There was an explosion in the east wing.
Followed by another in the west.
Lambhurst Palace is under attack.
Lucinda hurried me awake while Charlotte quickly packed me a bag, storing away the valuables and random dresses she left to hang earlier. I tried asking what was happening, but none of my thoughts came across as coherent or rational. I'm not even convinced a complete sentence left my mouth, just half-awake mumbles and panicked breaths.
A cool night breeze brushes past my ankles, up the skirt of my night dress, and Charlotte drapes a coat over my shoulders to keep me from freezing. Of all the thoughts that should have been running through my mind, only one rang louder than the others. Where are my friends? Had they escaped? I was still being rushed through the Imperial Knight regiment's quarters, maybe there's still a chance to find them. I ask Lucinda to look for them as Charlotte begins to drag me away.
As much as I'd hate to credit her, as much as it pains me to admit, this could only be the doing of one twisted shrew. What else does Queen Rista have in store? I'd rather not stick around to find out.
I call out to Lucinda, begging her to find Grace and the others before we leave, and she obliges as Charlotte continues to usher me through the corridors, oversized carry-on in tow.
Where's Cole?
The thought stops me in my tracks, and I start to turn down the corridor to his private study. "Charlotte, what time is it?" I ask, but the single chime from a clock in the hall answers me for her. One in the morning. Cole usually works this late, he's probably still in his office.
"My Lady, where are you going?" Charlotte calls after me, hiking up her skirt as she chases. She's running but the distance between us is too great for her to grab me now.
"I have a job, Charlotte, a commitment to the Crown Prince. If I am to leave this Palace alive then so will Accolodius."
Her calls grow quieter as I run through the halls, the sound of screams and roaring fires blocking out the noise of my footsteps. I'd been keeping count. The explosions are large enough to remove threats, while not being so large that the foundation collapses. The columns vibrate every thirty or so paces, its location moving around the perimeter of Lambhurst like a ticking clock. If I'm correct, the first was set off in Cole's personal chambers, while his study remains on the other side of the palace.
Queen Rista must have hoped to kill him in his sleep, it's what she'd done in the book. I thought I had more time to plan an escape route for all of us, but her attack had moved up most likely due to the little spat I had with Tristen and Garrison earlier.
A maid pushes past me, and a basket of worn clothes and wet towels tumbles behind her. She looks at it briefly, up at me and my equally harrowed appearance, and decides to abandon the laundry. I recognized that maid, she was loyal, diligent, and never spoke much. She must be cursing herself now for filing her allegiance with the first prince.
An explosion sounds ahead of me, blinding me for only a second and filling the air with smoke. I lift an arm over my face, bracing for the flying debris, but the thin silk doesn't offer much protection as a chip of cement singes my sleeve. One guard almost flew from his post, hitting his back against the opposite wall and unable to move from there. I'm not sure if he's still conscious, but by the angle his leg is bent, it's clear he won't be able to run if he is.
A flame blocks my way to Cole's study, and my head turns frantically in search for a new route. Without thinking, my feet start moving to a path towards the right when I collide into someone, looking as confused as I do, both falling backwards with a tired yelp.
"Amy?"
"Grace?" My friend stares at me as we both hurry each other to our feet. I don't have time to socialize, I need to reach Cole's study before the bombs trap us within the grounds of Lambhurst.
"Grace I'm so glad you're alright," I say instead, resolutely and relieved, "I need you to find the others. Philip, Geoffrey, and Percival. Lucinda should be by the Imperial Knights quarters looking for them as well. Bring everyone to the Crown Prince's personal study and we'll depart from there."
"The Crown Prince's study? But that's so distant from all of the remaining exits."
"Grace I need you to do as I say and trust me, we have less than five minutes before the entirety of Lambhurst will be engulfed in flames. The Crown Prince's study."
She studies my face, hoping that my earnestness shines more than my desperation, and she simply nods before disappearing. I watch her, silk robe wave in the wind as she trots down the aisle, and take a moment to mutter a nonsensical prayer before leaving myself.
I cut through the courtyard, jumping over a railing and grabbing hold of a column to steady myself. My dress smells of poppies, a gladiolus petal sticking to the fabric, and I wonder how long it will take to remove the scent of death from my robe.
