Page 69 of Of Blooming Embers
My eyebrows shot up. “You used the orchid?”
The skin on either side of her eyes crinkled. “You really did a number on me in the Winnowing. Proud of you, you ember-eating wench.”
Squealing, I threw my arms around my friend, overjoyed that the memories of the Breena I first met had joined the new.
“Oy, woman! My stew—” Her words were cut short as a stout man crashed through the entrance. My stomach shot into my throat at the panic radiating off him.
“Arm yourselves! We’re under attack!” he bellowed. Everyone in the pub froze for only a moment before shooting out of their chairs, brandishing weapons, and rushing outdoors.
With weapons in hand, we followed the rest. A booming blast of oily neon exploded against the tree to my left, and I stooped as Gavrel grabbed me and hauled me away from the flying shards of wood.
The doombark groaned as the oleaginous ember slithered over its trunk and then over the roof of the pub. With a resounding crack, the building caved inward, the broken tree plunging backward into a nearby conservatory. The thick dome remained unharmed.
Of course it did.
No matter what doom befell Midst Fall, those damned things survived.
My eyes followed the path of the tainted ember. Atop a roof was a female Akridai, a fresh assault forming between her palms.
“Get to Yaya’s,” I ordered as a Helos citizen pushed the oblivious enforcer off the building she perched on.
Hurriedly, we weaved along the bridges and plankways.
Below our grandmother’s home, Marek, bare-chested as usual, was spinning and jabbing his quarterstaff between two Draumrs. His raven tattoo moved with his shoulder blades as he shifted gracefully and struck his weapon efficiently between both attackers.
When the guards noticed Gavrel approaching, they faltered, Marek’s staff knocking one off the bridge. Dodging my cousin’s next attack, the other warrior crouched and retreated. The woman’s face pinched, confusion lacing her tone. “Commander?”
“The Elders are a farce. Do with that what you will,” Gavrel replied as Marek stepped toward her like a predator. The warrior’s face crumpled before she sprinted away.
Yaya barged down the stairwell, a bow gripped in her hold and a quiver of arrows strapped to her back. “Get a move on! Protect as many innocents as you can, but get my granddaughter to Hallowed End. Whatever it takes.”
She didn’t have to tell us twice. As a unit, we navigated the pathways.
There were droves of Draumrs pouring in from all sides. My heart galloped, trying to push me onward as ember thrummed along my body. The knowledge that my blade would be sullied today had my fist tightening around the hilt.
“It would seem we have an Elder sympathizer among us,” Marek snapped. “On the south bank, several boundary runes were destroyed. The illusion fell shortly after.”
My grandmother’s nostrils flared irritably at the information, but then her head snapped up. “Let’s move!” she barked, nocking an arrow and letting it fly over my head.
A pained cry sounded, then breaking boughs as a body hurtled through the air, and then a final splat into the water.
Gavrel’s mouth pressed into a firm line as he nodded approvingly at Yaya. Then we ran, rune tattoos and embers flaring among us. White light zoomed over Gavrel’s and Rhaegar’s weapons.
A few straggling Draumrs met us as we made haste. A pained expression flicked over Gavrel’s face with every warrior he thrashed his weapon or fists at. It must have wounded him to harm his fellow warriors, but it couldn’t be helped. The majority who joined the Order of Draumr were doggedly devoted to the Elders and their laws, conditioned to harm first and ask questions later.
But Gavrel had chosen his cause, and he would stand against anyone who got in our way.
He blocked a sword swinging at me from a shaky bridge running parallel to the one we were on. The guard gritted his teeth at the impact and then stumbled as the planks under him swayed. Using the full weight of my body, I rammed my shoulder into his, and the man cursed, tripping over the side and falling into the water.
As we stepped into the main square, at least forty warriors blocked our path. They spilled onto the platform from various pathways. My knuckles turned pale around the hilt of my dagger, its kaleidoscopic mist swirling in the pommel.
On my left, Yaya and Marek hurried to a winding staircase. As the older woman darted up them, Marek struck a man in the neck with his quarterstaff as the guard lunged for her.
“Let’s dance!” Breena roared, charging toward our opposition, her crimson aura blazing around her.
Rhaegar laughed and followed his friend, swinging his battle axe into the approaching opponents. “I’ll clear the way!” he bellowed, yanking his curved blade from a man’s flank.
A ball of Breena’s blistering ember zipped over his shoulder and through a woman’s arm. The warrior’s sword slammed into the platform as she screamed, grabbing at the empty space her limb used to be.
