49. The father and daughter

Armestrong whispered "Min" before Ada had the chance, though it was lost to the Bonneville as, together, the bandits and Ada clambered back over the wall and into the labyrinthian streets. The roaring flames faded out with each twist and turn through the city, but the midday sun set the cobblestones aflame beneath their feet. Every now and then there came the echo of a distant bell, lost and lonesome. Otherwise, Wysthaven was eerily silent.

Raeph insisted that they stay in a shaded alleyway when they reached the bridge into the outer city. It took both of Lark's hands upon her shoulders to keep Armestrong back while Raeph hoisted himself up onto a balcony and scoured the street for patrolling Hounds. But here too there was nobody. The only sound came from Raeph thudding back down next to Ada before they walked together to the bridge. Ada shuddered as she crossed, seeing the skeletal houses reflected on the canal.

Ruins reigned on the other side of the bridge. A long strip of houses had been burnt back to the southern edge of the city, and heaps of timber smouldered amongst blackened brick. A wind whispered across the cobbles, drawing with it a veil of ash. Ada hoped that whoever had lived within the ghosts of these houses had been spared the time to flee.

They walked east, staying close enough to the canal to keep their bearing, but deep enough in the wreckage so that they would appear like flitting forms of smoke to anyone who may have been watching. Ada's cloak had dried, and she pulled its hood up, letting the velvet drape loosely over her face. The fires had burnt out and a chill had descended quickly. Between the matchstick houses, the sun chose not to shine.

Ada realised something else was wrong when Armestrong began to quiver again. They had made good progress despite the rubble, and even with a limp, Lark had kept their pace towards the easterly buildings. They towered up above the southern quarter, where the brickwork was only flecked with soot, and silver bells were still singing from their strings. But even here, as in the inner city, tendrils of smoke threaded through ivy facades.

Nowhere is safe, was the first thought to flicker into Ada's mind. But as Armestrong's strides became wider, her feet and breath quicker, a new realisation struck. Min isn't safe.

Ada didn't recognise the streets they barreled down; a flower shop here the colour of wilted poppies, a bakery there that smelt more like a blacksmith. A sign for an apothecary had been cleaved fully in half.

But Ada did recognise the pocked pillars of the lyceum, its frescos now little more than charcoal visions faded into rock. The scent was putrid, like meat left too long in the sun, but the sounds were worse. There were cries from lungs too filled with smoke to scream, shrieking chickens penned by meshes of scalding wire, and the constant rattle of chains.

Few Hounds had remained to see their destruction, and those that had wore their metal masks pulled back and held burning torches in hand. They set fire to whatever remained; a box stuffed with mint, then an allotment of cabbage. Revelling in their carnage, they took turns mocking the cries of the fae they had chained to the lyceum's pillars.

There were eight pale pillars in total, rising up amongst the smoke, and at their bases were eight fae. The Hounds had unravelled the chains from their necks and used them to secure the merchants' bodies to the stone, a stretch around their chests and another around their ankles. Some were sobbing, growing fires beginning to flare around their feet, while others hung limp and vacant above dying bonfires.

It was easy to spot Florentin's yellow caravan as it was one of the last remaining spells of colour amongst the ruin. The fires had burnt away his table of flowers and herbs fast enough, but now flames were building beneath the caravan's rickety wheels. They licked at its closed window and lit up the face of the man mounted on the nearest pillar.

Ada would have cried out at the sight of Florentin's face, all purpled eyes and bleeding lips, had Armestrong not done so faster. Ash swirled up around Ada, clinging to her cloak and brushing against her fingertips, like a storm of cindered fury. Lark was at her side as she rushed into the lyceum, not needing to stay hidden with Raeph and Armestrong already charging several paces ahead. The Hounds didn't hear them coming through the crackling flames and their own cruel laughter. The nearest was fiddling with his mask when Armestrong's fist pistoned into the back of his skull. Sparks and spittle spluttered outwards, and he fell onto his own torch, inert.

Another turned at the Hound's final yelp, and his expression contorted into contempt at the sight of Raeph. They circled each other, a pit of fire between them where once had stood a stand of woven baskets, and the Hound grinned.

"The Wolf graces us with his presence," he said. His smile lacked several teeth. "What an honour."

Raeph didn't answer, though his fingers flexed into fists. He didn't even move to take the ebony dagger digging into his hip. Raeph only prowled, silent and watchful.

