Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 14

14

DIEM

e joined the other Kindred at the Temple. Their forms had become dimW and hazy, and I found myself blinking rapidly to keep them in focus.

“The God’s Horn is fading,” Arboros said. “We don’t have much time.”

“You have to free me from the island,” I reminded them. “I can’t help anyone from here.”

“There’s one problem,” Sophos said. “We cannot change the heartstone’s spell. Only the Crowns can do that.”

“You lied? You gods-damned deceitful pieces of sh—”

“But,” he cut back in, “the Crowns are ours to give.”

My temper was doused by an icy splash of shock. “You want to give me the other Crowns?”

“We have no choice,” Fortos muttered. “Neither do you, if you want to stop our brother.”

“If she wants to stop him,” Umbros said, quietly looking me over.

“Because half your blood is mortal, your magic is weaker than ours,”

Sophos explained, “but each Crown increases your power. With all nine, you will be strong.” His eyebrows rose. “As strong, perhaps, as one of us.”

“It won’t be easy,” Meros cautioned. “The realms may not accept you, and the weight of duty is heavy. Maybe too much for one person to safely bear.”

“I thought the Crowns only pass through death,” I said. “The Descended who have them now . . . are you going to kill them?”

Fortos barked a laugh. “Does it matter? You had no reservations about putting my last Crown in a grave.”

“But she did,” Lumnos reminded him. “She gave your King every chance to survive. She did not act until she had no other choice. She had a chance to kill my King, as well. She did not take that, either.”

“Mercy is a virtue,” Montios murmured.

“It is possible to spare their lives,” Sophos said, “but it’s dangerous.

We’re only meant to reach into this world when the veil thins for a dying soul to cross over. We have broken that rule too many times already, and each time, the bridge to this world weakens. Taking Crowns from the living could destroy it completely. We might never be able to reach into this world to guide their paths again.”

“Good,” I said firmly. “Let me be the last person you ever give them to.

Let the Crowns end with me so the people of Emarion learn to govern themselves.”

They studied me, and each other, with uncertain gazes.

“So much like her mother,” Lumnos said. “Blessings for that.”

Faunos stared me down. “What if she turns out like her father, too?”

“Andrei Bellator is my father,” I snapped. “Just because Ophiucae is my sire does not mean I—I care for him.” I hoped they didn’t hear my slight hitch, the plucked string wobbling in my tone.

“Blood bonds are a powerful thing,” Fortos said. “People kill for them.

Fight wars for them.”

“I will not help him,” I insisted.

“Perhaps you should.”

Their aghast faces turned to Lumnos.

“You cannot be serious,” Sophos said.

“Sister,” Arboros breathed. “You’ve seen what he’s done. He’s doing the same to your people this very moment.”

My stomach dropped. “Ophiucae’s in Lumnos?”

“What if our brother can change?” Lumnos asked them. “He’s capable of love. Perhaps he is capable of goodness, if Diem can show him the way.”

She set her palm on the heartstone, and it lit up with a sapphire glow.

“We will give her the gift she needs to take our brother’s life, but let us trust her to make her own choice, in the end. Love is as powerful as blood. It can change minds and hearts.” She gave me another of her strange, knowing smiles. “Let’s pray it can also change fates.”

Montios added her hand to the heartstone, along with her pale lilac light, and looked at me. “Be strong, Daughter of the Forgotten. Courage is a

virtue.”

Fortos grunted and slapped his palm onto the stone. “Not like we have a choice.”

“We never did,” Faunos agreed, joining him. “Once she was born, all our paths aligned.”

Meros added her hand. “Be kind to my King,” she said, tone edged with threat. “He is strong of heart, and he has given more for his people than you know.”

Arboros followed suit. “My Queen can be your ally, if you can forgive her.”

“As can Doriel,” Sophos said as he joined. “Duty makes for difficult choices, Diem. Rare is a ruler who emerges unscathed. Remember that.”

I pressed my lips tight to hold back a volley of pointed words. Their pleas felt hollow when they’d been perfectly willing to sacrifice their Crowns’ lives only moments ago.

