Sen Rin and the other bodyswords pulled So Ga into a fast walk. In an instant he had been removed from the still darkness of his private quarters and plunged into the raging chaos that had engulfed the Little Palace.
His study was filled already with smoke, it poured through the seams in his wall. Through the milky panes and the haze of smoke he could see the hot orange glow of flames. As they moved across the study — staying away from the glowing, smoking wall — a section of it suddenly collapsed. The sound was terrible, a great tearing reduced several panels of the wall to shreds and then with a roar, the flames came in. A great long arm of fire stretched across the study’s ceiling. Smoke poured through in huge waves.
So Ga could see the garden, which was almost entirely engulfed. The willow tree burned like a giant torch, the fire there was so powerful that it was too bright to look at.
Maids and servants ran to and fro across the pathways and bridges, some clad in their uniforms but most still wearing their thin night clothes. They screamed, they called out for guards, the shrill echo of their combined voices made a high-pitched roar that dug into So Ga’s ears.
Sen Rin had abandoned his lantern, So Ga saw, and the only light that lit the Little Palace was the fire that was destroying it.
Another bodysword emerged through the burning doorway with another man behind him. They rushed into the study, crouched and covering their heads and then stopped before Sen Rin, coughing.
Sen Rin turned. “Well?”
“They’ve breached the front hall and the west wing,” the guard answered. “The courtyard is burning. Our men can’t get through the fire. There were already some inside. We don’t know how.”
The man behind the guard pushed him aside and bellowed at Sen Rin, “Where is the prince?”
Hin Lan. So Ga was relieved to see him.
Sen Rin motioned at him, and Hin Lan rushed to his side. So Ga wanted to greet him, to ask if he was unharmed, but when he opened his mouth the smoke rushed in and he convulsed in a coughing fit.
Hin Lan looked at Sen Rin, “We must get him out quickly.”
The tall guard nodded. “We cannot go through the Front Hall. We will have to try for the kitchen courtyard and go over the wall.”
One of the others said, “The courtyard is burning.”
“And soon this room will burn, too. We cannot get out except through the Front Hall or the kitchen gardens.”
Hin Lan said, “The wall there is nearly fifteen feet.”
“We have rope.” He motioned to the hip of one of his men. “And we have no choice.”
He sheathed his sword and ripped a corner off his green and black golt. There was a brass basin filled with water next to So Ga’s desk. He soaked the cloth and then pressed it against So Ga’s mouth. “Breath through this,” he said.
The water was warm and the cloth smelled of leather and ash. But when he cautiously inhaled, the air that filled his lungs felt less like the fire that filled his palace. He nodded once and Sen Rin again unsheathed his sword.
“We’ll go through the back.”
“The back?” Hin Lan asked. “What back?”
“No questions,” Sen Rin replied curtly. “Just follow.”
“Wait!” Hin Lan yelled. Sen Rin stopped and looked at him. Hin Lan pointed to So Ga’s feet. “His shoes.”
After they’d retrieved his shoes and helped him slip them on — with Hin Lan giving him a look of concern when he saw the cut on the bottom of his left foot — Sen Rin gave them a grim look, as if to warn them that they could allow no further delays.
Then he put So Ga behind him, while two more bodyswords walked behind So Ga, their backs to him, their swords out. So Ga held tightly to the leather plates on Sen Rin’s back. The other two bodyswords kept one hand each on So Ga’s shoulders. Hin Lan was huddled behind. They moved like this away from the glow of the fire and the sounds of metal and screaming. The slipped through the inner corridors of So Ga’s personal wing. There was no way out of this wing, he knew. But he also knew well enough not to question his bodyswords, especially in a situation like this.
His chest ached and each breath felt as heavy as iron. Already he could feel his muscles weakening. The guards’ hands on his shoulders pushed him constantly forward. His legs obeyed. And so he moved.
