Reign of Darkness (The Prince's Assassin #2) - Ariana Nash

Chapter 1

Flames licked at the palace’s exterior walls, climbed from blazing doorways, and spiralled from smashed windows. Staff ran through the grounds, coughing into their clothing, eyes streaming and wide, their faces soot-blackened.

Niko should have been among them, but he’d abandoned his horse to push through the terrified crowd on foot. Screams barreled from left and right. His heart thumped too hard, his head full of memories from frontline battles, the moans and screams peppered by the ringing clash of swords. This was no battle, but it felt like one.

Bucket lines manned by guards stretched from the wells in the grounds. Buckets sloshed from hand to hand, but their impact was no more effective than pissing in the wind.

Any fool could see the palace was lost.

A Caville must forever hold the flame.

If the Caville bloodline abruptly ended, the horror harbored within their blood would be set free upon the land. There were few certainties in this world, but keeping the dark flame from escaping was one of them.

He drove forward, forearm raised against the hissing flames, shielding his eyes.

Heat lashed in waves, beating him back. Flames roared and howled, spiraling into the skies, drowning out the sounds of the bells. The fire was alive now, a huge, breathing, feeding thing, devouring everything in its path.

“Get away from there!” a guard bellowed.

Niko staggered back, only half hearing.

He had to get inside. The Caville palace was a nest of snakes. In the flames and confusion, whatever violence had been brewing during the year he’d stayed away would surely boil over. Vasili—the only damned Caville who gave a shit about the dark flame—couldn’t fight this. Rumors had proclaimed him sick. Rumors said a lot of things during the past twelve months. But Niko knew, in his soldier’s gut, that if he didn’t get to him now, all would be lost.

Vasili had to live.

A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Get back!” the guard barked.

Niko yanked free. “Where’s Vasili?”

“Who?” The guard grunted, making a grab for Niko again, as though he were some fool who needed to be dragged away for his own safety. Niko smacked his hand aside.

A sudden superheated roar blew out a window above, raining glass and burning wood onto the ground.

“The prince!” Niko yelled. “Where’s the damn prince?!”

“Pull back!” The order rose from among the retreating others. “Withdraw!”

The guard shook his head and backed up. “Go in there and you’re a dead man!” He turned on his heel and bolted.

Another blast of heat plunged from above, and Niko ducked, covering his head with his hands. Glass rained. Screams mingled with howling flames.

He staggered back from the cracking walls and squinted up into the spiraling embers. “A Caville hasn’t killed me yet.”

The tunnels.

Vasili had shown him another way inside. One that took him to the very heart of the royal wing. He bolted through the gardens and stables, avoiding the stablehands desperately trying to soothe the spooked horses, and tore through the undergrowth, searching for the concealed tunnel entrance.

Ripping back a wall of ivy, he plunged inside the cold, dark tunnel, feeling and stumbling along to the sounds of his own ragged breathing.

This was taking too long. Everything was taking too damn long. Soon, there would be nothing left of the palace. If Vasili died, all the flame would jump to Amir—and the gods only knew what that wretched fool would do with it. But if they both died… Chaos. Darkness. Worse than the war. Monsters, man and beast, would be free upon the land.

It couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t allow it.

Light eventually lit the tunnel ahead, pouring in from a tight spiral staircase. Niko climbed higher, emerging in one of the rough, little-used service corridors. A heavy oak door barred his way. It had been a year. The door hadn’t been there before. Or if it had, he didn’t recall it. He tried the handle. It rattled, but the door didn’t budge.

A swift kick blew out the lock.

He charged on. Wind tore through the corridors. Flame torches spluttered in their sconces. But the fire wasn’t here. Not yet.

The deeper he ran, the more smoke boiled above and heat tightened his skin.

One staff member ran at him, her skirts pressed to her face to keep from inhaling too much smoke.

“Vasili?” he asked.

She ran by, eyes wide.

The hiss and snap of fire grew louder. He turned a bend in the corridor. Heat and flame surged in a great wave. Niko recoiled and darted back the way he’d come, veering down another corridor. If