Page 41 of The Sun God’s Prize (Child of Scale and Fire #3)

Sheelan’s not the only one screaming, but she is the only one who falls beside her father, cradling him in her arms, while Theille turns away with the dagger still in his fist, maniacal grin wide and horrible on his face.

At least the arrows have stopped, the guards as stunned as everyone else, princesses fled to the far end of the garden, sobbing in a huddle. Only Hallick remains seated, staring blankly at the heir—correction, the new Sun God—as Theille drops the knife at last, addressing the guards.

“Bow before your God,” he says.

They hesitate. I see it, feel it, and so does he, that terrible grin fading a little, eyes tightening, mouth turning down into a scowl of hate so quickly that I’m now certain he’s as mad as the Chancellor.

“I SAID BOW!”

They do, prostrate on their faces a moment later, throwing themselves to the ground where they stay.

Stupid choice.

I’m up, and he’s my prisoner a moment later, the blade he used to kill his father in my hand, at his throat, and I’m pinning him to the ground where I threw him after spinning him in place, my knee at the small of his back.

He can’t breathe, all the wind knocked out of him, though his arms and legs thrash ineffectually while I grit my teeth and strike.

A hand catches my wrist before I can plunge it into him, end his life, too, the way he killed their father. Sheelan’s father. But it’s not the princess who stops me but the black-armored warrior. She doesn’t try to kill me, either, though, merely blocking the heir’s death.

Sheelan looks up at both of us, clinging to her father, his blood is on her fingers, the dead Sun God’s head in her lap, and she crouches next to me, her beautiful face sheathed in tears.

Why the warrior stopped me, I have no idea, but I’m not wasting the chaos Theille’s created. I jerk my hand free and deliver a single blow to the back of his head. It’s enough to knock him unconscious, surprised when the dark-eyed warrior allows it.

Pulls back, moves to protect Sheelan. Her priority is clear, now.

Which the other guards are rousing, already realizing something is wrong, looking up.

I have a split second, that’s all. I need to go.

Now! The dragon’s voice explodes in my head. Flame, run!

I’m on my feet, but her hand is around my wrist, Sheelan up and running with me, pulling me along with her when I hesitate one more time. The guards are slow, too slow, stunned and shaken, and we escape without harm out of the garden, into a corridor where I choose a direction at random.

She’s stopped guiding our flight and doesn’t fight me when I take over, running beside me, sobbing as she does. I’m now dragging her because she’s not fast enough, but I can’t and won’t leave Sheelan behind.

Turn right, now . The dragon isn’t asking. I skid to stop and take the next turn, Sheelan speeding up as her weeping quiets, though she’s panting now, clearly not conditioned for such flight.

Stop! My guide’s warning is just in time.

I tuck the two of us behind a pillar as guards appear and run past, shouting in the distance, joined with the sound of a horn.

Now, Flame . I step out, wincing in anticipation of an arrow, but there’s no one, no threat close to us, and we’re fleeing again while the sound of conflict and chaos echoes further and further behind us.

There’s no sign of the black-armored warrior. Where is she?

We’re almost to my quarters. I know this place, recognize the little arena we burst into. The swords have been taken away, but someone left the staff behind.

I claim it and quickly head back toward my room.

“We have to go back,” Sheelan mutters at me when I push through my doorway and hurry to the armor racked near the bed.

I’m already shedding my dress, jerking on the main pieces and grabbing for the others, shoving them into her hands to hold for me.

I need a sword, but that will have to wait, the staff sufficient for now.

At least they didn’t leave guards at my door when they took me to dinner.

That will change shortly, no doubt. We have to keep running.

“Sheelan.” I grasp her by the upper arms, shaking her. It’s clear she’s dazed, lost, not crying openly anymore, but in shock. She looks up at me, lips quivering, opening and closing before she shakes her head in short, hard little strokes.

“Remi, we have to go back.” She’s changed her mind now that we’re free.

