Page 93 of Spoils of war
My mother. My father. Einar. Their voices were everywhere, splintered and echoing. Too far away to reach.
“Help!” I cried, yanking at the rope until my shoulders screamed. “Please—please—someone—”
Nothing. Only the crack of the beams and the snap of rope that refused to break. I twisted until I felt my skin split, until the blood mixed with smoke and sweat. The pillar seared my back with heat.
And still, the fire came closer. It wrapped around the kitchen floor, licking up the cupboards, swallowing the table where we used to sit for breakfast. Where I’d learned to bake.
Gone.
The fire didn’t care. It devoured the memories like it devoured the walls. And then it reached me. The heat touched my bare feet first. Blinding, flesh-melting pain that made my entire body jolt.
I screamed again, and nothing but smoke came out. The thing about dreams is that everything feels real while you’re in them. And afterward… they don’t always fade. I remember dreams just as vividly as any memory. I remember the pain. Pain that never was.
A voice cut through the chaos.
Sharp. Real.
“FIRE!”
I woke choking.
For a moment I thought the dream hadn’t ended. The air was thick, glowing orange. Smoke seared my throat and stung my eyes.
The fire was there.
Aran’s voice was the first thing I heard. The room was burning—the curtains, the walls, the roof above us. Downstairs, screams carried through the floorboards. I heard glass shattering, more people screaming.
Will stirred beside me, still half-asleep.
“Get up,” I coughed, shaking him awake. “Will, get up.”
Aran had already pulled himself upright, he stood pressed against the far wall, as his eyes darted from me to the flames.
“You—”
I grabbed for the window latch, and the metal scorched my palm. I screamed, yanking my hand back, stumbling as pain lanced up my wrist. Panic surged.
I kicked at the glass, hard, but it didn’t break. Swearing under my breath, I grabbed Will’s coat from the floor and wrapped it around my hand like a mitt, teeth clenched as I forced the latch open. It gave way with a groan, and cold air rushed in, biting at my skin.
It only made the fire roar louder.
Behind me, Aran crawled toward Will, staying low through the smoke. I watched him slap him across the face, hard.
“Will,” he growled. “Get the fuck up.”
Will stirred, groaning. Barely awake, but Aran didn’t wait. There was no time to wait. Aran hooked his arms under Will’s shoulders, dragging him down to the floor with a grunt. He pulled one of Will’s arms over his shoulder and forced him upright, half-carrying, half-dragging him toward the window.
I leaned out and looked down.Just beneath the window was a slanted stretch of roof, it angled steeply toward the ground. If we could get onto it without slipping, we could jump from there.
“You did this,” Aran spat. Pure venom.
The smoke was so thick I could barely see the walls anymore. Flames climbed the bedposts, licking the beams above.
“I didn’t—” My throat caught. “I don’t—”
“You burned me. Irememberit.” Aran stepped closer, eyes wide, voice sharp. “How did you do that?”
A board cracked above us, and ash drifted down like snow.
