"Also answers, a lawyer, and a sandwich."
His mouth twitched. "I am Moses."
"The fire master?" Cindy whispered.
Moses looked at her. She stepped behind Derek.
I set my cup down. "You know about dragon fire?"
"I know enough to still have both hands."
"That is the energy I'm looking for."
Derek blocked the door with his body. "Where are you taking her?"
Moses did not seem offended. "Lower furnace. If she is going to survive this house, she must understand what lives under it."
"Absolutely not," Derek said.
I touched his arm. "Derek."
"No."
"Dragons are trying to kill me with fire."
"That is exactly why you're not going to the fire room."
"I own a bakery. Fire rooms are kind of my thing."
"This is not your oven, Belinda."
"No," Moses said quietly, "it is not."
That shut all of us up. Moses looked at me, not unkindly.
"That is why you should see it before it sees you."
Well, that was ominous as hell.
The lower furnace was not actually a furnace. It was an arena. The elevator carried us down so far my ears popped twice. When the doors opened, heat rolled in like a living animal. The walls were black basalt, the floors carved with channels of glowing gold, and huge panels of smoky glass divided the walkway from a circular pit below.
Inside the pit, dragons practiced murder like it was yoga. Some were fully human except for eyes too bright to trust. Some had scales crawling over their arms. One woman's jaw unhinged wider than it should have before she breathed a controlled stream of red-orange fire at a stone pillar. The pillar cracked in half.
I stopped walking. Every nerve in my body said, "No." This was not stove fire. This was not candle flame. This was not the polite blue lick of gas under a saucepan. This fire had hunger. It slammed into the stone and kept pushing, roaring, chewing, wanting. The heat slapped sweat onto my skin, curled the ends of my baby hairs, and made my lungs hesitate like breathing had become a negotiation.
Moses watched me carefully. "Do you need to sit?"
"No," I said, even though my knees had filed a complaint. "I need to know if water helps."
His eyes warmed with something like approval. "Good first question."
I swallowed. "I have more. What burns? What doesn't? What do I hide behind? Does water help? Can I breathe near it? If my bakery catches dragon fire, am I supposed to stop, drop, and roll, or pray?"
Behind us, Cindy whispered, "That last one is important."
Moses folded his arms. "Dragon fire has rules."
"Thank god."
"But rules do not make it safe. Nothing about this week has been safe." He pointed toward the pit. "Red fire burns matter. Wood, cloth, skin, bone. Water can weaken it, but if you throw too little, it turns to steam and cooks you from the inside out."
I stared. "That is rude."
"It is fire."
"Still rude."
"Blue fire burns magic. Wards, curses, glamours. Do not trust any spell against it unless you know who made the spell."
"Noted."
"Black fire is poison. If you smell bitter metal, do not breathe."
I thought of the dragon man outside my bakery, the stink of burned pennies. My stomach tightened.
"And gold fire?" I asked, lifting my ringed hand.
Moses looked at it. So did every dragon close enough to notice. The ring gave one soft pulse.
"Gold fire binds," he said. "Claims. Protects. Sometimes heals. Sometimes punishes. It depends on the oath."
"Fantastic. My jewelry has moods."
"Your jewelry is alive with his flame."
I hated that my body reacted to that. Malric's flame. Malric's claim. Malric with his dangerous eyes and his body built like violence had learned manners. I had bigger problems than wondering if his dick was as arrogant as the rest of him, but stress did weird things to a woman's brain. I forced my attention back to Moses.
"What about his fire? The white one?"
The entire furnace quieted. Not fully, but enough. Moses' face became serious.
"White fire is old fire, royal fire. It does not only burn bodies, it burns vows, lies, bloodlines, intentions. If Lord Malric turns it on a thing, he is not asking that thing to die. He is ordering the world to forget it ever stood."
Cold moved through me despite the heat. I remembered that white glow in Malric's throat. The way the street had gone still. The way the attacking dragon had screamed.
"Can the ring stop it?" I asked.
Moses hesitated. There it was. The answer nobody wanted to hand me.
"It may protect you from his fire," he said. "If his fire recognizes you. If... if you panic and reject the bond, the shield can weaken."
I laughed once, sharp and ugly. "So, I have to trust the magical forced marriage ring not to let my accidental husband burn me?"
"Yes."
"Great. Love that. Very normal."
Moses stepped closer to the fire glass. "Hide behind stone if you can. Dragon stone is best. Fire glass will hold for short bursts. Human brick may crack. Cars are useless. Wood is a joke. If sparks land on your clothes, scrape them off. Do not slap them. Do not inhale smoke. Get crosswind. Never stand between two dragons unless you are tired of having a body."
I nodded slowly. Practical things. Rules. Rules I could hold. Rules I could survive.