Does she know she’s used the nickname our fellow kinsparks use for me?

She’s only ever called me Remalla. It’s an odd detail to focus on, but it gives me hope as I inhale and let the sizzle ride between us, reminding her of it as I do. “I can’t go now. What was I thinking?”

“Your brother just murdered your father,” I say. “And if he catches you, Lan, he’ll kill you, too.” I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. “You’re all that could stand between him and the throne.”

“He would nev—” She stops herself, bites her full bottom lip, more tears rising. “Remi.” She sags into me.

There’s no time , the dragon says. I’d feared her dead, and she’s proving me wrong, never more powerful than now. You either go now or you die, Flame .

I know it’s cruel, but I slap Sheelan across the face. Not hard, and I hate to use force on her, but she’s hysterical, barely able to catch her breath. She staggers back from me, but doesn’t flee, hand to her cheek. When she meets my eyes again, she blinks.

“He’s going to kill me,” she whispers.

“Not if we kill him first.” I grind my teeth together in frustration, hands fisted at my sides.

I could have, chose not to. I hope I don’t learn to regret it.

Where is the order woman who protects Sheelan?

Is she dead? Or will we face her and be forced to fight her, too? “Later,” I say. “We have to go, first.”

She nods, wiping harshly at her tears. “This way,” she says in a voice as grim as I’m feeling and turns away from me, heading back through the garden.

Trust her , the dragon sighs. Hurry, Flame. They’re organizing a search, and the order assassins are among them now .

Brem’s sisters will kill me without thought, I’m sure of it, and seal Sheelan’s fate in the process.

I’m surprised when she takes us into the corridor, already preparing to fight our way out of the temple.

But I’m instead stopping in my tracks as Sheelan pauses at a gold-carving etched into a wall and presses hard on one of the rays of the sun.

It slides back, a small passage revealed, and she hurries through into the dark beyond without waiting to see if I follow.

I do, of course, the way closing behind me, engulfing us in blackness.

I hear a soft sound like stone on stone and catch a spark’s light twice before she appears in the glow of a flame she’s lit, blowing on the wick of a lantern that glows when she shutters it inside the frosted glass.

She holds it aloft between us, grief an embedded thing she’s closed off just as efficiently.

“This way,” she whispers, turning and hurrying off, silent on her soft slippers.

I keep the staff held back and ready, trusting that Sheelan knows where she’s going, sparing looks behind us into the darkness. But she turns abruptly at the end of the passage, my kinspark and the light disappearing abruptly, and I have to hurry to follow so I don’t lose her.

“Here,” she whispers, stopping at last, pausing with her ear pressed to the wall.

When she frowns and shakes her head at me, we’re moving again, further down the narrow, dark way, before taking another turn.

She stops again, grimaces, carries on, repeating that three more times until she finally seems satisfied.

“Stay close,” she says, blowing out the flame inside the lantern, the soft sound of her setting it aside a tinkle of glass on metal.

When the exit parts in a thin line that widens slowly, it’s barely brighter on the other side, just enough to make out the difference.

Sheelan peeks out before pushing it wider.

I want to go ahead of her, protect her, but she’s already through, gesturing for me to follow, as if she has to suggest it. I’m not leaving her now.

Not ever, if I can help it. Even if that means staying here if she decides to stay?

I recognize the scent of animals and their feces the moment we step out into the open, the faint glow of a distant lantern, blocked partially by a large pair of cattle.

The stables, then, but where are we, what part of the temple?

Sheelan knows, that much is certain, because she’s still moving, without hesitation now, and when she does stop again, we’re crouching behind a low wall and I’m looking out over the river and a small dock beneath us.

“This is where they barge across to the other side,” she whispers to me.

“That way is Mino.” One of the territories on the far bank.

“And that way leads to the mountains,” she points downriver on the same side as the city.

“You’re safe now,” she says, turning to meet my eyes.

And bursts into tears, covering her face in her hands.