Did Garrison know of the attack and choose not to warn me? I wonder if I could ever remove the scent of betrayal too.
Finally, I reach the last corridor where the only room left is Cole's study. A man is squatted in front of it, fumbling with a pouch of gray powder piled over the end of a string. The dark glint of flint in his pocket paints his motives and his duty clearly. He's the detonator that has been destroying Lambhurst. He is doomsday.
Luckily, thanks to the screams behind me, he doesn't hear me approach. His back is turned to me as he uncoils the string to a far enough distance that he won't be affected by the blast.
I don't have my sword, I don't have a dagger or any weapons hidden under this thin film of cloth, but I do have something better. Two older brothers and a rather rowdy Philip.
My legs launch upwards, a knee connecting to his lower back. The man stumbles forward and it's clear he wasn't anticipating someone to be so far from the main exits. "You little wench," he glowers, regaining his balance. "Do you really wish to die so young?"
"Well I hope not," I tilt my head, bracing a leg behind me to remain grounded. "Then there'd be no one to keep your mother warm at night."
He sneers at me, bunching his fists in anger. "Such a wretched mouth on such a pretty face. You'd wish your last remarks weren't so foul."
"And you wish you'd pleaded a bit more." He throws a closed hand towards my face, but I duck under his extended arm, wrap my legs around his shoulder, and drag him forward, bracing my weight as we tumble to the ground. His neck is under my thigh, his face turning red and then blue in frustration and asphyxiation.
I pull, pull his arm as he struggles to wrench free, and dig my heels into his chest and throat. He claws at my calves with his free hand, but to no avail.
With a sickening crack, I drag his shoulder out of its socket and he lets out a scream of pain. His clawing turns into frantic swats and I release him from my hold. Not much he can do now with only one good arm.
When I'm on my feet again, I swipe a swift kick at the demolition man's temple, and he goes limp. I spit at his body, "And at the hands of a 'little wench' too. Some people just don't know when to stay down."
Pulling on the collar of my robe and tossing my scarlet curls back, I readjust myself and brush aside the gunpowder laid in front of Cole's door. What would have happened if I were just a minute late? If he didn't fumble so clumsily? Terrible thoughts and I push them aside for fear that I might manifest another disaster to fruition.
"Amy!" Grace calls from down the hall, and followed closely behind are three boys and Lucinda whom I'm so relieved to see. Even Charlotte finally catches up to us, bag in tow and skirt muddied with dirt. She's huffing, and her face is red, but she doesn't bother to scold me.
"Lady Amalie, I've found the knights," Lucinda breaks away from the group and hands me my sheathed sword. "I trust you have a plan."
"Through thick and thin, Lucinda. Even if I didn't, you'd find a way to rescue me." She doesn't answer, but with a hand at the hilt of her blade, she nods confidently. Confident in me I hope, but hesitant in my actions. She and Charlotte open the door to Cole's study, and the others begin to file in.
In the front of the pack is Grace and Percival, trying to decipher the surroundings given the gunpowder, the unconscious man at our feet, and the building burning around us. Despite all of the chaos, when Percival sees the demolition man and his misshapen arm, the scene clicks in his head and I swear a smile dances on his lips, but vanishes almost immediately. "Well done Lady Amalie," he says and follows Grace to Cole's door.
Philip and Geoffrey are clinging to each other in the back, stumbling through the flames when I notice the bottom hem of Geoffrey's coat is singed to a charcoal black. Percival glances around nervously, probably anxious another explosion will be leased, and Geoffrey pulls him to the room, even though he's the one that's most likely injured.
With the last of us out of the hall, I usher into Cole's study and shut the doors behind me, locking them in case anyone decides to follow.
Cole's standing behind his desk, regal and broken, papers scattered and staring at me as I turn around, confused but not shaken. His brows are creased and it tells me that he too has no idea what's happening. I know what's happening, it's just too early.
"Your step-mother," I tell him, pacing to the front of the table. "After hearing of what Tristen said to me, she must have gotten desperate."
He looks at me like he understands, and lowers his head in anger. "The likes of her doesn't deserve such a title. Are you alright?" As if he'd forgotten about the other refugees in the room, he glances at each of their faces. "Are you all alright?"
