Page 33 of Jeweler to the Blessed
I reached to help him back up. “I’ve got Mother. Can you stand?”
Father didn’t answer, only glaring at me as he rested a hand on Mother’s chair. I didn’t question him further—just started pushing. Elbows knocked, screams and shouts still filled the streets, but we found a path toward one of the side streets connecting Cross with the lower parts of the city.
We were almost to it.
Father’s shoulder banged into me—hard—stealing the breath from my lungs. I stumbled, catching myself before I hit the ground, but Father continued to fall.
I had to get him up. People were already tripping over him as they stormed forward. They were past caring who or what was in their way. It was like trying to swim upstream as I reached for him. People surged on all sides, everyone equally affected by the fear, now desperate to escape its reach.
I stooped to lift Father. He was thin, like Uncle, but so much taller than I. His height alone made his mass more than I could lift. My thoughts spiraled as someone else tripped over his ankle. He groaned in pain. I winced, thankful I hadn’t heard a crack. All I could do was hope it wasn’t broken.
My worry turned quickly to a rage I failed to suppress. I hated everyone around me. Father was injured, possiblyunable to walk. Mother was swaying listlessly in her chair, requiring my attention to get her to safety.
Anger was too easy to reach for. My rage at today—at the plan I’d been forced to give up, at the situation I’d been required to accept—bubbled inside me like a kettle about to boil. I resented every person in my way. Hiding my feelings didn’t seem so important at this moment. There was too much chaos, too much confusion. Even the Blessed were running scared from the nightmares they’d just experienced.
I had plenty of anger to go around. Anger at this city—at the Blessed—at how citizens were treated. Maybe the Feared wouldn’t exist if those without magic were treated with an ounce of dignity. I let it all bubble until the erupting scream was from me as I lifted Father’s weight and set him onto Mother’s lap.
She grunted, but her arms wrapped around him, keeping him in place.
My pulse was still pounding from the adrenaline, so I pushed the chair forward with both of my parents in it. I ushered us through the side street and back into the safer streets of Woodside.
I shouldn’t have been able to do it. Logically, I knew that.
We were in no place for me to question it. So I pushed. The farther we got from Cross Street, the more exhaustion replaced the throbbing anger. The crowd thinned significantly with each block. As my rage depleted, so did my strength. Unable to move the chair another inch, I crumpled to the ground as I should have when fear struck the festival.
“Emberline.” Father turned when the chair stopped its forward progress. He pushed himself off Mother, hopping on his good foot as he tried to see where I was.
My breaths came rapidly. I chased each one with another, hoping the next breath would slow my heart’s rapid beat. Iswallowed, giving myself a moment. This was no different than my calming exercises when my emotions spiked.
Except—I’d lifted my father, a man a foot taller than myself. I’d pushed him and Mother through multiple streets. Things I really shouldn’t have been able to accomplish—a strength I didn’t know I had.
“At least you listened this time,” a familiar gruff voice came from above me. It sent ice down my spine, but it was a balm to the hot wrath flooding me moments before.
My guard had found us.
I didn’t know this man—I didn’t know his name, didn’t know what he wanted, but I couldn’t deny the relief flooding through my body at the sound of that voice. Maybe it was just the adrenaline. I hoped that was it as my guard assessed Father’s ability to walk.
“I’m fine. Let me see my daughter.” Father waved him off and peered around my guard’s bulky frame.
My breathing had returned to normal as the guard stepped aside. Father helped me stand, seeming to accept that I was uninjured. He looked like he’d say something—ask questions, but then he turned and shot an angry glance over his shoulder at my guard.
Father’s glare went unacknowledged. My guard had already taken a position behind Mother’s chair. His hands gripped the handles tightly, the knuckles turning white. He was pushing it forward before I could protest.
My guard gestured with a nod to Father. “Don’t argue with me. Help him.”
Father still limped heavily from whatever had happened to his ankle. My guard’s stiff movement from earlier appeared to be gone.
It was indisputable that Father needed support, and whatever unknown strength had rushed me to get us away from thefestival was gone. I didn’t think I could push Mother and help Father if our lives depended on it. As much as I didn’t want help from a Blessed—we weren’t in any position to turn him down.
This was becoming an unwelcome pattern.
“Fine,” I said.
Father turned to me in surprise. “You’re letting him push your mother?”
“We don’t have a lot of options,” I said.
Father glared at my guard. “Who is he?”
