“Armand! Armand, wake up!” She hurried to the window and tried to throw up the sash. That, too, refused to open. Grabbing a heavy bookend off a nearby shelf, she threw it at the glass—but she might as well have thrown a daisy at it. The window stayed intact, proof that Bastien was still there. Perhaps not visible, but perfectly in control of the house. And he was not going to let her leave.
The black void was still in the center of the floor when she smacked Armand hard across the face. His head rocked back, eyelids fluttering. She hit him again, because the flames were growing larger by the second and he was not waking up fast enough.
“Up, get up,” she yelled, pulling his arm.
He groaned, attempting to shake off the dregs of unconsciousness as she hauled him to his feet. The stairs loomed before them. She did not want to go upstairs. Every instinct told her she was condemning both Armand and herself to a smoldering death. But she had no other choice.
Armand stumbled after her, stealing glances at the fire roaring below. “Did it work? Is he gone?”
“Not yet. We need to find a way out of here.” On the second story, she tore through parlors and salons, Armand on her heels.
“We were just in the entryway,” he cried as the smoky air stung their eyes. “Where are you—”
She stopped and faced him. “Bastien doesn’t want us to leave. He is trying to trap us here. No doors, no windows. How do we get out?”
Alarm flashed across his face. They had made it to a hall filled with portraits of his ancestors, their blank eyes watching. She spotted the painting of Triphine perched on a settee, her newborn son bundled in her arms. Bastien stood behind her, a hand on her shoulder. No doubt he was meant to look the doting husband, but Mallory saw him as he was. Domineering. Cruel. Already plotting her murder.
Soon this painting would burn.
They all would.
An explosion shook the house, shuddering through the walls. At the far end of the gallery of rooms, the floor groaned and caved in, quickly engulfed as the flames grew higher.
“I think the fire reached the cellar,” mused Armand.
Bastien’s rough voice echoed at them from every wall. “You are still in my castle, Miss Fontaine.”
Every painting now bore his face—not only the family trio with Triphine and their son, but so many of Armand’s ancestors. Now they all depicted the same sharp cheekbones, the gemstone eyes, the navy-blue beard.
“You will not escape. You will end this spell, or you will burn with me.”
“If that’s what it takes,” she hissed. “I will die before I set you free.”
Hatred seared the air around her.
“Yes,” he said coldly. “Youwill.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Armand grabbed Mallory’s hand and dragged her thoughts away from the paintings.
They charged past guest suites and music rooms, gaming halls and libraries.
The air felt like an oven. Smoke filled her lungs. They climbed another staircase. Mallory grew dizzy with the spiraling steps, no longer sure what the point was. There was no escape. They were running deeper into his clutches.
They reached the tower. Armand climbed the ladder before offering her his hand.
“Come on!” he yelled when she hesitated.
Mallory started up after him. The rungs cracked beneath her, but Armand’s hands wrapped around her wrists. He pulled her onto the tower floor. The opening in the floor slammed shut, sending up a plume of dust.
Though they were in the open air again, black smoke was billowing from every corner of the house, and steam from the faint drizzle of rain arose from the smoldering walls.
Climbing to their feet, they approached the rail, where they could take in the inferno that surrounded them. Flames had devoured more than half the building, surging through chimneys and windows, sweeping closer with every second that passed. Though it had not yet reached the roof directly beneath the tower, Mallory felt the embers singeing her cheeks.
She saw her sister standing with Fitcher and Constantino near the fountain that still glistened with blood. Though Mallory could make out the shape of her name on her sister’s mouth, she could not hear her screams above the raging fire.
The walls shook suddenly as a thunderous crash was heard below. She grabbed a pillar, wrapping both arms around it to steady herself.
