Kingdoms on Fire

4. Kiria

4

Kiria

Kiria tore herself away from the thin, dirty window where she had been watching the palace burn, a billowing black plume just on the other side of the walled grounds. If she ran out of here, she could be there in minutes. But what could she do? How could she save the dead, or take her kingdom back?

Tears burned like smoke in her eyes. She sniffed them back and steadied herself on shelves laden with emergency provisions.

The tunnel through which they’d all escaped fed into this storage cellar. A larger room with more finery was visible through an open doorway. That was it, the entire safe house—just some basic supplies in this room and the second room large enough for several people to lie down. A temporary reprieve.

Her serving girls, Candrae and Vayci, took her arms gently and steered her toward the bigger part of the compound.

The main room had no windows at all. Stifling. This room had been decorated to be more comfortable, but it still felt sparse and unnatural, despite the purple and blue flags of Brithnem draped from the ceiling. A few formal but utilitarian pieces of furniture had been arranged, grouped into a sitting area, working space, dining area, and a bunk, all in a space no bigger than her royal bedroom.

With the four reserve guards in there already, the space felt cramped, a mockery of her title as the Western Kingdom’s Keeper. Hopefully not the only one still alive.

Candrae, quietly crying, settled Kiria into a chair. Her long blonde curls fell disheveled in her smudged face. The upholstery of the seat suggested luxury that Kiria wanted no part of right now. The city was under attack. Horrible things were happening. She couldn’t let herself think about all the possibilities. The likely possibilities. The memory of Chetana’s horrified expression after coming out of Cúron’s bedchamber made Kiria’s throat close until she couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t breathe.

Gasping, she stood and waved to Vayci, who already stood by her other arm. Her eyes stung as panic crawled up through her chest.

“Just breathe,” Vayci said. “In through your nose… that’s it… and out through your mouth.”

Kiria repeated her shuddering attempts until she could drag air into her lungs again, feeling deflated as an empty set of clothes. Who else had escaped? Was her mother okay? Was Atty? Jori?

“Is Chetana back yet?” she whispered. Her former Amiran advisor had disappeared through the cramped emergency tunnel as soon as she’d deposited Kiria in the safe house. She didn’t say why she was going back.

“Not yet, My Keeper,” one of the guards replied before Candrae had the chance. He was young, with a large tattoo on his face. She didn’t recognize him. Maybe a newly inducted recruit.

Kiria shook as she took another breath. Chetana would risk her life for more than one person in the palace: her son Daelon or Kiria’s mother Merian held the top of the list. It was possible that she would go back for Atty too. As the Third Keeper, he was technically the most important person there, since Kiria was in this compound and Cúron was…

She sank back in the chair as her strength left her. Leaning forward to look back to the other room where they’d emerged from the tunnel, she hoped to see Chetana’s short reddish-brown curls coming through the opening. But there was nothing.

A loud noise jolted her out of her seat. Legs trembling, she shot glances at the serving girls. Their wide eyes confirmed she hadn’t imagined the sound.

The guards leapt to attention.

Again, someone pounded against the safe house. Her heart leapt into her mouth. Chetana would return through the tunnel, wouldn’t she? Who else knew she was here?

A sudden alarming idea hit her. Firian would know. Their connection often allowed him to know what she was doing. Was he coming for her? Why? Hadn’t he done enough? Watery rage engulfed her. Or was it violent sadness? Firian had no right to come after her, not after she’d willingly given herself up to him to save her people. Maybe he’d changed his mind, not only about ruling the Kingdom, but also about owning her.

Earlier that night, he had given her an ultimatum. Was that tonight? It felt like weeks ago. He said he wouldn’t attack the city if she gave herself up to him. He promised. Eventually the solution was painfully clear. Brithnem was worth more than her life and reputation. Without telling anyone, she had gone to the abandoned farmhouse where he told her to meet. He had kissed her, and then… he had let her go.

If she’d thought this outcome was even a possibility, she never would have left. She wouldn’t have jeopardized her city and the people she loved. The thought flushed her dark with anger and regret.

The events of the night had been so breakneck that she hadn’t had time to think about the meaning of that encounter, except to see that Firian had broken his promise. He had attacked her beloved Brithnem, breaking her last shred of trust. The memory of loving him tasted bitter in her mouth. Rancid. Piece by piece, he’d ruined something that could have been so good. She should have known it could end this way. She knew him better than most, and she’d seen the creature that tugged him toward greater violence. He’d given into that monster within. Maybe he was coming for her now.

