Chapter 1
Flames licked at the palace’s exterior walls, climbed from blazing doorways, and spiralled from smashed windows. Staff ran through the grounds, coughing into their clothing, eyes streaming and wide, their faces soot-blackened.
Niko should have been among them, but he’d abandoned his horse to push through the terrified crowd on foot. Screams barreled from left and right. His heart thumped too hard, his head full of memories from frontline battles, the moans and screams peppered by the ringing clash of swords. This was no battle, but it felt like one.
Bucket lines manned by guards stretched from the wells in the grounds. Buckets sloshed from hand to hand, but their impact was no more effective than pissing in the wind.
Any fool could see the palace was lost.
A Caville must forever hold the flame.
If the Caville bloodline abruptly ended, the horror harbored within their blood would be set free upon the land. There were few certainties in this world, but keeping the dark flame from escaping was one of them.
He drove forward, forearm raised against the hissing flames, shielding his eyes.
Heat lashed in waves, beating him back. Flames roared and howled, spiraling into the skies, drowning out the sounds of the bells. The fire was alive now, a huge, breathing, feeding thing, devouring everything in its path.
“Get away from there!” a guard bellowed.
Niko staggered back, only half hearing.
He had to get inside. The Caville palace was a nest of snakes. In the flames and confusion, whatever violence had been brewing during the year he’d stayed away would surely boil over. Vasili—the only damned Caville who gave a shit about the dark flame—couldn’t fight this. Rumors had proclaimed him sick. Rumors said a lot of things during the past twelve months. But Niko knew, in his soldier’s gut, that if he didn’t get to him now, all would be lost.
Vasili had to live.
A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Get back!” the guard barked.
Niko yanked free. “Where’s Vasili?”
“Who?” The guard grunted, making a grab for Niko again, as though he were some fool who needed to be dragged away for his own safety. Niko smacked his hand aside.
A sudden superheated roar blew out a window above, raining glass and burning wood onto the ground.
“The prince!” Niko yelled. “Where’s the damn prince?!”
“Pull back!” The order rose from among the retreating others. “Withdraw!”
The guard shook his head and backed up. “Go in there and you’re a dead man!” He turned on his heel and bolted.
Another blast of heat plunged from above, and Niko ducked, covering his head with his hands. Glass rained. Screams mingled with howling flames.
He staggered back from the cracking walls and squinted up into the spiraling embers. “A Caville hasn’t killed me yet.”
The tunnels.
Vasili had shown him another way inside. One that took him to the very heart of the royal wing. He bolted through the gardens and stables, avoiding the stablehands desperately trying to soothe the spooked horses, and tore through the undergrowth, searching for the concealed tunnel entrance.
Ripping back a wall of ivy, he plunged inside the cold, dark tunnel, feeling and stumbling along to the sounds of his own ragged breathing.
This was taking too long. Everything was taking too damn long. Soon, there would be nothing left of the palace. If Vasili died, all the flame would jump to Amir—and the gods only knew what that wretched fool would do with it. But if they both died… Chaos. Darkness. Worse than the war. Monsters, man and beast, would be free upon the land.
It couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t allow it.
Light eventually lit the tunnel ahead, pouring in from a tight spiral staircase. Niko climbed higher, emerging in one of the rough, little-used service corridors. A heavy oak door barred his way. It had been a year. The door hadn’t been there before. Or if it had, he didn’t recall it. He tried the handle. It rattled, but the door didn’t budge.
A swift kick blew out the lock.
He charged on. Wind tore through the corridors. Flame torches spluttered in their sconces. But the fire wasn’t here. Not yet.
The deeper he ran, the more smoke boiled above and heat tightened his skin.
One staff member ran at him, her skirts pressed to her face to keep from inhaling too much smoke.
“Vasili?” he asked.
She ran by, eyes wide.
The hiss and snap of fire grew louder. He turned a bend in the corridor. Heat and flame surged in a great wave. Niko recoiled and darted back the way he’d come, veering down another corridor. If he got lost inside the burning walls, he might never make it out.
The maze-like palace corridors finally took on the more familiar colors of the royal quarters. “Vasili, you slithering bastard, where are you?” He wouldn’t be dead. Not yet. He’d survived eight years as a prisoner to the elves. He’d survive this until Niko could get to him. He had to.
Niko’s heart pounded, hot and heavy behind his ribs.
Smoke laced his nose and throat. He coughed into the crook of his arm, trying to filter the smoky air through his sleeve. His eyes burned, making the bright royal colors swim.
Gods, this was insanity. Returning, for the prince, just like the prick had said Niko would. I will not ask or order you, Nikolas Yazdan, but you will return. Niko almost laughed at the memory. How was it Vasili always got what he fucking wanted?
“Niko!”
He whirled at the sound of his name, and, squinting through the broiling smoke, saw the figure looming ahead, hand reaching. Niko lunged, laced the slim fingers with his, and threw his shoulder against a nearby door, pulling the woman inside. He slammed the door on the smoke and stepped back, watching it seep beneath the door and creep toward them.
“Niko?” Lady Maria coughed hard and slumped against the wall. “Walla, save us. This infernal fire has taken everything!” Her voice was wrecked, her layered silk gown stained by soot, but she didn’t appear hurt.
“Maria,” he caught her shoulder, helping to hold her up and offering some support, “where’s Vasili?”
“Darling Niko,” she smiled fondly, red eyes streaming tears. “You came.” She reached for his face.
He caught her hand. “Where is he?”
“The library.” New tears glistened in her eyes.
He released her and glanced at the door. This room was typically royal in its flamboyant decoration. He vaguely recalled the palace layout. The library was in the same wing, but deeper within the palace, closer to the firestorm’s eye.
“He went for the books,” she said.
“No book can be worth his life.” Niko started for the door.
“Wait!” Maria took up her shawl and tore a great strip from the fabric, then dumped it in the nearby washbasin. She brought it to him, wrung out the excess water, and handed it over. “Cover your mouth and nose. You’ll need it.” Her warm hand was suddenly on his cheek, her gaze intense. “Take him away from this cursed place. Take him and go. Never come back.”
He nodded, easing her fears. “There are tunnels. Take the northern corridor—”
She smiled a strange, defeated smile, cutting him off. “I cannot leave Amir.”
“This place is cursed, and that prick isn’t worth saving. Leave while you can.”