She smiled sadly. “The poison has him. Nobody else can slow its course. Go free our bird, Niko. He needs you.”
There was too much to say, too many questions, but the fire raged with every second, and Vasili might already have succumbed.
Maria captured his hand and squeezed fiercely. “Take him or Amir will. You must save him.” She shoved Niko back a step. “Go!”
He left her inside the room, wondering if he’d just abandoned her to the flames, but he couldn’t save them both. With the cloth smothered against his nose and mouth, he plowed deeper into the choking smoke, recognizing the twists and turns of the wretched palace layout.
Sweat ran down his back and dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision. The walls he brushed against simmered hot beneath his hands. No ordinary fire could consume a stone palace in such a way. The timber windows and doors and trusses, yes, but this fire had a life of its own. Did Amir start it? Was it part of the flame?
He’d think on it later, if they survived.
The library door lay open ahead. Fire danced up the doorframe and boiled from inside.
“Vasili?” Smoke poured down Niko’s throat. He smothered his mouth and nose with the cloth again, but a fit of wracking coughs doubled him over.
It was too late to turn back. He had to go in there, had to find him. Nobody else would save the “tainted” prince. Damn that bastard for being right, but Niko prayed to Walla that Vasili still breathed.
He calmed his head and heart and plunged through the flaming doorway.
Chapter 2
The world burned.
Heat made his skin crawl. Burned his eyes. Singed his face.
How anything could survive among an ocean of furious flame was a miracle, but someone did. The tall, cloaked figure stumbled from amid the inferno. Impossibly, the flames appeared to bend around him, letting him pass, but then hastily licked at his rippling cloak, blackening its edges. He clutched a smoldering book to his chest.
A flash of blond hair, the defiant tilt of a straight chin. Even beneath his hood, there was no mistaking him.
Niko flung out his hand and Vasili’s cool fingers locked with his.
He pulled the prince back through the blazing doorway, leading him anywhere. Away. That was all that mattered. He had to get away from this inferno.
The prince’s fingers slipped free of his grip.
Niko staggered to a halt. Thick smoke almost obscured Vasili slumped against the wall, head down, shoulders heaving. Niko pressed Maria’s damp cloth to Vasili’s mouth and nose. The prince’s hand came up to hold it in place. His brilliant blue eye flashed a scathing warning not to touch. His lips probably found an ungrateful sneer behind the cloth too.
He could sneer all he liked, just so long as he survived.
Orange flame poured down the corridor behind them. If Lady Maria hadn’t escaped, there was no going back for her now. Fire bubbled across the ceiling, devouring plaster, making flame drip to the floor, where it hastily simmered against the carpet.
Niko lifted his own damp, soot-caked shirt to cover his mouth and nose, grabbed Vasili by the arm, and hauled him stumbling along. The corridors—so thick with smoke—all looked the same. They could be walking in circles or heading deeper into the fire. Shit, what way would see them safely clear?
Niko took a left, but Vasili pulled back, urging him another way.
Smoke poisoned Niko’s lungs, burned his tongue and clogged his throat, making every breath shorter and tighter. His heart thumped too loudly in his ears. A few more rattling, thorny breaths and he’d be on his knees.
Vasili kicked open a door into a plain bedchamber. A servant’s perhaps. Niko let the prince go and slammed the door behind them. Smoke still hung in the air, but the room was clear enough to see and pause and breathe.
A moment’s rest. A breath. Coughs tore through Niko, doubling him over, making his eyes stream.
Vasili tossed Maria’s scarf aside and threw open a pair of windows. Wind tore into the room, pulled the prince’s hood down, and whipped his hair about him. Air hissed under the closed door, sucking out the smoke like some bizarre beast was inhaling somewhere deep inside the palace.
What came after a dragon inhaled…
Thunder rumbled the palace walls.
Fear flashed across Vasili’s face.
Niko bolted for the window.
Whatever was outside better not be a long drop.
A hideous, bone-rattling boom splintered the door. Heat and splinters flew and then flame boiled the air. Niko grabbed for Vasili, latched on to his arm, and jumped from the window, yanking the prince with him.
A pitched roof rushed up. He hit hard, knee first, then rolled, lost his grip on Vasili, and slipped downward, sliding from slick tiles. Heat and light, glass and wood, exploded inches above his head. The edge of the roof vanished. He fell with nothing to grasp but air.
His back slammed into the ground, knocking air from his lungs. The world was still and numb and quiet. Flames waved at the black sky like a thousand Caville flags. It might have been beautiful if it weren’t so deadly.
The roaring in his ears returned, along with a whole lot of hurt.
He turned his head to see Vasili crawling on his front, reaching for the book in the grass.
A trio of guards loomed from the smoke, their demeanor not that of saviors. Blades drawn, they bore down on Vasili. Vasili hadn’t seen. His only care was the book he’d almost died for.
Niko took a breath to shout a warning. Coughs made his lungs writhe in his chest. He spluttered and heaved.
The guards all bore the grim mouths of men ordered to use force.
Dammit, he hadn’t saved Vasili from the flames only for him to be murdered by his own guards.
Niko groped for his sword, remarkably still attached to his hip. His arm felt too heavy, his thick fingers uncoordinated, but he managed to grip the handle enough to yank the blade free and swing it into the dirt to lever himself onto his feet.
Vasili was on his knees now, the book under his hand, his face full of relief.
The foremost guard swung for Niko. Niko’s reflexes kicked in quicker. He blocked the blade with his own. Metal sang.
A second guard plunged his sword down toward Vasili.
“No!” Niko yelled.
Vasili rolled at the last moment. The blade snagged his cloak, pinning the fabric to the ground and trapping the prince.
A gauntleted fist struck Niko’s jaw. He flailed backward, his face a riot of pain. He tried to catch a breath to steady himself, but his body was submerged in molasses, his thoughts too slow. A second fist landed in his gut. He buckled around it, stumbling to a knee, and spat bile.
“Stop!” Vasili’s shrill bark pierced the chaos.
The tears in Niko’s eyes burned. He wildly swung the sword and hit something that felt like it should have been another man. Cold steel pressed against his neck, freezing him.
“Stop, damn you! Obey your fucking prince!”
“No half elf is a prince of Loreen,” a guard growled.
Niko, on his knees, lifted his head and met the guard’s glare. They could be the same age and wore the same ragged lines around the eyes. A flicker of liquid dark swam across the man’s irises. There and gone again. Or perhaps Niko’s battered mind had hallucinated it. The guard grinned.
“Release him,” Vasili barked.
The guard’s grin grew, but whatever thought went through his head in that moment was his last. The small, shining blade flew from Niko’s right—from Vasili—and plunged into the guard’s throat. Niko watched, numbed, as the guard stumbled back, dropped his sword, and clutched at the dagger sticking out from his neck in the hope he could yank it free. If he did that, he’d bleed out in seconds.