Instead of an answer, I hear a sharp intake of breath, before a loud exhale forceful enough to knock me back a step. In that gust, the fire nearby roars larger, but the room clears of smoke and I find myself face to face with five frightened people. The youngest can’t be older than six, and the eldest—the Air Guardian who blew away the smoke—is a woman around twenty.
I want to ask if they’re all right, but anyone can see that they aren’t. They’re frightened and covered in ash and soot, to say nothing of the burns on their skin. They were huddled on the ground, but now that the air is clear, they scramble to their feet.
“Come on,” I say, holding a hand out toward them. “Follow me and stay close.”
The Guardian woman nods, though she eyes me warily. She reaches behind her and takes the hands of two of the younger ones before following me. All of them have cloth wrapped around the lower halves of their faces, covering their mouths.
When we reach the wall of fire again, I take a deep, steadying breath before using my gift to part the flames once more, trying to keep the space wider and deeper to fit everyone. It’s a struggle to hold a space that large, but I manage and I lead them through.
“Who is she?” a voice whispers behind me, but it’s quickly shushed.
I focus in front of me, in what I’m almost positive is the way I came in, though I can’t say for sure. On fire, everything looks the same. There are more screams, loud and close, but I force myself to ignore them. For now, I tell myself. I can come back, but I need to get these people to safety first.
The smoke in my throat is so thick and hot that I can barely breathe, even through the sleeve of my dress. It feels like drinking the Encatrio all over again, burning down my throat.
Just when I think I can’t stand it anymore, I walk straight into a wall of water, soaking me head to toe. I gasp for air, shocked and relieved all at once.
I hear my name, dim and distant, and the water dies down to reveal Artemisia in front of me.
“Are you all right?” she asks me before noticing the others I brought out. She lets out a curse below her breath and turns her attention to them. She shouts for Heron, who comes running, a case of gauze and ointment ready.
“I’m going back in,” I say. “There were so many others.”
“Theo,” Artemisia says. “It’s out of control. You can’t risk it.”
Heron doesn’t protest, though. Instead he takes a rag from his case and holds it out to Artemisia. “Douse this with water,” he says. “It’ll make it easier for her to breathe through.”
Artemisia looks ready to argue, but she does as he says and Heron passes the wet cloth to me.
“You’re breathing too much smoke, even with this,” he tells me. “When you’re out, find me right away, all right? And don’t go in more than you can. You know your limits, Theo. And you know you can’t help anyone if you’re dead.”
“I know,” I say, taking the rag from him and tying it around my head so that it covers my nose and mouth.
The wet rag helps the second time I go into the flames, but it does nothing to keep the smoke from burning my eyes. I follow the screams and manage to find another group of four men and women huddled together in what looks like it might have been the dining hall. They follow me out just as the others did, and I only rest a few seconds before going back in again.
With the Water Guardians working from the outside toward the center to extinguish the fire, the trip gets easier every time. There is less smoke, less fire to cut my way through, but my body aches with every step, and my lungs burn so badly that breathing is agony. Yet the screams are still there, still crying out for help, and so I keep going back.
“Theo, it’s enough,” Heron says after I bring out the fourth group. He’s hard at work healing a boy of ten, his hands on the boy’s chest, helping to clear the smoke from his lungs. “Rest for a few minutes. Drink some water. There’s time.”
But the screams in the air pull at me, dragging me back into the flames without even a moment to rest.
“Just once more,” I say, and I let Artemisia douse me head to toe with water again before stepping back into the flames.
I hear Heron calling my name just as I step inside, but then he’s lost to me and all I hear is the crackling of the fire and the unending screams. I stumble blindly toward one, dimly aware of how much every inch of my body aches and burns and drags with the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. The world around me spins, the roar of flames becoming a blur. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to steady myself, opening them only when another scream sounds, clear and close.
I take off toward it. Just one more, I remind myself. Then I can rest.
Flames lick at my skin as I run, but I barely feel them anymore. All I feel is the blood pounding in my brain, urging me on.
There’s a break in the flames and I step into it, looking around for the source of the scream, but all I can see is fire and smoke. I hear the scream again, this time coming from behind me, and I whirl around but there is nothing there.
“Hello?” I call out. “Is anyone there? I’m here to help you, but I need to know where you are.”
Another scream—this time from right beside me. But as soon as I turn toward it, the scream morphs into a laugh, shrill and high and raspy.
I search the smoke, searching for the source, even as that laugh works its way beneath my skin, itching with a familiarity I can’t place it until a figure steps through the smoke and comes into a hazy, blurred focus.
Dagmær, dressed all in black, just as she was in the dream I had of Cress in the ballroom. And she isn’t alone. Flanking her are two other ladies in the same type of mourning dress, their faces covered with funeral veils.
“Hello, Thora,” Dagmær says with a pointed smile. “I’ll be sure to tell Cress how much you enjoyed her little surprise.”
MY VISION IS A BLUR, my mind spinning. They aren’t real—they can’t be real. But of course they are. Of course this isn’t a normal fire, caused by the strike of a few matches. Of course Cress had a grander plan in mind. I can almost imagine it, the three of them leaving the palace as soon as Cress got word of where we were headed, riding day and night, unencumbered by weapons or other supplies. They would have arrived at the camp an hour ago, getting the guards out before using their powers to start fires, growing them larger and larger until the entire camp was caught aflame.
Cress couldn’t have come herself, not with the threat of a coup hanging over her head, but I imagine this is the next best thing.
It’s a struggle to focus on Dagmær—to focus on any of them. My vision keeps blurring, my eyes burning and tearing from the smoke. Still, I call on my gift and summon a ball of fire, and throw it at Dagmær, who doesn’t even have to dodge it. It sails harmlessly past her, a good foot to the right. She watches it, bored almost, before turning back to me with raised eyebrows.