‘You stay here and keep lighting the icons,’ Maeve shouted. She gestured towards the door and the hall beyond. The guards were still there, but she had to trysomething. ‘I’m going to look for a torch. And see if I can convince people to leave.’
Felix wiped his forehead with his sleeve, nodding. ‘Hurry, Maeve—’
She spun on her heel and shoved through the crowd. It was like facing a solid wall of bodies. She redoubled her force, makingfor a gap between two pilgrims. ‘Go!’ she cried. ‘Leave – it’s going to burn. You need toleave!’
Her voice was lost beneath the crowd. No one even looked at her. Hopelessness mixed with the panic. She had to push forward, to accomplish what she’d set out to do, and pray that when the smell of the smoke became too strong to bear, the crowd would finally come to their senses and run for safety.
An elbow jammed painfully into her ribs, forcing her deeper into the crush. Then, from between two bodies, a hand shot out to grab her wrist. Nails scratched against her skin. She wrenched away, but they held fast.
‘Enough, Maeve.Enough.’
Ezra stood like a stone in a fast-moving river.
His grip on her wrist was like a vice, squeezing,burning. The crowd shoved them closer, and despite Maeve’s best efforts to free herself from his touch, she found herself face-to-face with her former mentor. He gazed at her like she was little more than a thorn in his side.
He was far from the altar, far from Jude. Almost to the door. Was he planning on fleeing? Did he know they planned to burn it all?
Suddenly, a high-pitched scream echoed above the din, rapturous and frenzied. A scream of gratification. The crowd had what they wanted. They had Jude in their grasp.
‘Let go of me,’ Maeve snarled, pulling back hard enough that her shoulder ached in protest.
‘You’re not going to reach him,’ Ezra said, redoubling his grip. He was close enough for her to see the whites around his pale irises. Around his neck, the relics swung. She wanted to rip them off and smash them beneath her boot. ‘Leave. For your own safety.’
His voice dripped with condescension, and Maeve couldn’t stand it. Every time he’d belittled her talents, brushed off her pleas for conversation and reassurance, made her feel small, was suddenly impossible ignore, anddammit –she’d had enough.
She reared back and drove her forehead directly into Ezra’s nose. It broke in a spectacular splash of blood. His cry of pain was lost beneath the singing. Off-balance by the blow, he stumbled back, releasing her arm to cover his face. The crowd swallowed him up in a fast-moving crush of bodies.
She didn’t stick around to see if he’d get back up.
Blinking against the dizzying ache the blow had provided, Maeve stumbled towards the door. Guards stood on either side of it, scanning the crowd. One of them turned to speak with a woman, her head covered by a pale grey hood. The other remained vigilant. Her steps hitched, mind racing for something to say so they’d let her pass.
A commotion sounded behind her, louder than the jeers that had come before it. The smell of smoke abruptly sharpened, becoming thick and pungent in her nose. She spun to look, hoping to see the wall of icons fully engulfed or the flames spreading to the pews.
At first, she was distracted by the dozens of people finally fleeing the basilica in waves. Screams filled the air, more frightened than the euphoria that had preceded it.
Then, her gaze locked on the source of the panic – a figure cutting through the crowd with two burning torches in his upraised hands. His mouth was screwed up in pain and anger as he ran, a desperate cry filling the air.
Elden.
Before she knew it, he launched the first of his flaming torches high into the air. It struck the middle row of icons with a ragged crash. White-hot flame immediately overtook the painting, spreading quickly to its neighbours. Elden held his other torch to the end of the silk cord linking the rows of icons together. The entire rope lit up, urged on by kerosene.
Maeve ran towards it.
All the icons were burning. Smoke blossomed in a heavy, acrid plume. Sparks hit the tapestry on the wall next to it, and soon,it was engulfed in flame, too. Her eyes streamed with smoke and tears.
Bethan hadn’t seen a thread of gold in her dream like Jude had described. She’d seen the wall of icons linked in a rope of pure white fire. She’d dreamed the Abbey burning.
Elden’s chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. ‘It’s done,’ he said, voice hoarse. ‘It’sdone.’ His eyes shifted to the crowd behind her as a fresh wave of tears slid down his cheeks. He swayed where he stood. ‘Look.’
She turned.
The sight took her breath away.
People were falling to their knees in waves, hands covering their ears. Their eyes were glazed, bodies shaking as pain wrote itself onto their faces. Next to the wall, Felix knelt with his head bent towards the floor. Neither Jude nor Ezra was anywhere to be seen.
Maeve took a hesitant step forward.
The world flashed gold.