She’s quiet in her weeping, at least, almost silent in her sobs. I hold her as she shakes, cradle her while she fights to breathe. Sheelan fights it at first, trying to push me away, but when the grief overwhelms her, she falls into me and clings, the kinspark soft as it simmers between us.

Does it have knowledge, senses, some intuition? I’ve always thought it just a reaction, a kind of magical response. But it feels like it’s adapted to her state of hurt and is doing what it can to help, so now I wonder.

There’s so much I don’t know and will never learn if I don’t get out of here before it’s too late.

“Sheelan,” I say as gently as I can when her tears are done and she’s sniffling against my chest, “we have to go.”

“I can’t go with you,” she says, pushing back at last and wiping her face with the back of one wrist. “I have to confront my brother. This cannot stand, Remi.” Whatever decision she’s made, she’s determined to see it through.

I can’t let her. “He’ll kill you,” I say, also with kindness and care, but I have to get through to her.

She nods. “Then he will,” she says. “But I won’t allow him to get away with murdering our father for the sake of power.”

“You know he’s not a god,” I say.

Sheelan snorts, nods. “Of course, he’s not,” she says.

“Neither was my father, or his before him, or any of the Suns who claimed that falsehood. It doesn’t matter, though.

Theille’s done the unthinkable, and I couldn’t protect Father from his madness.

” She lets herself crumble one more time. “What happened to my brother?”

Did you do this? I demand that of the dragon. Only to realize she’s gone again.

And answer for her. Of course not. I blame Hallick, if I have anyone to assign that to.

I can only hope that Theille has already cut the Chancellor down.

I find it hard to muster any sort of regret for his passing, or for the princesses who remain, either, though perhaps time will soften that attitude.

I do worry suddenly for the Overkingdom and the pending threat that Theille presents.

No doubt an army marches on Gyster in short order, and he has no warning at all.

Well, he’s made his mess, he and Hallick and the long-dead who orchestrated the fall of Neem. Including my mother. Let Gyster deal with Theille until I finish what was started for me.

For now, I need to focus on Sheelan. And the task that brought me here in the first place.

I’m coming , I send to the dragon. Hold on, I’m almost there .

But where is there, exactly?

“Sheelan,” I kiss her forehead, lift her chin, make her look at me. “Please, I need your help.”

She shudders, nods. “The dragon,” she says as she rubs her upper arms with her hands, and though there’s no way she can be physically cold thanks to the humidity, she has gooseflesh nonetheless.

“There,” she says, pointing downriver, “to the Dragon’s Spine.

” She grimaces. “Obvious enough, I think, even for me.”

It sounds promising and saves us the effort of crossing the water at least. “You’re coming with me,” I say.

Sheelan nods heavily. “Give me a moment,” she says, going back into the stable.

I follow her, tense and concerned, but no alarm is raised.

We’ve managed it, thanks to her, outside the net that’s surely being widened by the second.

She’s disappeared into the darkness, but returns a moment later, pulling on a short tunic over her nakedness, stuffing her fine clothing down a drainage hole, her fancy slippers following, a pair of sandals quickly strapped to her feet.

She can disguise her royal lineage, but not her beauty. “This way,” she says, leading again, already winding her braids tightly to her scalp, head down as we head out into the dusty street and cross to the far side, past a few huts and circling a pen full of cattle, the open road on the other side.

I look back as we crest the low hill that leads out of the other side of the valley, looking back at the shining, sparkling Dominae of the Sun God, the sound of horns echoing in the humid air, growing louder by the moment.

Sheelan’s hand creeps into mine, so small and vulnerable next to me.

“They harken the fall and reincarnation of the Sun God,” she says.

“Theille has officially taken the throne.” Her lips twist into a grimace before she turns her back on her home and tugs on me.

“Let’s go,” she says. “There’s nothing here for me anymore. ”

I’m relieved when the bend in the road takes the view of lights from sight, if only to take it out of mind, too.

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