Blind

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height


 Smoke.

The heavy, hot air tickled her throat, triggering a cough. She lifted the collar of her dress and clamped it against her mouth and nose. She'd smelt smoke in Zonah before—many street dwellers clustered around small fires of their own making—but never this strongly.

The wagon jerked to a halt. The tarp was peeled back, and blinding light poured over her.

"I'm sorry, miss. Can't go no further."

She sat up in the wagon and curled a lock of hair around her ear. The lurching wagon always seemed intent on ruining whatever braid or bun she'd scraped her hair into. "Why? What's the matter?" Her gaze caught on a thick, tar-black funnel of smoke darkening the horizon.

"It seems there's a fire somewhere near that pub."

Her whole body stilled—and for a split second, even her heart didn't dare beat. Avril's threat. Could she have... Carissa shook her head, hoping the movement would dislodge the thought. No. Avril might be a jealous witch, but surely she didn't have the cruelty to resort to pyromania.

She lowered herself from the wagon, skirts bundled in one fist.

"Miss? Surely you don't mean to still go." The young man's face wrinkled with concern. She regretted more lines would crease his face because of her. He looked far too old for his age as was.

"I'm just going to investigate. You should continue your water delivery."

His jaw tensed.

"Don't worry so. I'll see you tomorrow morning." She forced a cheery note into her words and a smile onto her lips. "You have patrons depending on your timely deliveries."

After another long pause, the boy dipped his head. "Alright. But don't go too close, eh? Mister Grumpy Healer Man wouldn't like it."

Mister Grumpy indeed. "Of course." Her lie felt thick as butter in her mouth and slipped off her tongue just as easily. Before her deceit was able to surface in her expression, she whirled away from the wagon and marched towards the smoke.

Eventually, the alley became so thick with it she could scarcely breathe. She was forced to the streets, where the wind dispersed some of the smoke. A crowd clustered along the street, far enough from the blazing building to only feel wisps of heat, close enough to observe the lick of every flame.

As she neared, she spotted a blackened sign dangling the building. A curled wave had been carved into its surface. The cap of foam cupping the wave's end was no longer white—it seemed the paint had burnt off. Carissa didn't need to read the words beneath to know what the sign said: The Seven Seas Pub.

Could Avril have really been behind this? Had her jealousy been enough to tip her over the edge? Carissa stared at the building and shook her head. Why would Avril do this now? When Carissa wasn't even there? What if she'd caused others to suffer?

Her shoulders sank as the fire branded her vision. There would be no survivors, not from a disaster like this. She began to turn.

An agonized scream rent the air, tearing so violently at her heart she was tempted to plug her ears. A helpless, wordless plea. The next scream fizzled into a sob, then a whimper. But it was clear enough that she could identify the voice.

The little boy. He was trapped in the building.

The building was a bonfire fit for a gathering of giants. Within seconds, the boy would be reduced to blackened bone and smoldering ash—as would any fool who dared to attempt to rescue him.

She forced her tightening throat to swallow. It almost felt cruel to stand here and watch the building crumble, its flaming boards snapping, embers shooting into the sky to dance among the smoke. Yet leaving simply so she could ignore the boy's dying screams had a cruelty all its own.

She really should go. There was no point in staying.

Yet her feet edged towards the building on their own accord. The heat became unbearable, and thick globs of sweat streamed down her neck before sliding beneath her dress. She was out of reach of the flames, yet she was certain her face was on fire.

What was she doing? As much as she wanted to help the boy, it was pointless. Burning alive alongside him wouldn't help anyone.

Another scream seared the air. The flames were probably ripping the boy apart, slithering along his skin before gorging itself on his flesh, eating its sumptuous meal slowly.

Her nails sank into her palm, and she strode to a trough across the street. She fumbled with her cloak's clasp before yanking it off and plunging it into the muddy water.

If she walked away, ignored his cries, she'd spend her whole life wondering if she could have done something.

She tugged her cloak from the water's grasp and settled it back over her shoulders.

Or she could do her best to save the boy's life. She would either die, fail, or succeed, but the least she could do was try.

Carissa elbowed her way through the crowd. Though the front door had crumbled, a door on the side remained somewhat intact. As she neared the door, the heat stripped the moisture from her skin and eyes until it hurt to blink. Her instincts were writhing, screaming shrilly to turn back, like any sane person would do.

She clenched her teeth against the scorching pain, wrapping her damp cloak around her palm, and curled her protected hand around the door handle. It was warm beneath her skin as the heat tried to squirm its way through her cloak. She sucked in a breath of air and nearly choked on the smoke.

Sanity was overrated anyhow. She twisted the knob and shoved the door open. 

Pure, agonizing heat engulfed her.

Her chest tightened as coughs rattled her frame uncontrollably. If the wagon ride back home had been what hell had felt like, surely this was what it looked like.

