Girl Of Fire & Thorns Omnibus

by Carson Rae

  He exclaims in surprise, and several furry black bodies tumble past me. My fingers are going numb. I might be slipping again, but I’m not sure.

  “Hector?” My voice shakes.

  “Almost there!”

  Suddenly my left hand is grasping at air, and my weight is too much. I’m sliding, sliding down the wall. . . .

  Hector swings into place behind me; his arm wraps my waist. “Got you,” he whispers in my ear. He’s hanging by one hand, holding us both. How is such a thing even possible?

  His feet find purchase, and he is rock steady at my back. The relief breaks something inside me. “I’m sorry!” I blurt. “I couldn’t stay. I was too weak to fight them off if they came back.” I can’t seem to stanch the flow of words. “I tried to get to the sewer, but blowing a hole through the wall made me even weaker, and I have no food left, and the rats came, and—”

  “Stop.” His arm around me tightens. That’s when I realize that his arms tremble slightly, that his breath comes too fast. He is as exhausted as I am.

  He begins to push us both upward. Between breaths, he says, “You know, it’s all right for me to rescue you every now and then.”

  “You haven’t rescued me yet,” I point out.

  He grunts, trying to pull us over a lip of stone. His forearms are corded with effort. “Elisa, if you could help, even a little . . .”

  I reach up with bloody fingers and find a handhold, then another. Slowly, together, we crawl back up the wall and pull ourselves into the hole I made.

  My knees are buckling, but he pulls me to my feet and wraps me in a hug. I hug back, my face smashed against his chest. “Thank you,” I murmur.

  He pulls away and grabs at a rope dangling from the trapdoor’s opening. Worried, familiar, dear faces peer down at us.

  “I’ll make a loop for you to stand in,” Hector says. “The others will pull you up. We have to hurry.”

  He loops the rope and ties an elaborate sailor’s knot, then helps me step into it. He fails to hide his grin as he lifts me by the waist and says, “Hold tight. Stand straight and stiff. You’ll be easier to pull up.”

  “You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Now that I’ve stepped into his loop, we are eye level. He cups the back of my neck and plants a quick kiss on my lips. “See you at the top.” Then he looks up and calls, “Now!”

  The rope jerks, and I swing wildly, but I make myself as stiff as a plank of wood.

  As I near the top, hands reach for me, and I’m pulled over the edge. I roll onto my back, gasping with relief.

  “Are you hurt?” says Mara. She seizes my hands, turns them over to reveal the scraped mess and says, “We’ll need to clean and bandage your fingers.” She grabs my chin and turns my face to the side, then the other.

  “Mara, stop. I’m fine.” I sit up and climb slowly to my feet. Then I fling my arms around my lady-in-waiting and hug her tight. Smaller arms wrap us both, and I reach down to tousle Mula’s hair.

  I extricate myself from them and look around at my companions. Everyone is breathless and wide-eyed from the effort of pulling me out of the pit. Off to the side lies an Invierno acolyte, blood staining his robes. The bringer of the rats, I presume. “Thank you,” I say.

  “Lucero told us how to open the trapdoor,” Storm points out.

  I look to the altar and find Lucero’s lashless eyes fixed on me. He is smiling. “You promised,” he whispers.

  My heart thuds into my belly. “I did,” I whisper back.

  “We must go,” Belén says, as Hector pulls himself over the edge and gains his feet. “Our escape has certainly been noticed.”

  Hector says, “Be alert.”

  I grab his hand. “Wait. I promised Lucero I would . . . kill him. If he healed me.”

  No one speaks for a moment. Then Storm says, “You did come to destroy the power source.”

  I stare at Lucero. “I didn’t know it was going to be a person.”

  “I can do it for you,” Hector says.

  “Or me,” Belén says.

  “I can put an arrow in his heart,” Mara says. “It would be very fast. Almost painless.”

  “I hate blood,” Storm says. “It stains.” But he pulls his dagger.

  It’s tempting to let one of them take this burden from me, but it wouldn’t feel right. “Thank you. But I will do it.”

