Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
LANZ
It’s one thing to say you’d die for someone. It’s another thing to say, to know, in fact, that you will die for someone.
And yet, I think, as fire eats through wire and insulation and drywall and burns Camlann House down to charred studs, it’s another thing entirely to say I will die for you today. This afternoon. In approximately four, maybe five hours.
The air ripples and billows with heat, distorting the light even as smoke clouds most of it out. Eyes stinging, I squint through what’s left of the living room and keep my hand firm on the grip of my weapon.
But there you have it, I think. We all have to go sometime. And I’m going to spend whatever life is left in me getting to her.
“Lanz!”
I leap, sideways, just in time, as a heavy crossbeam shudders downward through the air, trailing sparks and ash. It thuds, dense, two feet from where I land in a skid on what used to be Camlann House’s front porch.
“Keep up,” whoever it is—Kai—yells in frustration, already down on the muddy ground.
I’m trying, I think. I’m trying. I’m breathing in flakes of wallpaper and upholstery and probably asbestos, I can’t see for shit, and there’s a fishhook in my heart with a line pulling me straight to Gwenna so hard it’s ripping the breath from my lungs.
Instead of waiting for an answer, Kai jumps from the ground by the porch and yanks me by the upper arm, practically dragging me through the banister.
“Ow!” I cry, a few half-burnt boards breaking my fall.
“Thanks.”
“Now what?” Kingston, wiping ash from his eyes. “Where do we go?”
He’s not looking behind us, not looking at Camlann at all. He’s looking at me.
“I think…” I gulp air, not that there’s much oxygen in it. “Give me a second.”
I close my eyes.
What I can see first isn’t helpful. Her face, her hair, the memory of her skin, how soft she felt in my arms the other day even as a volcano of pain was erupting inside me from touching her, how perfectly her hips fit my hands and how her heartbeat jumped in her neck under my lips.
God, I would die for her. Even if I didn’t have to. Even if I weren’t, actively, right this minute.
As if reminding me that time is wasting, my chest squeezes, burns like someone’s running a cheese grater over my heart while wringing it like a sponge while also stabbing it through with a fire poker.
But that gives me a direction, at least.
I gasp, eyes open, and point.
“That way,” I say. “Campus, right? One of the buildings, or maybe—”
A white streak flashes out of the curling smoke, whatever it is knocking someone to the ground—Cal.
Cal. I dart to his side and extend my arm for him to pull to his feet. He almost pulls me down with him, getting up, but I steady myself.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” He shakes his head. His glasses are flecked with soot, and without thinking, I lick my thumb and wipe them off, one-two.
“Better?”
“Guys!” Kai, again, roars at us from a few feet away, where he’s swinging his sabre left, right, left, clanging against another blade. “Move!”
Now I see what’s happening. One of them—no, two. More. The White Brothers. Must have been standing outside Camlann, I guess, and armed, apparently—shit—and while Kai and Kingston are already locked in, they’re way outnumbered.
I scramble, almost fall to all fours on the uneven ground I can barely see beneath me, and jump in—some kind of ugly, clumsy flèche with both legs that I just aim at the whitish area wheeling against Kingston.
And it’s a hit. Dead center. My knee knocks into his chest with a heavy, hollow thunk that splays his arms outward for balance.
Torso open. In a split second, pure reflex, I whip my elbow around to slash at his side.
We hit the ground together, hard, and before he can recover, I lunge and bury my blade as far as it will go.
I’ve never stabbed anyone before. The give of flesh is at once too easy and too firm.
I swallow my shudder and leap back in retreat, landing on my right heel and kicking his chest again with my left so he stays down. His faceless, hooded body peels down my blade, limp, as he bleeds, heavily, a brilliant red circle pulsing into bloom across the white.
No. I can’t. I look up, away, just in time to see Cal clock another Brother square in the mask with his bell guard. He crumples to the ground, robe swirling as he falls.
“Nice,” I pant as I catch up, the smoky air acrid on my tongue. “Where are—”
“There.” Cal nods, but he’s already rushing off, crossing over the footpath back to Camlann and running toward the edge of the nearest quad, where I can just see the others.
Kingston’s whipping wildly back and forth between two of them—neither is fast, but they’re doubling him up—and Kai has a third pinned between his knees, blade forgotten on the ground beside them.
“You.” Smash. Kai rams his fist into the guy’s head, leaving bloody knuckle-smears on the mesh. “Mother.” Smash. “Fucker.” Smash. “You mother—”
“Kai.” Cal gets there first and pulls Kai backward by the shoulder as he snarls.
The Brother on the ground is still.
“Fuck.” Kai shakes out his hand, kicking at the edge of his robe. “You were supposed to tell me where she was!” he roars.
“Little help?” Kingston barks, barely deflecting one thrust, then another. I sprint the last ten feet and rush the closest one, my vision going gray at the edges with the effort. But I slash at him, wildly, to draw him away, then retreat for a quick reset to lunge at his shoulder.
His parry’s too slow, but barely. The tip of my blade bites into muscle even as his spins around to make contact, and I have to half-advance to push far enough to really wound. Screaming, he clutches his shoulder, but doesn’t drop his weapon.
Until Cal sucker punches him.
“Jesus!” I yelp and leap back as the Brother shunts to his knees, then flat on the ground. I whirl on Cal. “Damn.”
“Is he—” Cal stumbles a half-step back.
“Fine,” I lie, because I have no idea. “Knocked out.”
Cal’s throat bobs.
“Don’t really want to kill anyone,” he mutters.
“Yeah.”
“Fucking no-faced bastards.” Kai sprints past us, swiping at a gash on his cheek, then skids to a stop. “Where is she?” He wheels around. “Where are we—”
“Where is she?” Kingston, too, breathing hard and sweating, more ash stuck to his skin.
Everyone looks at me.
And now that we’re not fighting, now that the adrenaline isn’t coursing full-blast through my body and I’m not in fight-or-flight, now that the heat of the blazing house behind us is burning on my skin like a second sun…
I’m dizzy.
I really, really don’t feel good.
I can barely even speak.
But I can feel her.
And I know it’s selfish, I know it’s not the point, I know that no matter what the most important thing is just that Gwenna is okay, that she lives to see and breathe and laugh another day.
But...
Please, I think. Please just let me see her one last time.
My eyes close.
“That way.” I point. “Chapel.”
As if to underscore my point, the bell rings. Not for the hour, not for mass. Just rings: four long, rolling notes.
None of us waits. We run, sprint, four bloodied, burned swordsmen, tearing across the campus and praying it’s not too late.
No one harder than me.