Her stomach clenched painfully, emotions roiling like an ocean in tempest. Even she could never have predicted how far he would go in his quest for dominance. In a far corner of her mind, she doubted he could go so far, that he’d ordered this attack at all. But that was just more evidence of her weakness. She should be far beyond those delusions now.

The pounding had stopped, but a small scraping like a rodent’s nails took its place. No one moved toward the door except the guards, standing with weapons raised.

As they all watched in horror, it burst open and someone fell inside. Kiria gasped. Vayci stumbled backward a couple steps and Candrae covered her mouth with both hands.

Dust billowed in after the figure, obscuring him for a moment. A pick, like a hairpin, dropped to the ground.

“Jori! Oh my god!” Kiria flung herself toward him, wrapping his neck hard in her embrace.

“Kiria!” He held her tight, shaking, planting rough kisses on her cheek. One of the guards hurried to shut the door behind them.

Sobs rushed out of her. She let them go on Jori’s shoulder as she clung to him. Tears poured faster than she could wipe them away. One of the metal buttons on Jori’s vest pressed against her collarbone.

Jori’s back hitched. He was crying too. How had it come to this? Were they the only ones left? Time froze as they cried into each other’s clothes and hair.

Sucking in uneven breaths, Kiria let him go. “You got out,” she said. “Did you see anything? Do you know what’s happening?”

Jori looked like a man haunted. Even at his worst moments, she’d never seen such desolation on his face.

Her gut twisted. Her instincts were wrong. They had to be wrong.

He swallowed convulsively, as if trying to force the words out of his throat. They stuck for a while, and he couldn’t speak.

“What happened?” she made herself ask.

He fluttered his fingers, the only gesture that looked recognizable, as he summoned up his words. Kiria’s chest felt tighter and tighter the longer he paused. The pressure built through her entire body.

A noise behind her made everyone jump. In the next room, Chetana stood tall and dark. Almost grateful for the interruption, Kiria dashed toward her. Her feet skittered to a stop when she saw Chetana’s face. The Amir looked like a harbinger of death.

Penned in by bad news, Kiria steeled herself as best she could. She had to know more. It was her duty, and those were her friends. “Did you learn… anything?”

Chetana’s expression filled with pain and horror, but in her eyes was a fierceness that made even Kiria quail before it.

“They got Atty!” The words ripped from Jori like an arrow.

Kiria’s knees went weak as she turned back to face him.

“I saw. And Haved…” Jori was shaking violently.

Candrae scrubbed the tears from her face and helped him sit. His arms and legs convulsed at random as though he were freezing.

Kiria came closer. Jori pressed his palms to his eyes, shuddering again, and then reached for her hand. Her presence seemed to calm him, though she felt anything but calm. She squeezed his fingers.

Breathing heavily, he continued. “I was… going out. And I saw Tanyu. Just…” His eyes became perfect circles. He snapped with his free hand. “They were fighting Atty’s guards. So I ran back—all those tunnels—you know I know all the ways.”

She nodded.

“I was going to warn him.” He gritted his teeth as more tears came. Kiria felt them in herself too. Jori’s voice broke as he said it again. “I was going to warn him.” Inhaling sharply, he crushed her hand in his grip, not realizing he was hurting her. The rings she wore dug into her skin. “When I got there, I… They were… They were dead on the bed.” He closed his eyes, his breaths coming faster now.

In a daze, she motioned for Vayci to bring him water. Kiria could barely understand his story. She felt like she’d been stabbed, that life was draining out of her, but she couldn’t cry. Something worse than sobs sat heavy in her chest. It can’t be true. They can’t be dead. Atty’s not dead. He’s my friend.

Candrae beat Vayci to the task and pressed a cup into Jori’s trembling hand. At the touch, he opened his eyes again, meeting Candrae’s gaze. He didn’t smile, but there was gratefulness in his look. The water splashed as he brought it to his lips. He lowered his cup to his lap, his attention on Kiria again. “I tried to find you, to make sure… I ran, but you escaped. I’m glad he was right. I knew it, or I would have come after you.”

“What? Who was right?”

“Bard…” He stopped, winded again. He tried to take another drink.

Was Bard still alive? Kiria waited impatiently. In the whirlwind of her thoughts, she hadn’t thought enough about him. She sensed Chetana stiffen near her.

“He needed a doctor,” Jori continued, shaking his head. “It was that Tanyu. He said you were all right.”

She scrunched her brow, confused. “Bard said I was all right?”

