Fire - Kristin Cashore [117]
It was difficult for Fire to wipe blood from her nose without touching it. ‘Murgda’s a problem,’ she said, gasping at the pain. ‘Eventually someone’s going to notice Gentian and Gunner are missing, and then Murgda will suspect what we’ve done and what we know.’
‘It almost doesn’t matter, as long as none of her messengers are able to reach those boats.’
‘Yes, all right, but there are a hundred people at court this minute who’ll be willing to make a go at being the one messenger who gets through.’
Brigan tore a sheet in half with a massive ripping sound. ‘Do you think you could get her out of her rooms?’
Fire closed her eyes and touched on Murgda. Any change of heart, Lady Murgda? she thought, trying not to sound as weak as she felt. I’m resting in my bedroom. You’re welcome to join me.
Murgda responded with scorn, and with the same recalcitrance she’d displayed before. She had no intention of going anywhere near Lady Fire’s rooms.
‘I don’t think so,’ Fire said.
‘Well then, for now we’ll just have to keep her from suspecting for as long as we can, however we can. The longer it takes, the more time we have to set our own wheels into motion. The shape of the war is ours to choose now, Lady.’
‘We’ve done Mydogg an enormous favour. I suppose he’ll be the commander of Gentian’s army now. He’ll no longer have to share.’
Brigan knotted a last sheet and stood. ‘I doubt he ever meant to share for long, anyway. Mydogg was always the more real threat. Is the hallway clear? Shall I get on with this?’
A very good reason to get on with it bubbled into Fire’s mind. She sighed. ‘The master of the guard is calling to me. One of Quislam’s servants is coming, and - and Quislam’s wife, and a number of guards. Yes, go,’ she said, pushing herself to her feet, dumping her bowl of bloody water into a plant beside the sofa. ‘Oh! Where’s my mind? How are you and I to leave this room?’
Brigan heaved one of the bundles onto his back. ‘The same way I came. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?’
ON THE BALCONY, tears seeped down Fire’s face from the effort of detracting the attention of eight levels of potential onlookers. They put the candles out and sank into shadow.
‘I won’t let you fall,’ Brigan said quietly. ‘Nor will Clara. Do you understand?’
Fire was slightly too lightheaded to understand. She’d lost blood and she did not think she was capable of this thing just now, but it didn’t matter, because Quislam’s people were coming and it had to be done. She stood with her back to Brigan as he told her to, his back to the railing, and he crouched, and the next thing she knew he was lifting her up by her knees. Her palms touched the underside of the balcony above. He shifted her backward and her searching fingers found the bars to that balcony. For one horrible moment she looked down and saw what he’d done to achieve this angle; he was perched on his own railing, his feet locked around his own bars, leaning back over empty space while he lifted her. Slightly sobbing, Fire grasped the bars and held. Clara’s hands came down from above and locked tight around her wrists.
‘Got her,’ Clara said.
Brigan abandoned her knees for her ankles and she was rising again, and suddenly the beautiful, merciful railing was before her, and she grabbed onto it, and wrapped both arms over it, and Clara was pulling at her torso and her legs and assisting her clumsy and painful climb over it. She crashed onto the balcony floor. She gasped, and with a monumental effort focused her mind, and pushed herself to a standing position so that she might aid in Brigan’s ascent; and found him already standing beside her, breathing quickly. ‘Inside,’ he said.
Within the room, Clara and Brigan talked back and forth rapidly. Fire understood that Brigan was not waiting to see what would happen with Murgda, or with Gentian’s men, or with Welkley and the bodies