Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(39)

He’s pushed forward, and then the royal priest hobbles onto the platform. He holds a golden chalice and begins the blessing ceremony of the prince, his sword, and the hungry onlookers who gather at the platform edge like vultures.

I have as much time as I’ll ever get—but I have to do it. Now.

I break away from my unit, leaving them behind in a flurry of shouts. By the time I hop onto the next roof, their pleading is nothing but a distant echo. This is my mission, not theirs.

I run from one end of the roof and jump across to the next. The closer to the center of the capital, the more the houses are pressed against one another. My fear of falling threatens to grip my heart and render me useless. But my fear of losing Dez overpowers my senses, my reason, my everything.

A volley of cheers goes up as the blessing’s end is announced by trumpeting horns and the royal priest’s handheld bell. The sound chases pigeons from the streets, where they’ve been dive-bombing the rotten food in baskets. The crowd brandishes tiny purple-and-gold flags bearing the lion crest—the flag of Puerto Leones, as if Dez’s blood and bones weren’t born from this very earth, too.

I need to jump six more roofs to be close enough to make a run for the executioner’s dais. I take my wrist knife and throw it at the nearest guard across the street. It hits him right in his shoulder, and he goes down to his knees.

Suddenly, there’s a shout, and the crowd below seems to change slightly. But I can’t afford to stop and watch what’s happening. The trumpets that blast a call for quiet only make the crowd grow louder still.

I leap over the next roof and the landing rattles my spine. And that’s when I hear it, a cry of “Fire!”

Stumbling a second, I look back.

From the rooftop where I left my unit comes a billowing cloud of smoke, black snakes twisting around each other. And as I watch, the smoke begins to unfurl from other rooftops nearby, until it looks like the whole city is on fire.

I smile. The smoke simply hangs there, endlessly twisting, and as the dark cloud rolls toward my current rooftop, I feel no scorching heat. Smell no ash and hear no crackle of flames.

It’s an illusion. I can feel it in the seesaw feeling in my gut that comes with it. Illusionári magics. Margo’s work.

The commotion below grows louder and louder. “Fire! The city is on fire!”

I resume my sprint across the rooftops, rage fueling my legs. How many times has the justice set fire to villages across the kingdom? How many people have they burned to ignite fear among others? These people know nothing of fire. Know nothing of how it actually feels.

Cathedral bells begin to clang, tolling out a warning. I take loose bricks and iron tubes and anything I find on top of the roofs and fling them off into the crowd, adding to the chaos.

Then I run, and hop over to the next roof, keeping out of sight.

I trust you. His voice rings in my ears.

You shouldn’t have, I think as I reach the sixth house and look at the dais. Prince Castian is shouting at the crowd, pointing his finger at the guards nearest to him.

Then there’s Dez, smirking—recognizing the smoke for what it is.

My heart soars for a moment, and then I realize, even if I get to the street, I’ll have to barrel to get across the throng of people between us.

I open the rooftop access of the building and scramble down two flights of steps. There are women screaming in the bedchambers. Others standing outside rooms with long cigars between plump red lips, wearing nothing but undergarments and heels.

I kick open a door, and the morning light is blinding compared to the dark brothel. I run across the plaza, holding my arms up to protect my face, weaving through people hurrying away from the executioner’s platform. Dozens of Leonesse flags litter the cobblestones along with spoiled food meant to be thrown at Dez’s lifeless body. I slip occasionally, skidding on peels and pungent juices as I batter my way through a sea of legs and elbows.

I can see him clearly now.

Dez is chained to the platform, but he pulls against his restraints. He’s always been a fighter, and he’ll never stop fighting. The guard next to him kicks his back, forcing Dez to stay kneeling over the wooden block.

Don’t look away, I tell myself.

A large man barrels into me, nearly knocking me over, but I grab hold of a woman’s hair and pull myself up. She screams and lashes out with her nails. They draw blood on my cheek. I throw my weight at her and slam her to the ground.

A purple blur reaches for me—a guard, his dirty hands grabbing my sleeve and pulling me down. There’s something wrong with his face. His mouth is wide open as he falls to his knees, and then forward. A slender knife juts from his back; the rose carved on its hilt glints. Sayida’s knife. I am not alone.

There’s another bell, and I spin around.

Dez sees me. I know he sees me. He blinks. Then he opens his eyes again, a look on his face as if he’s seeing a mirage. I need him to know it’s me.

“Andrés!” I shout.

One of his eyes is nearly swollen shut, but the other is trained on my face. His dry, bleeding lips move. Ren, they say.

Ducking and dodging, I climb over falling bodies. Prince Castian raises his sword, and I draw the dagger at my hip and bite down on the flat blade. I hurl my entire body forward. The tips of my fingers grip the edge of the dais. Lift my left leg to get up and over.

Dez shuts his eyes.