All the Stars and Teeth(105)

I clutch her tightly, breathing a sigh of relief into her neck. She smells of blood and brine, and her touch is as desperate as mine. I have to force myself to pull away; she doesn’t want to let go, and I wish I didn’t have to.

“You need to get to the safe room,” I tell her as I draw back. “Take as many with you as you can, but don’t try to fight unless you have to. You need to go hide—”

“Princess?” a voice says weakly.

My knees nearly crumble as I turn to see Mira, who lies against one of the basins with a white-knuckled hand clutching the corner of it. A Suntosan healer in an emerald robe is on his knees beside her, his hands covered with blood as he presses them against her stomach. I know Ferrick’s busy helping those who fought on the beach, but I immediately wish him here to help her. I can barely breathe when I look at her.

She’s been stabbed, as have several other servants who lie beside her. One of them doesn’t move.

Casem is on his knees beside Mira, cradling her head in his hands. Her skin sheens with sweat, and the Suntosan healing her wears a grim expression of tight lips and worried brows.

“The throne room,” Mira whispers feebly. Her eyes are glazed when she tries to look at me, and it nearly kills me. She touches the healer’s hand and shakily points to me. “Her knee.”

“Touch my knee and you’ll be sorry,” I snarl when the healer makes a move toward me. Mira opens her mouth to protest, but I fix the healer in a firm glare and nod back to Mira. “You heal her. Now.”

The light in Mira’s eyes is dimming, and I won’t let her die. My injuries are bad, but they’re not life-threatening. I can still move. I can still fight.

When I turn to her, Mother’s lips press together. Her eyes are wet, and their emotion betrays her. She doesn’t want me to go, but we both know there’s no choice. As far as she knows, I still have my magic.

“They have your father,” she says, her words tight. “Go, Amora. Hurry. I’ll get as many as I can to safety.”

I nod, but no matter how quickly I need to go, I struggle to pull my eyes away from the thin veil of sweat that sits atop Mira’s skin and pools in the tiny crevice below her collarbone. The fear that knits Mother’s brows and her shaking hands nearly destroy me.

What have my people had to suffer, because I could not stop this attack back in Zudoh?

When I face Kaven again, I won’t make the same mistake twice.

I turn so the healer can focus on Mira, and kiss Mother’s cheek.

“Protect them,” I tell her. “And stay safe, no matter what that takes. I’ll be back soon.”

I can’t linger any longer. I drag Bastian behind me and snatch a torch from its holder on the wall, leaving Mira with Casem and my mother.

We ascend the staircase to the highest level, panting and exhausted, but never stopping. Not until we reach the ornate gold doors that lead into the throne room and hear the clap of an explosion behind it. The ground shakes from the impact and I grab hold of Bastian’s shoulder to stabilize myself. My shoulder seizes from the pain of the movement, but I bury it down somewhere deep beneath my adrenaline to be dealt with later.

Magic. The only thing that could cause that big of an explosion is magic.

Bastian’s throat tightens as he swallows. His gaze slips to me, asking an unspoken question: Are you ready?

I nod, and we throw the doors open.

Hot air welcomes us like death. My torch is unnecessary; the room is bathed in fire. Thank the gods for the rain outside, for it’s likely the only reason Arida is still standing.

Flames lick the walls and feed on the plush sapphire rug, burrowing into it and consuming it whole. My throat aches, struggling to find oxygen that’s been stolen by the ravenous fire. The windowless back wall is the only reason we can still breathe.

Father’s positioned in the corner, and relief floods through me when I see he’s still alive. His broad chest heaves with gasps, and one side of his face is stained crimson from the blood that spills from a profound gash on his forehead. His trembling hands wrap around a handful of bones, and when he spots me at the entrance, his chest caves. His head shakes furiously.

“LEAVE!” he yells, voice desperate.

I refuse. Wielding both daggers in either hand, I charge inside.

Kaven’s shirt is stuck to his bloodied chest, telling me Father’s put up a good fight. His dark eyes are rimmed with silver sharp as steel when he whirls to me. In place of the arm I took from him, he has bandages wrapped tight at the stub of his elbow.

“Have you come to see the king atone for his sins?” The question snakes its way through my skin and makes me shudder. “Poor little Montaras, so focused on being stronger than everyone else. Always so worried about being overthrown. For centuries you’ve put yourselves ahead of your people, destroying our homes and hoarding magic. That ends tonight.”

Kaven holds his sword by the blade. It slices into his palm and blood coats the metal quickly. But it’s Father who screams as his palms peel open, bleeding. I stand frozen, numb.

As Bastian was anchored to Keel Haul, Kaven’s cursed my father to be anchored to him.

It’s for protection; without the cursed bands I destroyed, his power’s been weakened. By binding my father to him, Kaven’s guaranteed I’ll never touch him; killing him would mean destroying Father’s soul.