Read Online The Burning Sky by Sherry Thomas - Free Book Online Page A

on the bed and opened the opposite window. Fog rushed in.
    â€œWhat’s that smell?”
    â€œLondon.”
    â€œLondon, England ?”
    He was glad that she had some knowledge of nonmage geography. “Yes. Here. Let me—”
    The unmistakable sound of someone arriving in the wardrobe. Lady Wintervale must have come out of the time freeze, found the trunk empty, and summoned her son. Titus shut the window, yanked the girl off the bed, and pushed her flat against the wall in the blind spot behind the wardrobe.
    She had the sense to keep still and silent.
    The wardrobe opened. Wintervale leaped down. Titus’s heart imploded: the girl’s satchel was in plain sight under the windowsill—he had set it down earlier to open the window. But Wintervale paid no attention to the contents of his room and rushed out to the corridor.
    Titus allowed himself a moment to calm down. “Hurry.”
    The window was set deep in the facade of the house. He reopened the window and lifted the girl to the ledge. Next, her satchel in hand, he climbed out, closed the window, and latched it with a locking charm.
    The fog was pervasive. She was lost in the thick, mustard-colored miasma. He felt for her but only came across a tumble of her hair.
    â€œWhere is your hand?”
    She placed her hand in his, her fingers cold but steady. “I didn’t expect you’d really come.”
    He exhaled. “Then you do not know me very well.”
    He vaulted them both.

CHAPTER 5
    VAULTING HAD NEVER BEEN A problem for Iolanthe before, whether on her own or hitching along with someone else. But this particular vault was like being crushed between two boulders. She shut her eyes and swallowed a scream of pain.
    At the other end, she stumbled.
    The prince caught her. “I am sorry. I knew vaulting might be difficult for you just now, but I had to get you to safety right away.”
    He shouldn’t apologize. If they were safe, then nothing else mattered.
    They were in some sort of an anteroom. There was a mirror, a console table, two doors, and nothing else. He pointed his wand at the door in front of them. It opened silently, revealing a room beyond with dark-red wallpaper, pale-yellow chairs, and a large, empty grate, before which stood a wrought-iron screen with curling vines and clusters of grapes.
    He lifted her again and carried her to a reclining chaise. “I might have a remedy for you,” he said, setting her down.
    He crossed the room to another door. “Aut viam inveniam aut faciam.”
    I will either find a way or make one.
    The door opened. He walked into a room lined with drawers and shelves as far as she could see, shelves holding books, shelves holding vials, jars, and bottles, shelves holding instruments both familiar and exotic. A caged canary sat upon a long table at the center of the room. Also on the table were two valises, one brown, the second a dull red.
    He disappeared briefly from her sight. She heard the sound of drawers opening and closing. He returned, sat down next to her, and cradled her head in the crook of his arm. The bitter tang of the fog clung to the wool of his jacket.
    â€œThat fog,” she mumbled, “is it natural?”
    It had been thick enough to cut with a knife, alarmingly yellow in color, and foul like pig swill.
    â€œThere is no magic behind it, but it is not entirely natural either—a consequence of Britain’s industrialization. Here: this is to relieve the effects of vaulting.”
    The prince held a vial with a fine midnight-blue powder inside. He took her by the chin, his fingers warm and strong, and tipped the blue powder into her mouth. The flavor reminded her of seawater. 
    â€œThere is no counter-remedy for suffocation, exactly, but this is good for your general well-being.”
    He held out a second vial. The wellness remedy, silver-gray granules, tasted unexpectedly of oranges.
    â€œThank you, Your Highness,” she