Fire - Kristin Cashore [115]
Marble Rise was a high, coastal area north of the city, and Fire did understand. ‘The soldiers on the Pikkian ships will see the smoke,’ she said lightly.
‘Clever thing,’ Gunner said, circling his hand around her throat again, then changing his mind, taking a handful of her hair and pulling on it. ‘And the smoke is the signal they’ve been waiting for to make land and march on the city.’
‘The city,’ Fire whispered.
‘Yes,’ Gunner said, ‘this city. And why not go straight for King’s City? The timing will be perfect. Nash will be dead. Brigan will be dead.’
‘He means that we’re killing them tomorrow,’ Gentian interjected, watching his son warily. ‘We have it all planned. There’s to be a fire.’
Gunner yanked on Fire’s hair, very hard. ‘I’m telling her, Father,’ he said savagely. ‘I decide what she knows. I am in charge of her.’
He grabbed her neck again and pulled her against his body, rough and disgusting. Fighting for breath, Fire capitulated to old-fashioned pain, reaching for his groin, grabbing whatever she could get hold of and twisting as hard as she could. In the moment of his scream she took a swipe at his mind, but her own mind was a balloon, soft and hollow, with no sharp edges, no claws for gripping. He stepped back from her, breathing hard. His fist came out of nowhere and slammed into her face.
For an instant she lost consciousness. Then she resurfaced, to the taste of blood and the familiar feeling of pain. The rug. I’m lying on the rug, she thought. Face in agony, head in agony. She moved her mouth. Jaw intact. She wiggled her fingers. Hands intact. Brigan?
Brigan responded.
Good, she thought blearily. Mind intact. She began to stretch her mind out to the rest of the palace.
But Brigan wasn’t through communicating. He was trying to make her understand something. He was worried. He heard noises. He was on the balcony above, ready to drop down at her command.
Fire realised that she also heard noises. She rolled her head sideways and saw Gentian and Gunner yelling at each other, pushing each other around, one pompous and outraged, the other frightening because of a deranged look in his eyes that brought the memory of why she was in this room back to Fire. She propped herself up on her elbow and dragged herself onto her knees. She sent Brigan a question.
Is there anything else you need to know about Mydogg?
There was not.
She rose to her feet, staggered to the sofa, and leaned against it, eyes closed, until the pain of her head became something she thought she could bear. Then come down. This interview has come to the end of its usefulness. They’re fighting each other. She watched Gunner shove his father against the glass of the balcony door. They’re grappling against the balcony door this moment.
And then, because Brigan was coming and when he did he would be in danger, she brought each of her ankles up to her hands, one at a time - vaguely suspecting that if she did it the other way, reaching hands down to feet, her head would fall off and roll away. She pulled her knives from their holsters. She stumped closer to the struggling men, both too preoccupied to notice her or the knives in her hands. She blotted her bleeding face on her gorgeous purple sleeve, and teetered, and waited.
It wasn’t long. She felt Brigan and saw him almost at the same time, saw him yank the balcony door open and Gentian fall out through the opening, saw Gentian surge back in again, but different now, because his mind was gone, he was just a body now, a dagger was in his back, and Brigan was pushing him violently to get him out of the way and to give Gunner a thing to trip over as Brigan descended with his sword.
It was a horrible thing to watch, actually, Brigan killing Gunner. He smashed his sword hilt into Gunner’s face, so hard Gunner’s face changed shape. He kicked Gunner full onto his back and, his expression smooth and focused, drove his sword into Gunner’s heart. That was it, it was so quick, and so brutal, and then he was upon her, worried, helping her to the