Flamecaster (Shattered Realms #1)(121)

Only this time, the king of Arden was within reach. Maybe.

“The king and the queen? Are they safe?” Ash struggled to keep the menace out of his voice.

Fortunately, Botetort didn’t notice. “Neither were hurt in the attack. King Gerard seems badly shaken, which I suppose is understandable.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ash said. “Perhaps I can give him something that will settle his nerves.” In a permanent sort of way. “Do you know where he is?”

Botetort shook his head. “I don’t know. If you do find him, I hope you can help him.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “He’s not been himself lately. We need strong leadership at a time like this.”

“I understand, my lord,” Ash said, turning away.

Ash climbed the steps into the tower, two at a time. It had been nearly empty while Jenna was in residence there, and now it appeared to be completely deserted. There were few signs of damage until he reached the floor below Jenna’s rooms. Here it looked like there had been one of the earthshakes he’d heard were common along the southern coast. Walls were cracked, and some seemed near collapse. As he climbed the next flight of steps, he could hear the wind whistling through up above.

When he emerged from the stairwell, he found nothing but ruins. The tower walls were gone on three sides, and everything above Jenna’s floor was missing. Some of the furniture was still there, although it was charred and burned. It resembled a child’s dollhouse, where the sides have been peeled away so you can look into the rooms.

“Jenna!” he shouted, the wind whipping the word away as soon as he released it. “Jenna, it’s Adam.” If there was a response, he didn’t hear it.

The rain had churned ashes and cinders into a black soup. As Ash crossed the floor, glass crunched under his feet. He found two bodies against the remaining wall, burned nearly beyond recognition. When he looked closer, bits of braid and jewelry told him that they were the emissary’s guard.

Ash walked the room in a miasma of grief and rage, forcing himself to search methodically. He found charred scraps of fabric in purple silk—the dress Jenna had worn to the meeting with the emissary. He tucked the fragments of silk inside his shirt for safekeeping.

The iron bed frame remained, though the bedclothes were a soggy, blackened mess. And on the table next to the bed, a lump of charred leather and water-soaked paper. Her book.

I wonder if she finished it? He blotted tears from his eyes, recalling what she’d said on their last night together.

I want to live. I want to hear the bells in the temple church in Delphi, ringing out the victory. I want to hike into the Spirit Mountains and speak to witches and faeries. I want to sail over the ocean, all the way to the horizon and beyond. I want to go all those places I’ve never seen, except in books. I want to fly—

He slipped his hand inside his coat, fingering the battered gold pendant she’d given him. It looked like a piece of a mariner’s compass. He remembered what she’d said.

You can give it back to me when I see you again.

When you love someone, that catches the attention of the gods, who punish you.

He walked to the edge and looked out over the city. Where would Jenna’s body have landed, if she’d been thrown from the building by a dragon?

It made no sense that a dragon would kill her. He’d always heard that dragons loved beautiful things.

I should have killed it when I had the chance, but Jenna wanted it freed.

Ash heard a slight sound behind him, like a boot crunching into glass. He began to turn, reaching for his amulet. But it was too late. A hard push between his shoulder blades, and he was falling, over the edge and into space. Desperately, he grabbed at the air, and his hands fastened on a pair of gargoyles—drain spouts on either side of a window. He dangled from the spouts until his toes found a bit of a ledge to dig into.

The wind was howling, and the stone was slippery from the rain. Ash was afraid to move for fear of losing his hold and falling the rest of the way.

He looked up, blinking away rain, to see Gerard Montaigne standing over him. He resembled some avenging spirit in a cautionary tale, silhouetted against the roiling clouds, with his cloak whipping in the wind.

The king knelt, reached down, and yanked Ash’s amulet over his head; the serpent amulet his father had given him. Ash was helpless to stop him.

Montaigne tossed the amulet over his shoulder. Ash heard the clank as it hit the stone floor.

“So, Adam Freeman,” the king said as if he no longer believed in the name. “I see that you are uncollared once more. How could that have happened?”

Ash couldn’t think of any answer that would be helpful, so he said nothing at all.

“I am wondering why it is that, ever since you arrived in Ardenscourt, I’ve had one piece of bad luck after another.”

Ash judged the distance between them. He shifted his feet, seeking more secure footing. With a better base, he might be able to push up and grab the king’s ankles. He’d fall, but he’d take the king with him, and just now that seemed like a worthwhile trade. Especially with Jenna gone.

But if he missed, or lost his grip . . .

When Ash said nothing, the king continued on. “Fires in the kitchen, snakes in my bed, poison in the wassail, and now dragons on the tower. Truly, I am beginning to feel like a target.”