They passed through the corridor without seeing another soul. Their next turn brought them to a sudden halt when the fire, which seemed to be clawing and tearing through the wooden beams of the roof, emerged suddenly in a corner of the ceiling. A single rope of fire slipped through the cracked palace wall, like a searching arm. Staring at it, So Ga was overcome with the sense that the fire itself was hunting him. Sen Rin pushed So Ga away from the flames as they edged through the corridor, their backs against the unburned wall. The heat was unbearable. So Ga thought his face must be burning. Sen Rin’s entire body seemed to glow, his sword a pillar of orange light.
His chest burned as he coughed into the damp cloth and the guards’ grip on his shoulders tightened lest he collapse. So Ga understood that they were prepared to lift him and carry him out of the palace if it came to that.
Past the searching lick of flame at last, their next turn took them to So Ga’s Inner Room. It was not yet on fire but he knew it soon would be. They closed the thin wooden door when they went inside. The door’s glass window dimly glowed orange.
There was less smoke in the Inner Room and with the door closed the light came primarily from the many candles and lanterns. Yet, even with the door closed, So Ga could still hear the sounds that filled his Little Palace. He could hear the screams and the roaring flames. He wanted to stop his ears.
They paused inside the Inner Room. The guards let go of So Ga and Sen Rin sheathed his sword.
“What are we doing here?” Hin Lan asked. “This room is a death trap.”
Sen Rin glanced at him and then he turned and bowed at the prince. “Your Highness,” he said solemnly, “Forgive me.”
So Ga stared at him, confused beyond words. Then Sen Rin turned away and motioned to two of his men. Together they lifted the table on which stood the memorials for So Ga’s dead family members. The carved wooden figures teetered. Simna’s fell and So Ga cried out.
“What are you doing?” he yelled through the damp cloth. “You cannot—”
Hin Lan held him back when he tried to stop them. The candles that lined the front of the table fell to the floor with a great burst of broken glass and spilled wax. But they didn’t stop until the table had been moved far enough from the wall behind it for Sen Rin to fit there. It wasn’t until the guard moved the latch with his finger that So Ga saw the door.
Even Hin Lan stared in amazement. “This has always been here?”
“It can only be opened from inside,” Sen Rin explained. “It will take us to the back. From there we can enter the east wing.”
The fire in the corridor arrived suddenly. It burst through the glass on the Inner Room’s door, causing So Ga and Hin Lan to jump. The smoke and the glowing light poured in. The candles that remained in the stands around the room had begun to melt.
“We must go now, Your Highness.”
The little secret door was slender and short. A head shorter than Sen Rin and so narrow that the guard had to turn to the side to pass through it. Beyond the door So Ga could see the flickering light of fire. He wondered if they would be any less safe from it outside the Little Palace than they were within.
Sen Rin went through first, motioning the rest to wait. The prospect was uncomfortable as the fire had begun to take the ceiling. The glass in the lanterns burst one after another. Hin Lan put up a silk-shrouded arm to protect the prince’s face. Peeking over the top, So Ga could see his mother. Her memorial had tilted and fallen to the side where it rested against Simna’s. The fair face of the carved figure seemed to be looking at him. The soft smile was unmoved.
After a moment, Sen Rin returned to tell them it was safe. So Ga slipped through the doorway easily, he did not even have to bend his neck. The rest of the guards came behind him, followed at last by Hin Lan. Before Sen Rin closed the door, So Ga could see that the fire had taken the wooden table and the carved memorials.
Standing outside, So Ga found himself suddenly able to breathe. The cold night air was like balm to his burning throat. Nevertheless, looking up at his palace, he could see how it burned. By morning, there would be little left. The roof was in flames, the fire and the black smoke rising from the little stone palace were like the steam swelling from a boiling pot. The blackness of it blended with the night sky and blotted out the stars. Raging red waves fought for every inch of the wooden roof; their greed had even spread to the stone. A portion of the outer wall seemed to be burning as well, So Ga had not realized stone could burn. The glow of the inferno was blinding, the roar was deafening. Above it the prince could still hear the terrible sounds of his trapped household.
“We must save them,” he heard himself say, feeling the futility of it while he said it.
