Just as I’m about to give up, I hear the creaking of metal steps. It must be gone midnight.
My heart stutters. Has Jonas come to see if I’m up for company? He’s never come up here this late before, but I can’t imagine who else it would be. I stand and walk towards the door, only to stop as I hear voices. Quiet voices that don’t want to be heard.
‘Push it harder.’
‘I’m pushing it as hard as I can.’
Zara and Mattieu, the Rowell fire wielder. I’m sure it is. There’s only one reason they’d come here this late at night, and it’s not because they want to snuggle.
As my throat dries I think of the ward Jonas placed on my door. I sure as hell hope he’s as good at spell work as he thinks he is.
‘Let me have a go,’ another voice says.
How many Rowell Rettlings has she brought with her? There are five of them left. Surely, among a group of them, one of them will have enough power to undo the ward.
Nausea sweeps through me as I struggle to keep my mind straight. I’m an idiot. That’s the only thought that forms, and it’s far from helpful. Why didn’t I take Jonas’s advice? Why didn’t I sleep in the dorm with the others? Why the hell did I think Zara would let me be or only attack me in the trials?
It doesn’t matter that her powers have been weakened by the jötnar. If it’s five against one – or even three against one – I’m as good as dead.
‘Screw this,’ Zara snarls after a minute. ‘Just burn the place down.’
‘You want me to set fire to her door?’ Mattieu says, a shade incredulously. Hope flares. Maybe he won’t do it.
Still, I can’t rely on that. My hands are trembling as I turn in a circle, desperately searching for a way out. There’re three windows, but none of them are large enough for me to fit through, and there’s running water in the bathroom, but save for a solitary cup, nothing for me to carry it with. Not in the volume I’d need if fire really is in the cards.
‘Yes, I want you to set fire to her fucking door,’ Zara snaps. ‘If I can’t kill her with my bare hands, she can choke to death on smoke. Do it. Now.’
All I need is for Mattieu to have an ounce of decency in him and I’ll be okay.
‘I don’t have much power after today,’ he says weakly.
‘You’ve got enough for a fucking spark, don’t you?’ Zara snarls.
Gods, I hope he doesn’t. My breaths are ragged. So much in this room is wood. And it’s dry wood, the residual magic having ensured that not an ounce of moisture or damp gets in. The place will go up like a tinderbox. Ifhe’s just as drained as Zara is, then maybe – maybe – there’s hope. The thought’s barely finished forming when the first tendrils of smoke billow from beneath the door. A heartbeat later, the flames take hold.
Fuck. I won’t let myself die here. I won’t. I didn’t survive fucking giants to die at the hands of a bully who doesn’t even have the patience to kill me herself.
‘You can survive this, Rose.Think!’
Even in the cold, fires in the slums were common. The homes were so densely packed that once one caught light, there was no chance of stopping it. But I’m not worried about keeping my home. I just want to get out of here alive.
And that I can do.
As I search around for a solution, my eyes land on the corner of the room and my heart skips a beat. I thought I had more than enough of Jonas’s stupid, overprotective nature. Now I realise it could be the thing to save me.
The sand bucket is in the same place I placed it all those days ago. It might not be enough to put the entire fire out, but it’s enough to make a dent, and that’s a lot better than nothing. I just need to make sure I can get outside.
The plan is still forming as I yank the bedsheet from the bed and throw it into the shower, blasting it with cold water. I leave it there long enough to grab my knife and sheath it in the top of my shorts, and I grab the satchel from the hiding place between the tiles. That’s all the time I’m giving myself.
Back in the bedroom, the entire door is engulfed, and flames are creeping like vines across the inside wall. Smoke is filling the space and my lungs.
It’s now or never.
I cover my entire body in the wet sheet, shield my eyes with one arm, then pick up the sand bucket and hurl it at the door.
Panic makes it a woefully shit throw.
Some of the sand goes over the flames, and it definitely subdues them a little, but nowhere near enough. I realise there’s no way I’m getting out of this uninjured. It’s just a case of how bad it’s going to be.
