Chapter 24 #2
The lockbox was her last—her only—chance at having incontrovertible proof of the Coalition’s involvement. She was certain of it. Hers would be a household name if she exposed their treason.
Her mark on the world.
All of it could be hers if she put her hand, her life, into the fire.
She forced herself to take a first step toward the door, wavering as a blast of heat hit her face.
Box. Lowe. Out. It could only ever be in that order.
Before she reached the doorway, her name rose above the blaze of the flames.
“Calya!”
She looked over the broken stairway to find Lowe standing at the bottom.
There was roaring in his ears. The fire, his wind, maybe just the adrenaline surging through his veins.
Nocren didn’t care. Didn’t pay it any attention.
His mind was too full of the many scenarios the wind had shown him.
Avenor, with Calya as his captive. Avenor, escaping on a ship.
Avenor, standing in front of a different wellspring as a ring of corruption spread across the ground.
Nocren would die before he let any of it come to pass. Before he’d let this piece-of-shit coward get away. Even as his skin erupted in agony beneath Avenor’s glowing hands, his resolve never wavered. No, it grew with every blow he landed, rejuvenated as Avenor weakened.
“Carram leave you gasping,” he snarled, casting Avenor to the ground.
As he knelt over the pathetic wannabe lightwrath, the wind tore at Nocren’s face, his clothes, howling in his ears.
His tunnel vision was such that the wind couldn’t penetrate. Not at first. He punched Avenor, vicious satisfaction flowing through him when the bigger man merely flopped like a ragdoll.
But the wind persisted—and as Nocren raised his fist to deliver his final blow, his hand faltered.
Calya’s face filled his mind. Change, the wind pressed upon him. The word carried hope and despair in equal measure.
Fear jolted him from his bloodthirsty vendetta. He dropped Avenor, letting the senseless man fall with a graceless thud, and spun around in search of Calya.
He found her at the top of the broken stairs. He didn’t remember moving, but somehow, he crossed the distance. Reached the bottom of the stairway as she faced the burning office. And was shocked momentarily speechless when she appeared to be readying to go in to the fiery room.
“Calya.” Nocren’s voice cracked, his throat gone dry. He coughed, sucking in a lungful of air to shout, “Calya!”
The Eternal Wind was with him. She stopped. Looked down at him with haunted eyes.
“Calya, don’t. Whatever it is—”
“I have to,” she mumbled. “I have to get them, Lowe. I have—”
“Whatever it is, I’ll help you. We’ll get it.”
“The wind—your wind—it showed me…” Calya glanced back at the burning room. She didn’t flinch when several of the bricks comprising the wall cracked, then crumbled, veins in the rockwork blazing white before extinguishing, lost in the smoke.
“They’re just possibilities, Calya, not fate. You get to choose your own ending. Always have.”
She stared down at him, limned by fire.
“Calya. I’m not leaving without you. Not again.” Nocren held out his arms. “Jump.”
Calya hesitated, shrinking back from the broken railing. His heart sank, desperate pleas rising up and jamming in his throat as he floundered for the right words.
Then a small leather bag dangled over the edge. She pushed it with her foot, letting it fall to the side. She followed it. Flew through the air toward him, not with a careful drop but a leap.
She hadn’t been backing away with indecision but gathering herself. To go on faith. To jump… for him.
Nocren caught her, crushing her against his chest, his nose dropping to her hair. He ignored the ash and debris and smoke, squeezing her tight so he could feel her draw breath. To know she was alive and safe and with him.
Calya stirred, wriggling until he finally, reluctantly, let her down.
He motioned that they should move toward the far wall, so they could be clear of the fire while still keeping an eye on Brint’s motionless form.
Calya stooped to grab the leather bag, grunting as she lifted it.
Nocren moved to help, but recoiled with a pained hiss when he reached for the glazed ice brick sticking out and received a burn for his troubles.
“What is that?”
Calya held up her hand. A jagged scar ran across her palm. “It’s kind of mine now.”
“Explain,” he said, carefully ushering her and her dangerous cargo to the wall. There, he sank down, and Calya tucked in beside him. Up above, what was left of Avenor’s office collapsed on itself, the burning rubble spitting a plume of smoke and embers.
They watched in silence.
Then Calya’s shoulders began to shake. Alarmed, Nocren slid his arm tighter around her, his head bending lower to hear—
Hoarse laughter.
“Sorry, sorry. I’ll get over it,” she wheezed. “I’m not used to so much… excitement.”
With a wry chuckle, Nocren leaned back.
Calya lay her head on his shoulder. After a moment of quiet, she murmured, “You called your wind. For me.”
He nodded. “I asked it to help you. I’m sorry if it was… abrupt.”
“You said you wouldn’t do that anymore. Not for your family. Not for anyone.”
Nocren slid his hand gently over her hair. “I did say that. But you’re more than anyone.” He brushed the crown of her head with his lips. “You are to me.”