Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 25

25

DIEM

glowered at the rippling water beneath my palm, my arm trembling asI raw magic channeled through my blood. I’d unleashed my godhood at its fullest strength, bound only by one command: Fix this.

The only thing I’d accomplished was working up a sweat.

I swore and sank back into the sand surrounding the oasis, wiping the back of my hand across my brow.

“Water?” Nidara asked, holding out a canteen. She shook it slightly, frowning at the shallow echo. “Apologies. There’s not much left. The daily rations are getting smaller.”

I thanked her and took it, savoring the splash of cool liquid against my lips as I drained it dry. I held a palm over its spout and conjured fresh water with Meros magic to refill it, then greedily drank it all down.

“This, I can do,” I muttered, refilling it again before handing it back.

My stare slid to the blackened oasis. “That, on the other hand . . .”

My godhood prickled, frustrated at our failure. After arriving in Ignios, Alixe had gone with Nidara’s Vice General to assess the state of their Royal Guard, while I toured Ignios City so I could see the damage firsthand.

Initially, it seemed the people here had been lucky. Ophiucae had come alone, leaving his mortal soldiers behind. The red clay buildings were resistant to heat, so even with his gryvern’s dragonfyre flooding the city, residents had been able to hide safely indoors. The only casualties were a handful of guards whose minds Ophiucae had captured with Umbros magic, cruelly ordering them to burn themselves alive. After seeing that, the other guards kept their distance, and Ophiucae kept his.

The real truth of the devastation lay in the ink-dark liquid that surrounded me now. While the people of Ignios had been sighing with relief in their homes, Ophiucae had been plotting a slower, more insidious death for them all. The oasis had been poisoned, rendering its water toxic even to the touch.

He hadn’t stopped there. He’d used Arboros magic to wither every crop so completely that not even the seeds had survived. The few patches of fertile soil near the water’s edge had turned barren. I’d tried to restore it, but as the Kindred had warned me, even their magic had its limits. I could not create life where life had ceased to exist.

I climbed to my feet with a defeated sigh and walked with Nidara back into the city. It was a beautiful place, a more grandiose version of the Mortal City I’d hidden in after fleeing Arboros months ago. A high wall encircled the town to protect it from sandstorms, dotted with tall, thin lookout towers topped with domed bronze roofs. At the center sat an elaborate, multistoried palace with spiral turrets and a waterfall that cascaded from its uppermost balcony to a fountain below. It, too, had been poisoned.

Pathways lined with arches in elegant shapes crisscrossed the city to allow residents to move about while sheltered from the unforgiving desert sun. Sweeping canopies of brightly colored fabric that had once hung over markets now flapped in the wind, their edges tattered and burnt.

As I walked the streets, residents watched me with distrust and slipped indoors whenever I passed. One brave, dark-haired little girl crashed into my leg, tugging at the leather of my pants and reaching for my hair.

“Hello there,” I said. I scooped her up and propped her on my hip, tickling her face with the end of my braid. She giggled and scrunched her nose, then stared with wonder at its bone-white color. Her tiny hand reached

for it, then hesitated.

“You can touch it,” I told her.

She beamed and ran her fingers over it, marveling at the coarser, curly texture compared to the thick, smooth line of hers. Then her eyes rose to mine and grew wide—I was surely the first person she’d ever seen who didn’t share her orange Ignios gaze.

“Pilli, no!” A woman shot forward and snatched the girl from my arms.

She twisted to shield the child from me and scurried backward with a scowl.

“Mama, her eyes! They look like the moon!”

“What did I tell you about outsiders?” the mother hissed. She disappeared behind a door and slammed it closed.

I looked around to see more people ducking into alleys and shops to avoid me. Like in Montios, the Ignosians isolated themselves from the wider world. But while the mountain-bound northern Descended had seen my Crown and brought me into their fold, the people of the southern deserts wanted nothing to do with me, as their Queen or otherwise.

Sorae whined softly behind me. She nudged her muzzle into my hand, sensing my disquiet.

I wasn’t the only one upset by our lackluster welcome. I’d felt her fluttering nerves as we’d flown in, her ochre eyes scanning the dunes, followed by her disappointment when no dark-scaled gryvern was waiting to meet her.

Across the bond I now shared with Tybold, I’d sensed him out patrolling the borders and called him in, though he had yet to arrive. I suspected Sorae’s low mood would last until he did.

I suspected mine would last much longer.

“My apologies,” Nidara said. “The people here are normally quite friendly.”

“Not to people like me,” I said, and she didn’t disagree. “Alixe told me what happened during the Blood War—how the people here tried to remain neutral, and the Guardians and Crowns forced their hands. I can understand why that resentment might persist.”

