Celia whispered the words, and she felt the aura ripple over her skin. She watched as Oswald’s silhouette disappeared.
He touched her shoulder, and she felt his warmth as he leaned close, their chests almost touching. Brushing her hair from her ear, his fingers grazed her neck. He whispered, “We’ll get your friends. You need to take Mariana into the woods. If anyone is chasing you, try to lose them in the forest. If we make it, we’ll find you after the battle. Kill anyone who gets in your way.”
“I’m not killing Fiona.”
“No need to fret about that. Noways you’ll kill a Picaroon.” She could feel him grasping for her hand, shoving something leather into it. “Take this knife, too. It’ll be easier for you than the pike.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to slay Throcknells,” he barked, before touching her arm. “Not you, of course.”
She holstered the knife to her waist, then grabbed his hand and broke into a run. Or as fast as she could run with the clunky pike. What a stupid weapon.
The alarm bell clanged in the nearby village, almost drowning out the sound of screaming. The air smelled of burning wood, and dark smoke curled into the sky.
Their feet pounded the gravel, and Celia’s lungs burned as they barreled over the path to Foxglove Manor. She hiked up her lavender dress. If nothing else, I will die in a color that suits me.
When they neared Foxglove Manor, she could hear Mariana screaming, and ice flooded her veins. Someone had already got to them. Rounding the corner, Celia found Mariana and Alan standing before the house. Three Purgator soldiers boxed them in. Celia’s breath caught in her throat. One held a gun.
Covered in Purgator dust, Mariana gripped a can of the old woman’s hairspray. That’s her weapon. Hairspray against a gun. Celia’s feet pounded the earth.
Before she could ready her pike, Oswald launched an attack spell, taking out the man with the gun. But within moments, another soldier had sprayed dust over the two of them. Stunned by the pain, Celia dropped her weapon. The dust ate into her skin like an acid bath. Fighting through the pain, she grabbed for the knife at her belt.
Just as she drew the blade, Mariana lifted the hairspray. “Stay away from my friends!” Flicking a lighter in her other hand, she depressed the aerosol nozzle, washing the Purgators in a spray of fire. She’d made herself a flamethrower.
The Purgators’ black clothes blazed. Shrieking, they threw themselves into the dirt, trying to roll out the fire, but it only took a few moments for Oswald to end their misery, plunging his pike through their chests, one by one. At the sight of his battle frenzy, Celia’s heart skipped a beat.
Covered in blood and dust, Oswald surveyed his friends. “We must get you out of here. Now.”
“That was… intense,” said Alan.
Oswald wiped a hand across his mouth, leaving a smear of blood, his eyes lingering on Celia. “The princess will be a target for the Throcknells.”
She could taste her own death in the air, sharp and bitter. She handed her pike to Alan. “You take this. I can barely use it, and I’ve got a knife.”
“Thanks,” he said, taking it. “I’m gonna find Thomas and Tobias.” He glanced at Oswald. “Are you coming?”
“No.” High-pitched screams carried through the streets, but Oswald’s pale eyes remained locked on Celia. “I should stay.”
She wouldn’t have expected how relieved she felt to hear that, and had to suppress the urge to throw her arms around him and kiss his neck. Not in front of Mariana.
As Alan took off for the common, the others ran for the forest. Kicking up dust and rubble, they sprinted through the winding rows of crooked houses, the alarm bells still clanging through the narrow streets. They tore past Foxberry Fields, and Celia eyed the strange, silvery glow that hung in the sky tonight.
As they reached the forest’s edge, Celia threw a quick look over her shoulder. No Purgators or Throcknells, thank the gods. Under cover of darkness, they slipped into the woods, crunching over sticks and leaves. Celia’s skin still burned from the dust.
As they pressed deeper into the woods, something hit her full force in the chest, throwing her backward. A tendril of smoke curled from her clothes, and she gasped for breath. She’d been hit by someone’s magic.
“Celia!” Oswald knelt by her side for just a moment before springing up again, readying his pike.
Slowly, Celia pushed herself to her feet, watching as five Throcknell soldiers emerged from the shadows. A man with a blond beard grinned. “Why, hello. Is that our former princess?”
Her mind raced. They were going to drag her back to Maremount and saw off her head in the square, just like they’d done to her mom. Celia’s blood would drip through the drain beneath the Lilitu Fountain.