Seventy-six

Fire roared up the angle of the roof, consuming the thatch, dropping sparks and bits of burning grass that landed on the sleeping benches. There, within moments, they set fire to the blankets, the folded fabrics. The same with the beautifully dyed textiles that hung from the front walls. Flames now curled up their colorful patterns, turning them black.

Blue Heron kept a grip on Smooth Pebble’s arm, pulled her backward, past the fire, and then past her dais.

“I don’t want to die like this,” Smooth Pebble told her, a tremble running through her body.

“Wasn’t exactly my plan, either,” Blue Heron admitted.

Still, it was masterfully done. Of course, everyone would suspect she’d been murdered, but there was always doubt. She’d relied on that herself over the years as she’d eliminated rivals, destroyed opposition. That was how politics worked.

Tomorrow, while Wind and her people sorted through the ashes, assuming she had the time to do so, Spotted Wrist would present himself to offer his most solemn condolences. “Such a terrible accident. If only it hadn’t happened in the middle of the night! Poor Blue Heron and Smooth Pebble. Must have been sound asleep. From where their burned remains were found, they’d awakened, tried to fight their way to the door, but, alas, it was too late!”

“You are a vindictive bit of walking vomit,” she said, addressing Spotted Wrist as if he were in the room. “If I could go back? My first act would be to poison you the day you returned from Red Wing Town.”

“Bit late for that,” Smooth Pebble said. Then she caught a lungful of smoke and started coughing.

“Getting a bit warm in here,” Blue Heron said, retreating to the door to her personal quarters. “You really want to burn to death?”

“Have your souls taken leave of your senses?”

“There’s a way, you know.”

“What way?”

“A way to turn this back on Spotted Wrist. A way where you and I don’t die in agony. A quick way that will drive a thorn right through Spotted Wrist’s heart.”

Smooth Pebble gave in to a fit of coughing again as a portion of the thatch over the door collapsed into the room to leave a blizzard of twirling and angry sparks in its wake. Open to the outside now, the fire drafted hotter as it burned its way up past the ridgepole.

“What way?” Smooth Pebble asked.

Blue Heron beckoned her. “We’ll do it back here.”

“What are we doing?”

Blue Heron found the old stone-headed war club. Lifted it in the gaudy firelight that shone through her door. Over the roaring fire, she shouted, “Suppose they found you at the foot of my bed with your head smashed in? And suppose they found me in my bed, with a long chert blade sticking out of my ribs?”

“They’d think someone burned the place to cover your murder.”

“They would, wouldn’t they?”

“And who’s going to do this?” Smooth Pebble bellowed over the increasing roar of the fire.

“I’ll kill you,” Blue Heron shouted back. “It’ll be quick. I promise. You won’t feel a thing.”

“And then what?”

Blue Heron reached into the box where she kept the long brown chert blade, the one Walking Smoke’s assassin had once tried to cut her throat with. “I drive this in.” She pointed. “Right here, under my breast. I can cut the lung and slice the heart. Won’t take me but a few heartbeats to die.”

Smooth Pebble’s eyes were wide with disbelief, her breath coming in panicked gasps. “You’re insane!”

Blue Heron gestured at the fire. “Describe insane.”

Smooth Pebble was having trouble swallowing, sweat beading on her skin. She was shaking now, the rising fear gleaming in her eyes as she stared out at the great room. More burning roof thatch fell in a cascade of fire.

“I guess … I guess…” Smooth Pebble blinked, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Just … Yes. Do it.” And so saying, she dropped to her knees, bending her head down to give Blue Heron a clean strike at the back of her skull.

“You have been a good and dear friend to me,” Blue Heron told her as she tightened her grip on the club. “I will see you on the other side.”

She tried to steady her arms and hands. She’d never done anything like this. At least, not the cold-blooded execution of a beloved friend.

“Will you hurry!” Smooth Pebble pleaded, her hands clenched at her sides.

Blue Heron gritted her few teeth, took a breath, and …

“Hey!” the bellowed cry came from the corner of her room. “What in Piasa’s name are you doing?”

Blue Heron glanced up, peered through the smoke. Could barely make out the face staring at her from the thatch at the top of her wall.

“Thief?”

“Hurry up. Both of you! It’s still dark on this side, but it won’t be for long. Climb up on the box there. Come on!”

Blue Heron dragged Smooth Pebble to her feet, and together they staggered, coughing, gasping for breath, to climb up onto an ornately carved storage box.

Seven Skull Shield reached a bruised and battered arm into the room, barely managed to pull Blue Heron up far enough that she could scramble over the mud-daubed wall, her ribs, belly, and hips complaining.

Then she was out in the clear night air, the cool drafts filling her lungs. She broke into a coughing fit as Seven Skull Shield helped her down off a wooden stump and went back to reach inside for Smooth Pebble.

She looked up, seeing the section of thatch drop like a trap door, as the thief literally yanked Smooth Pebble out of the room, thick curls of smoke billowing as she came.

“There’s a hole in my roof,” she said through a fit of coughing.

“Yeah. How did you think I always managed to show up in your bedroom without anyone seeing me?”

“But I checked it. The wind would have lifted it.”

“That’s why you tie these things down, Keeper.” He reached for her hand. “Come on. We’ve got to be out of sight by sunrise.”

“The tonka’tzi’s, we’ve got to get to Wind.”

“Not a chance. The Great Plaza’s crawling with warriors. Now, careful. Don’t want to fall getting down the mound side. There’s warriors out front. They catch sight of us, and it’s all over.”

Blue Heron fought to keep from coughing. “Where do you think we should go?”

“As far from here as we can get. We’ve only got until your palace burns down before they figure out you’re not in it.”

Halfway across Four Winds Plaza, Blue Heron cried, “Wait!”

She turned, watching the fountain of fire that rose from inside the walls of her palace. She felt as if something inside her had torn apart, and it hurt. It really hurt.

“Keeper, you all right?” Seven Skull Shield had turned, his face concerned where it reflected the fire’s orange glow.

“That’s my life,” she told him, eyes on the inferno. “The men I married, the ones I threw out. The place where I laughed. Where I plotted. That’s where I was most myself. Blood and spit, don’t you understand? I’m in there. I’m burning. Or, at least, a part of me is.”

“You’ll build again,” Smooth Pebble said softly. “You’ll rise again.”

Blue Heron closed her eyes. Nodded. But part of me is dying back there. That part of the soul that seeps into prized possessions, that becomes part of the floor, the walls, the benches.

“Gone,” she whispered. “All … gone.”