Page 46 of Burning Her Beautiful
“Just frantic cursing.” She grins. “Rumor claims you hexed the gears.”
“Let rumor grow wild.”
She presses a small parcel into my hand—six resonance stakes wrapped in linen. “The miners finished these at dawn. Jonn’s hooks are already delivered to the stables.”
I hide the stakes inside my cloak. “You should rest after shift change.”
She shakes her head. “Not until I hear you’re safe.”
I clasp her shoulder, gratitude too deep for words, then head toward the outer courtyard where stable grooms ready the sky-lizards for their nightly patrol rotation. Alrik spots me and lifts two fingers—a signal that the first part of the distraction will begin at third bell.
Time ticks forward like a tense drum.
Late morning findsme weaving through the half-blood promenade, checking ventilation grates for clear lines. Copper pipes glint under vendor awnings, ready to ferry the hum once the stakes activate. I make small talk with jewelers, sample honey-glazed nuts, and slip coded phrases into conversation, assuring alliesthateverything proceeds.
At a fountain near the promenade’s center, I pause to fill a waterskin. Children toss copper coins into the blue depths, wishing for sky-fireworks tonight. Their laughter momentarily eases the knot in my stomach.
I turn to leave—and the world tilts.
A flicker of movement high on a colonnade catches my eye: a cloaked figure raisingtheminiature arbalest, the glint of steel aimed directly at my heart. I freeze,mypulse lunging to my throat. Crowd noise blurs. Training whispers inside my skull—move, drop, shout—but my limbs feel mud-thick.
Then everything explodes at once.
A piercing whistle tears the air. A shadow blurs before me—Varok, horns gleaming, coat flaring. Time slows. He shoves me sideways, an avalanche of muscle and rune-lit power. We hit the pavement hard;thebreath punches from my lungs. Stone shatters where I stood as the quarrel embeds itself, sizzling with toxin.
Screams erupt. Vendors topple stalls in panic, rainbow silks billowing like wounded birds. Varok rolls to shield me, his body a living fortress. I dragmynext breath, lungs burning, and scramble to kneel. My shoulder protests—scraped but whole.
Above, the assassin reloads. Varok’s eyes flash molten silver. Without standing, he extends one arm; lightning arcsfrom his palm, slicing the marble column where the attacker crouches. Stone explodes, sending the figure crashing toalower balcony. Guards sprint,andVarok is faster—he vaults up a decorative arch, claws sparking, landing beside the crumpled body. Another bolt crackles, and the assassin lies still, arbalest smoking.
Stunned silence ripples throughtheplaza. Citizens stare at the demon commander breathing hard atoptheruin, runes pulsing angry crimson. In that moment I see more than fury—I see raw terror that he nearly lost me, a fear laid bare beforetheentire district.
He leaps down, kneels beside me, hands gentle yet trembling. “Are you hurt?” His voice rasps.
“Bruised—nothing more.” I touch his cheek where a faint scorch mark curls from the lightning rebound. “You?”
“Only burnt pride for lettingthethreat get near.” He pulls me tight against his chest. I feel his heart hammer faster than battle drums. For the first time, I sense his power reined by emotion rather than command—vulnerability draped over armor.
Guards encircle us, weapons drawn, but Varok waves them back, eyes fixed on mine. “They aimed to break me through you. They failed.”
“They will try again,” I whisper.
“Let them,” he growls, but the menace wars with worry.
A hush falls as Chancellor Velyth pushes through, flanked by scribes. He assessesthewreckage, then bows slightly to Varok. “Dominus, the council will investigate this outrage. The assassin wearstheHouse Velinth insignia.”
Murmurs surge—Sarivya’s emblem blatant onthecloak, evidence she still wields loyal killers despite frozen assets.
Velyth’s gaze flicks to me. “Lady Iliana, we regret this trauma.”
Lady.The title stings sweet and strange. “I live thanks to Dominus’s vigilance,” I answer steadily, standing thoughmyknees shake.
Varok rises beside me,atowering presence of silence. The crowd parts as he escorts me through debris toward an archway leading toasecluded garden. His hand never leaves the small of my back.
Once hidden by cypress trees, he stops and turns, anguish storming across his face. “I swore to keep you safe. My oath faltered within hours.”
“You saved me.” I cup his cheeks, thumbs tracing ash smudges. “You cannot stop every arrow before it flies.”
He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. “When I saw that bolt—something inside me ripped open. Not rage alone—fear, bone-deep. I have fought wars without battingalash, yet one quarrel aimed at you unmade me.”