  I’m sorry, God. I know the murder of innocents is against your will, but so is breaking an oath. And surely this living death is worse in your eyes?

  I call on the zafira. It comes slowly, for I am both exhausted and reluctant.

  Lucero never fulfilled his destiny as God’s chosen. The Blasphemy was not intended to be his final act of service, for his stone still lives inside him. And now I will take the possibility away from him forever.

  I’m startled to hear his quiet voice in my head: But maybe you will fulfill yours. And I will have helped.

  “Please,” he whispers aloud.

  He showed me the way, when my body was broken and he healed me. I know exactly what to do. I reach inside his still form to stop his heart.

  But something changes. A subtle shift. With growing horror, I realize the power of the zafira is no longer being channeled by me. It’s being channeled through me. “Lucero, what are you doing?”

  The power becomes a torrent. My belly turns to fire.

  They must die. All of them.

  Our essences collide, Lucero’s and mine. He weaves them together until they are a single entity, a power so massive that we could crack open the world. Which is exactly what he plans to do. Now that we are one, I see his vision: the Eyes of God, exploding in fiery fury, burying Umbra de Deus in lava and ash.

  “No!” I shriek.

  I fight, but it’s no use. Lucero forces the scalding power through my veins, and I am helpless against it, laid bare and burning. I open my mouth to sob from pain and rage, but even that release is denied me. This is what it means to be an unwilling sacrifice.

  Lucero drags me into the depths of the earth, where lava pulses like lifeblood. He reaches as if with giant, invisible fingers into cracks and fissures, prying them open, relentless. The world groans.

  Please, Lucero. Don’t do this.

  They deserve it!

  The ground heaves, and I drop to my knees.

  “Elisa, what’s happening?” Mara’s voice, as if from far away. I see her in blurred relief against the distant mountain. Her bow is drawn.

  “He’s done something to her!” Hector yells. “Shoot him.”

  A massive boom rocks the balcony, and I snap back to myself, gasping with relief. For a moment I imagine I am light as air and soaring, for I am free, and my power is my own.

  I glance around, not quite taking everything in because all I can think is: How did I not understand, all these years, how precious and glorious it is to belong to myself?

  Then I notice the arrow protruding from Lucero’s chest. Blood snakes from the corner of his mouth. His chest rises and falls with short, shallow breaths.

  Beyond him are the twin mountains. One has exploded, its top blown clean off. A pillar of bilious gray the diameter of a city rises into the sky. The glowing fingers of lava clutching the mountainside have thickened. Steam sizzles from the river below, and I choke on air tinged with ash and a scent like that of rotten eggs.

  Even so, it seems as though wind has carried most of the blast away, and I dare to hope that we might be safe. But the ground beneath my feet quakes again, and I realize the other mountain, the nearer one, is about to follow its brother.

  Hector swears. Belén mutters a prayer.

  “There is no escaping that,” Storm says softly, gazing at the mountain about to devour us all. Mula steps up beside him, and he drapes an arm across her slight shoulders. “I guess it ends here, after all,” he says.

  No. I plunge my awareness back into the guts of the earth, and I drag the remaining spark of Lucero’s
life with me.

  This time, I’m the one in control. I brutally yank the zafira through both my stone and his, weaving our power together, until it feels just as thick and unremitting as the pillar of ash spewing into the sky. Such power, with two living conduits working in tandem. Too much. I could do anything with it.

  I feel twisted and dark and wrong as I shove it down, down, down the gullet of the mountain, bringing rock and debris with it, choking it dead.

  The earth stills to a gentle rumble. I wipe ash from my eyes even as I release Lucero back to himself.

  The farthest mountain still sends clouds billowing into the sky. It is bald of forest and snow. The horizon beyond darkens with ash. Night will come early today.

  But the nearest mountain has caved in on itself and is now half its former height. Boulders tumble down the side as it continues to settle.

  The creature on the altar moans.

  “Lucero?” The fletching of the arrow in his chest flutters in the breeze. Blood seeps from the wound. I wait for a reaction, some indication that his life leaves him. But the line between death and living death is too fine. One moment, he is staring up into the sky, and the next he is still staring, but with a little less light in his eyes. Or maybe I imagine it.

