An Affinity For Fire

52. Clover

Clover's lungs felt like they were being torn apart from the inside, and the relentless tug of unconsciousness was threatening to pull her under.

Blinking away the black spots creeping across her vision, she lifted her head from the singed carpet and eyed the Aestasan assassin. At just a foot away, the woman had borne the brunt of whatever in all Hells Clover had done. Every inch of exposed skin was red and bubbling. If the sight itself wasn't horrific enough to make her gag, the stench of burned flesh certainly was.

She'd done that. She didn't know how, but she'd done that.

Through the ringing in her ears, she heard a strained voice. "Clover! I need you!"

Swallowing back bile, she lifted herself onto her hands and knees, still gasping for breath. She tore her gaze from the smoking corpse, turning to where Bryn was crouching. He'd ripped off his already damaged doublet and was using it to smother the flames on the back of Dallas' shirt.

Oh, Fates. Dallas.

The man's chest was rising and falling even faster than hers, an inhuman, pained moan escaping him. Choking on a whole new breed of panic, she crawled over to the pair. "I am so sorry, I don't know-"

"Just help," Bryn cut in, pulling the doublet away from Dallas' back. "His shirt's burned on to his skin, we need to get it off. Help me sit him up."

Too stunned to ask questions, she grabbed Dallas' arm. Bryn held the other and together, they hauled him into a sitting position. He cried out at the jarring motion. "Wait what-" he croaked out.

"It's alright," Bryn said. "Clover and I are going to take your shirt off."

"Wish I was hearing that under different circumstances," He muttered through rasping breaths.

Clover glared at him. "You never stop, do you?"

He winced. "There's only so much humour I can use to combat the pain, get on with it!"

Bryn ripped a rag from his sleeve, rolling it up and shoving it in Dallas' mouth.  "Bite down on that and grab my arm." When Dallas obeyed, Bryn screamed. "Not that hard, Fates almighty!"

"Shorry," Dallas said through a mouthful of fabric.

Bryn's pale eyes met Clover's. "Make it quick," he said, gripping the bottom of Dallas' shirt. Nodding, she did the same. In one quick rip, they tugged the shirt over his head, pieces of scorched skin attached. Bryn cursed when Dallas squeezed his arm again, and Dallas released a bone-chilling cry that was only partly muffled by the torn sleave between his teeth.

With the garment extracted, Dallas collapsed onto his front, spitting out the rag and panting. "How bad is it?"

Clover and Bryn cast nervous glances between each other and the patch of raw, burned flesh spanning from his right shoulder to the middle of his back.

"You'll live," Bryn finally said.

Dallas lifted his head, creased brow gleaming with sweat. "I'll live? If that's the best you can do, then I'm concerned."

"Well, it's the best you're getting until we get you to an actual physician," Bryn told him, before looking back up at Clover. "I can take him from here. The door's unlocked, you go."

"What? No," Dallas protested. "Both of you go. You just said I'll live."

"Neither of us are going anywhere! We're not leaving you here," Clover said, glaring at Bryn.

He met her eyes with a cold, unyielding stare. "Clover, you have to get to Weyra." She tried to protest, but he pushed on. "Don't. You may be used to people rolling over when you argue, but this is non-negotiable. You have to go."

She swallowed, shooting a desperate look at Dallas. She'd hurt him, almost killed him, without even meaning to. He was shaking, heaving for breaths, clearly battling his body's urge to pass out.

But he nodded with a weak smile. "It's alright. Go."

With a final, reluctant nod, she opened the door.

Any other time, she would have been in awe of the vastness and elegance of the aviary. the ceiling consisted almost entirely of windows, and all manner of bizarre trees and plants filled the room. Even under the dull light of the moon, she could make out some of the extravagant, colourful birds perching in the branches.

Ignoring her interest in the magnificent creatures, she sprinted towards the far end, shoeing away the flustered gaggle of peacocks in her path. The door would doubtlessly be locked, but a low window to the side of it offered potential. She grabbed a small, ornamental statue of a phoenix by the neck, arms buckling against the weight of the polished stone, and swung with all her might at the window.

The glass cracked. She struck again.

And again.

When the glass at last shattered, she dropped the phoenix, arms trembling from the strain. Using the rim of a large, nearby plant pot as a stool, she hopped out, landing on deep, frozen snow.

Compared to the chaos inside, Clover couldn't decide if the stillness and silence of the night was soothing or unsettling.

She strode carefully through the tough snow, her inner fire automatically flaring to combat the biting cold. The aviary led out to the royal gardens, not far from the pile of charred wood that had formerly been the stables. That was where Weyra had last been seen. As soon as Clover had made it out of the stables, carrying the wolf, she'd put her down. Weyra had immediately bolted for the trees. No-one had seen her since. Clover stopped at the edge of the woods, staring into the thick expanse of snow-coated trees.

At was at that point that she realised she had absolutely no plan.

"Weyra!" She called out into the seemingly empty darkness. If she'd had any sort of audience, she would have felt like a complete fool. "Chalcedony!" She tried next, figuring that the wolf may be more likely to remember her former name.

To no surprise of her own, her calls were met by silence.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep her breathing steady.

"Chalcedony?" she said again, more gently, eyes still closed. "You probably can't here me, and even if you can, you're a bloody wolf. You have no idea what I'm saying. But I need you. We have to find Merith. You know Merith, she looked after you a long time ago. We need her, and that means we need you. So if you are there, Chalcedony, if I'm not just lamenting to a bunch of trees, please. Come back. Please."

She opened her eyes.

Nothing.

She didn't know what she'd expected, but she was disappointed all the same.

Cursing under her breath, she kicked aimlessly at the snow at her feet. Why would Merith's wolf even follow us in the first place? she wondered. It had seemed ridiculous, and maybe it was. Maybe Weyra wasn't Chalcedony at all. Just some other odd wolf.

But if she was, that would mean one of Merith's pets had been drawn to them somehow. Perhaps it was because Leo was Dormisian. Or perhaps it was to do with Clover and Tarry's great-great grandmother, who Merith had treated. Perhaps some trace of her magic had transferred to Queen Heather during the healing process. Perhaps that had been passed down through her bloodline, and Weyra had sensed it in her and Tarry. Perhaps-

Clover's legs almost buckled from under her as an impossible thought struck her.

Great merciful freaking Fates al-bloody-mighty.

Heart pounding so hard her throat was throbbing, she stormed through the snow, back to the broken window.