Page 91 of Mad Dragon of Chaos

“You didn’t bring your phone with you, right?” Jules gasped in horror.

A soft sigh slipped from his lips, and he shook his head, dropping his hand to his side. They weren’t supposed to have any kind of identifying information on them—especially phones—in case they were caught. They couldn’t risk having anything that pointed to the group.

But in truth, Tyche had left the phone that he’d acquired briefly in Sirelis in the Caspagir palace. Shey had given him one and shown him how to send silly images and texts while Shey was trapped in meetings. He’d had the damn thing for only a couple of days, but he’d instantly fallen in love with the way he could keep in near-constant contact with the prince even when they were apart.

Now the distance between them felt even sharper, and he ached for a quick message or even a stupid winky face. Something to prove that Shey was still alive and waiting for him to return.

“No, I don’t have a phone. Habit, I guess.”

Jules smiled. “Same. After this is over, I plan to text everyone I know just to get me through the withdrawal.”

“I guess we should figure out where they are keeping the chancellor and if they plan to go forward with this charade.”

“Chancellor Feng is supposed to be working out of the former president’s offices, which are on the second floor. They include a balcony that overlooks the square. If they decide they don’t want him going to the actual flagpole, he can make his address from there.”

The flagpole in question was to the left of the main entrance to the building and at the top of the stairs, away from the gathering of people. As they’d made their way to the building, Tyche had spotted a podium set up next to the flagpole with microphones.

“We should probably make our way upstairs,” Jules suggested. “If he makes his way down, we can shadow him. If he stays in the office, we can figure out a way to get into the room.”

An explosion shook the building, sending dust and tiny bits of debris falling onto their heads. Tyche stumbled and slammed his shoulder into the wall next to Jules. They both stared wide-eyed and speechless at each other for a heartbeat. There had been no plans for explosives. While it would not be a peaceful protest by any means, no one was supposed to bring anything more violent than a bad attitude and cutting chants.

As one, they shoved from the wall and ran through the hall, their boots echoing off the marble floor as they headed to the closest window that peered out on the square. Chaos stretched out in front of them, blanketed in heavy gray smoke. The peaceful celebrants had morphed into a mix of angry protestors and scared civilians. Add in frantic police, and it was a dangerous mob.

The wind swept into the square, pushing aside some of the smoke to reveal that there was a sizable crater in the pavement on the western side of the square. There were unmoving bodies strewn about and Tyche’s lungs seized up. When he’d imagined people dying in this fight, they were soldiers and Chancellor Feng, not innocent citizens of Bellcairn.

“Hurry!” Jules grabbed his arm and jerked Tyche away from the window, pulling him to a door marked with a sign for stairs. “They’re going to move Feng to the ship. We can’t miss this chance.”

Yes.

Jules was right.

If innocent people died today, it couldn’t be for nothing.

Tyche slapped the face shield down on his helmet and charged toward the stairs. He burst through the door and started up the stairs as a trio of soldiers were descending.

“Who—”

“Protestors have made it into the building! Intercept them!” Tyche barked, adding as much bass to his voice as he could muster.

“How—” The guard who’d thought to stop them swallowed his own words. Tyche tapped into the magic he’d gained from the Goddess of Nightmares and created an illusion to turn his lies into truth. Chants and shouts echoed from the far end of the first-floor hallway. Footsteps pounded from hundreds of angry warriors demanding blood.

The three guards froze in terror, but Tyche gave them a nudge as he passed them with Jules following close behind.

“We’ll get the chancellor to his ship. You hold off the protestors!”

Tyche didn’t hear the guards moving as the noise continued on the other side of the door. Scared stiff also worked for him. As long as they didn’t follow them up to the second floor, he didn’t care if they remained at the door, holding it closed against an imaginary hoard.

They burst out of the door to find guards scurrying about with their weapons held with both hands, tucked to their chests as they ran. Among them were assistants, advisors, and politicians in sharp suits and with panicked faces, shouting and running into each other.

Tyche stretched up on the tips of his toes, trying to peer over the crowd. At the far end of the hall, he caught sight of a pair of double doors opening and a group of heavily armed guards forming a circle around a robust man with a familiar face. Chancellor Rati Feng. Their target.

But how the hell were they supposed to get through this mess?

Well, if it worked once…

“Protesters in the building! Head to the eastern emergency exit!” Tyche bellowed. The mildly frenzied crowd immediately shifted into full-blown panic. The crowd surged. People screamed. Tyche bit his tongue and waved his hand. Somewhere in the mess, someone tripped and fell. The mob of people crushed the poor man, adding to the pile of people writhing on the marble floor like a knot of snakes.

Now that he had used his magic, there was no stopping him. The people were in such a frenzy that no one noticed that anything peculiar was happening. Tyche moved away from the doorway, crossing the hallway at a steady pace. He waved his hand here and there. People fell. Shouts and chanting rose, adding to the cacophony, but no one seemed to notice that the protestors’ voices came from thin air.