  The difference is in me. For the first time since arriving in Umbra de Deus, my Godstone quiets. It flashes neither hot nor cold but resumes its usual mild pulsing. In spite of everything, I am calmer than I’ve been in days. I place my fingertips to my navel and send up a quick prayer of guilty thanks.

  “What just happened?” Mara demands.

  “He tricked me,” I say. “Drew me in so he could channel my power and destroy the whole city.”

  Storm’s face has a sickly pallor. He can’t look away from Lucero’s limp body. “How long has he been plotting his revenge?”

  “Probably a century.”

  We stare aghast as Lucero’s corpse shrivels and grays, then deflates into dust before our eyes. The wind whisks away the top layer, revealing a sparkling Godstone winking at us from the ashy pile.

  Storm and I exchange a look. We saw the same thing happen on Isla Oscura to the strange sorcerer there. Storm looks down at his feet, and I wonder if he’s thinking of the manacles around his ankles, hidden by his boots, formed when the zafira tried to claim him as its gatekeeper when the first one turned to dust.

  At the sound of footsteps we whirl, drawing weapons as Invierno guards pour onto the balcony.

  Mula stands closest to the altar. I whisper to her. “Grab that stone!”

  Her tiny arm darts out, plucks Lucero’s Godstone from his dusty remains, and shoves it in a pocket just as Hawk and Pine follow the guards onto the balcony.

  “I can’t outrun them right now,” I mutter to Hector.

  “Then we fight. We can handle three-to-one odds. Just stay clear of that pit.”

  They won’t capture me again, for fear that even a Deciregis is no match for a living bearer. The hidden pit was what gave them the advantage.

  Pine looks at the dead boy on the altar, then focuses his oily black gaze on me. Fury flows from him in waves. “You have killed us all,” he says. “Without a source of power—”

  “I have saved you all, you colossal idiot.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Not the best way to bargain for peace.

  “What are you talking about?” Pine demands, but the earth still rumbles, and even before he finishes the sentence his gaze drifts up toward the smoking mountains. “Oh,” he breathes. “I felt the earth move, felt an explosion of power, but I thought it was the zafira being ripped away from us.”

  “Your unwilling sacrifice triggered the volcanoes,” Storm says. “Her Majesty stopped the eruption.”

  Pine whirls on his son. “You! You are ash in my mouth. A dung heap that steams in winter winds. The oily scum that covers—”

  “Enough!” I yell as the earth continues to rumble and ash drifts down around us like sickly snow. “He is a prince of the realm,” I remind him. And then, coldly, “If you want to know the location of the gate that leads to life, you will reinstate him as your heir.” My limbs buzz with excitement, with power, and it has nothing to do with magic. This could work after all—if they would just see beyond their rage to what I’m offering.

  “He lied to us,” Hawk says. “He said his first loyalty was to Crooked Sequoia House.”

  Storm lied for me? I’m careful to keep the smile from my face. “I’m sure Storm is doing what he thinks is best for the house.”

  “For all of Invierne,” Storm says. “Take us before the Deciregi. Her Majesty will repeat her offer to everyone. Even though the sacrifice is dead, our nation need not perish.”

  Pine seems to coil in on himself, while Hawk gazes sadly toward the broken, ash-choked mountains. After a long moment of silence, Pine says, “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

  I take him to mean an agreement between us is impossible, but then he adds, “They’re gone. Every single one.” He looks down at Hawk, and his metal-gloved hand reaches up to stroke her hair. It’s the tiniest gesture, but I twinge with discomfort, as if I’m witness to a very private moment. Pine whispers, “We are the only two left.”

  “What are you talking about?” Storm demands. “Where did they go?”

  Pine looks at me, dead-on. “We were betrayed. Months ago, we agreed as a council to lure you here. To capture you and make you our living sacrifice. But the others conspired in secret. Their plan was to lure you here as a distraction.”

  “Oh, no.” My stomach churns, and my heart begins to beat erratically.

