Chapter 31
‘So,’ Llin begins, ‘Benny told me Jonas went all jealous on him earlier.’
‘He did?’ The comment catches me by surprise as, for the last ten minutes, Llinos has been examining the gowns in my wardrobe, her dagger dangerously close to the fabrics. There’s no chance any of these dresses are making it through the night without some serious alterations.
‘Yup, he thinks Jonas is too possessive of you. And he thinks he’s hiding something.’
‘Really? Jonas?’ Sure, Jonas isn’t a core part of the group, what with his flitting about between us and the others from Wrohelm, but he still worked with us and only us in the trials. ‘Why does Benny think that?’
‘Not sure, but he’s good at spotting people who are hiding shit. Then again’—she shrugs—‘he’s also completely paranoid. I guess that comes from his family.’
‘His family?’ I ask. I don’t know much about Benny’s family other than, like both Llin and me, he’s the eldest child.
‘Why’s his family paranoid?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing, really.’ She has her dagger against one of the dresses again, though this time it feels like she’s purposefully avoiding looking at me. ‘They’re just really wealthy.’
Given that everyone here except the knights is a noble, wealth is something I kind of expected. Though I suppose, like anything, there are shades of it. In the slums we were the poorest there is, so even now I still have to stifle the urge to hoard extra food. Some habits are hard to let go of.
One of us.
I may be well fed and warm, but I’m still a slum rat. I wonder if that will ever change, or if the scars of the last few years will remain, come what may.
‘Okay, so bear with me.’ Llinos lifts up a full-length black gown from the pile. The material is a floaty chiffon with a V-neckline. ‘Try this one. I’ve got an idea.’
Knowing she won’t take no for an answer, I slip it on and stand in front of her.
‘So here’s what I’m thinking.’ She crouches down, picking up a handful of fabric. ‘We do the bottom like last time – take out a panel and have leather fighting shorts underneath. It can be your signature.’
‘And on top?’
‘And on top, we make this a smidgen lower.’ She gestures to the neckline. ‘But the sleeves will be the real statement. We’ll open them up with a slit down from the shoulder, and then I’ll see if I can find some type of wire to hold them open.’
‘Hold them open?’ I repeat dubiously.
‘Yeah, kinda like bat wings.’
‘Bat wings?’ I’ve been reduced to parroting things back to her. It doesn’t sound like the type of thing I’d normally wear.
‘Trust me, you will look phenomenal.’ Llinos reads my reticence and continues, ‘Like a serious badass. Which is exactly how you want everyone to see you, right?’
I can tell from her eyes that she’s desperate to do this, and considering how good a job she did before, I’d hardly feel right saying no. Besides, if cutting up all my gowns brings her joy, then I’m not going to stop her.
‘Fine,’ I groan, though a smile curls my lips. ‘Do your thing.’
It’s late by the time Llinos leaves, and despite the long day, sleep doesn’t come. My body obviously feels like it’s rested enough.
In addition, something’s been weighing on my mind since I first got here, and it feels like it’s time I do something about it. So, after getting up and dressed, I make my way to the kitchens.
Just as I hoped, Leilah is still there, wiping down the last of the kitchen sides. She doesn’t bother looking up as I enter.
‘It’s late,’ she says bluntly. ‘We’re not serving food now.’
‘I know,’ I say quickly.
As she lifts her head, her eyes sweep me up and down and then soften a little. ‘Looks like you could do with more.’
‘I’m not here for me,’ I respond. ‘And I don’t need food. Not like they do.’
Her brow furrows.
‘People in the slums are starving,’ I explain.
‘Really starving. There are children barely surviving on a meal a day. Not even that sometimes. And meanwhile, up here, we have these feasts where half the food isn’t even eaten.
There’s so much waste. So I was wondering – hoping – if we could somehow arrange for the leftovers to be taken to the slums? ’
‘You want to send them half-chewed chicken legs and smears of mashed potato?’ She arches an eyebrow.
‘Yes. Anything and everything you have left over. Please.’
A soft sigh escapes her lips. ‘I don’t have the means nor the time to arrange a carriage to carry it down.’
‘If you can just contact a friend of mine in the slums, he’ll see it done.
He’ll arrange it all.’ Ruben would help organise it.
