Page 161 of Fires of the Forsaken
“Addie.” Cheriour’s hands curled around my upper arms.
“W-what’s—” I started.
The harsh clang of a bell had me sucking in a sharp, unsteady breath.
“Seruf!”Someone bellowed. “She’s here!”
Seruf. I’d heard that name before…
“They call her the Firestarter,” Cheriour said. “She’s a Celestial.”
How thefuckwas he calm right now?
My hands shook so violently, I couldn’t get a grip on my boots. But his fingers remained steady as he took the shoes from me and pulled them over my feet. He spoke with a droning, placid voice. “Addie, listen to me…Niall is going to fall tonight.”
“W-what?”
“Seruf is here. The citywillfall. You need to leave. If you can.” He moved about the room, gathering knives and swords and strapping them to his vest. Then he flung my holstered poleaxe over my shoulders.
Outside, a woman wailed.
Her voice blended with the ringing in my ears.
I swayed, knees sagging. Cheriour gave me a not-so-nice tap on the cheek. “Addie.Focus.I can’t help you escape. I must lead the soldiers against Seruf.”
“But—you—you told me Niall’s going to fall!”
“It will.”
“Then—ain’t that a suicide mission?”
“Yes.”
I gaped at him. He was so nonchalant. “Oh yes, I’m gonna lead a group of people straight to death’s door. No biggie. Just a regular Thursday night.”
“If we all flee,” Cheriour said, “we all die. But if we slow her down, some may survive. You are going to run.”
“Run,” I scoffed. “Runwhere?”
“Sanadrin.”
“Okay. And? Did you forgettheygot attacked last week? What happens when Seruf rolls from Niall to Sanadrin?”
“You keep running.” Again, a very blasé response. “Keep living. For as long as you can.” Cheriour grasped my wrist. There was a slight tremor in his fingers now, but I wouldn’t have noticed it if he didn’t have such a death grip on me.
Before I could say anything else, he charged out the door, dragging me behind him.
It was stiflingly hot outside. Probably because, y’know, theentire fucking city was on fire.
Orange flames reached the sky. Houses blackened and crumbled. People dashed, desperate to either save loved ones or rid themselves of smoldering clothes. The piney odor of smoking wood filled the air, combined with the potent scent of pork chops. Anguished wails ricocheted off the stone streets.
My breath stung like acid trickling down my throat. The ringing in my ears intensified—although it didn’t drown out the cries of a mother who’d lost her child.
“Eanna!” the woman screamed, crawling on her stomach toward a collapsed house. Her legs were mottled and blistered, burnt right to the bone. “Eanna!”
A man lifted her off the ground, pulling her away from the blaze.
“My son!” she kept saying. “Don’t make me leave him!Eanna!”