But the Hound went on, unphased. "And you've brought company. Bandits, no doubt. Or so the rumours say." He tossed his dying torch at Raeph's boots. "I'm afraid our bonfires are all taken at the moment, but if you wait a while longer, one or two will likely free up."

Raeph pounced. He leapt straight through the flames, and the surprise that flickered across the Hound's face was all the more evident in the vivid firelight. His expression was still one of shock as Raeph's fingers knotted into his scalp and brought his head up above the fire, and then abruptly down. Then again, and again, until the Hound's shrieks shrivelled out. A companion of his took one look at Raeph's snarling face, then fled into the smoke.

Ada heard the Hound's screeching but failed to see his fate. She had already made it to Florentin. The man had watched her come, stared as though witnessing the descent of an angel through his bloodshot eyes. His mouth moved to form a continuous string of words, soundless until Ada leaned as close as she could.

"Min," he said, whispering his daughter's name like a prayer. "In the caravan."

Ada reeled away, staring at the caravan and its steps, which had been drawn up beneath it and struck shut with a plank of wood. The plank reached all the way up to the caravan's roof and slanted across the door like a barrier to keep people out. Or, Ada realised, to keep people in. She whirled back to Florentin, torn between the man with fire at his feet and his caravan. She tried to kick aside a few sticks of kindling around the pillar, but larger coals had already caught. He only shook his head, feeble but relentless.

"Minvelle," he croaked.

Ada needed no more, and in a matter of steps stood before the caravan. Flames fluttered up around the door, but Ada didn't feel a thing as she thrust her boot into the plank. It didn't give.

"Min!"

"Ada?" Min's voice was weak, drifting away with the smoke.

Ada scrambled to the front of the caravan. There was no longer a horse or bridle, but when Ada lifted a hand up she could trace the outline of the opening where its reins had once hung. She dug in with her fingernails, clawing and scratching until a sliver of space appeared.

"Min, can you make it to the front?" Ada called inside, sliding a finger in and releasing a hook. A billow of smoke burst through the opening, and she choked on her final word. But Min must have heard, because there came a soft shuffling, a clatter and a whimper, and then Ada saw her wild halo of hair.

Ada reached in and fumbled around until their hands met, then she heaved with every scrap of strength she possessed. Min's small body collapsed through the window, and Ada stumbled backwards, clutching the girl to her chest. Hands found her shoulders, strong and sturdy, keeping her upright before reaching down to take Min. The child's eyes fluttered shut as Armestrong cradled her within steady arms.

Ada nodded Armestrong away as the woman hurried Min out of the lyceum, whispering words down to the girl even though she didn't respond. Far to Ada's right, Lark had managed to limp a short way into the wreckage, and was now prising a stake out from the earth, wire tumbling aside as a family of chickens scrabbled loose. Feathers flitted up into the air, singed at their tips like quills inked at the wrong end.

It took longer to focus on the scene ahead of her. Raeph had reached Florentin and his ebony dagger was slipped under the chains around his chest. It didn't appear to be doing much, but Raeph kept carving into the metal, his blade occasionally snatching at Florentin's shirt and shredding it open. The fire below the pillar had grown, and Ada could no longer see the chains wrapped around the man's ankles.

The air was hot. Too hot. It scorched down Ada's throat. She wanted to go over and help, but her legs shook every time she tried to shuffle away from the caravan. There was a rumbling overhead, a little like thunder. Ada hoped it was rain.

It wasn't. First came a shower of loose powder, pale white against the grey smoke, which was followed by jagged stones, and then great gashes of rock. What remained of the lyceum's roof was falling. Raeph's eyes met Ada's right as a sliver of stone struck her shoulder.

She gasped, senses snapping back as heat was overcome by a piercing pain. The stone hadn't been too sharp, but it had felt like an arrowhead spearing into her flesh. She couldn't see any blood seeping through her sleeve, but more debris had started to tumble down. It speckled the smoke like stardust.

Raeph looked at Florentin, but the man's thin face was bowed to his chest. Dust danced down over his skin, like a blanket of frost against the flames below. His eyes were closed when Raeph left him. Ada shook her head, desperate, but Raeph shoved his dagger back into his belt and stooped down. He lifted her into his arms, not sparing a backward glance as he carried her out of the collapsing lyceum.