Page 81 of This Monster of Mine

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A hard rap on the door propelled her to wakefulness.

Stumbling from bed, Sarai briefly glanced at the window.He’s early.The moons had barely reached the night sky’s summit. Her eyes were swollen, turmoil still fresh. She hadnihumbandzostaactive before drawing the bolt.

Kadra’s gaze fell on her and lingered.

“Are we starting early?” She addressed the far wall.

A beat of silence. “Did someone hurt you?” She raised her head in surprise, and his eyes narrowed. “Tullus’s Petitor again?”

Sarai debated on directing him to a mirror. “What do you need me for?” She stilled upon taking stock of the scorch marks on his robes. “Was there a strike?”

Something flickered across his face. “A Guildmaster’s home.”

“I’ll be right down.”

He looked hesitant for a moment, as though he wanted to say more. Grim lines tightened on either side of his mouth. Then, he left.

Numb, she hurried through her ablutions and joined him, their horses kicking up mud as they wove through the streets. Unless a Petitor also possessed some talent for lightning or fire, they couldn’t do much post-stormfall save assisting vigiles with rescue efforts.It must be bad if he needs me there.

She smelt the carnage before she saw it.

The air grew thick and bitter, smoke veiling homes like low-hanging mist. The radius indicated a catastrophe worse than the one on the outskirts nine days ago. Halfway up a street, Kadra dismounted and secured their mounts, indicating that they’d walk from there. Covering her nose and mouth with her sleeve, she followed, peering through the wall of smoke. The air shifted. Her heart sank.

The ruins of a magnificent home lay before them. Flames roared across every storey despite chains of vigiles atop the roofs of neighboring domii tossing buckets of water and sand at them. Gold leaf floated in a sea of floating sparks. A column from an upper floor teetered, then crashed through two floors to shatter on the ground, opulence crumbling.

A soot-covered vigile let out a groan of relief upon seeing Kadra. “He’s here!” he roared above the crackling flames.

The others scrambled off the roofs, away from the domus. Kadra placed an arm in front of her, guiding her to stand behind him.

“Don’t breathe too deeply,” he warned.

He raised a palm, features taut. The flames on the upper storeys faltered, their wispy tips leaning toward him. He did the same with his other hand, the blaze on the ground floor hungrily licking in his direction. Slowly, meticulously, he closed each outstretched palm, pulling them toward him as he did. The fire followed, racing over wood and upholstery to rise before him in a wall as high as the domus.

Her breath unfurled in bursts. A few vigiles staggered back in fear when the air warped into black poison. Kadra didn’t flinch. Only the tight set of his jaw revealed how difficult it was. He pressed down and out until the wall of flame split into several red columns, weaker in temperature. Hands steepled and steady, he turned to his vigiles and tilted his head. Looking as awestruck as she probably did, they stumbled back to their buckets, water sloshing as they tackled the stacks of flame. She did the same, scrunching her eyes against the ensuing smoke. The air screeched and sizzled. Within minutes, all was extinguished.

Kadra dropped his hands. “Watch for embers in the upper storeys,” he reminded his vigiles before turning to her.

Blood roared in her ears. “I see why you’re a Tetrarch,” she said without thinking.

His eyebrows rose. “You didn’t before?”

“That was …” She trailed off. “You’re terrifying. Whose domus is this?”

“Grains Guildmaster Admia.”

She froze, recalling the sharp-faced woman at Aelius’s convivium. Had she been inside when the strike occurred? “This fire must have been raging for hours. Why did no one call us here earlier?”

Something slithered in Kadra’s eyes. Before he could respond, a vigile called to him to indicate a patch of wood about to flare up on an upper floor. She picked her way across the thick fulgurites scattered in the debris to where a gray-cloaked healer crouched, features contemplative.

“Have you found any victims?” she called.

Their expression cleared upon recognizing her robes. “Just him.” They indicated a black shape at their feet.

Wisdom and Wrath. She flinched.

Tearing a strip of cloth from their bandaging supplies, the healer dampened it and passed it to her. “Wrap it over your nose and mouth. Best defense we have against esophageal burns. This strike’s a bad one.”

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