One. Two. Three. Three women dropped like flies.
The first, straight on the railing where the Warlord had leaned, splitting it in two with her weight as her crumpled body lost the balance it could not control and tipped over the edge and tumbled into the inferno below.
The other two fell right on the edge. The weight of the blow and the guard going over, in combination with these two dropped bodies, tipped the dais. It was still up on cartwheels, at a higher center of gravity than the princess’s wheel-less cage. Just an extra couple of feet, but enough that the whole thing teetered.
The Warlord and remaining guards stumbled backward, toward the bodies and the fire pit. Their presence only served to make thedais heavier, and suddenly there was a great crack as the wheels farthest from the fire pit inched off the ground while the piece of the dais with the new weight splintered.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Boards began to split as the Warlord and the three remaining guards tried to gain purchase. One tripped over a dropped guard, her boot catching on her fallen form. That sent her flailing back. Her arms windmilled, one catching the Warlord’s own outstretched arms.
A bolt of blue, she lost her center, wheeling around at the sudden blow.
The sand beneath one of the pit-facing wheels gave out then, the whole dais-cart lurched, and the Warlord was sent headfirst into her own flames.
Amarande’s breath caught.
The Warlord was gone.
Dead.
Screamed the whole way down.
“That’s a rather apropos way for a Warlord to go out.”
Those were the first words she’d heard Taillefer say in quite some time, and she actually agreed with him.
“Taillefer, time to use your fire swamp. Let’s go.”
“I’m saving it. And besides, this is probably the safest place to be at the moment. It’s nearly impossible to tell one side from the other unless it’s your love facing you down.”
The tattoos were all obscured now, it was true. But that was a stupid argument.
“Yes, but out there we canhelp.”
Amarande rushed the bars facing away from the pit. No sign of the general and the keys she was hunting, but the princess screamed for her anyway. “Koldo!”
“You seriously think your general can hear you over this ruckus?”
“Why don’t you help me? Use your voice. She’ll help you, too.”
“Or she will kill me for kidnapping you or rescuing you or whatever crime she prefers to prosecute.”
Stars,why did Taillefer choose to revert to the most infinitely irritating version of himself inthismoment? Frustration zapping any kindness from her voice, she played to his stated aim. “You have my word that I will protect you and help defeat Inés.”
She could almost hear the fox smile cross his regal face. “We both know the word of another noble in the Sand and Sky is worth less than shared blood, and that’s barely worth anything at all.”
The cart shook as yet another pack of terrified people barreled past, the corner of the princess’s side edging closer to the fire pit lip. It was the side where her door was, opposite where the wooden divider separated them. If she was headed out the door, it would need to be soon—too late and there would be no safe exit.
Amarande searched the non-pit side for signs of Koldo but found none. Still, she stayed on that side, trying to keep as much weight as possible away from the inferno. Though, it wasn’t much help with the press of bodies. Something hard crashed against the cart and tossed her back. Then another slam. And another. Despite her weight on solid ground, the cart inched closer to the edge, an entire corner of her cell now hanging over the flames, nothing but air and death below it.
“Taillefer—the fire swamp! Burn a hole through the divider.” The cart shook more from Taillefer’s side, as if a pair of fighters had taken up residence on his door side. “I can crawl through, and we’ll have more weight on that side—my cell is creeping over the edge. It’s going to be a massive problem if we don’t—”
Her voice died at another hard thud. A rattling cough and a spit of something wet—more blood. “Taillefer?”
There was the rattle of chains, the squeak of hinges, and for a moment the whole cart seemed on solid ground, anchored on Taillefer’s side. She craned against the bars, angling for some way to see what was going on.
The sound of knuckles pounding flesh came next. A cry. A sword flew in her direction from the exterior. Men rushed past, no one lunging for the abandoned weapon—though Amarande did, striking her fingers through the bars. The bars squeezed her elbow less than a hand’s length from where the Basilican sword lay dormant on the ground.