“Especially now. They fear that history is repeating, and we’ll be dragged into another war we have no desire to fight.” She looked annoyed.

“Is it so much to ask to be left alone? We keep to ourselves. We never ask anything of any other realm. If we have a problem, we handle it on our own.”

“Like you handled the problem of the mortals? Was it too much to ask for them to be left alone?”

Her gaze dropped. I already knew Nidara hadn’t participated in their massacre. It was the very first question I’d asked her. I wasn’t sure what violent, unforgivable thing I might have done if she’d said yes.

Nevertheless, I could tell she felt deeply ashamed. She had no fondness for mortals, but she had no thirst for slaughter, either. That, and her honesty, had won my tentative trust.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That guilt is not yours to bear.”

She stared at the blackened oasis. “Perhaps this is what we deserve. We condemned the mortals to a slow death, and now we’re facing one ourselves.”

“Revenge isn’t justice, Nidara. You can’t heal a burn by lighting another match.”

We turned a corner into a bustling square full of open-air stalls. I paused and tucked behind the wall so I could watch without people scattering the

moment they saw me.

“Where are all the women?” I asked.

Mixed among the kiosks, I spied men of every age, from toddlers to hunched, slow-moving elders, but hardly a female Ignosian in sight.

“There,” she said, pointing to the corners of the square, where stern- faced soldiers stood watch with sharp eyes and sharper blades tucked in their leather harnesses. “And there.” She gestured to a few more spying from nearby watchtowers, bows in hand. “Oh, and there,” she added, noting a pair of armed women on either side of a man laden with gaudy jewelry.

“They’re all guards,” I said, and she nodded. “Where are the others?”

“Out on patrols, most likely, or on the city walls. I imagine several are escorting the supply runs to Umbros.”

“What about the women who aren’t guards?”

“There aren’t many left. Blessed Mother Ignios was a fearless warrior, and when the King took his throne, he declared that the women of the realm should follow in her image. He said that, by choosing a man to wear her Crown, the Blessed Mother intended for men to lead and women to fight.”

“Do you agree with him?”

She didn’t immediately answer. She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms, staring off with a troubled look. “My younger sister loved to cook. We have limited options here, but she could take anything and turn it into something delicious. She once made an incredible pie out of roast cactus and sweetbeans. Her dream was to work in the palace as head chef to the Crown.” Her mouth tightened. “She was such a frail thing. Used to beg me to fetch water because her arms were too weak to carry the buckets when they were full.”

Nidara fell quiet, and the air turned heavy and grim.

“She didn’t make it, did she?” I said softly.

Shadows darkened her eyes. “Father insisted she join the Royal Guard.

He said we had to prove our devotion to the Blessed Mother or we would anger the King.” Her fingers gripped harder to her arms. “The first day of training, they dropped her out in the dunes and told her to walk back. They said it would strengthen her legs.” Her voice trembled. “Took me two weeks to find her body. Her mouth was full of sand.”

“Oh, Nidara,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

She nodded stiffly. “Father took his own life a week later. Blamed himself for not saying no to the King. He was a good man, my father, but I guess all it takes is for one evil man to speak, and all the good men to stay silent.”

If a man stays silent in the face of evil, is he truly good? I wondered, though I would not add to her pain by voicing it aloud.

“What was her name?” I asked.

Nidara smiled sadly. “Tallurah.”

I held out a palm and conjured a bright, blazing flame. “Blessed Mother Ignios,” I said, gaze lifting to the sky, “may you grant Tallurah the largest, most well-stocked kitchen the afterlife has ever seen. Guide her soul to her father’s, so that when Nidara is with them again, they’ll greet her at the dinner table with a slice of cactus-and-sweetbean pie.”

Nidara’s eyes lined with silver as she held out a hand and conjured a matching flame. Together with mine, they rose high and vanished with a flash. Though I might have imagined it, the Crown over my head pulsed a little brighter.

A low growl pulled our attention back toward the oasis just as a dark black blur slammed to the ground behind a cluster of buildings.

Sorae went stiff. Her wings unfurled as a quiet trill escaped her throat.

“Go on,” I coaxed her. “Go see him.”

Her head swung toward me, then back to the water. She crept forward, body hunched low to the ground. Her head jerked from side to side as she angled for a glimpse of the gryvern she’d been ripped away from all those centuries ago.

I followed a step behind her, joined by Nidara. My mind swirled with emotions, few of which were my own. Sorae’s anxious hope, Luther’s worry from afar, Tybold’s general loathing of everything and everyone, the four other gryverns whose bonds were a constant presence in my head.

