All That Burns (32 page)

Kieran’s own jaw bulges. I’m not sure if it’s because of my words or the binding spell I’m winching as tight as I can without slicing him through like a sushi roll. “You found your king, didn’t you?”

“You were dosing me with love spells for that witch’s amusement!” The magic inside me flares hot. “You KISSED me!”

“Ah.” Richard steps up behind me, he looks down at the Ad-hene with the coolness of a scientist observing a
microbe. “You must be Kieran.”

“Your Majesty,” the Ad-hene grunts. Beads of sweat sprout on his brow, catching the Faery light like morning dew.

“What are you doing here?” I ask through locked teeth. “Did
she
send you?”

“I left my brothers to come guide you out of here before the building is destroyed.” He looks up at me through those night-spill curls, pleading. “Emrys, you have to unbind me.”

My teeth grind harder when he says my name. As if he knows me. As if I know him. As if we kissed and meant it. All I want to do is pull the spell tighter, make him hurt. “You had
plenty
of chances to change your mind! So many chances to tell the truth . . .”

“You’re right.” He swallows; sweat shines in the hollow of his throat. “I did. I have no excuse.”

I want him to fight. I want
something
, anything to lash against. But Kieran stays still.

“I told you about the Labyrinth. How it was a great kingdom once. How there was a war among us and we destroyed ourselves. How Mab intervened. All of that was true. But everything Alistair told you is true as well. The Faery queen tricked us. We’ve spent lifetimes trapped in
our own ruin. Confined to a cliff ledge, doomed to watch the world sail by. To wonder if there was anything more.”

I think of the sixteen lights winking and calling when Anabelle and I sailed up to that wolf-fang shore. How a yearning for lost things sang sharp through the air. Calling out for home, freedom, hope.

Kieran goes on. “Mab’s curse on the Ad-hene broke when you killed her, yet we were not willing to risk the same fate at Titania’s hands. Morgaine promised that if we aided her, she would rid us of the Fae and find us a new home across the sea.”

“But you can’t live in London . . . the sickness . . .” I stop, think of how many ages Alistair bears on his shoulders. Exponentially more than Titania. “Alistair shouldn’t even be able to come near this city. He should be going mad.”

“We carry the earth in our bones and stone in our hearts,” he says. “The sickness does not touch Ad-hene the way it withers Fae.”

I think aloud. “So when your veiling spell failed in Trafalgar Square, it wasn’t because of the sickness. You dropped it on purpose.”

“You were too close to discovering the truth. I was ordered to keep you at arm’s length—to lead you in circles
and make you doubt—until Morgaine could decide how to weave you into her plan.”

“What a good little monkey you are,” I hiss. “Dancing for peanuts.”

Kieran’s voice is no longer steady and stone. There’s a sadness to it. “I was earning a new home for my brothers and me.”

The want to pull tighter stretches like a shadow in my heart—shows me how easy it would be to take Morgaine’s road. To let the darkness grow, tow me into endless circles of revenge.

I swallow it back. “Why are you helping us now? What made you change your mind?”

“The Labyrinth is my nature,” he explains. “It’s carved into my very skin and soul. I’m meant to live beneath the ground, follow my brothers, and build a new kingdom in these tunnels. I was ready to do anything for it.

“When I first met you, I truly did not understand why you would leave your own people and give up your essence for a mortal. Your choice made no sense to me. But then I met her. She crept under my skin—found all the cracks in my soul. I felt myself changing from the inside, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

“She?”

You don’t know how deep your darkness is until there’s a light. I think I’m beginning to understand.
Those words in Blæc’s tunnel—they were never meant for me. I think of the rare smiles which broke through his face. The softness in his voice whenever the princess stepped into the room . . .

Anabelle. Those smiles were always for Anabelle.

“This whole time you had feelings for Belle? But—you broke her heart!” Suddenly the Faery lights above us look very much like those paint chips Anabelle tore from the ceiling. Fragments of angels’ wings, plucked free and falling.

“I don’t deserve her. I have no qualms about that.” The pain of my binding spell is starting to shred through Kieran’s voice, mixed with so many other emotions a heart of stone should not feel. “But I can save her. If you both die in here, Morgaine will secure her grasp on this kingdom. She will find a way to either kill Anabelle or control her.”

I’ll find another royal puppet.

Kieran’s right.

