Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 15

15

LUTHER

he red-tipped wings of Ophiucae’s gryvern looked like bloody godstoneT blades as he came into focus.

“Make way for the Mortals’ Champion,” Vance shouted. To our surprise, the mortals retreated, leaving a wide stretch of open land between their lines and ours.

I caught Alixe’s gaze. Though she hid it well, her worry surfaced in her tense stance and bloodless lips. She had never faced Ophiucae before. She knew I had, and she seemed to be searching my reaction for a clue of our looming fate.

I gave her the respect of an honest answer with my grave, deep-cut frown. Our “victory” in Sophos had been anything but. Without Diem persuading Ophiucae to leave, it would have ended in all our deaths.

And today, even five Crowns, six gryverns, half the Emarion Army, and the entire Lumnos Royal Guard might not be enough to make up for her absence.

The wrought iron gate rattled in my hands as Ophiucae’s gryvern hit the ground, joined soon after by the Sophos, Meros, Arboros, and Faunos Crowns atop their gryverns. Sorae stayed skybound in a menacing circuit around the palace.

I’d forgotten how much they looked alike, Ophiucae and my Diem. His ice-white hair was wavy and wild, like hers, and there was no mistaking him as the source of her dark grey eyes. Even his silvery, glowing silhouette reminded me of the way her warm sienna skin had lit up like the moon when her power unleashed in full at the Challenging.

“If it isn’t my siblings’ favored few,” Ophiucae said. “At last, we all

finally meet.”

Siblings?

“We’ve been wanting to speak,” Doriel called out. “We sent messengers to find you.”

He chuckled darkly. “How strange. I’m sure I sent them back.”

“Without their heads,” the Meros King muttered.

“Ophiucae,” Doriel went on, “I know your history. What happened to you was inhumane. Those responsible for it are dead.”

“Ah, but still they watch.” His smile was vicious yet bright, a sanguine sunset heralding a violent night. “And what a show I’m going to give them.”

“You have a Crown and a gryvern, and you have subjects of your own.”

Doriel pointed to the mortals, whose smug grins fell at being viewed as a Descended’s pawns. “You’re one of us. Let us discuss this like the leaders we are.”

Ophiucae looked over them. “I see only four of you here. Not even a majority.”

“Another is inside. The other Crowns are . . . indisposed. But their

Regents —”

“Where is she?”

Ophiucae’s tone changed. It vibrated in the air and shuddered through the soil, its timbre ominous and dark.

Doriel’s throat bobbed. They glanced at the Meros King, who shifted on his gryvern’s back. Even the Faunos and Arboros Queens shared an

apprehensive look.

“Where is she?” Ophiucae growled again.

“The Lumnos Queen is dead,” Mireille answered. “Killed by the Ignios King.” Her fingers trembled where they gripped her gryvern. “We assure you, he will die for his crimes.”

His eyes swept slowly over the crowd and stopped on me. “You again.

Her lovesick suitor.”

My godhood snarled. Ophiucae smiled.

“Do they speak the truth?” he asked. “Is my daughter dead?”

I wasn’t sure why the next words came out of my mouth, let alone with such resolve: “No. She isn’t.”

The others gaped at me, but I held Ophiucae’s stare as he dismounted his gryvern. The moment his feet hit the soil, his skin pulsed brighter, and his aura trembled like a stretching cat.

I pushed through the crowd until I was standing alongside the Crowns.

Ophiucae’s eyes moved over me, pondering, assessing. “Tell me, Prince,” he said lightly, his tone almost taunting, “what do you know?”

He raised a hand, and the world disappeared, replaced by a darkness with no beginning or end, nor solid land to keep me grounded. I was falling, not through air but through memories.

Memories of the island, and just before. Of Sophos’s betrayal, of Teller’s rescue and our narrow escape. Of what I’d seen as we flew away— the Ignios King with his blade, and Diem’s collapse. Memories of today’s meeting with the Crowns, and their revelation about Diem’s fate.

And then things that weren’t memories at all. The truth of what Diem meant to me . . . thoughts, emotions, confessions, my darkest fears, my hopes and dreams. What I’d become in her absence.