"Aside from a darkened coat and petrified trauma, I'd say we've all made it out relatively unscathed."
Cole nods and reaches for me, brushing aside a streak of soot on my cheek. A bit of
gun powder must have caked in my sweat during my tussle outside, and the small gesture is
so unnecessary but I don't dare to push his hand away. I should, but I don't want to.
Just an inkling of comfort in the midst of so much uncertainty.
"I'm fine," I whisper, pushing down his arm, the urgency around us breaking through his gaze. "The horses' stable, how far is it from the training grounds?"
"No more than fifty paces."
"And you know your way to the Capital City, you said? Through the forests?"
His eyes search my face, and the plan that I'm piecing in my head clicks in his. Cole smiles, something understanding, something dangerous. "Like the back of my hand."
I turn back to the rest of my friends, still staring at us confused but not daring to interrupt. "I'll explain everything later to the lot of you. For now, Percival, Grace, Lucinda, take every sword and blade sheathed on the wall. Every scabbard, every dagger, even the iron pokers from the fireplace."
"What of me, Amalie?" Geoffrey asks, and I take a moment to glance at his hyperventilating companion.
"You are to make sure Philip doesn't die of fright tonight."
"I can fight," Philip croaks.
"You can barely hold your own weight. This is a war, and right now you are no knight. Keep your head down and find your nerves or there's no other purpose for you than to leave you in the flames." I've never spoken like this in front of the others, but the authority rings so true in my voice that he no longer rasps against my decisions.
Now's not the time for protests.
Grace and Percival grapple with an array of various sized swords, and Lucinda clinks together the fire irons, one of which is still red at the tip with heat.
"Pardon me, Amy," Grace starts, tucking the blades under her arm. "Do you intend us to fight every one of the Queen's men?"
Cole steps forward, taking the largest sword from her pile and tossing it from hand to hand. "Just the ones that get in our way."
"And how are we to leave?" Percival asks. Everyone has questions now it seems. "Unless you mean for us to run through the explosions and every guard on the premises. Your study, Your Highness, is too distant from the nearest exit."
"Don't concern yourself with trivialities, Imperial Knight Halen." I feel Percival stiffen at the sound of his family name, especially from the Crown Prince's lips. I'm not sure he thought anyone else knew it. As far as I was concerned, I was the only one he'd told his story to. How long had it been since someone had called him the name of his late father? Of the family he thought had betrayed him?
Grace looks at him, but she doesn't say anything. It's clear she wants to ask him, to know why the stern Percival had cracked, and why he was being referred to as "Imperial Knight Halen" by the Crown Prince, but she refrains herself, aware that now is no time for a prodding.
Cole moves past them, weaving through the scrambled knights, and pushes aside the tapestry he'd shown me only a few hours prior. We'd walked through the passageway hidden behind it, to the courtyard where he tucked a rose bud behind my ear. We'd been Amy and Ace then, but now we are the Crown Prince and his Imperial Knight.
He pushes aside the tapestry, and a cool breeze blows into the room, a dark tunnel leading to the night of the courtyard.
While others look on with disbelief, Grace simply lets out a single chuckle, clicking her tongue as she speaks. "Well that will work."
As we begin to file through the tunnel, Cole leading the others in the front, and me with my sword braced in the back, the explosion that was meant for outside of the study's door detonates. I should have anticipated that that one man wasn't acting alone. There were too many explosions for one person to set up.
The door bursts into splitters, flames creeping into the room as it catches onto every book, every paper, every plank of wood.
The group of us scramble forward, faster and more panicked than before, but I still feel the brunt of the heat bearing behind me. "Cole!" I call instinctively, but he's too far into the night and the fire roars too close for him to hear me.
I'm dressed in no more than a nightdress and a silk robe, but I feel the fabric melting into my skin, sticking to the sweat that's releasing like bullets.
Cole tumbles through the tunnel, then Grace with Percival guiding her, a hand on the small of her back. Lucinda has an arm hooked around Charlotte who stumbles out, coughing, and Geoffrey's still dragging a limp Philip behind him. There's smoke in my lungs, burning my eyes, and I'm sure that must be the case with them as well. Geoffrey doesn't let it show, he's covered the bottom half of his face with a free hand, but Philip's tripping over his feet even more now than before.