The walls were the color of a bleeding sunset, breathing its last onto the horizon. Jagged flames crept along the beams in the ceiling, slunk along the floorboards. She held her cloak tight against her mouth and nose and ducked to avoid the smoke.

A shriek chilled her blood, despite the roaring heat.

She staggered towards the noise. As she breathed, the air rasped against her dry throat. The heat burned like nothing she'd felt before.

All was silent, save the crackling laugh of the fire.

If it were cooler, sweat would have beaded her forehead. Was she too late? Had the boy died?

She cupped her hand around her mouth. "Hello?!"

"Here, here! I'm over here!"

"I'm coming!" She pressed her cloak back over her mouth and ducked beneath a flaming doorway.

Pale, daffodil-yellow flames had swallowed the kitchen. They floated upward in rippling tendrils. Dark smoke swirled around the ceiling, like a dense swarm of vultures circling, waiting for their victims to drop dead.

Where was he? "Hello?"

"Help!"

She turned and darted towards the noise. This hallway seemed unscathed for the moment. The supply closet door dangled open. She peered inside.

The little boy stood huddled in a corner, wet cheeks glistening in the firelight, his nose running. He'd stripped his shirt, revealing how his ribs stretched tightly against his skin.

How was she going to coax the boy out? She lifted her hands to gesture him forward.

Before she even had her arms half-raised, he barreled into her and wrapped his bony arms around her waist. He trembled uncontrollably, and soft, little sobs snuck in between his rapid gasps.

She snatched his wadded shirt from the ground. "You need to put it back on. It'll protect you."

He shook his head, keeping himself plastered to her side. "Too hot."

When she wriggled the shirt over his head and smoothed it down his chest, he offered no resistance. "Can you walk?" She pointed down the hallway.

His grip on her waist tightened.

It would be a long walk to their escape route. She scooped him into her arms, tucking the cloak around his sharply skeletal form. She trudged down the hallway. The heat intensified as she walked. The air felt so thick she could hardly swallow it.

From above her, there was a sharp creak, then a snap.

She'd barely turned in time to protect the boy before the ceiling in front of her came crashing down. Heat raked claws down her cheek, her forearm.

She gasped and stumbled back the way they'd come. Fire coursed through her veins before pausing to lick at her arm. Her legs buckled beneath the pain and the heat. She would have leaned against the wall, but the heat radiating from behind it stopped her.

They'd have to go through the kitchen and out the back.

She stumbled back into the kitchen. Though the boy didn't weigh much more than a skeleton, he seemed to grow heavier by the second, and her grip on him was becoming looser and looser.

She skirted the flames gnawing at the floor. Smoke shoved its way past her throat, tightening her chest with coughs.

Moments later, she was staggering down a smoke-clogged alley. She didn't quite remember unlatching the door or stumbling out the back, but somehow she had. She stumbled and dropped to her knees. As soon as she slammed into the cobblestone, pain shot up her thighs. They still had to escape the smoke's grasp, but she couldn't go any farther.

Her arms loosened around the boy, and he slid to the ground. She folded her elbow around her mouth and began hacking, trying to expel the smoke from her lungs.

A little hand tugged at her. "Over here."

With the little boy's encouragement, she crept around the bend of a building, where the smoke wasn't quite as strong. She rested her back against the wall and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing.

Scruffy, smoke-scented hair rubbed her chin as the little boy nestled in her arms. "Are you going to be alright?" His voice hitched slightly, and he sniffled.

She slitted her eyes to glance at him.

A tear slipped down his ash-streaked cheek. It was strange to see him so distraught. Typically, he had the bearing of a little soldier—even when being whipped.

She drew in a breath and coughed. "Of course. Viltus will find me."

"Viltus?"

His voice echoed distantly.

His tiny fingers dug into her shoulders as he shook her. "No, don't go. Please don't die. I don't want you to leave me too."

She forced her eyes back open. "Who left before?"

His lower lip trembled. "My mama. She died in a fire, but she helped me escape first."

She ran her fingers through his hair. "What's your name?"

His little mouth opened, then shut. "I'm Hawke."

"Hawke... If your mother's gone, then where's your father?"

His expression grew grim. "He died trying to protect me from robbers."

She held him more tightly to her chest. "I'm sorry... How recently?"

His jaw firmed. "One year."

She buried her mouth into the crook of her elbow and hacked again. Her throat ached with each cough.

His tiny brows plummeted. "You're sure you'll be okay?"

She managed a waning smile before blackness crept along the edge of her vision. The darkness seemed to swallow the world whole, turning bright day into night, and she saw no more.

***

Author's Note: Since I've started following a few incomplete stories on Wattpad and waiting for weekly updates, I've realized that twice a week can be a long time to wait. 

So I've been wondering: how can I better engage you guys during the rest of the week? Should I invite you guys to join a King's Cursed Bride Pinterest board? Share quotes from upcoming chapters on Instagram? Thoughts?

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net