“Get yourselves to your posts!” a commanding officer suddenly shouts, and the chittering lawguards all scatter like well-armored flies.

I finally make it to the palace entrance and freeze.

From the steps of the palace, the height of it, it’s easy to see where exactly the witchfire is—smoke billowing up in huge plumes from the area near South Gate. The plumes are so high they dwarf the magic-detecting Crimson Lady in the middle of the common quarter. If I squint, there, against the ominous crimson sunset, I can see the barest lick of a dark, shadowy flame flickering among the wooden rooftops. I quash panic and try to think. Do I even have time to find Fione or Varia? Would either of them even be able to make a difference? Varia could teleport us to South Gate, but anyone seen doing anything slightly magical at this particular moment would probably be beaten to death. I have to go alone.

If Lucien dies…

I swallow cold fear and move my feet faster down the palace steps. He won’t die. I won’t let him get in the way of my heart. But neither will I let him die.

Taking a carriage isn’t the right move; too much panic will clog the streets. The lawguards at the bridge crossing between the noble quarter and the common quarter likely won’t let anyone through either way. Which means the only viable option to get to Lucien is the one Y’shennria showed me—across the aqueduct pipes of the river that separate the quarters. I race down the steps and over the palace grounds, heaving by the time I reach the riverside.

Even the noble quarter roads are frantic—carriages and lawguards on horses racing to and fro. But it works in my favor; no one stops me on my way. I slick my sweaty hair back to see properly and clamber down the side of the algae-covered wall, letting myself hang before falling onto a brass pipe. I follow the pipes as they intertwine, hulking and massive and rusted green, like petrified snakes.

I’ve almost made it across when I hear a lawguard from the noble shore shouting, “You there! No one’s allowed on that! Come back at once!”

“Gods, I wish I knew more than one beneather swear,” I mutter under my haggard breath, pulling myself up and onto another pipe. My eyes catch a far-set pipe on the common side of the shore—if I jump far enough, I could make it and throw the lawguard off. But it’s a massive jump, the river rushing furiously below. If I don’t make it, I’ll be swept away and lose precious time.

“Stop!” The guard’s shouting grows louder as he determinedly crosses his first pipe.