Sen Rin turned and nodded. “Some of my men are trying.”
They found themselves now in the place where So Ga was usually trained in archery. The targets were against the far wall and the stand for his bow was opposite. Neither burned yet, though So Ga sensed that the fire would leave nothing untouched.
Sen Rin glanced at the burning wall and then at his men. He said something So Ga could not hear and they nodded. Then he began to lead them to the eastern wing of the Little Palace where a wooden door stood ajar. He paused when he saw it open and glanced at his men. So Ga remembered what they had said before. That the assailants had already been inside the palace, but they didn’t know how.
Once through the door, So Ga found the eastern wing to be less victim to the flames. In fact this back corridor was eerily quiet. Sounds came from the distance, the light of the fire was only dimly shining through the small windows. Whatever — whoever — had taken his palace, it seemed that they were not interested in the east wing. Perhaps once they had used it to gain entry into the palace, they had had no further need of it.
In any event, it seemed possible that they could make it to the kitchen courtyard without incident. Resuming their previous formation — Sen Rin at the front, So Ga behind, the other guards forming a barrier — they began making their way down the corridor.
Sen Rin stopped so suddenly that So Ga hit his head against his armored back. Cautiously, he peered around him.
Sitting on the wooden floor a few feet in front of them was a boy. So Ga recognized him immediately. He came from the front hall and worked there as a messenger between So Ga’s Little Palace and the bodyswords who guarded it. He was the one who had brought the corrected court transcripts to Hin Lan when he and So Ga had been waiting in the garden.
The boy was strangely calm, especially considering the usual energy he seemed to possess. So Ga remembered how Hin Lan had had to correct his fidgeting the day before last.
But there came from him a strained, wet sound that seemed at first to be weeping. As So Ga’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, however, he saw that the boy was holding his hands over a wound on his chest which was bleeding profusely, the blood trickling through his fingers into a growing pool under his legs. Seeing Sen Rin and the other bodyswords, the boy was now attempting to speak, but his mouth was filled with blood and no words could be understood. The pain in his contorted little face was immense. He gaped and attempted to cry out but blood smoother his voice.
So Ga heard a soft sound behind and turned to see Hin Lan set his jaw as he sharply inhaled.
Sen Rin lowered his sword and then moved to walk around the boy.
“We cannot leave him,” So Ga whispered.
Sen Rin glanced back at him. “We cannot save him. That is a mortal wound.” And he motioned to the other guards who pushed So Ga into step behind Sen Rin.
But So Ga stopped, not allowing himself to be moved. “We cannot leave him,” he said again.
“We cannot take him, Your Highness. He will die soon and he will slow us.”
The boy heard and began to weep in panic, blood trickling down his chin, tears wetting his cheeks.
“Sen Rin,” So Ga murmured. “We cannot leave him like this.”
At last Sen Rin understood. He turned and looked at the prince, who met his gaze but who did not waver. So Ga knew what he was asking.
It could take the boy hours to die. He had seen deaths like this. Nine years ago he had watched his own little brother succumb to a similar wound while the two of them hid behind the body of their dead sister. He had watched pain ravage his brother’s tiny body so completely that by the time death finally took him he had had the contorted face of a monster.
Sen Rin understood. Perhaps better than So Ga did. He heard the order in the prince’s voice and he quietly obeyed. Sheathing his sword, he gently lifted the boy and set him against the wall, wiping the blood off his chin and the tears off his cheeks. Then he put his hand over the boy’s eyes and pierced his heart with a small dagger.
The quiet, wet sounds ceased. The blood-muffled weeping silenced. The boy’s arms fell to his sides and Sen Rin removed the dagger. He cleaned it on the hem of his own golt and put it away, then he unsheathed his sword and took up his place again at the head of their group.
So Ga turned back to Hin Lan who was looking at the boy’s little body with an unmoved face. In the dark corridor the slumped child seemed almost to be sleeping where he was propped against the wall.
I weep for the flint already in So GA’s heart.
F you i didn't want to cry like this