Moments later, the doors at the far end of the hall swing open, and a troupe of performers enters. Jugglers toss gleaming knives through the air, sending flashes of silver whirling above their heads in mesmerizing arcs. Musicians strike up a light and airy tune as dancers twist into the hall.
The nobles reluctantly shift their attention to the performers, the tension easing but not disappearing entirely. Kane remains standing, his gaze still locked on Four. I reach for his hand and pull him down into his seat.
“What was that?” I whisper.
“Nothing,” he mutters, his brow creased with barely contained anger.
“Fine, don’t tell me. I get that this isn’t the time or the place, but remember that I need to be inside the palace. Don’t get us kicked out by getting into some political pissing contest.”
King Lockhart claps with childlike delight as the dancers and jugglers conclude their first piece and take a bow. The room joins in on the applause, and as it begins to fade, the entertainers part to form a wide aisle down the center of the hall. A violin plays,quick and dramatic, filling the hall with a new rush of anticipation.
Torches crackle, and flames throw shadows across the ceiling as two fire-breathers emerge. The men stride down the aisle, torches in hand, their bare chests slick with sweat, their blue eyes beaming.
I read an article once that said everyone with blue eyes shares a common ancestor. I’m not sure if that’s completely true, but I study King Lockhart’s profile and the fire-breathers’ as they settle into position and the dancers and jugglers file out.
The first fire-breather tilts his head back, the torch at his lips. He waits a beat of suspenseful silence, then exhales, sending a plume of fire into the air that glints off every polished surface. The nobles take in a collective gasp and lean back as heat fans out through the hall. The next entertainer follows suit, his flame even larger, the smell of burning oil tinging the air. They move with the grace of dancers, their bodies undulating in rhythm with the flickers and leaps of the flames they command.
The fire-breathers circle each other, the control in their movements precise and practiced. Just as their dance seems to reach its peak, the room echoing with the roar of flames, one of the fire-breathers breaks the choreography. He turns to the walls, releasing a torrent of fire onto the heavy tapestries lining the room.
“For the people!”
His partner’s voice is the crack of a whip. His bright blue eyes dance with flames as he removes a dagger from his waistband and hurls it at the king.
Eighteen
King Lockhart’s guttural cry bruises my ears, and I’m on my feet in an instant. Around me, nobles run screaming, their faces twisted in terror as the grand dining hall morphs into a nightmare of smoke and flames and the wails of an injured king.
“Secure the king!” Four’s shout barely pierces the chaos, but it’s enough to mobilize the guards. They burst through the haze, their burnished armor reflecting the frantic dance of the flames. “This is what happens when we let our guard down! Search the palace. Search the city. Bring any to me who are found conspiring against the crown.”
The air fills with shouts, the roar of fire, the crash of furniture as the guards move. They shove through the panicked crowd with ruthless efficiency, trampling anyone in their path as they surround the king and move him to safety.
Flames lick up the rich tapestries, their orange andyellow tongues greedily tasting before devouring them whole. They gorge on the walls and consume the silken tablecloths, dining on the feast laid out for a king.
Screams scorch the air, the feast forgotten, abandoned as lords, ladies, and attendants rush to exit. The room is a chaotic swirl of fire and smoke, bodies, and screams. Heat presses against my sweat-slick skin, yet I’m frozen in place. Kane squeezes my hand, and I don’t know how long he’s been holding it, but the connection jolts me into action.
I trip over upturned chairs and broken plates as he pulls me behind him. My eyes sting and tear, and I continue to race after him, trusting his firm grip, trusting him to lead me to safety. Bodies slam against me from all sides, and my hold on him weakens as the crowd surges like a wave breaking over rocks.
“Kane!” I shout, but my voice is lost in the cacophony.
My hand is torn from his, and I lose him in the swell of bodies crashing between us.
“Kane!” I scream his name again, my voice strangled beneath a blanket of smoke as panic flares in my chest.
I’m jostled from side to side, a buoy in a stormy sea of panic and chaos. The crush of bodies presses against me, and I lose my balance and stumble backward. My arms flail, my fingers glancing off rushing limbs. Finally, I collide with something solid. My eyes meet Four’s, ablaze with a vicious blue light that makes me wish I’d fallen to the floor.
He snarls at me, low and guttural, and with a violent shove, my wish is granted. Four sends me careening into the flames, my back slamming into the wall. Searing heat scorches the hem of my gown. In a horrifying whoosh, my skirts ignite.
A scream lodges in my throat as I frantically swat at the flames crawling up my dress. I only seem to fan them, the heat unbearable as I struggle to put out the fire.
The world tilts and spins. Tears stream down my face, smoke clouding my vision. The exit may as well be miles away. Desperation claws at me as fire turns my skirts into ashes and embers. Smoke fills my lungs, choking off the sounds of my screams as my vision blurs and dark spots dance at the edges of my sight.
A shadow moves through the haze. It reaches me just as my legs buckle, heat and smoke siphoning away the last of my strength. I sway, about to collapse, when strong hands grip my shoulders.
“Hannah!” Kane strips off his jacket and smothers the flames burning through my gown. The fabric smolders, and Kane doesn’t hesitate. He tears the charred fabric from my dress and scoops me into his arms. I cling to him, my fingers digging into his shirt as he pushes through the crowded hall, his body shielding mine from the worst of the heat.
Around us, attendants and guards fight to control the fire, their faces streaked with sweat and soot. Armed with buckets of sand and water, they shout orders, their voices sharp above the hiss and sputter of dying flames.
With a grunt, Kane removes one arm from around me, and his skin grows incredibly hot beneath the layers of his clothes. I move to jump from him, to put out the flames that have claimed him, but he presses me closer.
