They reached the cliffside manor and found the entire eastern wing ablaze. Smoke and flames poured from the dining room containing all their precious scrolls and notes. People ran back and forth across the courtyard with buckets of water, but the fire was spreading fast.
The smoke choked Tamri and blurred her vision as they descended. Rook crashed to a halt in the courtyard, making the bucket carriers leap back and slosh water over their clothes. Gramma Teall was not among them.
Tamri threw herself off Rook’s back and dashed toward the west wing, which wasn’t on fire yet. She passed Dara directing the Waterworkers and bucket carriers as they tried to save the east and central wings of the manor. The queen looked in control of the situation, though she wasn’t Wielding any magic herself. Boru landed next to Rook, and Heath shouted Tamri’s name. She didn’t have time to worry about her friends.
Tamri hurled open the west-wing door and sprinted into the manor. At her first breath, her lungs filled with smoke. She doubled over, coughing and choking, still trying to move forward. The place looked different in the smoky blue haze, and she almost missed the turn to her corridor. So much smoke.
Dizzy and disoriented, Tamri stumbled to the room she shared with Gramma Teall and ripped the door open. Smoke filled the room, as thick as in the rest of the manor. Tamri yanked off her boot and hurled it through the window to release the worst of the smoke. The shattering glass sounded obscenely loud to her confused senses.
As the haze cleared a little, she whirled back around, hoping to find the beds empty, hoping Gramma Teall had picked that day to go for a swim and get lost down by the water.
She hadn’t.
Tamri let out a ragged sob. Gramma Teall was in her bed, tucked comfortably beneath a pile of blankets. Tamri grabbed her shoulder to shake her awake. The moment she touched Gramma Teall’s shoulder, she knew. It was stiff and cold, despite the spreading smoke and fire.
No. Please no. Tamri clutched at her grandmother, refusing to believe it, and her fingers brushed a wet patch. She jerked back. Her hand was red and sticky. She didn’t understand. Why was there blood? What was happening?
The smoke was thickening, despite the broken window. Tamri struggled to see through it, to understand why Gramma Teall, her Gramma Teall, the person who mattered more to her than anyone else in the world, was lying dead in her bed with blood pooling beneath her throat.
Tamri began to shake. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t control her limbs or see or feel anything but the stickiness on her fingertips. Her world became a terrible white blur.
Suddenly, a great crash startled her from her fugue. A massive dragon snout rammed the window frame, splintering the wood and bashing away the debris, making the hole larger. The dragon’s snout was jewel blue, like a beetle in the sun. Tamri stared at it, unable to gather her raw, scrambled thoughts.
The snout disappeared, and Heath climbed through the window. His shirt was pulled up around his mouth and nose, hiding his expression as he took in the situation for one heartbeat. Two. Three. Then he lunged for Tamri and hoisted her into his arms.
“Not me.” She struggled against him, writhing like a wet cat. “Gramma Teall first.”
“No.” Heath carried her to window and pushed her through it. She fought him every step of the way, though she wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t think with the smoke in her lungs and the horrible images tumbling through her mind. This wasn’t really happening. This had to be a nightmare.
Tamri landed on her feet outside the window, the fall jarring her off balance. Boru stuck his snout forward to catch her before she crumpled to the ground. She grabbed his big scaly head, the ridges on his face jutting into her arms, and for a moment, she just held him, gulping air into her lungs, squeezing with all her strength. Boru tethered her to reality, kept her from shattering into a million tiny pieces.
Then a thought emerged through the fog. Gramma Teall is still inside.
Tamri released Boru and rushed back to the window, expecting Heath to help Gramma Teall out of it as carefully as he’d helped her escape from another window in a faraway tower. Then everything would be okay again.
But Heath didn’t try to push Gramma Teall through the jagged gap in the wall. He gathered her up, blankets and all, and carried her through the door to the corridor.
“Wait!” Tamri called, her voice hoarse and scratchy. “I’m coming with you.”
She tried to climb back through the window, but Boru clamped his big jaws on her sleeve to hold her back. Tamri struggled with him, though she knew better than to fight a dragon. She didn’t understand. She’d saved Gramma Teall. She’d brought her here to be safe.
“Bring her back!”
Boru gurgled deep in his chest, part sympathy, part admonition. Tamri rubbed her stinging eyes, trying to pull herself together. Heath must be heading to the nearest door. He wouldn’t want to push Gramma Teall through the window. It might hurt her.
Not stopping to think about why that didn’t matter, Tamri dashed around the outside of the manor. The doors to the courtyard stood open. People were still running around, trying to save the building. Dragons soared overhead, carrying water from the sea to the clifftop in barrels.
Tamri waded through the chaos in the courtyard, dodging dragons and humans alike. A few people called to her for help dousing the fire, but she didn’t care about anyone but Gramma Teall. Her expression had been peaceful as she lay tucked into her bed in the smoke-filled room. Peaceful except for the cut in her throat.
Tamri hurled away the image. Gramma Teall’s face, peaceful. That was what mattered.
Sheets of Watermight zipped through the air as the Waterworkers used the magical substance to spray water on the worst hotspots. The smell of burnt wood and paper was overwhelming. A pile of scrolls had been dumped in a soggy pile away from the manor. Some effort had been made to save the Lightning research—effort that could have gone into saving Gramma Teall.
A burst of hatred for everyone fighting the fire tore through Tamri. The timing didn’t make sense. Her gramma’s body was already cold, and they couldn’t have helped her. But Tamri didn’t care. Her hatred was boiling, overwhelming. She crouched on the ground, the sheer weight of it pressing her down. Gravel jabbed her knees and stuck to her palms, and the courtyard spun around her. She was going to be sick. She was going to explode. She wanted the whole world to burn, but all she had in her veins was Watermight.
Then the crowds parted to reveal Heath kneeling on the grass near the dragons’ gazebo. He held a bundle of blankets in his arms. Tamri forced herself to her feet, suppressing the dizzying flood of rage, and ran toward him.
She stopped a few steps away, unable to come any closer. Gramma Teall looked like a doll in his arms—a doll with red paint coating her throat. Out here in the light, it was even easier to see the truth. Gramma Teall was gone, and she hadn’t died in the fire. She’d been killed. No, murdered.
Heath looked up, tears and soot streaking his face. “Tamri—”
She shook her head, as if brushing off an insect. She couldn’t listen to words or sympathy right now. She could barely think, barely keep herself from crumpling to the ground again.
Heath reached out to take her hand, and she recoiled. She couldn’t stand here a minute longer. She turned and sprinted back across the courtyard. Rook had just landed with a load of seawater in a barrel. As the dragon set down the water, Tamri vaulted onto his back.