Flinching at the abuse of his sensitive ears, Nick stiffened and instinctively braced. “Do you hear—”
A deafening blast drowned out Nick’s words, the crowd animal rumble of the gathered dignitaries in the nave…everything. The ground jumped under Nick’s feet, shaking as if seized by a violent quake. Stunned, Nick didn’t even scream when Arit shoved him to the floor and covered Nick’s body with his own.
Plaster fell from the ceiling like rain.
Chapter Thirteen
Coughing, choking on dust, Nick shook his head to try to stop the ringing in his ears as he stared up at Arit, whose features tightened with fear. “What?” Nick asked, stupefied and increasingly frantic that sound filtered through to him in only a dull persistent hum.
His mate grimaced and exaggerated the movement of his mouth. Nick could at least lip read him “Okay?”
Nick blinked. “I can’t hear you,” he shouted, the words sounding distant and muffled in his injured ears. He wriggled through Arit’s scowling pat-down. Apparently satisfied Nick hadn’t suffered any grievous injuries, Arit lifted off Nick, whose stare swept their surroundings in ripe panic.
Pieces of the vaulted ceiling littered the ruined chapel, one upper corner of which puffed with smoke racing in from the outside, dark and foreboding through the stained-glass window which was mostly intact. Debris from the blast had punched a singe hole through the pack of racing wolves depicted on the left lower panel. Though the murals on the ceiling above had splintered and cracked, chunks of masonry missing as well as a few support beams, the roof had held. Arit shook, dislodging pebbles and larger lumps of plaster that pelted the floor and Nick, too.
A bomb.
Someone had detonated a bomb.
Brushing the grit off his legs, Nick shot to his feet. Staggered. Arit halted him with a hand at his biceps and spoke words Nick still couldn’t understand. “The people—”
Another blast rocked the cathedral, almost tossing Nick back to the ground. He wildly spread his feet to steady himself, but Arit would have none of it. Nick’s mate unceremoniously shoved him to the marble bench upon which they’d made love only moments ago.
Glaring at Nick, he mouthed, “Get down.”
Gaping, Nick watched the debris cloud from the second detonation—and the next—pour into their shelter from the damaged stained-glass window and a gap that must have been opened at the joint where the wall met the ceiling near the upper corner. He blinked smoke from his watering eyes as, crouching low, Arit dug his hand into the pocket of his leather coat. He withdrew his smartphone and immediately jabbed his finger at the screen.
Nick started at the sudden vibration against his chest until he remembered he’d slid his own phone into his shirt pocket, but his heavy arms wouldn’t lift to answer the ringtone he couldn’t hear. Nick should be terrified. Fear should be shaking him in his shoes as much as the ground’s fierce tremble rattled through him, but the numbing fog of shock overwhelmed him. He needed to think. Figure out a plan, but his mind raced, his pulse rabbiting.
Cringing as the ground gave another stomach-rolling jump, Arit spread Nick’s thighs, phone clutched in his grip, and when Nick focused on the powdery grit blanketing his fingers, Arit reached up. He pinched Nick’s chin and forced Nick’s wide-eyed stare to meet Arit’s. “…shelling…southern wing…”
Heartened at least some of Arit’s shout had begun filtering through the frustrating ringing that filled Nick’s head, he nodded at the doorway still partially blocked by the cabinet. “You need to escape. While you still can.”
“…think we’re dead.” Arit shook his head. “Safer to stay out of sight.”
Decades after he’d been executed with the imperial family, Nick shuddered at the realization the rebels might finally succeed in killing him. He coughed at smoke coating his throat, burning his eyes. Another blast rocked them, but now that his stunned senses had begun recovering, Nick could tell the bombing had spared them the worst damage. Dust pattered from the ceiling, but the roof held. The stone walls cracked under the pressure of each shockwave. The floor under his wingtips piled with a layer of sooty debris. The basic structural integrity of this part of the cathedral hadn’t failed yet, though, not like it would’ve collapsed if this area had taken a direct hit. “Fire?”
Pale, rugged features tight with sick worry, Arit shrugged and waved his phone at Nick. “Media reports the mortars came from the Narva District, a conclave of neighborhoods notorious for criminals and extremists.” He thinned his lips. “The people didn’t do this, though. Shifters love you, including the snooty idiots in the capitol.”
Dazed, Nick shook his head. “The elders who refused to attend the funeral are behind this.” When Arit’s phone shrilly rang out a clamoring alarm, Nick smiled. “Hey, I can hear that.”
Biting his lip, Arit raised a palm to silence Nick, then jabbed at the screen of his phone again. “Police and soldiers positioned in the capitol as extra security for the funeral are pouring into the Narva District. That’s why the shelling stopped.” Another alert resounded, and Arit grimaced. “The people are clamoring on social media to take to the streets. Journalists report a crowd forming in Sholin Square.” His brow furrowed. “That demonstration is only a few blocks away.”
Acid pitched and yawed in Nick’s stomach. “You should go.” He squeezed Nick’s shoulder and gulped. “None of them will touch you or recognize who you are unless you’re with me.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Arit glared at him. “The mob isn’t marching to the cathedral to kill you and if they were, I’d still stay right here, where I belong. With my mate—you.”
Nick glowered. “One of us needs to live.”
“We’ll both survive.” Arit cupped Nick’s cheek. “The tribes are rising up to protect you, Your Majesty.”
“What?” Bewildered, Nick widened his eyes, then scowled. “I’m no emperor worthy of such a high designation. I haven’t been crowned.”
“A ceremony to crown you would, at this point, be a formality.” Arit turned the phone to show Nick streaming video. “The tribes have chosen.”
Nick’s jaw dropped at the dark images filling the screen of capitol citizens chanting while they marched down the boulevard toward the cathedral despite the blaring sirens, thick smoke, and riot police assembling to line the sidewalks, shields high and batons at the ready. “Oh my God.” His stomach flipped, horror swamping him. “I’ve triggered a civil war.”