I know he would. And after all the deaths of the first trial, it would be great to have something actually worth celebrating, like starving people getting the food they deserve.
Leilah presses her lips together. ‘I’ll need to get someone’s authority to do so. Leave it with me.’
It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no either. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’
I make my way back to my room, but I still feel edgy.
Rather than poring over the books from the library, the way I’ve done most nights, I find myself staring at the box the dagger came in, wondering if there’s a clue in it.
Something that will reveal more about its origin.
If I can just find a symbol, then maybe I could give that to Caroline to look into.
After all, it would be great if I felt comfortable enough to use it in a trial at some point, without fearing what it would do.
The box is ornately patterned with swirls and wooden inlays, but there’s nothing discernible in the way of symbols or letters that I can make out. It just looks like a very pretty box.
Just as I’m about to give up, I hear the creaking of metal steps. It must be gone midnight.
My heart stutters. Has Jonas come to see if I’m up for company? He’s never come up here this late before, but I can’t imagine who else it would be. I stand and walk towards the door, only to stop as I hear voices. Quiet voices that don’t want to be heard.
‘Push it harder.’
‘I’m pushing it as hard as I can.’
Zara and Mattieu, the Rowell fire wielder. I’m sure it is. There’s only one reason they’d come here this late at night, and it’s not because they want to snuggle.
As my throat dries I think of the ward Jonas placed on my door. I sure as hell hope he’s as good at spell work as he thinks he is.
‘Let me have a go,’ another voice says.
How many Rowell Rettlings has she brought with her? There are five of them left. Surely, among a group of them, one of them will have enough power to undo the ward.
Nausea sweeps through me as I struggle to keep my mind straight.
I’m an idiot. That’s the only thought that forms, and it’s far from helpful.
Why didn’t I take Jonas’s advice? Why didn’t I sleep in the dorm with the others?
Why the hell did I think Zara would let me be or only attack me in the trials?
It doesn’t matter that her powers have been weakened by the jotnar. If it’s five against one – or even three against one – I’m as good as dead.
‘Screw this,’ Zara snarls after a minute. ‘Just burn the place down.’
‘You want me to set fire to her door?’ Mattieu says, a shade incredulously. Hope flares. Maybe he won’t do it.
Still, I can’t rely on that. My hands are trembling as I turn in a circle, desperately searching for a way out.
There’re three windows, but none of them are large enough for me to fit through, and there’s running water in the bathroom, but save for a solitary cup, nothing for me to carry it with.
Not in the volume I’d need if fire really is in the cards.
‘Yes, I want you to set fire to her fucking door,’ Zara snaps. ‘If I can’t kill her with my bare hands, she can choke to death on smoke. Do it. Now.’
All I need is for Mattieu to have an ounce of decency in him and I’ll be okay.
‘I don’t have much power after today,’ he says weakly.
‘You’ve got enough for a fucking spark, don’t you?’ Zara snarls.
Gods, I hope he doesn’t. My breaths are ragged.
So much in this room is wood. And it’s dry wood, the residual magic having ensured that not an ounce of moisture or damp gets in.
The place will go up like a tinderbox. If he’s just as drained as Zara is, then maybe – maybe – there’s hope.
The thought’s barely finished forming when the first tendrils of smoke billow from beneath the door.
A heartbeat later, the flames take hold.
Fuck. I won’t let myself die here. I won’t. I didn’t survive fucking giants to die at the hands of a bully who doesn’t even have the patience to kill me herself.
‘You can survive this, Rose. Think!’
Even in the cold, fires in the slums were common. The homes were so densely packed that once one caught light, there was no chance of stopping it. But I’m not worried about keeping my home. I just want to get out of here alive.
And that I can do.
As I search around for a solution, my eyes land on the corner of the room and my heart skips a beat. I thought I had more than enough of Jonas’s stupid, overprotective nature. Now I realise it could be the thing to save me.
The sand bucket is in the same place I placed it all those days ago. It might not be enough to put the entire fire out, but it’s enough to make a dent, and that’s a lot better than nothing. I just need to make sure I can get outside.
The plan is still forming as I yank the bedsheet from the bed and throw it into the shower, blasting it with cold water.