My ropes of light loosen, start to fall away from the Ad-hene’s body. “But why didn’t you tell us before? Warn us?”

“After the war among ourselves, Alistair decided that the Ad-hene should be as one, so we would not fight again. We are webbed together in a psychic link. My brothers
were watching through this connection.” Kieran sits up. I can see deep red lashes on his arm where my bonds sank tight. “If I had strayed from the plan, they would have intervened. That’s why I had to kiss you in the garden . . . why I had to let Anabelle see . . .”

“Are they watching now?” I look up at the stardust ceiling, down the dark hall.

“I’ve broken my bonds with them, but we must hurry. Midnight is coming soon.” Kieran stands. His scars are brighter than ever, carving the halls out with silver rays. He starts walking back in the direction we were going.

We follow. I take a sharp breath and fold my hand into Richard’s. He stares hard at the Ad-hene’s back. As if he can’t decide whether he’d like to knight him or cut off his head.

“Belle sure knows how to pick them,” he mumbles finally. “At least you’ll no longer be Mum’s worst nightmare.”

So Kieran is a knight. Our knight in shining armor.

I think of the dream and laugh. Kieran plows forward, and our path curves, spits us out into a wide cavern of a room: a mess of pipes and more concrete, electrical boxes hunkered in metal cages, warning signs about voltage. And in the very middle of the room: the way out. A wrought-iron
staircase swirls up like a vine tendril inside a ring of eight columns, crowned with a green exit sign.

Our escape. I squeeze Richard’s hand tight. My heart throttles in my throat.

The shadows in front of us flicker and bend, so it seems as if the columns themselves are moving. Ad-hene step from behind them. Fifteen sets of scars blaze silver. Queued up like some warped constellation.

Kieran stops short. His face does not change, but his hands clench, curling into themselves.

Alistair steps into the center of the columns, blocks the staircase with his back. He stands: all power, ghost skin, alabaster hair, and age upon age.

“Brother Kieran.” His words are slow and dangerous. The way a wolf stalks before it lunges: all teeth. “What are you doing? Why have you severed ways with us?”

Kieran doesn’t answer, his fists grow tighter. I count the Ad-hene again. Fifteen. Too many. I hold Richard’s hand tighter. Start to gather all of the magic I can.

Alistair gestures to Richard and me, fingers wispy slow and elegant, like seaweed. “If they go free, Lady le Fay’s plan will fail.”

“We have our new home,” Kieran says. “What does it matter?”

A snarl lurks on the edge of Alistair’s lips. I scan the
V
of Ad-hene behind him. All fourteen faces echo the same expression. Snarl stacked on snarl.

“Have a few days of daylight addled your brain?” their leader asks. “Have you forgotten how the Fae used our island like a rubbish bin? Made us slaves? This is our chance to see them destroyed.”

Alistair’s black beads of eyes are completely set on Kieran and so are the rest of the Ad-hene’s gazes. None of them has noticed the spell I’m frantically piecing together. I feel like a maid at a spinning wheel—tugging the blood magic out like yarn, collecting it in a mess of knots and loops, trying to create a masterpiece in moments. My hand is on Richard’s like a vise. His palm is open and flat, offering me all he has to give.

If Kieran senses what I’m doing, he doesn’t show it. He speaks, his eyes locked straight into Alistair’s. “The mortals do not need to die.”

“What do you care of their lives? You are an Ad-hene,” Alistair says this like a nanny scolding a mud-encrusted toddler. “You do not belong with these creatures. Their fight is not yours.”

Pull. Spin. Weave. I grip Richard’s hand tighter.

“I am what I choose,” Kieran says.

Spin. Spin. Spin.

Almost there.

I feel Richard sway beside me, his hand almost limp in mine. I keep pulling power from his veins, keep weaving, hoping against all hope that it is enough.

“We have made our decision as one, Brother Kieran. They cannot leave.” Alistair’s voice is honeyed and slow, but his magic is bracing. “If you do not step aside, then you leave us no choice.”

Kieran doesn’t answer. Only his scar flares, melds with the light of Alistair’s. Their spells unleash at the exact same time. Thunder meeting thunder. At first I think the runes have finally unleashed—that the roar around us is collapse, flame, and death. The Central Lobby basement becomes a supernova—searing light and shake—as the Ad-henes’ dueling spells clash like dragons. The concrete floor gallops.

