An Affinity For Fire

5. Clover

Clover clutched the wine jug in her hands, watching in stunned silence as Lady Willow collapsed, blood sprayed on the white tablecloth. The woman standing behind her turned her eyes and her already stained knife towards another young woman, a woman who Clover recognised as Marram's older sister, Hazel.

Without thinking, Clover leapt onto the assassin. They landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs and Clover brought the wine jug down hard on her forehead. The blow drew blood but the woman didn't stop struggling so she raised the jug again, drawing it down on her a second time. This time the jug shattered and the woman fell limp.

When Clover looked up from the dead body beneath her, she saw servants and guests running from the table in blind panic as other assassins, more than she could count in the fluster of movement, drove their knives into the flesh of innocents.

She probably would have been too shocked to move if Hazel hadn't grabbed her shoulder and hauled her to her feet. Scared and confused, the Princess gripped Clover's arm, her nails biting into her bare skin. "What do we do??" She asked through tears.

Clover clenched her fists. "Run."

The only way out of the walled garden was through the house. As the two girls ran towards it, the ground began to shudder beneath their feet. I terrified green mage must have inadvertently started a minor earthquake, Clover realised, or perhaps multiple terrified green mages. The narrow corridors were crammed with people shoving their way towards the front door, most screaming or crying. Or both. Someone heavy, she couldn't tell who, knocked her off balance and sent her crashing onto a small table. the thin, ornately carved legs cracked under her weight and gave way, sending her to the floor. She pressed her hands over her face and pulled her knees up to her chest, waiting for the crowd to pass. There can't be that many more people, she thought as yet another fleeing person kicked her accidentally on their way out.

As the stampeding horde began to die down, Clover felt a hand wrap around her wrist. She looked up to see a pair of wide, walnut eyes pleading for her to get to her feet. Tarry. His lips moved, forming words she couldn't make out over the shouts. She pushed herself up off the floor.

"We have to go," Tarry yelled desperately, still grasping her wrist much tighter than he probably realised.

She nodded and began to run, the boy not far behind. But instead of leaving the house, she turned and headed for the kitchen.

"Wait, what are you doing?!" He called after her, but she didn't stop. She burst through the kitchen door, finding the room empty. Eyes darting around the room, she spotted a large black pan with a long handle. That'll do, she thought, grabbing it from the kitchen surface. Tarry burst in after her and stared down in confusion at the utensil in her hand. His face twisted in horror as the realisation of her plan dawned on him.

"No. Not happening. No way. We need to leave."

She stepped around him. "You don't have to follow me."

She stepped back into the corridor and paused, wondering whether the attackers would be following the crowd or staying in the back garden. A moment later, Tarry joined her, holding a kitchen knife. Her stomach tingled in relief. She hadn't been sure if he'd help her or not and it certainly felt better not to be running into a fight alone.

"Where do you think they went?" She asked.

As if on cue, a Dormisian serving boy, armed with a dagger, turned the corner and stopped in surprise, staring at her pan. Evidently, he hadn't been expecting anyone to put up a fight. Taking advantage of his hesitation, she swung the pan with all the force she could muster, smashing it against his face. She winced at the sickening crunch and watched as the boy's body dropped to the ground.

Another two servants turned the corner, knives raised. She swung her makeshift weapon towards the nearest, another young man, but he anticipated her movement and ducked. Caught off balance by the momentum of the heavy pan, Clover stumbled. The second servant, a ghostly pale girl, lunged forward ready to slice her throat. She would have succeeded if Tarry hadn't stepped in, blocking her knife with his own. In one smooth movement, he jabbed the woman in the shoulder, yanked the knife out and plunged it into the stomach of the boy. He let go and stepped back, leaving his weapon embedded in the boy's body.

Distracted by the boy, Tarry didn't notice the girl rising to her feet, clutching her bleeding shoulder with one hand and her knife with the other.

"Tarry, look out!" Clover shouted in panic as the assassin raised the knife, ready to stab her best friend in the chest.

But the fatal blow never came. One moment she was ready to kill and the next there was an arrow embedded in her neck. Her eyes glassed over and her legs crumpled beneath her.

Clover turned her head and stared over her shoulder to see Heleonne standing with a raised crossbow, eyes practically on fire.

He slowly lowered the crossbow, shoulders rising and falling with his rapid, ragged breathing. The rage on his face dulled down, replaced by sadness.

"I'm... sorry. After everything, I... I should have known something like this... I should have been ready."

Clover didn't say anything. She kept her eyes fixed on his face, but her mind couldn't be torn from the three corpses at her feet.

"You should both go home," Heleonne finally said. "I think we got them all."

The blond boy walked back towards the garden and Clover turned to Tarry.

"He's right," she said once he was out of earshot. "We should go."

Tarry shook his head, still glaring in the direction Heleonne had walked off in. "Find my mother and tell her I'm fine."

"Surely you can tell her that yourself," she said, brow furrowed.

"No," he said, turning back to her at last. "You heard what he said. 'I should have known.' That prick knows something about why our family just got attacked. I'm going to find out what."