The Burning Hand (4 page)

ROMILY'S INFORMATION ABOUT Hensley's buildings was good.

As we headed into Greenstone, the warehouse and manufacturing district, Romily told me that most shine—as far as she knew—was made in houses somewhere in the Flags.

“The scale of this is much bigger,” she said. “Most shine is just stuff people make in their basements or back rooms. Even if they make a lot of it, it's never like this. The amount he said he can have? Replacing all the big makers in Red Flag?” Romily shook her head. “That's a lot of firefly.”

“How do you know where most shine is made?” It seemed ridiculous that a thirteen-year-old girl would have all this worldly knowledge and I, Crown Prince Tobiah Pierce, House of the Dragon, future sovereign of the Indigo Kingdom, wouldn't know anything.

“Oh,” she said, like it was nothing, “they always have papers
stuck under rocks by their doors, or people lurking around the back. The houses always smell wraithy, too. That's the big thing—the smell. Otherwise you might not know. The places that sell have different signs.”

“And what are those?” I paused as we came upon the old train tracks that cut through Greenstone. Most of the iron had been stripped off long ago, but there were still some old, rusted rails in a few places. This was as far as I'd ever made it into Greenstone; most of my efforts had been spent in the Flags.

Romily pointed northward, and we moved in that direction. “The sellers put marks on the houses. Most use smoke stains under windows or on doors. These are all regular shiners, though. Not fireflies. And the Nightmare gang sells a little differently. They take a big cut of the money, but it seems like they never run out.”

It seemed impossible that there were so many ways to buy shine in Skyvale. So many people willing to make and sell. So many people willing to destroy themselves by taking it.

Then I remembered Professor Knight's words: the shine addiction started with a hundred small excuses to keep feeling the way he wanted to feel. It gave him the illusion of control.

And there was no possible way for me to really understand it.

Regardless of what I'd done in the last couple of weeks, I was still a prince. Sheltered. Coddled. I had plenty of food to eat. The privilege of an education. More clothes for a season than most had in a lifetime.

I would never truly understand the desperation that drove other people.

“Disgusted with the Flags yet?” Romily asked.

“No.” My voice was raw. “Disgusted with those who take advantage of the people in the Flags.”

Softer: “Oh.”

We kept walking, and faintly I heard the sound of the river crashing beyond the buildings. We were almost to the outskirts of the city.

She motioned down a side street and pressed a finger to her mouth. Her voice came low. “I think it's just down there.”

Part of me wanted to ask what we did now. How we got there without being seen. But it wasn't her duty to know those kinds of things. When this was over, I wanted Romily to escape this vigilante lifestyle. She wanted to be involved now because of her brother, but when vigilantism was no longer personal for her, she should be able to escape.

Which meant I needed to figure this out on my own.

The buildings in this part of Greenstone were tall and flat, and the roads between them wide enough that it would be a challenge to jump across. Dangerous. Deadly. And I'd already fallen off one building this week. No more.

So we continued on the street level.

“I think we should go around that building.” Romily pointed to a warehouse; I couldn't tell what was stored there. “There's a ladder to the roof. We could climb and spy from above.”

Immediately I took back my thoughts about figuring this out on my own. Romily was a young girl, yes, but she was also a resource and I was too new at this to ignore the sort of help she could offer.

We had three days until the deal with the Nightmares was
finalized. Doing some reconnaissance and working out a plan with contingencies was probably a better idea than rushing in now and . . . what? I didn't even know what shine-manufacturing materials looked like.

“Good idea,” I said at last. “That will give us time to plan and buy whatever we need to stop him.”

She shot a frown—probably because I'd brought up money again like it was nothing—and just muttered an agreement. “This way.”

We headed around the building she'd indicated, keeping our steps soft and quiet, and our breaths long and deep. Hard to believe this was it. Just some anonymous building in Greenstone. No one would ever know.

But . . . Romily had said there was a wraith stench around houses where shine was manufactured. Maybe firefly didn't have the same overwhelming stink, or maybe Mercush's information was bad. But surely he'd have come for the firefly right away and Romily would know whether he'd been successful.

So why was there no odor of wraith?

Just as I opened my mouth to ask, lights flared from a nearby window, forcing me to duck my head and squint. I pulled my arm over my face, guarding my stinging eyes from the bright light as I looked for Romily.

Instead, dozens of boots thumping on the pavement, coming at me from every direction.

I drew my sword, moving to guard Romily, but I couldn't find her and too quickly I was fighting for my life. Nightmares—ten, no, twenty of them—surrounded me, all with weapons drawn. Blunt lengths of metal. Chains. Planks of wood. A particularly
large man had nothing but his fists and a feral grin full of broken teeth.

I cut and slashed with my sword, but it was no use. There were too many of them, and I was injured.

The broken-teeth man whipped his arm toward me. I saw red and white when his hand contacted my face. And then I dropped to the ground.

The next thing I knew, I was being dragged down the road. I suppressed a shout or startle or any reaction that would alert them to my consciousness. A glimpse of my sword on the pavement meant I hadn't been out very long.

