‘I’m certain your sister has mentioned the fact that she wants children.’
‘Yes, but you said desperate for it?’
Astin’s arms fell to his sides. ‘She was upset when I called past the house the other day. It’s only been a year. Her body’s still getting used to the idea of regular food.’
‘You shouldn’t be discussing my sister’s body.’ She was not angry at him but the fact that he knew something about Blake she did not. The separation was cruel. ‘Sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s the kind of thing she would normally talk to me about.’
He exhaled. ‘I’m sure she wishes she could.’
Lyndal scrunched her nose up when her eyes began to burn. ‘You must be exhausted from following me around all day.’
‘I can stay awhile if you want me to.’
‘I’m fine. Go get some sleep.’
‘I’ll collect you in the morning,’ Astin said, glancing off down the corridor. ‘Duck shooting with the king, I believe.’
She paused halfway inside the door. ‘Where do these mystical ducks live? Certainly nowhere near the merchant borough or port.’
‘They live in crates, greatly inhibiting their ability to fly. The king prefers them that way.’
‘Of course he does.’ She leaned against the door. ‘Well, goodnight, Your Superiorship.’
He bowed his head. ‘Goodnight, Lady Lyndal the third.’
Lyndal woke in the night with a sharp cough, eyes snapping open at the bitter taste in her mouth. Sitting upright, she looked around the bedchamber, blinking hard. She could not see more than a foot in front of her. Coughing ensued, the air utterly unbreathable.
Smoke.
The room was full of it.
Pushing back her blankets, Lyndal leapt from the bed and headed for the door, arms outstretched in front of her. She felt around for the doorknob, frame, anything familiar to get her bearings. The darkness was not helping matters. Finally, she felt the smooth wood of the door beneath her fingers and reached for the handle. She turned it, but the door did not budge. She grabbed hold of it with both hands and yanked as hard as she could. When it did not open, she pounded on it with a fist.
‘Open the door!’
The door was never locked. And where was the defender who patrolled the corridor overnight?
She coughed, gagged, her eyes burning and vision blurring. She made her way over to the solar door. Pulling it open, she immediately slammed it shut again when she saw the furniture engulfed by flames, reaching all the way to the ceiling.
Her mind raced.
The window.
She ran to it, tripping over a stool and landing on hands and knees. She crawled the rest of the way, feeling her way along the outer-wall. Coughing and crying, she rose and fumbled with the shutters before tearing them open. She pressed her face to the iron bars, but the air was no cleaner. Smoke poured out of the window, making it impossible to breathe.
‘Help me!’ She screamed the words as loudly as she could, but they dissipated in the smoke.
She moved to the bottom corner of the window, daring a look in the direction of the solar. The door glowed red now, but she knew the smoke would kill her before the flames did.
Back on hands and knees, she crawled to the bed and grabbed the woollen blanket from atop it. She dragged it to the door, jamming it in the gap at the bottom. The smoke still seeped through the top and sides though. By the time she got back to the window, she did not have the energy to stand. She lay flat on the floor, eyes pressed shut and hand over her mouth as if that might somehow filter the smoke.
So this was how she would die.
Not surrounded by people who loved her as she had imagined so many times during the lockdown, when death had hung over their house like a heavy cloud. Instead, she would be alone. The other people in the castle would not grieve but they would be inconvenienced by the disruption to their plans.
And what of her own plans? Her terrible drawings that Astin made fun of? They were now ashes.
A loud bang shook the room, and Lyndal opened her eyes, expecting to see flames.
