Chapter 12 · The Palace Wants Her Dead

"Fire!" The shout ripped through the morning before I saw the smoke.

I was halfway across the courtyard when the second scream came. The patients' quarters. My patients.

"Grace." Huo's hand locked around my wrist. "Don't."

"Let go."

"The roof's already compromised. My men will—"

"Your men don't know who's bedbound and who can walk." I yanked against his grip. Didn't budge. "I do. So either help or get out of my way."

Smoke poured from the east wing in black, oily clouds. Through the haze I could see flames crawling up the wooden lattice, eating toward the tiles. Someone inside was coughing. A child.

"Three minutes," Huo said. "That's all you get."

"Then stop wasting them."

He released me. I ran.

The heat hit first, then the smoke—thick enough to chew. I pulled my sleeve over my mouth and pushed through the door. Inside was chaos. Overturned pallets, scattered blankets, and in the corner, the little girl with the leg wound I'd splinted yesterday. She was trying to crawl toward the window. Not fast enough.

"Hey." I dropped beside her, got my arms under her shoulders. "I've got you."

"It hurts," she sobbed. "My leg—"

"I know.