As the alarming awareness of what was happening hit me, I thrashed to get free. There were too many dangerous secrets in the vault of my mind that I couldn’t let him see.

The only thing I succeeded at was piquing his interest. Though I could sense his curiosity at what I was so desperate to conceal, he willingly withdrew.

I swayed on my feet as the Lumnos sun glared back into view. The way he’d used Umbros magic to rifle through my thoughts as casually as a messy stack of papers felt nothing like when I’d let Diem into my head back in Sophos, the soft caress of her consciousness nestling in the arms of mine.

Ophiucae looked at Doriel. “Bring me the Ignios King.”

“He is, um . . . ill. Unable to come outside. But he will be dealt with—”

“Indeed, he will.” His stare shifted to the Meros King. “Bring him to me.”

Meros’s aquamarine eyes went glassy. His gryvern squealed in protest as its master slid off its back and stiffly marched for the palace gates.

“Obaneryn, no,” Doriel cried. They ran to block his path, but Ophiucae’s Umbros magic had left Meros as bound to his orders as the Crowns’ gryverns were to theirs.

Meros flung Doriel aside, their petite frame no match for his brawn, and continued to weave through confused-looking soldiers. The Fortos Vice General watched with nervous hesitation, trapped between conflicting orders to protect the Crowns.

When Meros reached the locked gate, he hurled his shoulder into the bars in a mindless bid to break through.

“Ah, yes, that pesky gate,” Ophiucae crooned, fingers twitching.

Strands of pale blue light wove through the sculpted iron swirls, and the bars began to glow red-orange. Alixe barely managed to yank Meros safely aside as the gate softened, slumped, then pooled into a molten puddle.

The mortals erupted in a triumphant shout. Another curl of Ophiucae’s finger had frost forming across the liquid metal and cooling it solid. Meros jerked out of Alixe’s grip and continued toward the palace.

From his place by the door, Tybold arched his neck with a rumbled warning and a brewing glow of orange flames.

“Surly as ever, Tybold,” Ophiucae called out. “We both know what it is to spend centuries in chains.”

Tybold stretched his wings, baring yellowed fangs.

“That’s not the only thing we have in common, is it?” Ophiucae’s lips curved upward. “Let him through to your Crown. I’ll do what you want to, but cannot.”

Dark scales rippled as Tybold’s enormous chest slowly rose and fell. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought he was considering the offer.

But as Meros came closer, the spell enslaving Tybold left him no choice.

He shifted in front of the palace doors and lifted a sharp-tipped talon.

“Very well,” Ophiucae said. “I always wondered how strong these bonds were. I suppose it’s time to find out.” He turned to his own gryvern.

“Xipherus, attack.” He pointed to Sorae. “Her.”

My heart hammered as his gryvern launched into the air. I cupped my hands at my mouth and shouted, “Sorae, leave—get away from the palace!”

With Diem’s orders hanging over us both, would she obey me? Could she?

But Sorae was so much like her Queen—fearless and ready to fight for the people she loved. She opened her wings and met Xipherus with a ferocious snarl that turned into a shriek as the beast sank his teeth into her neck.

My shout was drowned out by Tybold’s ear-splitting, ground-rattling roar. He paced a tight circle by the doorway, muscles bunched, glare fixed on the sky. Meros came closer, and Tybold’s jaws erupted with a flood of dragonfyre, but the moment Obaneryn staggered backward, Tybold’s focus was back on Sorae.

The Meros gryvern hissed at the attack on its Crown. It, too, set a course for Tybold.

I turned to the Queens. “Send yours to help her.”

Arboros looked nervous. Faunos pursed her lips, seeming to consider whether Ophiucae might be doing her a favor by weakening her strongest peers.

“Mireille,” I snarled. “You owe this to Diem.”

She winced and slid off her gryvern, then whispered something in its ear. The beast grunted, displeased at leaving its Crown so vulnerable, but like the others, it had to obey. With a beat of its wide, feathered wings, it took to the sky.

Faunos gave an indifferent shrug. “They’ll be fine. My Rosha can stay and fight for us.”

