A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(98)

“What?”

He pulled me down closer to him. “Your father didn’t drown.”

“Excuse me?” I gripped him by the front of his coat. “Say that again.”

“Listen to me. He didn’t drown. He—” Mickelmas disappeared. I was left holding the empty air, stunned.

“What?” I whispered. My father hadn’t drowned? Was he alive? Imprisoned? Had he been executed for murder or anything else that would force my aunt to lie to me? What was so important about it that Mickelmas needed to mention it right now? What on earth did it mean?



“Does he think that was fair?” Magnus said, astonished. His voice brought me out of my stupor.

“We can’t think of that now.” This wasn’t the time for distraction.

“Howel, you must want to know.”

“I’ll see Mickelmas again, and he’ll explain. Right now, we have to run.” I forced myself up, feeling half mad. Together we raced up the stairs and through the cathedral. At the entrance, we stood agog at the sea of pandemonium.

Korozoth had brought every Familiar he could. The gray fog shapes of his riders, the black ravens of On-Tez, even the skinless warriors of R’hlem—they all descended out of the sky. We were at the mercy of the Ancients.





People had come outside their houses to view the commotion. Now they raced back inside, only to have the monsters follow them, smashing windows and bashing down doors. The creatures flew through the air carrying lit torches, chattering as they set fire to building after building. Familiars snatched people from the ground. A woman in a nightdress rushed past us just as a raven swooped down, gripped her, and soared up into the air. The beast’s talons ripped through the flimsy cloth, and the woman fell thirty feet. Her end was horrible.

Saving Rook had been just, but these people were dying because of what I’d done. I hated myself. I hated Palehook for engineering this hideous situation. In a small, guilty part of my soul, I hated Mickelmas, too.

“Get ready to run,” Magnus said, clapping Rook on the shoulder as he coughed. There was no sign of the others. We had no time to search for them. “Don’t look back.” We pushed forward on our own.

Sorcerers descended out of thin air in a flurry of black silk. Some staggered about, still drunk from the ball. They made formations and created a wall of wind that drove the Familiars back.



Flames licked up the sides of walls; smoke poured out of windows. People collapsed into the street and were butchered. We stopped to send streams of water toward the fire, but the job was beyond us.

“This is my fault,” I whispered. Magnus grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight.

We hadn’t gotten far from St. Paul’s when Gwen descended out of the air before us and leaped from her mount. She rolled back her smoke hood and slithered toward us on a carpet of fog.

“He wants you,” she said, focusing her sewn eyes upon me. “It is the greatest honor. He has chosen you specifically.”

“Stay back,” Magnus grunted. Rook groaned and fell to his knees. The rider gestured to her stag.

“You’re to come with me.”

Now that I knew who she was, I couldn’t attack her. I held up my hand, and she stilled.

“I know your name,” I said. “Please, I don’t want to fight you.” I brought Porridge down slowly. Her nostrils flared. “You can turn away from all this.”

“Um, Howel?” Magnus said, pulling Rook to his feet. “What are you doing?”

Gwen kept listening. Desperate, I pushed on.

“It’s so lonely for me, being the only one,” I said. She tilted her head to the side. She appeared to understand what I meant. “Maybe it was that way for you, too. We’re alike. I can help you, if you’ll let me. We can help each other.”



She licked her lips. It was a slow, thoughtful movement. Finally, she said, her voice low and normal, “We can be alike.” She held out her hand, smiling. “You must come with me before the bloody king. He will make us alike.”

There was no hope. I blasted at her with the wind, knocking her down. When I tried to rush by, she leaped to her feet.

“Little lady sorcerer,” she rasped, snaking toward me. “He wants you alive. He said alive, not intact.” She swung at me. I dodged and called fire into my stave, slashing it through the air. Snarling, she leaped toward me with a raised dagger.

A blast of wind caught her off balance. Master Agrippa strode into view, his stave held out before him.

“Let her go.” He stopped a few feet from the Familiar, his face broken in sadness. “Gwen, just let them go.”

“Gwen?” Magnus said, eyes wide. “Gwendolyn Agrippa?”

“Run, all of you,” Agrippa said as he blocked his daughter’s thrust and forced her backward. Gwendolyn mounted her stag, hissing. “Gwen, please stop. Even now, it may not be too late,” Agrippa cried. “You remember me. I know that you do. Please, my love. Don’t leave me again.”

She relaxed her dagger and murmured, “Father?”

Crying out in joy, Agrippa walked toward his child. In a move as fast and deadly as a snake striking, Gwendolyn grabbed for Agrippa’s arm. He stumbled to the ground, breaking her grip. Undeterred, she dug her long fingernails into his leg, rising with her mount into the air.