I raced to help the army, leaving Oliver screaming after me and the Crown of Nine abandoned on my horse. Leaping to the small platform that would raise me from the ground to the corded walkways, I clung to the rope tethered to the four corners.
My weight set the platform moving and I looked up at the image of Denamon overhead. I struggled to swallow through a singed throat. Letting my courage take flight, spreading sturdy wings that eclipsed my fear, I pulled hard on the rope dangling above my head and began my ascent. The rope seared with the heat above, burning my fingers.
The fire made the rope unstable and I swung widely in the air, the platform trembling beneath my weight. I pulled harder, faster, trying to end the journey swiftly.
It was not a short distance to the first dock. The black cedars were so tall in this part of the forest, that to reach the first level of branches and bridges was like climbing from the ground to the roof of the Temple. The rope frayed as the fire bit into it, singeing away the thick strands little by little.
A single strand of rope snapped overhead and I lunged to the side, releasing a surprised screech. My fingers bit into the hot rope while my toes dragged across the shifting base beneath me.
The platform dangled in the air, tilting precariously. One of the corner ropes had snapped. I held onto the pulley, but another rope broke above and the platform rocked and quivered aggressively.
I leveraged my body against the nearest corner rope. With one hand gripping the pulley so I didn’t plunge to my death, I reached for the docking platform. My fingers brushed the smooth wood, but I couldn’t grab on.
Oliver yelled something at me from the ground, but I couldn’t hear him clearly over the roar of the fire. In fact, the blaze had grown so hot around me that my skin prickled with sweat and seemed to be as hot as the flames that raced toward me.
I used my forearm to wipe the moisture out of my eyes so I could see properly again, but smoke clouded my vision.
I reached for the dock one last time just as the fire finished eating through the rope.
My mouth opened to scream, but before I could fall to my death, strong hands clasped my forearm. My weight pulled heavily against my savior, making me wince, but he did not let go.
The platform crashed to the ground with a resounding splintering of wood I could hear even over the roar of the flames. As I clung to the strong arm suspending me above my near-death, breathing in shaky gasps of relief, I watched Oliver leap out of the way of the debris.
My body continued to hang uselessly while the man holding me worked to pull me to safety. I wasn’t that heavy, but I weighed enough to fell a weaker man. When I looked up, Arrick was staring back, straining against my weight and the forces of gravity working against us.
Growling something unintelligible, he began to lift. His feet slid against the slick wood until he planted them against the carved ridge and gradually brought me to safety.
At last, his actions garnered attention from his men and soon three and then four other soldiers rushed to help, grabbing all kinds of limbs and parts of me to drag my helpless body over the side of the walkway.
I collapsed on the heated dock, struggling to catch my breath.
I could have been crushed.
Impaled.
Snapped into a hundred pieces.
By the time I’d gathered my wits and managed to stand up again, Arrick had already jumped back into the fray. I owed him my gratitude, but now wasn’t the time.
I staggered over to the nearest cluster of men, desperately working to open a door. The window had been boarded shut with thick planks. The men had given up on the window, choosing to pick the lock on the door instead.
This I could help them with. I might not have the brute strength needed to pry stakes out of thick wood. But I did have hair pins.
“Move!” I shouted at them over the roar of the furnace around us. Surprisingly, they did.
I crouched in front of the lock, recognizing the royal detail and craftsmanship. It would have been impossible to open without a key. Unless you had older brothers who had been making you break into royal wine stores since you were old enough to carry something back.
I pulled a hair pin from my braid and tried not to touch the scorching metal as I worked the heavy lock. But my fingers, knuckles and palms burned as I brushed against the metal more than I would have liked.
I struggled to breathe through the smoke and tried to ignore the hysterical screams from inside the building.
I closed my eyes and forced it all to fade into the background. I focused on my brothers’ instructions. I pictured their bright eyes teaching their little sister something forbidden so that they had someone to blame their mischief on. I remembered their laughter, their cheers when I finally picked my first lock. I remembered dragging wineskins from the cellars to my giddy brothers waiting in the hall. I remembered my father’s fury when he found out what they had done. And my mother’s laughter as Father relayed what had happened later that night.
I let ghosts lead the way and memory guide my fingers until at last, the lock snicked free. I leaned back with a garbled breath of relief. The men grunted their approval, pushing me out of the way as they kicked in the door.
I followed them, gasping at the bodies on the floor. Some lay unconscious on the ground, their faces frozen in agonized masks. Others screamed or clung to each other as they waited for death.
A dozen people had been locked inside this dress shop and if we hadn’t come upon them, they would have died here, crumpled in clumps on the floor.