I had my own plans for the Crowns—and it wasn’t forgiveness.

“Well, mine isn’t a good man,” Ignios admitted. “I chose him because he was strong-willed and decisive. I thought he would use that fire to protect his people, but anger smolders. Hatred ignites. And power burns a soul to ash.” She reached for the heartstone. “His days are numbered.

Follow his path, and yours will be, too.”

Only Umbros remained. He’d kept his distance, lingering near his arch and staring silently at Yrselle’s decomposing corpse with a pensive crease across his brow. “I’ve had many Crowns,” he murmured. “Yrselle was my favorite of them all. Beautiful. Ruthless. I would have let her reign forever, if I could.” The corner of his lips lifted. “She was so very fun. Never a dull moment, watching her.”

His gaze rose to mine. “When I told her of the role she would need to play, she never argued or lamented her fate. She only asked me one question: ‘Is the girl worth it?’ And I told her you were.” He walked up to the central pedestal. His palm hovered over the heartstone, its glassy edges alight with rainbow hues. “Be worthy, Diem Bellator. Make the difficult choices—whatever they may be.”

At the final Kindred’s touch, a blinding light exploded from the heartstone’s core. I raised a hand to my eyes to block its dazzling glare. The cauldron fires roared back to life, burning so high and hot they warmed my flesh.

Beyond the island’s shores, the world had changed. The sunny blue sky and watery sea had faded behind an ethereal curtain, its glittering fabric rippling with images I couldn’t quite understand. They held familiar faces and landscapes, cast in moments I’d never witnessed. Moments I couldn’t have witnessed—Lily and Teller together in old age, Henri as a grown man alongside his mother.

“Close your eyes,” Sophos shouted. “Those are not for you to see.”

I couldn’t—my attention had caught on a foggy picture of myself at a graveyard, tombstones in rows that stretched for miles. I was on my knees and weeping, clutching the Sword of Corbois to my chest.

Luther.

I was grieving Luther.

Beside him, another gravestone had a bundle of lilies at its base. On another beside it, Taran’s baldric was slung over its edge.

On another, Alixe’s shortswords.

On another, Eleanor’s sketchbook.

The satchel Teller carried to school.

The healer’s apron my mother wore.

Artifacts of every person I’d ever loved.

Dead.

All of them, dead.

A hand pressed to my cheek and forced my face to turn away. “You cannot look,” Lumnos warned, her tone kind but firm.

“That’s the future, isn’t it?” I whispered.

“One possible future. That’s why we came. There is so much at stake.”

A loud groaning sound roared through the air. The shimmering veil surged past the island’s borders, nearing the Temple as the Kindred’s silhouettes began to waver.

“We’re running out of time,” Sophos yelled. “Put your hand on the heartstone. Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

I froze, unable to think beyond the terrible future I’d just seen. Lumnos grabbed my arm and raised it, but stopped short of the heartstone. “I cannot make you do this. It must be a willing choice, and you must make it now.”

I took a deep breath and pressed my palm to the stone.

First came the magic.

It had always been there, blanketing the soil, the sea, the air, but I’d only ever felt it through the Forging magic of my realms. With my hand on

the heartstone, I could see it, right down to its individual glittering threads.

The beauty of it stole the air from my lungs. The wondrous connection of it all, the way a million tiny strings, each one vibrating a resolute pulse, wove over and under and through into an intricate tapestry. It was a dangerous, delicate thing—instinctively, I knew that a single thread tugged too hard or left too loose might make the whole thing unravel. Yet there was a pattern to its weave, a way to sew new strings of magic into the world.

And just when I felt on the precipice of understanding . . .

Then came the pain.

Unbearable, excruciating, soul-searing pain.

A scream tore out of me, though it felt more like my brain trying to smash its way out of my skull. The heartstone blazed as hot as fire, and everywhere I touched it, my flesh blistered and peeled.

“Don’t let go,” a voice called out over my screams. “When the veil takes us back, it could take you with us. You need the heartstone to anchor

you here.”

“I can’t,” I cried. “It’s too much!”