I took in my situation: they were dragging me by my hands, which meant my rear and legs bounced over ruts in the pavement; my wrists and ankles were bound, ropes cutting off my circulation; a headache throbbed around the right side of my face where I'd been hit, and another on the left side where I'd fallen.

There was no sign of Romily.

Saints.
Romily
. What had they done with her? I needed a plan. I needed to get away and find her. I should have asked her to give me the location and then sent her back to her family. Her mother was already going to lose Mercush to firefly; she shouldn't lose Romily, too.

There was a deep rushing sound behind me, and the air felt heavier. Wetter. As they dragged me off the edge of the pavement and onto the grass, all at once I realized where they were taking me.

The river.

No point in hiding I was awake anymore. I lifted myself and
tried to shift some weight to my legs, like maybe I could stand, but my feet were numb and my ribs hurt too much. With a frantic groan, I threw my weight to one side, hoping to unbalance the Nightmare gripping onto my hands, but he just squeezed so hard the bones seemed to rub together. I let out a strangled cry.

Then I saw her. Romily.

Just as the Nightmares dragged me around a tree and one man suggested knocking me out again, Romily stepped out of the shadows of the building and bent to retrieve my sword. No one paid attention to her, even though she was now in plain view.

“Rom!” My voice cracked, and one of the Nightmares thunked me across the head. Blackness scattered across my vision, but we'd stopped moving. They'd dropped me and forced me around to my knees at the bank of the river. Water droplets sprayed around me. Nightmares loomed like they were waiting for me to make a move so they could hit me again.

If Romily heard my call, she ignored me. Instead, she turned toward a tall figure approaching her. They stood out in sharp silhouette, so I couldn't see the man's face, but a sense of dread knotted in my stomach.

The man dropped a large sack into Romily's outstretched hands. Then he shooed her away and strode toward me.

Lord Hensley.

I wanted to fight, but my weapon was gone. My hands were tied. My ally had turned. The futile struggle to get free had rekindled the pain in my ribs.

One of the Nightmare men had a knife; he kept it near my throat.

Saints. They were going to kill me. The only question that remained was how. Drowning? Cutting? Burning? I tried not to imagine the details of all three.

“Here we are at last.” Lord Hensley strode up to me.

A rock dug into my knee. My hands ached as I tried to move my fingers and force blood back into them. My breath came harsh and ragged.

“I'm sure you're shocked about losing your friend.” Hensley glared down at me. “It wasn't hard to buy her off. I marked her as your informant the moment she began questioning Mercush about where firefly is made, and I made a deal. A little money for her and her mother. A little firefly for her brother. I can't say I'm surprised she decided to take me up on the offer. It was a good one.”

Even if I'd wanted to respond, I couldn't. The knife at my throat was unwavering.

“You understand I needed to put a stop to your antics before they got out of hand.” He lifted his stump. “Pardon. But if we can't find amusement in these things, what's the point?”

Next he would press his good hand against my forehead and make a joke about me being hotheaded. That would be how I would die.

A loud roar came from the nearest warehouse. Something banged from the inside. The Nightmares frowned at one another, and several left to investigate.

There were only five with me now, plus Hensley. More than enough to kill me the moment they were ready.

My mind raced with possibilities for escape, but there was nothing viable. I couldn't fight. I didn't have a weapon. I couldn't
even feel my feet with the way the restraints squeezed my ankles.

Hensley blocked most of my view, but around him I caught Romily's small frame coming toward us. She still had my sword, but her expression was lost in the bright lamps behind her.

“Keep him still,” Hensley told one of the Nightmares. Heavy palms fell on my shoulders, shoving me downward. He grabbed the top of my mask and yanked it off, taking several strands of hair with it. Then he jerked my face up and his eyes went wide. “You.”

“I knew you were guilty,” I whispered. My jaw ached with the words; a bruise was forming from the Nightmare's hit earlier.

Hensley stared at me for a long moment, deciding what to do. It would be obvious who'd killed me if he burned me, like he had Knight.

My mask floated to the ground.

“Drown him,” Hensley said.

The Nightmares dropped their weapons and shoved me face-first into the dark river.

COLD WATER SURGED over my face.

In my eyes.

Up my nose.

Into my mouth.

A man jostled me. My shoulder hit a rock as he shoved me deeper into the water.

I hadn't taken enough of a breath, and already my lungs burned with the need to breathe. My chest spasmed as seconds ticked by, but I didn't struggle, didn't move. That would only make my air run out sooner.

Small bubbles escaped the corners of my mouth.

Saints
, I wanted to breathe. I needed to breathe. But the rough, heavy hands were still on the back of my neck and shoulders, and the only thing I could feel was the cold water numbing me and the brush of plants waving in the current.

This was it. This was how I was going to die.

Only sixteen. Hunting a flasher lord.

And what about James? What would become of him, if I were gone? It seemed likely my death would kill him, too.