The clash of teeth and claws rang out as both groups of gryverns collided. Sorae fell from Xipherus’s jaws, stilling my heart in my chest until her wings unfurled and she soared back into flight. On the ground, the Meros and Ignios gryverns exchanged plumes of teal and orange flames while the hypnotized Meros King flung blasts of water that hissed to steam as he tried to push through.

Ophiucae laughed, his face aglow with delight, and a bad feeling took root in my gut. He’d concealed an entire fleet with an illusion, and he’d been shielding hundreds of mortals. He’d pierced my defenses like paper and made a Crown his puppet. Through it all, his aura hadn’t weakened one bit. If he could do all this without tiring his godhood, what more was he

capable of?

And why wasn’t he already doing it?

Sophos stormed to the front of the lines. “There’s no need for this. If Ignios is what you want, you can have him.”

“He is only the beginning of what I want.”

“What do you want?” Arboros asked.

His eyes gleamed. “Revenge.”

The mortals let out another thunderous cheer.

Ophiucae looked at Vance, who stood nearby with a godstone sword and a venomous grin. “Make them pay for their sins.”

Vance punched his blade high. “True Guardians of the Everflame . . . attack!”

The field turned to madness. Doriel’s gryvern unleashed a wall of blush- colored flames to push the mortals back, while Faunos did the same from the sky. Ophiucae cast answering waves of ice and water, and scores of his men slipped through with every break.

A somber realization dawned. This battle could very well be the final stand for Emarion. If Ophiucae won, he’d kill us all. New Crowns might emerge, but no one would be fool enough to challenge him after that.

Everything was on the line.

I raised my sword and walked into the fray. I fought for my sister and all of my young, innocent cousins hiding inside the palace walls. I fought for all the half-mortals I’d saved over the years, whose second-class status would not spare them from Ophiucae’s wrath. I fought for my friends—for Alixe and Taran, who had trusted me through so many secrets and so many

lies.

And I fought for my Queen.

My love.

My heart.

The woman who’d fought for me when all seemed lost. If I could do nothing else, I could at least return the favor.

The battle became a whirl of glittering black and liquid red, my skin burning hot as dragonfyre danced perilously close. Blows landed, mine and theirs. Pain was present, but distant, my wounds less important than the ones I bestowed. At some point, I spotted Taran and Zalaric in the melee, and the feeling of all that was at stake grew darker and weightier.

Sorae’s screech cut through the din. The terror in it drew my eyes—not to her, but to Tybold, who was pinned beneath the Meros gryvern, one claw pierced deep in his chest. Behind them, the Meros King emerged from the palace, dragging Ignios along the ground by his hair.

Ophiucae crooked his finger, and a knifelike burst of wind slashed through the center of the fighting. It sent bodies flying, mortal and Descended both, clearing the way for Meros to shove Ignios in a heap at Ophiucae’s feet.

“I understand you’re the one who killed my daughter,” Ophiucae said.

Certain death had made the desert King brave. He raised his orange eyes and jeered. “I put her in a grave. Where you both belong.”

Ophiucae gave no reaction. He flicked a hand, almost boredly, and Meros stumbled back, his mind again his own. Sophos and I pulled him away, and the fighting slowed as mortals stopped to watch.

“The Prince seems to think you’re lying,” Ophiucae said. “Perhaps I

should see for myself.”

“I’m not ly—”

Ophiucae’s hand squeezed around his throat. Ignios’s eyes went glassy, and both men fell silent.

Like a reflex, my hand slipped into my pocket and palmed the compass.

Still whirring, still aimless.

“Interesting,” Ophiucae murmured. His head angled to me. “Interesting, indeed.”

I took a step closer, heart stuttering with an uneven beat. “What do you see?”

Thunder boomed in the distance. With the sky clear and the day sunny, the sound took us all by surprise. Eyes turned skyward as low, dark clouds began to form. A buzzing current electrified the air, the hair on my arms

stretching high.

CRACK.

Silver-white light exploded around us, leaving me blinded. When the world returned, there was something . . . different. Something I could sense but couldn’t see.

Not until my focus settled on the Ignios King.

His Crown was gone.

I glanced up at Ophiucae in search of an answer, but he looked equally perplexed. Our eyes moved in unison to Sophos.

