A song of Iron and Rage

Prologue

The Count was choking.

I know that because I was there.
And no, I didn't do it — though I would've loved to.

But I didn't.
It was, unfortunately, a matter of circumstance. His own.

Had our unsolicited presence anything to do with this ?
Maybe.

If I were completely  innocent, I wouldn't have repeatedly slapped his rosy cheeks until he panicked, dropping his cigar onto the curtains next to where he was kissing a girl half his age. See? That's on him! But even if I were truly innocent, I would have done my earnest not to let the devil take over. Couldn't deny my dearest friend. could I ?

 Regrets? one: not ending his wretched existence sooner.

"Change of plans!" I shouted, coughing through the smoke thickening in the room. "We need to get out. Now!"

The fire moved fast, greedy. It licked up the velvet curtains and chewed through the wallpaper, devouring the room in orange teeth. For once, being rich had a price — even silk can kill. The flames climbed the furniture like dancers in a fever dream. If we didn't leave soon, we'd end up smelling like roasted sinners.

Criss stood frozen, face pale, eyes on the choking Count. His coughing — usually music to my ears — now sounded more like the overture to a funeral.

"Criss!" I snapped. She didn't answer.

No rescue came, though the mansion burned like a torch.

Were his screams unheard?
Knights? Maids? Anyone?

"Your lord could totally use some help right now!" I shouted, half-laughing, half-choking. "Come on, he's not that quiet a screamer!"

But no one came. The silence was so wrong it felt deliberate. As if screams were... ordinary here.

The heat pressed on my lungs. I grabbed the nearest unburned object — a candlestick, maybe — and slammed it against the door. Nothing. The lock held.

Can't count on help.
Can't open the door.
Can't breathe.
Can't—

My vision began to blur at the edges. The smoke was painting the world in shades of black and orange.

Then I saw her — the woman the Count had chased out when we arrived. Half-naked, bruised, discarded. Her shadow slumped near the wall. A sick twist of understanding crawled up my spine.

I tore an apron from the floor, pressed it to my mouth, and forced myself to think. We needed to move — for tomorrow's sake, if nothing else.

"Criss! Snap out of it!" I yelled, the words muffled by fabric. Sweat stung my eyes; my skin felt like it was peeling.

Criss didn't move. Her gaze was fixed on the Count's crumpled body, her hands trembling, reaching toward what looked more like a heap of meat than a man.

"Get your shit together, Christelle!"

The name did it. She flinched, blinked hard, then backed away. Her hazel eyes went wide, the reflection of fire dancing in them. She clamped a hand over her mouth, as if to keep herself from screaming.

"Now what?" I muttered, brain scraping for solutions. Think, Scarlet. Think!

Then it hit me. "Yes! That's it."

I grabbed a chair, spun with it until the room tilted — then hurled it straight at the window.

Glass exploded. A thousand shards burst outward, sucking in a rush of cold night air.

"What the hell, Scarlet? Are you insane?!"

"Door's locked," I said, coughing out a laugh. "Now go!"

I grabbed her hand, but Criss hesitated. "Wait!"

"Criss—"

She turned and dashed back into the smoke. A few seconds later she reemerged, coughing and singed, dragging the Count's limp body wrapped in tangled sheets. My jaw nearly dropped.

"You've got to be kidding me."

She tied him up with rope and looped the end around her waist. "Not letting him die that easily," she said, voice hoarse, eyes wet but steady.

I groaned. "You're unbelievable."

The ceiling above us groaned — timbers cracking, dust raining down. That was all the encouragement I needed to swallow my hesitation.

I took a deep breath. "One..."

"Two..." Criss followed, her lips curling into that wild grin of hers.

Fear, adrenaline — maybe both — made me smile too. It was always like this with her. All or nothing.

"Three!"

"Stop right there!" someone shouted from below.

Too late.

We jumped.

The third floor disappeared behind us in a blinding orange roar, the Count's body dangling between us as we plunged into the burning night.