Page 21

CHAPTER 21

The temple’s wooden steeple was burning, but the rest of the building was standing.

Of all the structures in the town, it appeared to be the most fireproof, the dark stone walls able to withstand the heat of the inferno.

Except the roof was wooden, and it was about to erupt in flames.

Elva ran across the square, Fyn swearing behind her as he followed.

A hand flailed behind a bookshelf that had been wedged diagonally across the door, blocking the entrance.

Settling into battle calm, Elva met Fyn’s eyes and saw his matching determination.

He gave a nod, and she took a step back before kicking the bookshelf, sending a shudder through the wood.

It didn’t budge.

Panting sounded behind her and she turned to see Fyn, who backed up and ran at the bookshelf, sending his left shoulder thudding into the wood.

It splintered, and they were able to shove it aside.

Inside they found the blood-stained man, and he beckoned them to follow as he started running through the antechamber then into the main hall.

Elva took a second to process the sight: five bloodied people, a combination of men and women, stood around a figure tied to the stone altar.

The figure was wearing plum robes, stained with liquid so dark it looked black, and he sat slumped, blood coating his face and hands.

His lips were puffy and split, and a bruise was spreading over his left cheek – the skin so swollen she could barely make out his eye.

A knife protruded from his chest.

Another person Elva thought to be a villager stood in front of him, and the villager brought his hand up and punched the man in the face, cracking his nose, splashing blood and spittle on the floor around them.

‘Who is this?’ she asked the room.

‘He’s with them,’ one of the women said, turning to her with wide, bloodshot eyes.

Anger pulsed through Elva, and she looked at the man with renewed interest.

His robes indicated he was a priest – although whether he was an actual priest or an impostor was yet to be discovered.

She took a step towards the altar but was bowled out of the way when another villager strode past, grabbing the priest’s collar to haul him upright, though the body snagged where he was tied to the stone.

The other villagers pressed closer, and Elva could smell fear and bloodlust, mixing with the tang of the smoke.

Fyn hesitated beside her.

She could see fireworks dancing in his eyes as he stared at the priest.

The lights flickered faster and faster, and the tug between them yanked, straining against her chest as if she were being hauled by a rope.

The tight swell of magic under her skin made her want to scream, then the feeling suddenly disappeared, leaving an empty cavity in her chest.

She sagged, catching herself on Fyn’s shoulder to stop her fall.

The priest wheezed as the villager’s fingers squeezed around his throat.

The sight was enough to shake her confusion free.

‘You can’t kill him.

He’s the only lead we have.

’ She shook the villager’s shoulder, but he didn’t respond until Fyn pulled him off.

The man turned, mouth open in a shout when a loud crack sounded and everyone ducked, reeling from the streaks of flame that burst through as a section of the roof fell.

Fyn pushed the man towards the back door, shouting at him to leave, and a second later all the villagers ran for the exit.

Elva turned back to the priest.

‘Who are you?’

He craned his neck, squinting through his one good eye to look at her.

He coughed, dark blood spraying from his lips.

His eyes rolled back into his head and he sagged, the pulse in his neck slowing as blood seeped from his wounds.

No , no , no , she couldn’t let him die like this, not when he might have information they could use.

She unsheathed her knife and cut his ties, working quickly as the smoke continued filling the room.

His head lolled to one side and she grabbed his face and forced him to look at her, her palms burning where they touched.

The man stirred, his eyes darting around the room until they landed on her.

‘You—’ He coughed, black spittle landing on her forehead, and she gagged.

A creak echoed through the building and over her shoulder she saw flames lick their way towards them, just as the rest of the roof fell inwards.

She ran towards the back door, hauling the priest behind her as Fyn carried the man’s legs.

Heat nipped at her hands and the scarf around her face was suffocating in the dense haze of the smoke.

They were almost through the door when another almighty crash echoed and a wall of air slammed into her, throwing her out the back door as the world went black.

When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the grass and the temple was engulfed in flames.

A tempest of embers billowed in the air above and she dropped her head back to the earth, tore the cloth from her face and breathed.

In and out, in and out.

She wished she had a pitcher of water she could dunk her head into.

Her throat was raw and her hands burned.

When her panting subsided, she sat up and looked around, finding Fyn sprawled next to her.

‘The roof collapsed. I pulled you out but the priest’s still in there.