No Crown.

Arboros—no Crown.

Meros—no Crown.

A woman’s scream sounded above us. I looked up just in time to see the Faunos Queen—Crownless—bucked from her gryvern. She fell through the air and hit the cobblestones with a loud, sickening thud.

“My magic,” Mireille cried out, staring at her palms. “It’s gone!”

Matching looks of horror flashed across each of the monarchs’ faces.

But Ophiucae no longer looked puzzled—he looked furious.

“One betrayal was not enough?” he roared at the stormy, darkening sky.

“I was going to spare them. I would have let them bend their knees to save their necks. Now I will savor their deaths.” His glare dropped back to his soldiers, his voice dropping to a growl. “Kill them all.”

The fighting reignited, with a new, critical problem at its center. Without their Crowns, the former rulers had become normal Descended. Outside their home realms, they had no magic. They had no gryverns, either. Except for Sorae, who was still embroiled in battle with Xipherus, the other creatures had begun backing away from the fight.

“Alixe, Taran,” I shouted. I pointed to the ex-Crowns. “Get them out of here!”

Though I couldn’t have cared less whether any of them lived or died, if they were the focus of Ophiucae’s ire, getting them as far as possible might draw him away and give our soldiers a fighting chance against his men.

They leapt to obey my orders. Taran barely managed to deflect an axe aimed at Mireille’s skull just as Alixe shoved Doriel out of the path of a swinging black mace.

Ophiucae’s glare returned to the sickly man at his feet. His lip curled back as his palm stretched forward. Ignios let out a bloodcurdling scream, and a breeze carried the stench of decay to my nose.

Fortos magic.

“Stop,” I said loudly. “His death is mine to claim.”

Ophiucae paused. Turned his head. Narrowed his eyes. “The suitor again.”

The thick, toxic heat of his aura pulsed around me, rippling with rage that felt as infinite as the sky, as turbulent as the oceans. This anger had been brewing for lifetimes and rotting in the darkest of shadows. I had seen raw fury in my life, certainly felt it myself, but I had never felt hatred as potent as this. What I couldn’t tell was how much was directed at the Ignios asshole . . . and how much was directed at me.

I forced myself to keep advancing. “If he truly hurt Diem . . .”

“Oh, he did. Put a knife through her heart, just like he said.” Ophiucae sneered. “Just like her mother did to me. My mother, too. Ironic, is it not?”

Ringing filled my ears. I’d been certain that if Diem was really gone, existence itself would change. How could it not? How could the sun shine as bright without her smile to light it? How could the wind smell as sweet with no scent of her on its breeze?

How could my world stay upright if the woman I’d built it on turned to dust?

Everything about it felt wrong. My godhood still snarled at me to find her. My heartbeat kept echoing like it was calling for hers. I was connected to her in a soul-carved way, and the cord that bound us pulled more strongly than ever.

But no one could survive a godstone blade to the heart.

And yet . . .

“You survived it,” I said.

Ophiucae whacked the back of his hand across the Ignios bastard’s jaw, sending him crumbling to the ground, then turned to me.

He closed the distance between us. “You still think she’s alive.” His head cocked. “And if she is . . . you think she’ll still want you? You, who abandoned her on the island? The man who saved himself to let her suffer alone?”

It would have felt less violent if he’d struck me with his fists. I could offer up excuses in my defense, but I wouldn’t believe them any more than he would.

“I asked her if I should test your worthiness for her hand,” he said.

“Perhaps if I had, she might still be here.”

I searched the barren field of his face for a sign, wondering if he’d seen Diem’s fate in Ignios’s thoughts, if he was toying with me to see what I might give him to reveal it.

“I will never be worthy of her,” I admitted. “No man could ever be. But no soul on this earth desires more deeply to deserve her than mine. I would

do anything, give anything—”

“Except your life,” he taunted.

“I’ve offered my life for hers countless times. If—when she returns,

Kindred willing, I’ll do so again.”

His smile tightened. “Kindred willing.”

I felt a click against my leg, near my pocket. Then, from my chest, the peculiar feeling of something shifting into place, like a pin in a lock.

