Page 76 of The Blood Queen

I pull the needle out, noticing that red stains the thin chemise, noticing that a droplet of blood lingers on the iron before it’s magically absorbed by the needle.

I have what I came for.

Now we have to get the hell out of here alive.

19 Samson

The High Blade is awake, bleeding from the shoulder, with Alyth on her knees.

That’s all I need to see to act.

The High Blade’s got her claws in my head, but her attention’s split between me and Alyth, and I’m not letting her get me easily this time.

I can’t attack her with any of the weapons I’ve got strapped to me; that’d be a fool’s death against one as trained as her. What can I do, then? What can I—

The lit brazier burns next to me, a bowl of coals and embers heating the air, lighting the tent and the space in front of it. Three pieces of coal are stacked in the center, bigger than the rest, glowing brilliant, blinding yellow-white.

For a moment, my brain trips. Why’s that familiar? Have I seen this before? Something about it calls to me, hooks similar to the High Blade’s control, only this is more a nudge, an instinctive pull.

No other soldiers know we’re here. It’s just us against the High Blade. For now.

But we were never meant to get out of here as easily as we got in.

Like yanking free from snarled, grabbing vines, I rip out of the High Blade’s control, wrap my cloak around my hands, and grab the brazier’s bowl from its metal post.

The High Blade’s eyes lift slowly, attention sliding from Alyth to me as I rush into the tent.

But the bowl’s already flying toward her.

In the heartbeat after I throw it, I grab Alyth around the waist and heave the both of us backward in a sprawling topple before the burning coals can get close to her.

Sizzling embers burst out of the brazier and across the High Blade’s face, an explosion of orange and black and bright-yellow flames that sends her toppling back onto her bed. She screams in agony, stray coals catching the edge of the tent, her blankets, small flames immediately crackling on the dry fabric.

I curve my body around Alyth to protect her from any stray embers, the two of us a tangle of limbs and frantic movements until we both gain our feet. Then we’re tearing out of the tent into the startled camp, soldiers called to action by the cry of their commander but unsure of the enemy just yet.

Eyes turn to us. Confusion ripples out—then recognition.

One lifts a finger, points. “You—”

I grab Alyth’s hand, and we run.

The High Blade’s tent is going up in flames behind us. Soldiers are torn between chasing us and diving in to help their leader, who’s hollering and wailing, but I’m not delusional enough to believe she’ll burn to death. No—the moment Alyth and I dive between two narrow white tents, I risk a glance back and see the High Blade staggering out of her tent, coated in black soot and gruesome, crackling burns, her red hair singed, her eyes murderous.

“Kill them!” she roars, and the night erupts.

Weapons rattle, and voices shout alarm.

Alyth tugs on me, and we go, but for how long? We can’t outrace a whole damn army. We can’t—

We spin around a tent.

And run right into Cecil.

Alyth cries out in surprise. My shoulder slams against him, and I rebound back, catching myself on a stack of crates.

Cecil immediately rips his sword up, pins it to my neck, keeps me immobile against the rough wood behind me.

His severed arm is wrapped in a bandage at his side, and lines are drawn across his face from exhaustion or anger or whatever emotion someone like him could feel. I don’t give a rat’s ass what’s wearing him down; all I see when I look at him is red.