Ash flutters behind me, red cinders falling at my feet, and I lift a leg out of instinct to avoid being burned. Everyone else has evacuated safely, all that's left is me and the two hometown best friends.
So close, I feel the cool breeze on the other side tickle away some loose strands of hair from my face. The fire's engulfed the entire room now, and is inching its way into the entrance of the tunnel, but the visible grass of the courtyard brings me hope. I'm almost out, just a bit more.
Suddenly, Philip's long coat snags on a spike on the ground. Had he been able to walk properly, there's a chance he might have avoided it, but his debilitating fear pulls him to the ground.
Philip struggles, tugging at his coat as the fire roars behind us, and Geoffrey stumbles backward as a result. "GO!" I yell at him, tugging at Philip's coat myself. "Follow the Prince, there's no sense in all of us dying."
Geoffrey stares at me, eyes pleading and distraught, but finally leaves after a few beats, running towards the others.
I kneel down next to the spike, and stare at the frayed fabric from his worn out coat. It's not a snag, it's a tangle. "Amalie leave with the others. I'd just hold you back. I deserve to die on this hill."
"The only people that deserve to die, Philip, are the ones that speak like you." I bunch the fabric in one hand, and jerk it apart with as much force I can muster. The coat doesn't separate as easily as I'd hoped, and I pull more and more, watching as the stitches become undone with each tug.
He's almost freed, when pain shoots up my back leg. The rising heat had caught up to us, and I turn around just for a moment to see what it is I'm feeling. The fire had engulfed my hind foot, black smoke obscuring my vision, ankle deep in the flames. It sizzles, and it starts to grab at my silk garments, traveling up my leg and threatening to burn the rest of me if I don't hurry up.
I try not to scream, I grit my teeth and pull at Philip's coat once more, but a grunt of pain must leave my mouth regardless how hard I try.
With Philip finally free, the two of us stumble outside of the tunnel, and I have adrenaline carry me across the courtyard. I can't slow down for the fear that I might be caught. Whether from Queen Rista's men, or from the fire itself, I can't stop running no matter how much pain I'm in.
My skin starts to blister, a sickening realization with every step I take, and I feel every individual blade of grass prodding at my burns.
We run past the training grounds, to the stables, when I collapse in front of the barn doors. My knees buckle under me and suddenly the ground rises much too fast towards my face. As far as my will to live would take me, there always seems to be a breaking point. I've hit my wall.
The burns on my leg begin to throb, every sensation I'd been ignoring pricking its way to the surface now with shallowed, haggard breaths and a booming heartbeat. It must seem much worse than I'd anticipated, I must seem much worse than I'd anticipated, for I hear Cole grab at Philip's collar, pulling him from the ground in anger.
"What happened to her?" he yells, not much asking rather than accusing. Philip doesn't answer. I can see on his expression the pain and regret that must be flashing through it, but I can't do more than lift a hand in protest.
"Now's not the time for fighting, Your Highness." Grace says, though not with much conviction. "If you wish to kill him please do it on your own time. Preferably when the risk of death isn't imminent." The others stare on, all except for Percival who's guiding horses from the stable by their reins.
Cole doesn't look away from Philip, but he considers Grace's words and throws him to the ground. Philip lands with a thud, and slowly starts to rise on his elbows; not even Geoffrey offers a hand.
The prince rushes to my side, cradling me with an arm under my knees and another bracing my back. He picks me up with ease, and I try to focus on the prince in front of me rather than the pain that's forcing me out of consciousness. "Amalie-"
"Save your condolences for once we've left."
And that's what we do. He nods, places me on the back of a horse, and takes the leather straps himself. My head falls on his back, my arms around his waist, and the smell of his cologne overpowers the stench of smoke. I wish I could get drunk on that scent, have it fill my lungs whenever I miss home. Whenever I miss him. But instead, the only thing currently in my lungs is smoke and ash.
With a snap of the reins, the horse neighs and gallops into the forest, our friends followed closely behind. My vision starts to blur as the distant shape of Lambhurst grows smaller, covered by the foliage, and wholly set ablaze.