Another voice, close to my ear: “He needs you. Think of him, and be strong.”

The pressure on my head forced me to my knees, leaving me certain my skull would cave in from the weight. My fingernails screeched across the heartstone’s glossy surface as I fought to keep hold.

The veil shrank closer, feet from the Temple’s edge. Warm liquid trickled down my arms, and when I forced myself to look, I saw my dark ruby blood smeared across the heartstone’s surface.

“The barriers on the island,” someone yelled. “Tear them down. We’ll help you, but you must hurry.”

I looked around in a frantic search. The currents that flowed from the heartstone seemed infinite. Finding the one the Crowns had used to imprison me here could take a lifetime.

“Don’t look with your eyes,” another voice urged. “Use the heartstone to guide you.”

I let my eyelids close and focused on the stone beneath my palm. In the darkness of my mind, nine points of glowing light appeared. They floated in a line, beckoning me forward until a wall rose before me. I gazed up at its towering height and infinite stretch, and I pressed my palm to its bricks— the same hand clutching the heartstone.

Free me, I spoke into the ether. Tear down this wall, and let it never rise again. Let this island be open to all who wish to come.

Heat intensified beneath my touch. My blood felt as if it was boiling under my skin. I ground my jaws against the pain, fighting the instinct to pull away. A web of cracks splintered from my hand, and hunks of stone began to fall.

“Don’t let go,” a voice reminded me. “Whatever happens, Diem, do not let go.”

Crumbling bricks rained down on me, and though I knew it was all in my mind, the pain was very, very real. The sizzling burn of the heartstone, the crush of being buried alive under debris. The world gave another groan, and I felt the pull into the beyond, tugging so hard it might rip me in half.

Everything was chaos, and everything hurt.

I held fast to the heartstone, and I screamed. My throat was raw and bleeding when the feeling of warmth began to swirl away, like a door left ajar on a cold winter’s day. I forced my eyes open to see the Kindred stepping backward toward their arches.

“Wait,” I pleaded. “You haven’t told me what to do.”

“We’ve told you what we can,” Sophos said.

“The only thing you’ve given me are stories and riddles. I need answers.”

“If we reveal too much, the fates will shift—and when they do, it is never for the better.” His voice faded with his silhouette. “You have the clues you need. You must be brave enough to look, and braver still to see the answer.”

Darkness closed in at the corners of my vision. My body collapsed against the pedestal, my fingers barely touching the heartstone’s rough edge. My words slurred with labored breaths. “What . . . what if I can’t . . . change him? How do I kill . . .”

Sophos’s answer was too far, too muffled to hear. As the veil passed over his archway, he vanished with a silvery flash.

One by one, the Kindred drew back into their arches and disappeared.

My head lolled toward Lumnos, pleading with the desperate words I couldn’t speak. But as with all my prayers, her answer never came. She pressed a palm to her heart, offered the last of her sad, sweet smiles, and vanished.

Once again, only Umbros remained. He knelt and slid his arms beneath Yrselle’s body, cradling her against his chest. He bowed his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

The veil surged forward, and he was gone.

I OPENED my eyes and immediately regretted it.

My head had its own painful heartbeat at the brightness of the maliciously sunny day. My stomach lurched with a wave of nausea, a familiar consequence of the morning after a night too well spent.

I pushed myself upright with a miserable groan. I was sprawled on the grass beside Perthe’s grave. Aside from the grime of weeks with nowhere to bathe, my hands were unmarred—no blood, no wounds, no blistered flesh.

I twisted to look over my shoulder. At the center of the island, the Kindred’s Temple was imposing as ever. The cauldrons still burned, the heartstone still sat on its pedestal, and Yrselle’s lifeless body still lay in the Umbros arch.

I scrubbed at my face. I’d sampled enough wild mushrooms while foraging to recognize what had happened. The rosebane I’d swallowed had apparently done its job. The Kindred, the heartstone—none of it had been real. Just the imaginings of a delirious, drug-addled woman.

“Never again, Perthe,” I muttered as I climbed to my feet. “I don’t care how bored I get. Let’s never, ever do that ag—”

I froze.

