He propels me faster. “Don’t, Nym. This isn’t the time.”
“Right. Because then we’d have to talk about what a complete liar Eogan, King Odion’s twin, is, wouldn’t we? Does Adora know?”
He catches the servants’ door and holds it open as another blast ignites the dark in the distance, mirroring the blaze in his eyes. “No. And we’ll discuss this later. Go to your room and wait for me.” His voice lowers. “Don’t make me lock you in.”
The look I give him when I step through the doorway could raze an entire water kingdom. I walk in the direction of my room, slowly.
Growling, he pushes past me, and I wait until he’s far enough ahead before trailing him up the two flights of stairs and slipping into a hall recess. There, I pause for the various council members to file by. When the last disappears into Adora’s study, I bolt for the door and slide my hand in the way to keep it from closing.
“We need to send help to the wounded,” the king’s voice muffles through the opening.
“It’s unlikely there are many wounded left. You saw those explosions!”
“Besides, we don’t have enough people to spare, Your Majesty. If we don’t use the soldiers for battle, we’ll seal our own fate.”
“We can’t just leave them! Those were villages they targeted. And can someone please explain to me how Bron knew where each of them was located?”
“I’ll take Nym and Colin and start at the closest village hit.” Eogan.
“No,” Adora snaps. “I think it’d be better to have the two of them wait a couple days, Eogan, and then follow through on what you and I have planned. Even you told me—”
I curl my hand into a fist and I swear the magic from the valley sparks through it. I head for my room, shaking so hard it’s near impossible to open my door once I reach it. A couple of days? No rescue for those people? How can they be so callous toward their own citizens suffering less than an hour’s ride from here? And Eogan . . .
I can’t stay here. I can’t sit in my room and wait for who knows what—more betrayal from him or Lord Myles? Are both of them spies?
I change into my leathers, nearly tearing my dress in the process of getting it off, and slip downstairs, listening as messengers run through the halls shouting orders above the servants’ clatter. I pull my hood up and leave through a side door to put Haven’s reins on.
The place where the bomb hit is less than three terrameters away, but every road between Adora’s and the High Court is swamped with fleeing people and soldiers trying to hold back the panic. Riding bareback, I move onto the smaller farm paths, but even there, some of the guests from Adora’s party have gotten their coaches stuck in the mud. I keep my face hidden and continue riding.
It doesn’t take long to reach the ridge I’m looking for. When I do, the area on the hillside opposite me isn’t just bathed in fire. It’s spewing a blasted inferno of destruction as wide as the village that stood there. Flames lick through wood structures, billowing black smoke so hot and thick that Haven bucks and refuses to go farther. Tying her to a fence post, I sprint the rest of the way on foot, but even as I’m getting closer, it’s obvious why they’re not sending soldiers to help. There’s nothing left to rescue.
I run for it, the magic from the valley surging through my veins. Surprising me with the ease at which I can pull down the rain and pour it over the demolished structures and boiling dirt, sizzling as the smoke rises to darken the clouds. Not until I reach the village edge does it occur to me to try to draw in more clouds from the coast and send them down the crescent. Maybe it’ll deter the airships, or at least put out the fires at the other bomb sites.
With the rain stamping the flames out in front of me, I whisper in enough clear air to breathe. Then, tugging my cloak over my nose and mouth, I head toward the first smoky ruins to search for anyone left.
Then the second.
Then the third.
The higher up the hill I go, the more slippery the ground becomes and the thicker the smoke wraps around my throat—the steam and billows rising almost as fast as I can push them away with the rain-soaked breeze. I’m coughing by the time I reach the fourth home attached to what probably used to be a marketplace.
Searching through the dark, my burning eyes almost miss the hand reaching out from a charred doorway. My chest tightens at what I’ll find, until I hear the feeble groan.
An elderly man. Trapped beneath a roof beam. I rush over and kneel, then bring in fresh air to keep the smoke off his face. He lifts his hand—flopping it around until I catch it in mine. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
He lifts my fingers to his cheek and sighs, and I sit there and watch him stare at the tears tumbling from my eyes, drenching my face, my clothes, the ground until, eventually, the light in his gaze fades, releasing his soul along with his breath.