Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(94)

That’s when I see Brovek on the other side, busy lighting torches. I slither soundlessly over the barrier and sweep low toward him. If I can catch him unawares, this could all be over in seconds. I just want this nightmare to end.

I don’t know what alerts him. Probably the excellent instincts that elevated him to his station in the first place. Either way, he turns to me. His face turns from shock to focus in seconds. In the next few moments he looks from my sprinting approach, down to the few lit torches at his disposal. I understand his brief deliberation as if I were him. And a part of me congratulates him on his choice when he picks up a single blazing torch, while the other part hates him for it. He’s decided to set the fire before he fights.

But he’s too slow. With no finesse and no plan I throw myself at him, hitting the ground with a thud. I fight against the loss of breath as Brovek rolls to his feet and reaches for the torches once again.

I free myself and lunge his way. He abandons his reach for the torches and delivers a cruel kick to my stomach instead. I roll away until I hit the stone balustrade of the roof. Veni, I can’t be caught against the wall with a man of Brovek’s size.

I push to kneeling, but fall away from his fist as it cuts in front of me.

“Not so confident without your brother here to do most of the work,” he snarls.

I push my legs over my head, curling backwards, and regain my feet, startling the panting man. Both of us are recovering from our race here. My arms are still burning from the climb.

“You won’t be lighting that signal,” I say. “Step down and I will allow you to live.”

He laughs snidely. “I’d rather die.”

He follows up on his words, darting in. I twist to the side and we engage in a flurry of activity. I lose myself to the automatic movements of my body. Nothing matters except stopping him.

He punches my side. The pain cuts through me, reminding me of the slash there. I return the favor with a crossing blow to an already swollen eye. There’s no hope in me. I won’t allow it because the Elite leader and I are exactly matched as we dance across the rooftop. I lick at his left leg and watch it buckle. He clips the side of my chin with an upper-cut.

I dart in and pick up his fallen dagger, kicking the lit torches farther away from the heaped bodies behind me. Brovek snarls in fury as I sink down, weight on my toes.

“You giving up?” I ask. He lets out an outraged bellow and charges me. I switch my footing in response to his dodging.

I shouldn’t have bothered. I watch in shock as Brovek slips on an unlit torch bracket, going down in a crashing heap of corded muscle straight on top of the blazing fire of another torch. His clothing alights and the burning orange spreads rapidly as he rolls side to side, struggling to free himself from the flames. He screams in pain, shouting obscenities as he throws his legs and arms around eratically.

It’s every Solati’s worst fear: burning to death.

I stand between Brovek and the signal fire and simply watch as he frantically pats down the flames licking his body, tearing off what clothing he can. He succeeds in taming the fire after a time, but I can see from here that much of his body is blistered.

Brovek falls to the ground in an exhausted heap. It’s not good enough for me. I leap astride his smoking frame, pinning his arms to his side with my legs, dagger in hand.

“Get off, filthy whore,” he wheezes. I don’t submit to my vanity by voicing words.

I plunge the dagger into his stomach and jerk it out again. The acids and leaking bile should start working immediately. One of the slowest and most agonizing ways to die. Fire is agonizing, too, but it’s quick.

I consider that as Brovek writhes beneath me. Twenty minutes is too long for him to remain alive. I stand slightly and open a gaping line between his hips, from left to right, making sure to sever an artery.

“Your mother should have … killed you,” he gasps.

I allow myself a few words now that he’s incapacitated.

“I could say the same about yours,” I say.

“I should have crushed you when you were—” He breaks off as I open the arteries in both thighs and stand on top of his stomach wound, pressing. His eyes roll up with the pain. I kick him roughly until he regains consciousness and then crouch down by his head.

“Your decisions today killed the Elite.” I watch his face for remorse. There is none.

“Your actions during my childhood helped me become the person who is killing you today.” A flicker of fear flashes in his eyes as he acknowledges his fate.

I draw myself close and whisper, “In your last moment I want you to know, every thing you’ve ever worked for, everything you’ve tried to uphold. The horror you’ve inflicted on the innocent.” He stills at my words. “It was all for nothing. Osolis will be restored.”

I slit his throat and watch as his blood soaks onto the stone of the castle roof. His head drops to one side as his last breath leaves him.

I hesitate before moving to him and feeling for life. He’s truly dead. I limp to the scattered torches and smother them, before throwing them over the side of the parapet. I don’t have the time or strength to shift all the bodies and furniture, but I can’t leave the torches so close while I make sure my friends are safe. I peer over to the First Sector, but there’s no way I’ll be able to see the Oscala from here. The Solati couldn’t have seen the flame from a single torch, could they?