With no one but me to disturb it, I’d come to know this island so well that even the smallest change to its landscape caught my eye.

And this was no small change.

Stabbed deep into the sandy soil, less than a foot from the Lumnos pier, was the gilded handle of a sword. My head whipped around, my vision lagging slightly behind. “Hello?” I called out. “Is anyone here?”

No sound but the wind through the brush.

I crept closer to the blade. “Hello?” I yelled again.

Silence.

I crouched beside the blade. Was I still under the rosebane’s effects?

Was this another delusion? Sunlight gleamed off the golden scrollwork etched up and down its glittering black blade, and a glassy stone was

embedded at the center of its shank.

The Kindred’s sword.

The one I’d fought with in Sophos after Stuart had fetched it from the archives—the same one I’d seen in the visions of me and Luther on a battlefield. I took a nervous glance around, then grabbed its handle and pulled it free. A whisper of ancient, powerful words carried to me on the breeze.

An older voice. Feminine and wise. Maternal.

Not the Kindred’s sword, I realized. Their mother’s.

Sorrow’s Edge—the weapon she’d forged to kill her son, only to die by its blade instead.

I squinted again at the Temple, and my heart dropped to my feet. It wasn’t Yrselle’s body at the foot of the Umbros arch—it was her clothing.

A discarded dress, nothing more. A gust of wind caught the fabric and sent it whirling into the air and out of the Temple.

My heart pounded a frantic beat as I turned back to the Lumnos pier and slowly brought my feet to its edge. If the Kindred’s visit had been a delusion, one step further would kill me. But if it was real . . .

One step would set me free.

I tightened my grip on the sword and pressed my other hand to my mating mark. My boot slid forward past the shore and onto the wooden

dock.

Nothing changed.

No flash of lethal light, no instant death.

I held my breath and took another step.

Then everything changed.

It crashed into me at once. The howl of my writhing godhood, enraged and tearing at my chest to get out. My gryvern bond, overwhelming me with waves of panic and confusion and sadness and fury.

And the mating bond.

I’d never felt its effects uninhibited by the island’s power. What I had felt had been a misery to endure, but I wondered now if that had been my own pathetic loneliness. As the full weight expanded through my chest, it hit me that this . . . gods, this was the bond.

My skin was aflame, crawling with an itch only his touch would soothe.

I staggered forward another few steps, pulled by an unexplainable draw toward the Lumnos coast that I knew, in my heart, was a call to him—to my mate, to the man that I loved.

In my stupor, my foot caught on a plank, and I tumbled to my knees.

The sword clattered over the side of the dock, splashing into the Sacred Sea’s cerulean depths.

I swore and crawled to the edge—then drew in a sudden breath. In the reflection of the water’s surface, a glowing, nine-peaked Crown hovered over my head. The circlet was woven with dark thorny vines curled around blooming flowers and shards of ice. Flames danced among smoke and crashing waves, while sparks flickered over veins tangled with writhing snakes. All of Emarion’s realms—or at least all its Descended—were

represented in its chaotic beauty.

All but one.

My focus shifted to my face. My features were sunken and dark, my sallow skin as stained with dirt as my tattered clothes. Dried blood and grime had turned my matted hair a sickly beige. But my eyes . . .

Beneath their smoke-grey hue, a fire raged.

As if stoked from within, flames engulfed me. I curled a hand around my golden pendant to protect it as my clothes blackened and fell to ash.

Water rose from the sea and swept over my body, refreshingly cool, then combed like fingers through my hair. What lingering filth the fire’s cleansing heat had not burned, the salt from the waves scrubbed away.

When my magic subsided, I was fully bare, but I was clean for the first

time in weeks.

And I was ready.

I held my hands over the sea. From the dark abyss, my fallen sword floated to the surface, now mysteriously sheathed inside its gleaming golden scabbard. Icy limbs took shape and lifted the blade from the water, carefully placing it in my waiting palms.

I walked to the end of the pier, lifted my chin, and issued my first

command as Queen of Emarion.

“Sorae, come.”

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