Knight of the Wolf

12: Gravitational capture

Gory details aside, Zoyla was a well-trained sorceress as per the Emperor's expectations of someone so near and dear to Princess Morrow. The benefit of being a court lady didn't end at being in the princess' presence, nor in living at the palace—it was the knowledge she was given access to and the training she endured the years leading up to Princess Morrow's birth.

To Zoyla, she was an eldest sister nearly two decades apart from Princess Morrow, and sisters protected one another. She was supposed to be a just and guiding figure for Princess Morrow. Respectable. Feared, even.

Until word of the princess' survival reached the city and cleared their names, Zoyla would be nothing but feared all thanks to her training and Crew's dreadful plan.

A plan that put Zoyla in the desirable position as the distraction.

"Based on Scott's knowledge," Crew had said, "Mess hall will be empty this time around. And if push comes to shove, they can just blame the explosion on the stoves."

This will be more than what a stove can be reasonably blamed for, Zoyla thought as she loosened the sachet cinch. A pungent, earthy aroma was dispelled into the air. The gems were anointed with sage—not the ideal ritual for an event such as this, but protection herbs such as sage were commonplace for storage.

Zoyla rolled two gems in a slow, steady rhythm on one palm beneath the folds of her skirt. As the smooth facets glided together, she quelled any potential sparks. Her palms were surely scorching, though heat on her hands was touch-and-go.

She thought of the kettle she'd dropped in the princess' cellar.

"Mess hall's closed," she said, belatedly. She and Dev had been standing there for well over a minute.

"So it is," Dev said. "Zoyla, I—"

There was an unexpected hitch in Dev's voice that shocked them both.

Dev pressed a closed fist to her mouth and cleared her throat all while Zoyla stared at her like she had acquired a third head. "I know this has all been very difficult for you, and I haven't... been the easiest person to deal with. You—You should have been able to trust me enough to share the whole truth without worrying that I would—I mean, my history with hellhounds—"

"What brought this on?" Zoyla startled.

Dev shrugged helplessly. She couldn't very well admit to dying sometime soon. "You're about to do something incredibly dangerous and if something were to happen..."

Zoyla scoffed. "I trust you now. Now you should trust me. I know what I'm doing."

With her free hand, she tried the handle on the mess hall door. It gave, and with a quick gesture for Dev to stay back, she went inside. Alone.

Dev stood with a hand in the pocket of her coat. The knife Crew had given her was now warm from Dev's constant attention to it.

The last time she was armed, she had been in the throne room full of shame for letting the princess down. And after that, skinning the stag Crew had illegally hunted.

A warm glow flickered at the corners of her vision.

She turned, expecting a small spectacle starting to rile in the mess hall, and instead found the entire northern wall ablaze. Dev stared in horror at the burst of fire light casting all shadows in her direction—the direction of where Zoyla now half-sprinted, half-limped across the tiles.

"Go, go, go!" she cried, spinning out past the doors and around the corner.

Dev cupped her wounded side and struggled to keep pace as behind her, a trail of flames licked after them. It snaked in a fan of orange, turning stark white and shimmering blue as it overtook the hall in a tunnel of fire.