Where was he? The keys should be in His Majesty’s office. That entire wing was older. It would be ashes quickly if this kept spreading. There was no way, even if he pushed past the fear, that Maron could get through the main hallways. It was impossible to navigate when the flames around him were this high. Finneas took a breath, scanning for a clear path.
He had never feared fire. Even as his hand had been forced into the flames and the heat against his cuff had burned itself into his flesh, he had not been afraid of the flickering glow before him, only the man that held him there. Now, though, he understood. Flames wrapped themselves around the walls, enveloping them entirely. As they crackled, the sound of wood giving way beneath them was deafening.
The majority of the first floor was part of the old palace structure. The upper stories wouldn’t hold for too long. Even if they were made of stone and marble, it was impossible to stand when the structure beneath crumbled.
The air before him seemed to twist and warp from heat. Even as he pulled his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth, the smoke made its way into his lungs. With no windows in the hall, everything burning was trapped inside. Shit. Where was Maron?
He had to find him. Even if they could overcome His Majesty, there was no future without him. Not for Finneas.
“Little brother!” Jameson’s voice startled him, and Finneas turned. The man rushed toward him, frantic.
“Pallor. Go, you can’t be in this.” The sweat on Finneas’s brow rolled down his face. If the heat was so intense that even his body was struggling against it, no one without his powers should be in here.
“No, I’ve got to help you.” The man coughed, loud and dry, his eyes dark as they struggled to stay open despite the smoke. “The tunnels. They’re reinforced with stone, right?”
Finneas blinked his surprise. Of course Jameson would know that. He’d had the blueprints and all the relevant information in preparation for entering the palace tonight. Finneas nodded. The nearest entrance was close, but the switch that unlocked it would still be through the flames. He took a slow breath, and dropped the collar of his shirt. Slowly, he summoned a flame to encompass his hand. It greeted him like an old friend, white-hot and painless. It crept up his arm, over his shoulders, down his torso.
“Finneas…”
He just nodded. He could do this. The flames moved down his legs, climbed over his face. The light made it difficult to see, but there was enough visibility to press forward. Enveloped in his own heat, he stepped into the flames.
It didn’t hurt.
Compared to the white flames that surrounded him, it was almost cool in comparison. The smoke didn’t bother him as much now, unable to penetrate the fire that covered him. He was safe. As he passed through, finding the innocuous oil lamp switch, turning it in his hands. It was obsolete, a relic of the palace before electricity had been around, but it stood still as a decorative piece of history, untouched. Finneas turned it, three times all the way around, and then pressed in.
If he was lucky, the door near the entrance, usually too plain to be noticed and eternally locked, would have been triggered. He turned, hurrying back to where Jameson stood, and let the light around him die out.
He reached for the doorknob, and found himself grateful that it turned. Hopefully Maron had entered the same way.
The tunnels were pitch dark and significantly cooler. Those in this older area of the building were still reinforced with concrete and rock, so much less flammable than their wooden surroundings. If Maron had his universal key to the building on his person, he would have been able to get here without passing through the fire. He would be safe. Maron was smart. He would have gone this way. He had to.
“I’ve never seen anyone do that,” Jameson said.
Finneas nodded, reigniting his hand. Even with this bit of light, the tunnels were dim, the deep gray walls bleak and intimidating. It wasn’t aggressively decorated the way that the rest of the palace was. Instead, it was dull and unsettling. “I’ve never had a reason to try.”
“Follow straight to the first staircase, go up, turn left, fifth exit.” Jameson spoke slowly, quietly, as if recalling the map. “It’s easy to get turned around in here.”
Finneas nodded. “Did you just memorize the map?”
Jameson shrugged. “I’m good at maps and schedules. How do you think I got in here before?” He paused. “Today, I mean, not—“
Finneas just shook his head. He couldn’t think about that, not now. The thought of Maron burning made him feel sick to his stomach. He couldn’t let it enter his mind right now. “It’s fine. We’ll find him, we’ll get back to the plan.”
“He had five people with matches that I counted, each of them pocketed the matchbooks after. If I can find them outside, we’ll have evidence.” Jameson swallowed, glancing around them.
The tunnels were just wide enough for two people to walk side by side, but the rocky ground and uneven terrain meant running would only be a hindrance. He took a long, slow breath, keeping himself steady.
“Hey. He’s gonna be alright, kid. He’s not stupid.” A large hand gripped Finneas’s shoulder, squeezing it. “I’m surprised he came back in at all, though.”
Finneas’s face twisted into a grimace. In all honesty, he was surprised, too. As much as Maron was kind and as much as Finneas knew he cared for his people, this was a dangerous thing to do. “He can’t let his people down.”
“He won’t found his reign on continuing our father’s legacy.”
Finneas nodded, his jaw tight. He was grateful to reach the stairs, picking up the pace. It was difficult to focus on the future right now. He had to find Maron. He had to find him alive and safe. He walked faster at the top of the stairs. The number of twisting branches in here were infinite, like the roots of an impossibly complicated tree. Had Maron known where he was going? Was he in the right place? Was he okay?
He had to be.
As he reached the fifth door, Finneas began to run. This part of the palace had yet to be damaged, save for the darkness that enveloped it. The entire electrical system must have been down, then. He pushed through the door, sprinting. He had to go. He had to get to Maron.
The only sound in this hall was his own footsteps on marble. The walls were all made of wood here sooner or later, they would be in flames. The path to His Majesty’s office was familiar, but he’d never felt so confused or disoriented navigating it. His heart pounded in his throat, and he was certain he would collapse if he kept sprinting like this, but… He didn’t have the option.
He found the door, and as he tugged at the knob, it was blessedly unlocked. Maron must have already made it. He must be here, safe. He must be alrig—
The room was empty.
Before he knew what he was doing, Finneas buried his face in his hands and the unholy sound that came from his throat pierced the air. He didn’t mean to scream. But as tears stung his eyes, it was the only thing he could do. Maron was supposed to be here. He had to be here. If he wan’t—
“Hey, hey, calm down, it’s gonna be okay.” Jameson’s voice did nothing to smooth him. “He must have found them and run. He’s probably back in the tunnels, got turned around. His Highness is a smart kid, and you know he wouldn’t have run out of here without those keys. It’s okay.”
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