  “Yes. The other eight Deciregi remain bent on avenging our people. The moment we reported that we had captured you, they left for Basajuan. They took their sworn animagi with them, even their acolytes. They will conquer Basajuan easily without you there to interfere. I wouldn’t be surprised if they razed it to the ground.”

  Mara gasp echoes my own horror. Cosmé. Jacián. All our friends.

  My sister might be there by now too. Alodia will have brought a diplomatic escort, not a military one. Cosmé has been building her garrison since becoming queen, but it is not yet at full strength. Even if it was, no army could hold back all the animagi of Umbra de Deus, led by the most powerful sorcerers in the world. And once Basajuan falls, Orovalle and Joya d’Arena will quickly follow.

  A hand settles on my shoulder, and Hector says, “Elisa, we must go now.”

  I nod, but to Pine I say, “Will you let us leave? On the understanding that I will do what I can to save your people and bring you to the zafira?”

  He winces. “Yes.”

  “Your Eminence, do know that if I make it back to Basajuan in time to save it, I may destroy the Deciregi. You two might be the only ones left. And if that happens—”

  Pine and Hawk are already nodding. “Yes, yes,” Pine says. “We will discuss terms. You leave us no choice.”

  “I plan to offer full access and safe passage through my country in exchange for a cessation of hostilities, utter compliance with the laws of my land while in it, reinstitution of Storm as your heir, and . . .” The idea hits, and I almost gasp at its pure simplicity. “And a marriage union between a prince or princess of Invierne and the match of my choosing.”

  A slow smile breaks over Pine’s face, revealing pointed teeth and deep self-satisfaction. “I’m sure my son will be delighted to do his duty and marry whomever you choose.”

  My return smile is just as smug. He thinks he has trapped me by offering up someone he views as expendable, but he has played right into my hands. “I accept! I promise to make a good marriage for him.”

  Storm is staring at me, his green eyes wide with horror.

  “Will you guarantee us safe passage out of Umbra de Deus?” Hector asks.

  Hawk shrugs with seeming nonchalance and says, “We probably could not stop you. We are no match for one whom even the Eyes of God obey. And without our living sacrifice, our own power is a shadow of what i
t was.”

  I study her, trying to parse what she’s not saying. “I’ll repeat the Lord-Commander’s question. Will you guarantee us safe passage out of Umbra de Deus? A yes or no will suffice.”

  Pine frowns. “Yes.”

  “And will you promise not to pursue us as we travel to Basajuan?”

  “I promise.”

  “You promise what?”

  “I promise that I will not pursue you as you travel to Basajuan.”

  “Will you pursue any of my companions or anything that we carry?”

  “No.”

  “Will you send someone else to pursue us on your behalf? Or will you inform someone so that they can pursue on their own behalf?”

  “No.”

  “And will you stop anyone who tries to pursue us?”

  “N—Yes. Yes, I will.”

  As we grab torches and enter the tunnel leading to Crooked Sequoia House, Storm sidles up to me and says, “You have learned to bargain like an Invierno.”

  “Storm, about that marriage agreement—”

  “I am your loyal subject.”

  23

  WE leave the city escorted by Pine’s own guards. We are not disguised this time, and everyone stares as we pass on the road. They give us a wide berth and whisper to one another as our carriage rattles along, not just because we are foreign, but because of the dangerous speed at which we travel their winding, narrow highway. Or maybe because of the ash still floating down from the sky. It mixes with light rain and turns to thick sludge, collecting on every street and rooftop.

  Storm’s sister, Waterfall, accompanies us. At the last moment, the Deciregus decided he wanted an additional representative in our party—on “the unlikely possibility” that we are successful in saving Basajuan and will indeed be able to parlay.

  He wants a spy, and I’m perfectly happy to comply. Waterfall will know exactly what I want her to know.

  Pine provided us with fresh packs and supplies, and Hawk gave us warm, supple cloaks against the biting winter air. Near the edge of the city, we bought fur-lined gloves, a new pair of boots for Mula, and head scarves made of wolverine hair, which the vendor assured us would shed frost in any temperature. It’s surprisingly familiar; preparing for extreme cold is not so different from preparing for desert windstorms.