A day full of training bouts and spars with squires and the younger dragoons was always best topped off with a dinner with a good friend, and it’d been awhile since Kiernan spent any actual quality time with René. (The thought to invite Lavitz too crossed his mind, but Kiernan had no idea how raw his emotions might still be and he would see him over the holiday anyway.) So after a shower when his final spar for the day was completed—it was Friday and most squires and young dragoons liked to flee the guildhalls early if they could get away with it—he made his way to the Baker’s Dozen to drag his friend out for dinner.
Remembering the questionable loan that René had taken and Kiernan’s own aching coin purse, they agreed upon a cheaper place in the Commoner’s for their early meal. It was one of Kiernan’s favorites, even if the meat cost a little extra, for the food was diverse, quick to prepare, and easy on the pocketbooks. He tried his best to keep the conversation light, as he always did with René, though darker and heavier questions remained on the tip of his tongue still.
Both their meals finished, Kiernan decided to walk with René back to the bakery when the explosion rang out and he saw a fireball emerge from a tavern up ahead. The Laughing Champion House. Damn, and Kiernan really liked that place, too. Like moths to a flame, a crowd gathered before the scene, and Kiernan stepped forward to join them, but first, he turned to René.
“You okay?” There was no response at first. René was staring at the ruptured building as though he were bewitched, eyes wide and arms lowering from the initial flinch. The flames could be seen enveloping the tavern now, and René finally pulled out of his daze and blinked at Kiernan, heartbeat thundering in his chest and tearing it asunder. Time seemed to flow like viscous molten lava, but the growing blaze left a deep imprint of urgency.
“I’m fine,” he answered, looking back to the tavern. This was a fire. One that could spread, but couldn’t take him if he stayed out of it. All he needed to do was bring in water or help whatever victims there were. This was no battle. He’d be fine. “We should go help.” After he nodded in yet another affirmation, they made their way through the crowds and entered the open space filled with sweltering heat. “What should we do?” René asked, arms over his face.
Kiernan let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know precisely the sorts of things that would set René off, and he knew that he had a sound mind and controlled emotions now was no small thing.
René was right, of course: they needed to help, though Kiernan had nary a clue how. He didn’t have water magic at his fingertips, and using Lucy as a flying carrier of sea water to dump on the burning tavern was likely to do more harm than good if Lucy decided to take out her frustration on the district. Then Ric really would come home to a burned down city, and man, would that be a hell of a thing to have to answer for.
A scream came from inside the building, and Kiernan pulled aside a stunned busboy and asked, “There are people still in there?”
“Y-y-y-yes sir, there was nothing we can do and people have been going in and—”
Kiernan turned away from the boy and back to René. Remy would surely murder Kiernan from the grave if he suggested taking René into the flames, but he still seemed determined to help, somehow. Going inside, however, was not an option for him, that much Kiernan knew. Fortunately, a fighter Kiernan recognized emerged with a patron slumped across his shoulders, and there were other means in which to help. Flying into the frying pan wasn’t all that was available to them.
“Right. René. Let’s see what we can do to help the survivors. Or find water, and lots of it.” He looked across the street and grinned when he saw troughs filled with fruit and vegetables at the grocer’s. He nudged René and pointed at them. “We’ll just have to remind the grocer that people are supposed to clean their produce before eating them anyway.”