Iknow we should get up. I know we should run. We’ve already seen one grenade reach this far. We’re defenseless, should the army throw another. But I also know what Amelie is feeling, this debilitating pain that drags her down. Whether it’s from the loss of Cobalt or her vengeance, I can’t say. All I can do is hold her, be here for her.
And yet, we need to move. Retreat. Find Aspen and the others.
“Amelie,” I say, my words coming out quiet, strangled. “We should get to safety.”
She only wails harder, grips me tighter.
“I’m here, Ami,” I whisper into her hair, although it dawns on me she might not be able to hear me. Our proximity to the blast has left my ears ringing, my own voice muted. But as my flames dance over my skin, fueling my healing, my ears begin to clear.
Yet it’s still quieter than it was before.
Too quiet.
Gunfire still rings out in the distance, but the beach is almost silent. No…thereisa sound. One that sets my heart racing, my flames retreating.
Marching footsteps approach, and I whirl around to face the human soldiers who close in on us, rifles raised. Amelie must realize the threat too, for she stills, clinging to me as she turns in my arms, her fire extinguished.
Six men spread out in a semi-circle around us. My eyes flash from them to the barricade, which now seems empty. Are these the only survivors? Two look vaguely familiar, dripping seawater. They must be guards from the boat I set aflame, those who were able to swim to shore like Duveau. I hazard a glance at the other side of the beach, seeking Franco and Breeda, but I see no sign of them.
“Stand up,” orders a soldier, one of the guards from the boat.
Shakily, I rise to my feet, pulling Amelie up with me. Keeping my breathing steady, I reconnect to my flame, readying it. Until the end, I will fight.
The man who spoke steps closer. “Hands where I can see them.”
As we raise our hands, I assess the distance between us and the soldiers, process scenario after scenario of possibilities to take them down. There are only six of them. Two of us. And we both wield fire.
“What are we doing with them, Averson?” asks another soldier, expression wary.
The man before us, Averson, narrows his eyes to study us. “Mr. Duveau wanted these two brought to the king.”
“But they’re creatures,” says another. “They have no place in Bretton.”
Averson’s lips curl into a cold smile. “I agree. Besides, we don’t take orders from Duveau.”
“Then we—”
“Yes.” Averson nods. “Execution.”
I flinch as he raises the barrel of the rifle to my forehead, but my fire burns hot inside me. Locking eyes with him, I seek to draw in the imagery of the bird in the cage. At such a close distance, I could glamour him. But no matter how long his eyes remain on mine, the imagery doesn’t come.
The soldiers must be wearing rowan.
“Turn around,” Averson orders.
Keeping my voice steady, I say, “I’d rather look at you while you shoot me.” But I’m not looking at him. Not anymore. My attention is now fixated on his gun, the metal that formed it, shaped it from elements of the earth. Elements I can control.
“Fine,” Averson says, then nods to the soldier on his right. Another man steps forward and levels his gun between Amelie’s eyes.
My inner fire falters. Damn. I can’t focus on two guns at once. “Kill me first,” I say, voice trembling. If I can keep his attention, keep his gun from firing just a few seconds longer…
“Very well.” Too soon, Averson reaches for the trigger.
But it isn’t a trigger he finds.
Averson bites back a yelp as the metal that was once a trigger melts onto his finger, burning red-orange. He pulls his finger away, but the barrel too begins to glow. Then it…bends. With a shout, he drops the rifle and takes a step back. The soldier with the gun on Amelie trembles, his own weapon glowing hot in his hands. Just like the first gun, the barrel melts and bends toward the sky. The man drops it just as it fires overhead.
The other soldiers watch their guns with terror in their eyes, retreating several steps. Theirs too begin to glow, and the two soldiers the farthest back are lost in a fiery blast, their guns exploding in their hands.
