The Fairest (Book #1)

38: The Rescue

Gris grabbed an empty bucket nearby and filled it with water from a barrel.

"What're you doing?"

He didn't give the soldier a response. What he did next would either kill him or be the worst decision he'd ever made in his entire life. He dashed down a flame-engulfed hall, praying every step of the way. He pointed the way out for stragglers and approached the winding staircase that led up to his chamber's front entrance. Fireguards appeared from an adjoined hall clear of fire but rising in smoke. Unaware of him, they drenched the walls, the doors, and the floor with water until the foyer began to flood.

He ascended the staircase and bared his teeth at the heat seeping through the metal of his armor. He began stripping off the annoying armor and mesh, leaving on his undershirt. But even in that, he still felt like he was melting. He did not care. He had to find Rasheem, but prayed that he wouldn't find him at all. He prayed his good friend had left before the fire started. The floor creaked beneath his feet and looked darker than usual, but he kept moving.

"Hey!" someone yelled from behind him. He glanced back and saw Dargany following.

He didn't stop to talk. His friend needed him. He kept going and weaved his way down the corridor, ugly draperies rippling with fire. The doors to his chambers were wide open, as if someone wanted the fire to enter and exit. He threw his bucket of water onto the flames claiming the floor of the entrance, and cautiously entered.

"Rasheem!"

Dargany threw his bucket of water onto an area and entered. "Gris! You're going to get us killed."

"Rasheem!" He cried and heard a deep grunt upstairs. "He's upstairs."

Staying low, he ascended into his study. His precious study, now devoured by hell, weaving its way from the charred walls to the center. The floor of his surgical area had already caved in, and heat rose through the floorboards, turning his study into a gigantic furnace.

Gris let out a moan. One of his workers, a 12-year-old who had a beautiful singing voice, was lying in a puddle of his own blood. His empty eyes stared at Gris. The prince's knees trembled, threatening a faint.

"Rasheem!" he called again. He squinted through the thick smoke and searched the floor.

"Gris ..." someone croaked. Tears fell from his eyes when he finally saw his best friend leaning against a table's leg.

"Great gods," he said, and stumbled to him. He dropped beside him, ignoring the hot floor. He cringed at the horror of his friend's condition, partially conscious and breathing shallowly. Blood caked the entire left side of his face, spilling slowly from a large gash on his head. Beneath the blood, Rasheem's face was swollen with cuts and bruises that made him wonder how he was still alive.

"A soldier," Rasheem managed to say.

"I know. Dargany told me about him," he said. "We'll talk later."

The soldier appeared, holding a shield that had not been consumed yet.

"We need to get out of here now," Dargany panicked, kneeling to take a good grip of Rasheem.

"Eron..." Rasheem groused, then broke into a nasty cough with the spittle of blood.

Gris searched Rasheem's squinted eyes for clarity. "Eron did this to you?"

"He sent the soldier," Rasheem said, then fell unconscious.

"Come on, Gris!" Dargany hollered, breaking him from a moment of shock. Gris took off the cloth around his face and put it on Rasheem. Like a pillow, the soldier easily picked him up to his feet. They each wrapped an arm about their shoulders and carefully went for the staircase. Holding onto the hot railing, they descended and ignored the flames licking to touch their bodies. Rasheem gave a loud moan, and his head drooped. He became like dead weight.