“For sleep?” Roiven’s voice is a rumble against my cheek.
“The Hellions…”
“Rest, beautiful. You need it. Nor says they haven’t moved from Lusern yet.” An edge of grief cuts through Roiven’s last remnants of pleasure.
He sets me down on my bed. Roiven pushes a cup of water into my hand. I chug it gratefully, strip off my sea-soaked boots and trousers, and collapse into sleep.
I roll over and wake in a blaze of panic, because I can’t move my right arm. Then I remember. The enchanted armor is gone, and it doesn’t move on its own anymore. I stretch into a new position,and wish I wasn’t so far from the sea. I should have told Roiven I wanted to sleep down on the shore. I fall back asleep.
I dream of the day Roiven and Sava attacked Rampage. Except this time I’m not trying to reach Roiven to kill him. I’m trying to tell him I’m on his side. When I finally reach him I can tell he doesn’t care; he’s going to kill me anyways for all the evil I’ve done. Sava barrels over, like she did in real life, and suddenly I’m burning alive as I fall through the sky.
It’s so hot. Unbearably hot. It hurts too much to be part of the dream.
I come wide awake. The bed I’m lying in has gone up in a blaze. I’m in the middle of it. Flames ravage the gauzy canopy.
It’s real life, not a nightmare. My heart pounds and I thrash out of my blankets.
Fire surrounds me. There’s nowhere to run but through it. Smoke chokes me and I cough. Throwing myself off the bed, I hurl through the flaming canopy curtains and crash onto the floor.
Everything burns. My lungs catch, and I scream again but only coughs come out. There’s no ocean to catch me this time. The fountain, against the wall—I should reach it, but I can’t see which way is which through the smoke. I cough again, rolling on the floor.
There. I can hear the fountain splashing against the stone floor. I can’t crawl on my right arm, but I stay low on the three limbs that do work, dragging the right arm behind me. I can barely breathe as I hop and shuffle along the floor toward the sound of the waterfall. Cool water pours over my skin. I’ve made it. I let out a choked sob of relief, but I haven’t escaped.
Smoke billows up through the opening in the ceiling, rising over my head. Turning over my shoulder I can see the bright fire through the black smoke. The whole bed is up in flames. And the fire has extended across the plush rug and to the desk, forming a wall of flames between me and the door. How did this happen? There wasn’t a lit lantern or candle, nothing that could have caught the room on fire.
The only way out of here is through the slit in the wall above me. My heart pounds in my chest as I look up at the smoky sky through it. It’s fifteen feet above my head, but looks wide enough for me to squeeze through. The wall is slightly slanted, but I can’t climb it with one hand. And it’s far too late to get the chair from the desk, since it’s now wreathed in fire.
The plants are in ceramic pots. The tallest of the containers comes up to my knees. Could I stack them? Do I even have time to find out?
My lungs constrict and a wracking cough tears through me, doubling me over as my whole body shakes. I blink away tears as the smoke stings in my eyes. I don’t have time to question this. I just have to climb.
If I don’t make it, I’m going to die alone in here. Hundreds of feet above the sea, hours after finally realizing part of me was missing. My heart clenches tight.
The shirt I’m wearing is already wet from being under the fountain. I pinch it up over my nose and stumble upright. Planting my right foot on the edge of the container, I leap up. The ceramic base is heavy but it wobbles for a moment, then settles as my left foot lands on the other side. I lean against the wall and reach my living arm as high as I can.
Between my reach and the height of the container, my fingertips are still feet from the lip of the opening. I jump, but my fingertips barely graze the lip. The pot wobbles when I land and I have to jump off it, landing awkwardly on my ankle. I can’t pull my entire body up with just my fingertips. Could I walk up the wall while I pull? Maybe, but I still need to be taller, to get a better grip with my whole hand.
I tug at the container next to the one I climbed. I’ll have to stack them. It doesn't matter that this will crush the plant in the bottom container. They’re both going to burn anyways.
“Cai!” That’s Roiven’s voice, coming from the hallway.
I don’t know what he’ll be able to do. There’s still a blazing fire between us, and the wall of shelves is in flames now. If I want to live, I’m going to have to figure this out by myself. The air is so smoky I can barely see a foot in front of my face.
If we hadn’t taken off the armor, it would be easy. I’m sure I could climb the wall if I had both arms. But the moment of regret I taste on my tongue is easily dismissed. If I don’t make it out, at least I’m myself now, without an enchantment poisoning my mind.
The door crashes open, slamming against the wall. A gust of air shoots into the room from the hall and the fire roars and doubles. Heat washes over my skin and I cry out. But it doesn’t burn me.Noneof it has burned me. It’s just the smoke that hurts.
“Caiteven!” Roiven says again. I can feel his worry, frantic and nearly mindless. He’s going to come into the fire for me. But I know his people need him, and he shouldn't risk himself.
“Don’t,” I try to yell. The effort sends me into another coughing fit.
My hand grips the edge of the ceramic, sinking into the dirt. Far too heavy to lift one-handed. Crouching down I slide my good arm around the pot, grasping it against me, and struggle upright to my feet. If I can just get this onto the other pot and climb on top of both of them…
A downpour of water crashes through the room. So much it can’t be coming through the slit above me. It’s like the ceiling itself is raining.
The fire hisses and steam billows up to cloud the room. Wind follows on the rain’s tail, a moaning gale that sweeps the steam and smoke up toward the slit above me, like a toothed whale herding a school of fish. As the room clears, Roiven takes shape through the smoke and steam. He rushes toward me as I slump down, the pot in my arms booming as it crashes down. The rain stops as Roiven falls to his knees in front of me.
The beautiful witch is shirtless, barefoot, wearing nothing butdark cloth trousers that hang low on his hips. The rain water drips from his skin, over the lines of ink and scar that swirl across his body.