A gryvern’s wail split through the darkened sky. Ophiucae and I both looked up to see Sorae flee the palace with his gryvern in pursuit. Blood rained from gashes scattered over her body, but she was moving faster than I’d ever seen her.

“Xipherus,” Ophiucae shouted. His gryvern snapped to a halt. “We have more important targets.”

The gryvern turned its golden glare onto the palace, and my pulse began

to pound.

“Burn it,” Ophiucae ordered.

My hand jolted out toward the palace, sending thick swells of shadow blooming around it just as plumes of fire streamed from the gryvern’s jaws.

The flames lashed at the darkness, then hissed to harmless smoke. The gryvern howled its rage, a glow building in its throat as it prepared another fiery blow.

I unleashed the full force of my power, shrouding the palace in a cloak of inky black. Never had I used this much shadow magic at once, and for good reason. There was a mystery to the darkness that even the Lumnos Descended didn’t fully know. In its most concentrated depths, there was no air, no warmth, no life. With hundreds trapped inside those stone walls, my shadows could be as deadly as the gryvern’s— The edge of a blade scratched against my throat.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Ophiucae pressed against my back. The dark emotions and hopelessness that filled me at his knife’s touch told me what I couldn’t see: godstone.

Vance snickered beside him. “I stabbed him in Arboros. Got him good in the side. He musta beat the odds.” He leaned into my line of sight, a cocksure grin on his ruddy face. “Think he’s lucky enough to beat ’em again? Maybe I’ll slice his head off so he doesn’t have the chance.”

“Vance, shouldn’t you be giving orders to your men?” A hint of irritation hid within Ophiucae’s smooth tone.

Vance bristled. “My men know how to fight.”

“Then why are they retreating?”

The Royal Guard had gathered enough fallen godstone weapons to launch a deadly counterattack, and sure enough, the mortals were breaking ranks and backing away.

“You’re supposed to be protecting them,” Vance snapped at him.

“And they’re supposed to hold on to their blades.”

“Well, the enemy has ’em now. What are you gonna do about it?”

I could almost hear Ophiucae’s teeth grind behind me. He raised his other hand and snapped his fingers. As one, all of the Descended stilled into

a wall of living statues. He snapped again, and the weapons fell from their hands.

“Go get your kills and leave me to mine,” Ophiucae clipped.

The mortals surged forward, and Vance left to join them. I shifted a hand to conjure my magic and involuntarily froze as Ophiucae’s mental claws tightened around my skull. I could only watch in horror as the mortals recovered their swords and begin to hack away at the helpless Descended.

“Mortals,” Ophiucae grumbled in my ear. “So very cocky for a people so weak. In all these years, they still haven’t changed.”

Royal Guards and army soldiers fell like pigs at slaughter, unable to even raise a shield in their own defense, and the mortals took advantage with glee. They took their time carving vulgar words into flesh, singing mocking songs in the ears of the victims they tortured.

My heart dropped as I caught sight of Zalaric. In his flowing satin robes and golden cuffs, he stood out among the uniformed soldiers. Alixe and Taran had left to save the Crowns, but Zalaric was trapped in the center, frozen in place and watching with wide, glassy eyes.

I pushed against Ophiucae’s mental grip. “Coward,” I managed to get out. “At least let them fight for their lives.”

He laughed. “But this is so much more painful to watch, don’t you think?”

“Diem will hate you for this. Wouldn’t you rather her hate the Crowns instead?”

His smile was glib, but with his mind latched to mine, I sensed his certainty falter. “Leave those guards,” he yelled to Vance, who looked equal parts furious and confused. “We came here for the Crowns.”

Vance scowled. “Let us kill these first—”

“You heard my order,” Ophiucae snapped.

Vance’s scowl dragged deeper. “Let’s go,” he grumbled at his men, sulking toward the palace. “We’ll finish them off later.”

With obvious reluctance, the mortals fell in behind him. I had almost let out a sigh of relief when a late straggler paused in front of Zalaric, eyeing the jeweled clasps on his robes. The man lifted his dagger and sawed the clasps free, tucking them into his pockets, then gave Zalaric a poisonous grin.

And shoved a godstone blade into his ribs.

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