’

She groaned and nodded, the throb in her head pulsing with each movement.

Her mouth tasted like charcoal and her lungs ached.

‘Elva!’ A shout from the other side of the square caught her attention, and she saw Avi limping towards her, gait uneven.

‘Gods,’ Avi said, dropping to his knees with a wince.

His eyes swept over her charred exterior, then to Fyn, before taking in the bedraggled survivors around them.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, about to ask about the blood on his knee when a wave of coughs erupted from her chest.

Avi pulled a canteen from his belt and handed it to her, waving away her concern.

She guzzled the water in a few mouthfuls – she wanted to drown herself in it, but she passed the remaining few sips to Fyn, just as she would have done with her warriors.

Soldiers poured into the square in organised units that broke into groups, checking for survivors or moving the bodies so people could haul water onto the blaze.

Its bright flicker was enchanting, devastating, as it devoured the village.

The melodic dance of the flames mesmerised her, breaking open the lock she had placed on her emotions, and grief finally rushed in.

Memories of Neve’s broken body, lying face down in the dirt of a different star consumed her: her friend’s twisted arms and slashed throat, the keening sob that had torn Elva’s chest apart as she watched her friend’s body go up in flames.

Elva had tried to haul her from the inferno, arms burned and bloody, as Kella wrestled her back, but she had been too late.

My fault.

She didn’t know how much time passed – it might have been minutes, it might have been hours – but she couldn’t look away.

Only when a crack echoed did she tear her gaze from the fire to see the final building around the square fall.

She felt empty.

‘Come on,’ Avi said, pulling her away.

She noted with a start there was only a handful of people left watching the fire, and Fyn was nowhere to be seen.

How long had she been staring at the flames, Neve’s lifeless face flickering in the orange glow?

They limped along the road to where the army had set up camp near the river.

Away from the heat, Elva could feel the burns on her hands ache, and they made a beeline for the makeshift medical tent near the river.

It was teeming with injured soldiers, but one look at the amount of blood pouring down Avi’s leg meant he was thrust onto a bed and wheeled away without a backwards glance.

She needed a salve for her palms, but the smell of blood and piss was overwhelming, and she ducked back out before anyone could stop her.

She took a deep breath.

And then another.

She staggered a couple of paces to the bank of the river, the burns on her hands screaming in pain, until she plunged them into the stream.

The relief of the icy water was immediate and she dunked her head under too, drinking until her stomach ached.

She always forgot how thirsty adrenalin made her.

She remembered the exhaustion, but the thirst was something she was surprised by every time.

Her knees sank into the soft mud of the riverbank, the cold slowly bringing her back into her body.

All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry.

‘It’s a pity the flames didn’t get you.

’

She opened her eyes and slowly turned to find Winsten standing behind her, hands grasping a string of empty canteens.

‘What are you talking about?’ she replied flatly.

‘It would have saved us all a ball ache if you’d been caught in the temple.

’

A feverish laugh escaped her lips and she tipped her head to the sky, wondering if the gods were messing with her intentionally.

Even I’m not malicious enough to set this asshole on you , Neve’s voice snickered.

Winsten took a step towards her, voice low.

‘Next time, you won’t be so lucky.

’

‘You’re a piece of shit, you know that, right?

’ she said, wiping the water from her brow.

Her patience was gone, and she wanted out.

She went to push past him, but her knowing pulsed and she jumped to the side, narrowly missing his lunge.

She danced backwards, knowing guiding her movements.

He lunged again but as he did his eyes widened and he faltered, foot slipping on the embankment, the heavy thud of his weight a delight.

She laughed, Neve’s cackle ringing in her ears.

‘You’re pathetic.

’ Elva stepped over him and trudged back to the medics.

It was only when she was at the tent’s entrance she realised a figure was watching her.

‘Are you okay?’ Fyn asked.

‘No.’

Fyn’s head jerked, surprise washing over his features as his eyes raked her body for injuries, but she couldn’t be bothered to explain.

Not after today.

Not when she couldn’t tell if her chest ached from the smoke or because, without the sharp clarity of battle, Neve’s dead body kept flashing in front of her eyes: twisted arms, slashed throat.

My fault.

Fyn took a small step towards her.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No.’

His eyes simmered, but she didn’t care.

She could deal with him tomorrow, along with everything else.