“No, Firian.”

Shocked, Kiria let go of Jori’s hand, her attention instinctively drawn toward the door. “You saw Firian? With Bard? Is he here?”

“Here?” Confusion and grief distorted his features.

A tiny breath of relief escaped her. “They were together?”

He nodded, gulping the last of the water like a shot of liquor.

“What was he doing?” Her head spun. She had too many questions. Shooting a look at the door, she added, “Bolt it. If it can be bolted any more.”

“Taking Bard to the doctor. He didn’t look all right.”

Did that mean that Firian wasn’t behind the attack after all, or just that he didn’t expect Bard to get caught in the crossfire? “Was he… ordering the attack?”

Jori waved his head back and forth, almost in a stupor. “I don’t know.”

“Did he talk to any other Tanyu, or…?”

“Just saw him with Bard.”

Helping Bard wasn’t definitive proof that Firian wasn’t behind the attack, but even the hope of it gave a little water to her parched soul. Maybe she didn’t have to add another betrayal to the list of evils done tonight. And he didn’t harm Jori, a member of a Keeper family. Her tiny hope grew brighter.

There were more urgent questions than wondering about Firian’s moral limits. “Do you know about anybody else?”

“No.” Another tear squeezed from his eye as he handed the cup back to Candrae.

Sickness overcame her. She turned away, afraid she might throw up. Atty was dead. Haved was dead. Jori was alive. Firian was alive. Bard may or may not be alive…

She swiveled to Chetana with the same question.

Chetana’s glowering sadness proclaimed her news before she told him. “Cúron,” she said grimly, as though beginning a list, “and Varinna.”

Jori cried out.

Kiria fought to remain composed. “Kader?” Kader was their ten-year-old son, heir to the first throne.

“I didn’t see him. Without a body, it’s likely that the Kepron was able to escape, but I don’t know with certainty. I’m sorry, My Keeper.”

Her title sounded odd in this safe house. She wished Chetana would call her Kiria. The familiarity would be comforting, especially considering the way Chetana was still looking at her. They all needed as much comfort as they could get. But more than that, they needed justice.

Kiria flexed her hands, nails digging into her palms. “We have to make a plan.”

One of the guards, a large blond man, stepped forward. “We must take you farther away from the palace,” he said in a low, clipped voice. “Your safety is the most important to the Kingdom.”

That was true. With Cúron and Atty gone, she was the only monarch left. But the passivity of the suggestion made her skin crawl. Despite grief filling her like a lethal disease, she had to do something. She couldn’t let her city burn. “Okay,” she said. “Where?”

“We have a place prepared,” answered the only female guard among the four.

The memory of Carradoc swarmed over her. A Tanyu in the fortress hidden in plain sight. Would all Tanyu side with the invaders, even if they were in different cities or countries? It was a stupid question. Of course they would.

So where could they go that was safe? Safe from Tanyu, safe from Firian? If he was hellbent on finding her, he would do it. They could only buy time.

Weakness overcame her. She sank into the seat next to Jori. His nearness was comforting even though he was holding his head in his hands. When had she last slept? She didn’t feel tired, only weak, but she knew she hadn’t slept for days. Or maybe one day?

Dimly, she noticed a change in the light streaming into the storage area by the tunnel’s mouth. She stood up hazily, and went to see.

Chetana followed her. She hadn’t told Kiria her news yet. Kiria didn’t want to hear it, because part of her already knew that the tragic news hadn’t stopped coming.

The Amir set a dark hand comfortingly on Kiria’s shoulder as they both peered up at the smudgy window.

“It’s Mother, isn’t it?”

Chetana’s fingers tensed. Answer enough.

Emptiness had replaced Kiria’s earlier desperation, like the undertow of a wave that would surge again into mad whitecaps with time. Her poor, lovely mother.

“Daelon?”

“I don’t know.”

The grayish-yellow morning fought with the violence of the firelight through the high, narrow window. Despite everything, the sun was rising.

“We’ll take it back from them, My Keeper.” Chetana’s profile was red-eyed and resolute.

Kiria’s thoughts fluttered unevenly. Them. The Tanyu. Firian, who, despite helping Bard and not murdering Jori, still led the army. The boy she’d once loved who had become utterly unrecognizable. How could he do this? How could she have not seen what he was?

Her insides weren’t large enough to fit all the grief. But they could fit the same tenacity she saw in Chetana’s eyes. That burning resolve to make things right. To take back the Kingdom and save the friends that remained.