Page 103 of Foundling

The grotto burned.

Acrid smoke filled the cavern before Attalus had reached the first step.

Before he could tell Leita to hold on and make a run for fresher air, she peeked over the top of his wing and stuck out a finger from her shelter. She circled it through the air, and the smoke gathered in a great twister, all of it falling into a neat pile of soot and ash on the ground.

His flame and her magic left the grotto clear.

Before them, the rocks glittered and almost seemed to sing. They watched as luminescing worms appeared from the rocks, and the pool glowed an eerie blue.

Clutching at his chest, Leita said, “All of it, Attalus. We have to burn all of it.”

Anything at all. “Hold on tight.”

He sucked in a great breath and unleashed it before turning to bound up the steps. His flames led the way, singing the miasma on the staircase and hanging in the air. Leita added her magic, fanning the flames behind them.

By the time they reached the upper threshold, leaping out into the main promenade of the palace, they jumped through flames as miasma burned around them.

Attalus skidded to a stop on the bright limestone. Daylight nearly blinded him as he stood panting, staring down at his mate in disbelief.

Leita let loose a single, wild laugh before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him hard. “All of it,” she said.

His own smile was just as wild, and adjusting her in his arms, Attalus took flight.

As he poured flames upon the miasma in the palace, Leita cupped her hands around her mouth and projected through every corridor and room, “Everyone out of the palace, gather in the front courtyard!”

She repeated her warning twice, and then they swooped into the nearest hall. He flew past great columns, their paint and friezes revealed as the miasma burned away. They swept past room after room, Leita knocking open every door to allow the cleansing flames to wash inside.

Miasma hissed in its dying throes, leaving behind fine black soot. The heat and flames ate that, too, the fires growing from red to orange in their conflagration.

In a great sweeping spiral, Attalus flew them through the tainted half of the palace. Up and up they went, escorted by flames. His fires greedily consumed the offending pollutant but, guided by her magic, didn’t touch wood nor fabric. Carpets and curtains and chairs stood steaming on the other side of the inferno, cleansed of their corruption.

Up they went in the south tower, Attalus running as much as flying up the spiraling stairs. He leapt from a tall arched window, pushing off from the sill and into open air. Flames spilled out behind them, a blazing firestorm engulfing the palace.

Attalus banked overhead, bringing them round to inspect what they’d done.

The palace, like the grotto, burned. At least, half of it did.

Fire roared from every threshold and window, orange flames reaching for more. A tempest of fire had taken the palace, cleansing the rot from within.

They rounded the palace, spotting the front courtyard on the north side. A crowd had gathered there, everyone evacuated as Leita commanded. Cries of relief reached them once they were spotted, and Attalus swooped down to land at a trot.

Leita’s staff and council hurried round her, their faces drawn with worry. Questions battered her, but Attalus used his wings to leave her a little space.

“How is this possible?” asked Charis, her usual armful of papers clutched tightly to her chest.

“We already tried to burn it away,” said Tamerlan.

“Are you hurt, my Queen?” Marcades asked.

“It’s dragonfire,” Leita assured them. “It’s hot enough to burn away the miasma.”

The fae were stunned by her answer, more than a few shocked gazes turning toward Attalus.

“Will it take the whole palace?” worried Carenza.

“No.” Raising her arms, Leita began to move her hands in dramatic swirls, her fingers flexed and knuckles white. The fires retreated from the doors and windows, hissing along the corridors to collect into one great conflagration.

Throwing her hands into the air, the fire followed her command, rising up in a tornado of flame. The hot air sizzled, scalding their cheeks, the flames roaring higher and higher and higher until—Leita threw her hands down and back, snuffing out the fire in one stroke.