My thoughts grew heavy and sluggish. More air escaped and my chest was an inferno of need. No matter how I focused on holding my breath, I knew I'd give in soon. I couldn't last much longer.

Suddenly, the weight on my head and shoulders lifted.

Fumbling with my bound hands, my whole body throbbing in pain, I pulled and pushed myself from the river, and shook the wet strands of hair from my face to see what was happening.

Romily.

She had my sword and was standing over an unmoving Nightmare. Dead? Hensley strode toward her, his good hand glowing faint red.

There was no time to ask questions.

I grabbed the knife that had been at my throat minutes before, and sliced at the bonds around my wrists and ankles. It was difficult with my fingers cold and wet and numb, but finally the cords snapped. Blood poured into my hands and feet, stinging, but I couldn't worry about it now. The remaining Nightmares converged on Romily, who lunged as though to thrust the sword into Hensley's stomach.

One of the Nightmares shoved her over, and the sword flew from her grasp. Hensley rushed toward her, his hand out and fingers splayed. He was going to burn her up the same way he had Knight.

With a wordless shout, I took the knife and ran at Hensley, ready to saw off his other hand. But my body wouldn't work
right. I stumbled and struggled on my feet, and I hadn't caught my breath. I'd never make it on time. Already, he knelt and pressed his fingertips against the side of her face.

A low roar came from the warehouse next door.

Everyone stopped and looked toward the now open doorway.

A huge shape staggered out. Bulging, grotesque muscle, with wide, red-rimmed eyes. The man had to be twice as tall as me. A deep odor of wraith rolled off him.

Hensley swore at the nearest Nightmare. “You brought a glowman?” He stood again, Romily forgotten, and backed away, one long step after another. He looked . . . afraid.

The Nightmare grinned, making his rust-colored tattoo shift on his face. “We brought six.”

Dread dropped into my stomach.

Glowmen.

People mutated by shine—or firefly—and twisted until they barely resembled humans. The shine made them feel how they wanted to feel—and then it twisted those desires and made them permanent.

I'd never seen one before. But now, with one emerging from the warehouse, another following close behind, I understood the penetrating fear of glowmen. They were enormous. And they were bent on destruction.

I had to get out of here. I couldn't defend against a pack of glowmen
and
the Nightmares.

Hensley was in full retreat. If he noticed me, he didn't show it. He just wanted to get away from the glowmen.

With renewed purpose, I sprinted toward Romily. She was
facedown on the dirt, her whole body trembling. Four fingertip burns dotted her cheek where Hensley had used his magic. First I'd help Romily. Then I'd shove Hensley into the river. How
dare
he?

When I knelt and touched Romily's shoulder, she yipped and scrambled up, but relaxed when she saw it was me. She threw her arms around me and whispered, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have trusted him, but I was scared and—”

“It's all right.” There wasn't time to find out whether she knew who I was—Crown Prince Tobiah or just some bruised-up rich boy—and she didn't seem to care about much except that I hadn't come to kill her. I helped her to her feet and found my sword. My mask was nowhere in sight. Long gone, probably down the river. “The Nightmares brought glowmen. Can you run?”

“Can
you
?”

I squeezed my sword hilt and checked the area for Hensley, but he was moving around a building—away from the glowmen. The Nightmares who'd been assisting him had moved toward the warehouse, like they were going to control the glowmen. But from inside the warehouse, there was a crash and someone screamed.

“Nine saints.” Romily snatched the knife I'd taken from the ground. “They're huge.”

Three glowmen were out of the warehouse already. Inside, more screams echoed.

“We need to run.” I took her arm, but she shook me off and took a hesitating step toward the glowmen. “What are you doing?”

The Nightmares were mostly contained around the warehouse, trying to corral the glowmen back inside. They didn't seem interested in us at all anymore, with Hensley gone. If we were ever going to get a chance to make our escape, this was it.

“That's Mercush!” She dashed toward the warehouse—toward the glowmen and Nightmares.

“Rom, wait!” I followed, but she had a head start. As we drew closer to the warehouse, I caught sight of half a dozen Nightmare grunts sprawled on the ground, their bodies twisted and broken. “Stop!”

She ignored me. My heart thundered in my ears as I realized what she was running into.

It was a slaughter.

The Nightmare gang had lost control of the glowmen—if they'd ever had control—and were now fighting for their lives. Several men and women were on the warehouse floor, dead. At least one glowman was dead, too.

“Romily, don't!” But I was too late.

She paused in front of a glowman who vaguely resembled her. Narrow face. Lidded eyes. But any other similarities had been transformed by the wraith in the firefly. He was stretched tall and thin, his arms all wiry muscle and black hairs.

“Mercush.” She stared up at him, hope in her eyes. Like she believed he might still be her brother. The glowman cocked his head and locked eyes with her, like a challenge. She glanced at me. “Don't hurt my brother—”

Mercush grabbed Romily in both his hands, then hurled her at the nearest wall. She hit with a loud
thump
and dropped to the floor. Blood dripped from her head.

She didn't move.