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“Quint!” I say in alarm. I remember the sound of that first arrow hitting something when Harristan coughed.
Quintwaves me off. “I’ll be fine.”
The doorknob rattles, and Thorin and Rocco exchange a glance, just before something heavy slams into the door. The chest of drawers gives half an inch before they both brace against it.
Tessa looks at me. “Can we go out the window again?”
I limp to the back wall and peer out into the darkness. In the distance, Stonehammer’s Arch is blazing against the night, but the palace grounds are pitch-dark. The alarms in the sector are loud and relentless, and smoke fills the air every way I turn.
The rope Tessa and I used to escape is still pooled on the floor by the window, triple knotted around the ironwork along the sill.
Something heavy slams against the door again. Wood cracks, and the chest of drawers whines against the floor. Rocco swears.
Tessa appears at my side. “Can you climb?”
“Yes,” I say confidently. Though . . . ?I probably can’t. Even if I can bear the weight of a rope around my boot, my shoulder will never be able to support my weight. Then again, I’d rather free-fall out this window than take an arrow in the face, which seems like more of a certainty if we don’t get out of here.
My brother has crossed the room as well, and he coughs again as he peers out into the darkness with me, then inhales deeply of the night air.
“Harristan, do you remember how to climb—”
“I taught you, Cory,” he gasps. He takes hold of the rope.
“One of us should go first, Your Majesty,” calls Rocco. Wood splinters as the rebels slam into the door again.
“Then hurry,” I say. I head for the chest of drawers and brace my shoulder against it. I don’t know how many men are on the other side, but it must be half a dozen. “Go, Thorin.”
“No!” calls Harristan.
“You’re the king,” I say. “Go. Get out.”
Thorin disappears out the window, followed swiftly by my brother. Tessa and Quint are both beside the window.
“Go,” I say to them. Another slam against the door. Flaming cloths are shoved through the opening this time, landing on the chest and catching almost immediately.
“No,” calls Quint. “Corrick, you’re—”
“Go!” I shout at him. My bad ankle keeps threatening to give out, and I have to readjust my shoulder against the chest. Flames feel close, and I’m afraid to look to see how close. I grit my teeth against the pain and the heat. “Go now, Quint. Go, Tessa.”
The rebels slam into the door again. More wood splinters. The wall has caught fire behind me. I can hear shouts.
Quint and Tessa go out the window.
I look over at Rocco, braced against the chest like I am. Sweat threads his hair and drips down his cheeks.
“Run, Your Highness,” he says. “I’ll buy you time.”
“You go,” I gasp, trying to hold my grip as the chest begins to shift along the floor. “Go after them. Harristan will need another guard.”
He gives me a withering look, but before he can say anything, I add, “That’s an order, Rocco.”
“I can’t leave you here.”
“Well, I can’t run.” I give a humorless laugh. The chest slips another inch, and I choke on my breath. “And I can’t climb.” Another inch, and I press my forehead against the chest. The room is filling with smoke, and I know I won’t be able to hold this door much longer. “Please, Rocco.”
“Very well, Your Highness.”
He lets go of the chest. It skids six inches, and I cry out. I had no idea he was holding so much weight. Men shout in victory on the other side of the door. I’m not going to be able to hold this much longer—or it’s not going to matter, because they’ll be able to get through the space.
