“Let me go back! Let me go back! There are two more—at least two more—” Liath struggled and fought and even tried to bite poor Folquin, whose leather armor had protected him from worse attacks.
“Hush, friend,” said the red-haired Lion sternly. “This one is dead, though you tried valiantly to save him. I doubt not the others have already died. No use risking yourself to drag out their bodies. May God have mercy on their souls, and may they come in peace to the Chamber of Light.” He bowed his head.
Gingerly, Folquin set Liath down, glanced at Hanna and, with a nod from her, let Liath go. Liath collapsed to her knees but simply sat trembling as the palace burned and ash drifted down like a light rain of snow upon them. Despite her forays into the raging fire, she had nary a mark or burn on her.
“We are still too close,” said Ingo.
There was a commotion on the road below. Hanna turned to see Hugh striding up toward them. Seeing Liath, he stopped dead. Such an expression transformed his face that it chilled her to her bones and yet made her want to weep in compassion for his pain. But he said nothing. He only looked. Perhaps that was worse. Then, wincing at a pain in his shoulder, he turned to limp away along the path. Servants and townsfolk and clerics swarmed him. Someone brought a chair on which to carry him, but he waved it away. Closer now, the hunting horn sounded again, high and imperative.
Liath broke into gulping sobs, so racked by them she could hardly breathe. Hanna gestured to her Lions to step back, and they ranged out, helping other Lions and guards pick up any detritus that could be saved without venturing too close: items lost from wagons or thrown down from the wallwalk; swords, shields, spears; clothing, saddlebags, scattered jewelry; a browned and blistered book, two carved stools, a sandal, a trail of ivory chess pieces. The fire burned on, but already the flames seemed less furious—or perhaps she had become accustomed to the heat searing her face. Her hands were red with it, her lips so dry that licking them made them bleed.
“Liath.” She crouched down beside her friend. “Liath, it’s me. It’s Hanna. You must stop this. Liath! There was nothing you could do to save them. You tried—”
“Ai, Lady. Hanna! Hanna! Why weren’t you here before? Why didn’t you come? Oh, God. Oh, God. I lost everything. Where is he? Please, Hanna, please get me away from him. You don’t understand. I did it. I caused it. Why did Da lie to me?” On she went, more sobbing than words and all of them incoherent.
The horn blasted close at hand, and Hanna looked over her shoulder to see the magnificent train of the king and his hunting party emerge from the forest west of the blaze with the setting sun at their backs.
On Dhearc, the shortest day of the year, light triumphed at last over the advance of night. Candles were lit to aid in that battle. Some fallen candle, surely, had kindled this fire; the bitter irony did not escape her. But Hanna could only sniff back tears, feeling the heat of fire blazing on her cheek as she held Liath and tried to get her to stop shaking and babbling and crying, but Liath could only go on and on about fire and rape and ice and power and sleep as if she had truly lost her mind.
“Liath,” said Hanna sharply, “you must stop this! The king has arrived.”
“The king,” whispered Liath. She sucked air in between clenched teeth. She struggled more fiercely than she had against Folquin’s hold, but in the end she fought herself out of hysteria and into something resembling control. “Stay by me, Hanna. Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.” Hanna looked up as she tasted a new scent on the wind. “Is it raining?” But there were only a few clouds. “Look at the fire. It’s as if all the timber’s gone.” Indeed, the fire was ebbing, although it was as yet far too hot to venture close.
“Don’t leave me, Hanna,” Liath repeated. “Don’t ever leave me alone with him, I beg you.”
“Ai, Lady,” murmured Hanna, suddenly afraid. “He didn’t—”
“No.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. Her hands gripped Hanna’s so tightly it hurt. “No, he didn’t have time to—” Her hands convulsed, her whole body jerking at some horrible memory. “I called, I reached for fire—” Shaking again, she could not go on. The wind had come up, fanning the flames. Beyond, king and retinue approached. Already a small entourage had gone out to meet him and give him the terrible news, although surely he could divine the worst from any distance. The air stank of burning.
“Hanna, don’t desert me,” Liath breathed. “I need you.” She rested her head on Hanna’s arms. Her hair was caked with soot, as were her arms and hands, every part of her. She was so grimy that anything she touched came away streaky with soot. “I didn’t know—I didn’t know what Da was protecting me from.”