I leave it there long enough to grab my knife and sheath it in the top of my shorts, and I grab the satchel from the hiding place between the tiles. That’s all the time I’m giving myself.
Back in the bedroom, the entire door is engulfed, and flames are creeping like vines across the inside wall. Smoke is filling the space and my lungs.
It’s now or never.
I cover my entire body in the wet sheet, shield my eyes with one arm, then pick up the sand bucket and hurl it at the door.
Panic makes it a woefully shit throw.
Some of the sand goes over the flames, and it definitely subdues them a little, but nowhere near enough. I realise there’s no way I’m getting out of this uninjured. It’s just a case of how bad it’s going to be.
‘Running out of time here, Rose,’ I say to myself, gritting my teeth against the pain I know is coming.
The crackle of flames is growing by the second, and they’re moving too fast. I brace myself to kick at the door, only to stop.
The window is open a couple of inches. I’ve found myself unable to sleep in the stifling heat of the dorms, compared to the icy chill of the slums, and got into a habit of leaving it ajar.
But if I open the door now, the flames will barrel inside and likely engulf me.
With the air in my lungs getting thicker by the second, I rush over and pull the window closed.
Then I head back to the door and once again brace myself to strike.
This time, I make contact and the door crumbles beneath my foot, sending planks of blazing wood out in front of me and producing a small gap in the centre.
It’s the best I’m going to get. A heartbeat later, I push myself through the flames.
The heat is unbearable and the smoke scalds my lungs.
It’s only a matter of feet – a few steps through to the other side – and yet it’s agony, the searing pain across my skin growing hotter and hotter.
The roar of the blaze is so loud now that I can’t hear anything else, and there’s no air getting into my lungs.
It’s too big, I realise. There’s no way out of it. I’m going to burn to death, just like Zara hoped I would. Burn and suffocate in the smoke. A roasted runt.
‘Rose! Rose!’ Llinos’s voice is muffled and distant. She’s going to watch me die. She’s going to have to watch me die. That’s my last thought as I’m hit by a blast of air and tumble to the ground.
As I blink my eyes open, it’s hard to ignore how well-rested I feel.
Not only that, but I’m comfy, too. Like I’m lying on a soft mattress with proper pillows – the type we used to have when we lived in the High Hold and not the crazily thin specimens of the barracks.
But as I stretch out, I realise it’s not just the mattress and pillows that are different.
It’s the entire bed. Not to mention the walls and the windows.
Wide windows that flood the space with light.
The memory hits me like an axe. Zara. The fire. Llinos.
‘Thank the Gods, you’re awake.’
I push up onto my elbows. Jonas stands in the corner of the room, his face ashen.
‘Rose.’ He takes a seat on the edge of the bed. ‘Do you remember what happened? The fire, how did it start?’
‘Zara.’ My voice croaks like it’s not been used for days, though it’s probably from the effects of the smoke more than anything. ‘She got Mattieu to start it. They wanted to kill me.’
His face is thunderous.
‘I told you they’d try something like this. That you shouldn’t be sleeping on your own!’
If there’s ever been a worse time for an ‘I told you so,’ I don’t know it. If I had enough energy, I’d throw Jonas straight out of the room and tell him not to hurry back. But I don’t.
‘It’s a good job Loch heard something happening and Llinos’s powers were recovered. Otherwise it would have taken you a lot longer than a couple of days to recover. Assuming you recovered at all.’
I start to bask in gratitude for still being here, when Jonas’s words sink in.
‘A couple of days?’ I begin in a panic. ‘What do you mean, a couple of days?’ The ball. I missed the damned ball! And Kay! I slump back onto the bed, closing my eyes against the sudden hotness there. The thought of seeing Kay kept me going, and to have it ripped away like that …
‘It’s been five days, Rose. The healers did their best, but they were all pretty drained from fixing up wounds after the first trial. And it wasn’t just your bones. It was the smoke in your lungs. They worked as fast as they could, but it took time.’
I don’t doubt that the healers did everything in their power, but it doesn’t stop the tears that start to tumble. It’s stupid. I’m alive – that’s the thing I should be focusing on right now. I should be celebrating. But I can’t.
‘I missed the ball.’ My voice trembles as another tear leaks down my cheek. ‘I missed it. I missed my chance to see Kay.’