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I lunged forward. “Nicu!” I screamed, my lungs shredding. “Nicu!”
Poet’s arm slung around my middle, hauling me backward as a tongue of flame swatted past me. I scrambled to get loose, shrieking and kicking the air. A whistling noise arched overhead, and in a flash, the jester swerved me into a slender alley and jammed my body against the wall. Just as he covered my frame with his, a flaming globe crashed into the town square, ejected from one of the roofs.
The explosion cracked the world in half, the blast of noise harrowing. The ground quaked, chunks of masonry and bricks ramming into the foundation.
The jester shielded me, covering my head and hunching into my body as debris rained on us. When the collision halted, he jolted back. Dust and sweat coated his features, but those eyes flared like green scythes.
The jester seized my face. “He’s with your mother!”
“But where?” I panicked.
“We’ll find him,” he growled. “We’ll find them both!”
Over Poet’s shoulder, I caught sight of Aire and his troops flooding the town, the knight’s legion scattering too quickly for us to signal him. Yet the soldier must have reached the dungeons and confirmed the born souls’ safety. The castle was now a more secure place than here—at least, for the time being.
As for Winter’s whereabouts, I had no clue if the First Knight had encountered the prince in the north wing. But if one thing remained certain, the prince would not be idle or without purpose. He would eventually find his way here.
I whirled toward Flare. The young woman rose from where she’d hunkered beside us, her bare toes and shoulder-length waves caked in grime, either from the dungeon or the tumult or both.
I snatched her shoulders. “Go,” I hissed.
The female’s eyebrows crimped in bafflement, then her golden orbs flashed in understanding. I’d just handed her what she deserved. Poet and I could not give this to everyone, but we could do this for her.
Flare hedged, glancing back at the destruction before steering her rapt attention to me. Her features bunched into a livid frown, and she shook her head. Mouthing something, she slapped a hand on her breast before transferring that touch to my own chest.
My throat swelled. She wanted to stay and help us. Despite everything, this woman refused to spare herself.
“He will find you,” I implored. “If you stay, he will find you.”
Hatred for the prince simmered in Flare’s irises, the metallic reams flashing. Jeryn would shackle this woman, take her captive, and punish her for this defiance. Seasons only knew what he’d do to this beautiful soul, how the prince would exact retribution, how dark and cutting his actions would be.
My attention strayed to the sunburst collar tattooed around Flare’s neck, then soared back to her. “You have suffered enough,” I stressed, my words splintering with anguish and conviction. “You can go anywhere now.”
Flare blinked, those eyes glistening. Her face crumpled, and she hoisted me into a hug, which I returned. Clutching her back, I inhaled the stunning fragrance of mystic ocean currents and fresh sand, as if they were imbued in this woman’s blood.
My instructions came out fast. “Take the adjacent alley until you reach the beech forest, then head northwest. Eventually, you’ll reach a creek. It will split into four directions and take you wherever on the continent you wish to go.” Holding her tightly, I whispered, “Never look back.”
Flare drew away and framed my cheeks, then glanced at Poet. Her lips moved again, and this time, I understood.“Friends.”
Wordlessly, the jester unsheathed a dagger and handed it to Flare. With a grateful smile, she took it.
Swallowing tears, I watched her trot backward, her gaze latched to mine. Then my friend whirled and sprinted into the miasma.
“Come,” Poet urged, snatching my fingers.
Clinging to him, I raced with the jester through the back streets. If we spilled into the quagmire, the public might spot us, and who knew what they would do. Neither of us would shrink away, but we needed to find Nicu and Mother first.
My gaze jumped from shadow to shadow, flame to flame. Beyond the lanes, I scanned the conflagration. Fear seized my heart, and fury lanced up my spine.
Summer could snuff out fire, as well as produce it. Rhys had said as much, and Poet had confirmed it, explaining about the ashes of Summer tinder on the way to Flare’s cell. The king had supplied his cult not only with the means to extinguish the castle’s flames but also to ignite the town.
The bonfires expanded in a way only Summer’s resources could achieve, which reminded me of what the jester had also told me. When Poet tried to kill Rhys, he’d used stolen kindling from the king’s suite, which was prone to spontaneous combustion when mixed with the right elements. During his last visit, the king hadn’t merely brought the tinder as a personal preference. He’d done so to outfit his followers in advance.
The bonfires weren’t of Autumn. This wasn’t a natural disaster.
And this wasn’t the doing of a small group like the Masters. Summer’s cult had expanded beyond what we’d expected, having now taken on a life of its own, so that Rhys hadn’t needed to lift another finger to incite mayhem.
Our attackers weren’t an isolated faction. Our attackers were the people.