“Coad-shiu!”
Kieran’s protection spell wraps around us and the earth at our feet falls still, a portrait of cracks and ruin.

Dust settles and all of us remain standing. The other fourteen Ad-hene haven’t even moved. Alistair’s handsome face is spoiled as he snarls at us: more demon than angel.
“Don’t waste your magic. Your life. Step away.”

Kieran stands firm.

Spin. Spin. Spin.

Richard’s hand crumples beneath mine. His face is pale and sweat.

The spell is done.

I speak before Alistair does—catch just a glimpse of his stunned face before our magic rushes forward. The
stillaþ
surrounds the fifteen Ad-hene like an iron web, freezing them against their columns. Before it even settles I can feel them fighting it. Their spirits beating against their frozen bodies like fists on glass.

The blood magic is still strange and fresh; the spell is not woven as skillfully as it should be. Soon, very soon, something will shatter. And we can’t be here to see it.

I start running, pulling Richard over crumpled pavement. His steps are weakened, not as fast as I’d like as we start to climb the stairs. Kieran falls in step behind us, shoving Richard up the corkscrew turns of the staircase.

Through the lattice in the staircase I can see the Ad-hene starting to move again. Thawing like March fields. Alistair has recovered the swiftest. He’s already moving toward the first step—scars flashing bright. We aren’t
even halfway up the spiral staircase when it shudders with Alistair’s added weight. I look down in horror, watch as the father of labyrinths starts to rise, closer and closer to us.

I shift to the side, push Richard ahead of me. Brace myself for what’s coming up the steps. Kieran’s face is grim—his eyes hold the same weight they did that day I first met him. The day he stood at the edge of the cliff and looked out over the sea.

Except this time, the doom isn’t on the other shore.

“Go!” He looks straight at me. “Keep Belle safe!”

Before I can argue—before I can even begin to realize what he means—Kieran’s scars flare. His magic slices through the iron of the staircase between us. The whole bottom half collapses, crumples to the broken ground. A mess of wire and half-thawed, flightless Ad-hene.

The rattle and crash of the stairs’ carcass spooks new life into Richard’s step. Whatever energy I gathered from him has been returned as he clutches the railing like a lifeline. We stumble to the top.

Below us Kieran is fighting. The Ad-henes’ spells flash like lightning, tangle like behemoths of another age. It feels as if an earthquake is under our feet as we
emerge on the ground level.

“This way!” It’s Richard pulling me now—through the Palace of Westminster’s long, empty halls. The building is shaking at its very roots, crumbling from the bottom up. Its vaulted ceilings tremble. Stained glass falls like rain—dashing against stone. Ornate tiles shiver beneath us, their patterns of lions, thistles, roses of Sharon, and Latin script rearranging into nonsense. Statues of kings, queens, lords, and saints tumble from their pedestals, smear like pillars of salt across the floor.

The roof over our heads is fragile and doomed, but it holds until we reach a door, and after it, the terrace. It’s impossible to tell if the Ad-hene are still battling beneath us, or if the groans are simply the bones of a weary, old building on the verge of collapse.

We run to the terrace edge—where the Thames creeps along the river wall. Richard climbs onto the stone ledge, one arm hooked around a lamp. The other reaches for me. He pulls me up beside him.

Big Ben strikes midnight. Beginning and end.

The bell tolls, wide and deep. There are no thousand hells this time. Only the one we’re running from: the underworld which bursts to life with Morgaine’s runes.
Flames bloom. Heat licks and shimmers, punches through what’s left of the jagged windows.

Richard’s hand is firm in mine. There’s no tearing apart or pulling away. This time we jump together.

B
y the time we resurface there’s nothing left. Cinder and cloud, ashes peppering the Thames like snow. I can’t even shiver as I tread icy water in front of the tower of smoke. It’s as if the Palace of Westminster was no more than a sand castle—a beautiful lump of dirt erased by the tide. Swallowed whole—along with Kieran and all the other Ad-hene. Not even an immortal could survive such destruction.

“It’s gone.” Richard gasps next to me, watching the roiling smoke. Dark billowing into dark. It swallows the city lights. Blots out the stars. “J-just gone.”

His words are stiff with shock. The water rushing around our limbs is mere degrees away from ice. Already I can feel my strength sapping—that rush of adrenaline and magic which swept us out of our tomb bowing to the cold.