The Bone Shard Daughter (The Drowning Empire, #1)(98)

He didn’t need to know how to read faces to read mine. “Something has happened,” he said.

I nodded confirmation. “My father. He knows.”

And just like that, Numeen’s expression settled on grim. His gaze went to the side of the door. He reached, picking up something heavy. A hammer. Not the sort used for blacksmithing. He handed the packet of shards back to me. “Get my family up,” he said. “Tell them to pack essentials.” He shut the door, locked it and wedged a chair beneath the knob.

Was it possible to die of guilt? “I’m sorry,” I said. It seemed I only came to this house to bring danger and to issue apologies.

He had no reply for me.

I clenched my jaw. Selfish of me to seek absolution. Words wouldn’t help them now. I dashed up the stairs, knocking on doors and walls, calling softly to the occupants. “You need to get up. Now. Get your things.”

The adults roused first, then the children and Numeen’s mother last. I felt like a dog, nipping at the heels of sheep, warning them of wolves. I’d brought this wolf to their doorstep. Foolish Lin, who thought she could have secrets in her father’s palace. They moved slowly at first, and then more quickly, packing bags, shushing the children. Numeen’s daughter Thrana held her paper crane in her hands, her eyes wide, a small bag slung over one shoulder.

“Down the stairs,” I told them. “Numeen is by the door.”

I’d taken the first step when the house shook.

Wood cracked, loud as thunder. I froze by the stairs, my muscles curled so tightly they hurt. Numeen shouted – I couldn’t tell the words. And then I was turning, dizzy, stretching my arms out as though I could protect these people. They stared back at me. “The window,” I said, my words almost lost in my throat. I tried again. “You need to leave through the window.” They turned to the window.

I’d not been quick enough. Always too slow, always a step behind.

No. Not this time. Before I could second-guess my actions, I flung myself down the stairs, taking them two at a time. When I whirled at the bottom, I had to remind myself to breathe.

Tirang stood in the ruined doorway, his claws wet with blood.

The lamp had been knocked over during the fight, the flames licking at the wall, the light shining from Numeen’s bald pate. He’d been bloodied, but he stood with his hammer at the ready, his feet planted. He wasn’t a fighter, though he had the strength of one. Despite his size, Tirang was at least twice his weight.

The Construct of War raised an arm.

“No!” I might as well have been a songbird, crying uselessly into the night.

Tirang’s claws fell. Numeen stepped to the side, swinging the hammer and catching the construct in his ribs. Tirang grunted but seized the head of the hammer in his free hand. He shoved the weapon out of the way and buried his teeth into the blacksmith’s shoulder.

The man let out a gargling cry of agony.

There were too many members of Numeen’s family. They had four children and one old woman. They’d still be crawling out the window, sliding down the roof tiles, finding a way to climb the gutter to the ground.

“Hey!” I picked up a shard of wood from the ground and hurled it as hard as I could at Tirang’s head. It bounced from his skull. He growled, letting Numeen go. I just had to buy them enough time.

“Lin,” he said.

I’d never been the focus of attention for Tirang, not even at the times I’d most disappointed my father. It took everything I had to stand my ground as he stomped toward me, drawing his sword from his belt. I could still rewrite Tirang’s commands if I moved quickly enough.

“You are not supposed to be here.”

As soon as he was close, I moved, ducking beneath his sword and plunging my hand toward his torso. He dropped his sword, catching my wrists. Claws pricked my skin as I tried to wriggle free. “You are in my way.” His gaze searched the ceiling as his commands sorted themselves, determining the course of action.

Numeen dragged himself to his feet, took a few trembling steps to the street. Blood fountained from his shoulder.

The breath left me as Tirang flung me to the side. Hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to bruise.

But his wrath, it seemed, was not for me.

“Stop!” My voice was not my father’s. Tirang did not heed it. He picked up his sword again.

Numeen heard him coming. He swung the hammer. It went wide.

Tirang thrust his sword into the blacksmith’s body, quick and efficient. He pulled the blade free without even giving Numeen a second glance, already moving out the door and on to his next task.

My fault. My tongue was numb and tingling. I tasted blood. “Wait.” I had to try twice to get myself to my feet. Everything hurt.

I stumbled to the doorway, but Tirang had already disappeared.

“Please!” I wasn’t sure who I was begging. I tripped over a cobblestone, catching myself on the wall of the house. I spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. My ears rang. Someone screamed.

There had to be a way. There still had to be a way. I turned the corner of the house.

I believed it until I saw the blood. Until I saw the broken bodies.

Numeen’s wife. His brother and his brother’s husband. His mother. His nephew. His sons. I knelt by Thrana’s small body. She still held the paper crane in her hand, the blood from her slit throat spattering the wings with red. I picked it up. My need had always felt desperate. It had always felt greater than theirs. Bile crept up my throat, a bitter taste on the back of my tongue.