him,” Liana begged.
Lela paused at the edge of the thicket, her eyes fixed on Darin. “I never cared to see the ravages of time on him,” she said. “But let this be a lesson to you, Liana. Humans grow old, and humans die. Just like this.” She snapped her fingers and the illusion vanished.
“No, damn you, no!” She was screaming when Amron pulled her back from her father lying on the cobbles. The deafening noise in the street swallowed her screams.
“Let us help him, Liana, move.”
There was barely any maneuvering space in the crowd. The guards formed a tight protective circle around their wounded captain. Behind them, the world was on fire.
One guard forced the end of a leather belt between Darin’s teeth while another broke the arrow shaft. Darin roared. Two more men held him as he thrashed in agony.
“He’ll die! He’ll die!” Liana wailed.
Amron wrapped his arms around her. “They know what they’re doing, let them help him.”
She writhed in his grip, trying to break free, overcome with the pure, desperate need to fight someone, to hit something solid.
“My lord, you can’t stay here!” someone shouted.
The roof of the embassy was burning. Those hit by the first volley were swallowed up by the crowd, clogging the street once again.
The mounted guards, several of them injured but none as badly as Darin, were forced to retreat.
The flames, the arrows, the press of people drove their horses mad.
Rage, fear, and confusion vibrated in the air like a swarm of angry wasps.
The arrows still rained down from the roof into the screaming crowd.
The Seragians made no attempt to fight the traitors who climbed up there.
Inertia, indifference, or a plan to stand aside while the king’s guards died defending them?
It didn’t matter in the end. The greatest empire in the world, entirely unhelpful or deliberately obstructing.
They retreated to the shadow of a neighboring building.
“I wish I could just let them burn, damn them,” Amron said, exhaustion seeping out of his words.
Liana didn’t care anymore, the fight had drained out of her. Her father lay still as the guards pressed a piece of cloth to the wound, wrapping his shoulder. “We need to get Darin out of here.”
“You go with him. I must stay here. If I don’t stop the fire from spreading, the whole city will burn.” Amron stepped away from her. “Water!” he shouted, gathering the guards around him. “Get the buckets! Organize the chains to the fountains! Find a ladder!”
Liana knelt down beside Darin. His eyes were closed now, and he lay still, his breathing shallow.
She thought people had lost their last specks of common sense when they rushed towards the fire instead of running away from it, but then she realized they were indeed carrying buckets and water, making a long human chain down the street.
Treason was an imaginary threat, but fire was a real, immediate one, and the Abians knew how to face it, even in the midst of the rebellion.
She looked up towards the burning roof—no archers could hide in the spreading blaze, but the danger was still out there.
The guards made a stretcher for her father.
The arrows stopped as the fire crowned the roof with bright red flames.
Where were the Elmarran bastards? They weren’t up there, and they weren’t in the street, facing the king’s guard.
Yet, they certainly hadn’t evaporated into thin air.
They were wreaking havoc somewhere, pushing the restless city into rebellion.
“Amron!” she called.
At that moment, the gate of the embassy opened, and a crowd of people—guards, servants, ladies—rushed out, coughing, faces covered with scarves. They poured into the street, but the people cared little for them now, their focus was on the blazing roof.
“Where are the others?” the guards asked as the Seragians wiped soot and sweat off their faces. “Where’s the carevna?”
All they got were shrugs and confused looks. “She got out,” someone said. “Didn’t she? We saw her running.”
Thick smoke poured through the door of the embassy and through the cracks in the shutters.
A handful of guards prepared to carry their captain back to the palace. Two men lifted the stretcher, the others formed a cordon around them.
“How many exits are there from the embassy?” Amron asked a sooty woman whom the others followed.
“Just this one, it goes under this wing into the main courtyard, and all the exits from the building lead there.”
“Where is the carevna, then?”
The woman hesitated.
“Ambassadress, please. I’m trying to help,” Amron said.
The woman nodded. “There is a back garden, surrounded by a wall. It’s possible to climb over it and get to the neighboring gardens. Perfect if you don’t want to be seen leaving the embassy.”
Amron looked up to the blazing roof. “There’s no time to go around. How do you get to the garden?”
“Turn right in the courtyard,” the woman said, “through the big arch, down the corridor, turn left, and there’s a short flight of steps leading to the door. It will take you to a small terrace above the garden.”
“We must go,” the guards carrying Darin said.
Liana said to Amron, “You can’t go through the building, it’s on fire.”
He was already tying a wet rag around his neck. “There’s no time.” He scanned the rest of the guards. “Who’s coming with me?”
Four men ran to him, dousing their clothes with water and pulling scarves and rags over their mouths. He turned to Liana. “Get Darin to the palace safely. I’ll see you there.”
She didn’t want him to go into the fire without her, but her father needed her more. Or perhaps she was just reluctant to abandon him, as her mother had done.
Amron and the guards ran into the darkness filled with smoke, and she forced herself to head in the opposite direction, following the guards carrying the stretcher.
As they pushed through the crowd, a commotion rippled through it from the opposite direction.
“Move,” someone shouted. “Make way for Prince Amril!”
Liana kept her head down, pushing forward. Sharp as a hawk’s, Amril’s eyes found her in the crowd. The guards rushed to report to him, but he waved them away, pinning Liana down with his cold blue gaze.
“This is all because of you,” he said loudly enough for the guards to hear. “If you hadn’t dragged my brother to that dark alley and provoked the attack, none of this would have happened.”
And then he turned away, shouting commands, ignoring her completely.