In a way, I was glad for it. The stronger their emotions, the more they crowded mine out, leaving me with a numbness that was far preferable to the lonely rage that found me at night, when their minds went quiet with sleep.

As we approached the end of the street, Tybold stalked into view, and Sorae froze. Her tail slid out from between her legs and tentatively rose into the air, its black fur tip curling forward.

Tybold’s head twisted as he rose to his full height, massive wings stretching wide. A throaty rumble rolled down the sandy street.

He began to walk forward, and so did Sorae.

“You should call him off,” Nidara warned. “Tybold hates other gryverns. We always chained him up while other Crowns were here.”

I held my breath, too scared to say or do or feel anything that might disturb this moment. I’d sensed Sorae’s longing—I knew her affection for him was real. And Tybold had saved my life, not once but twice, when the Ignios King wanted me dead. Why do that, if not for the gryvern he secretly loved?

My confidence wobbled when Tybold bared his fangs. His neck arched, the slits of his eyes shrinking to slivers.

Sorae pressed on, undaunted. Tybold jerked to a stop as she rose out of her crouch. At her full height, she was still only half his size, but what she lacked in mass, she had in beauty. Her iridescent scales shimmered under the desert sun, casting flecks of rainbow light across the red clay walls.

With her sleek lines and downy feathers fluttering in the warm breeze, no one could deny her glory.

Even among gryverns, my Sorae was a queen.

I sent a pulse of admiration through our bond, and her wings lifted a little higher.

Tybold held his menacing stance as she approached, never tearing his eyes from Sorae. When she stopped in front of him, they both went silent.

Her tail swished once, and his nostrils flared as they filled with her scent.

Slowly, Sorae stretched her neck forward. I felt like my heart had stopped within my chest. I grabbed Nidara’s hand as Sorae closed her eyes, folded her wings, and pressed her muzzle into his.

His pupils grew to orbs of black. One talon curled, claws sinking into the soft sand below.

Sorae let out a sweet, almost feline chirp. When he didn’t answer, she opened her eyes, looked up at him, and made the sound again.

No answer.

Across the bond, I felt her heart fracture. Despite time and distance and the gilded shackles of their Crowns, her love for Tybold had endured. She’d kept her fire burning, while his had snuffed out.

She lowered her head. Her wings sagged, and she turned to come back

to my side.

Tybold took a step forward and chuffed.

Sorae stilled. She swung her gaze back and found Tybold, head low, snout reaching for hers.

The tension between them snapped. Sorae leapt forward, knocking him to his back and caressing her snout against his neck. His low, scratchy purr was as loud as an earthquake as his black-feathered wing stretched out to tuck her into his side.

“Blessed Kindred,” Nidara gasped. “Are they . . . ?”

“In love,” I answered, grinning.

I watched their tails entwine and their foreheads meet, unable to escape thoughts of my mate. What if I died without closing the bond, and Luther’s devotion to me never wavered? Sorae and Tybold’s love had outlasted a thousand Descended lives. Was I a fool to believe Luther’s could fade over one?

I let go of Nidara and walked toward the nuzzling gryverns. They were so engrossed in each other’s presence, neither one noticed my approach. I reached out to stroke Sorae’s back. “I’m so happy for y—”

Something heavy slammed against my chest, knocking me to my back and pinning me to the sand. I caught a flash of jagged teeth before orange flames consumed me.

Then—a roar, a yelp, and the sound of two bodies colliding. The weight on my chest abruptly vanished, and the fire gave way to a large grey wing that blotted out the sun.

Sorae was standing over me, blood on her talon, her lips curled back in a snarl. On her other side, Tybold wrestled to his feet from where he’d been knocked into a nearby wall. He shook his head, sending crimson droplets flying from a fresh gash across his cheek.

“Are you alright?” Nidara asked, helping me to my feet.

I looked down at my body—my clothes had been badly burned, dragonfyre still glowing from their scorched-black edges, but my body was unhurt. I snuffed out the lingering flames with my shadows. “What just happened?”

“Tybold attacked you, and Sorae intervened to stop him.” She frowned.

“I thought gryverns couldn’t hurt their Crowns.”

Tybold’s posture shifted. He leaned back on his legs, wings pulling high and tight. Fur stood on end along his spine as his throat quivered with a growl. His eyes sharpened on Sorae, a predator ready to strike.

She met every move with a matching threat. She shifted to block me from his reach, then flared her wings and hissed.

“I’ll fetch a whip from the stables,” Nidara said. “It’s the only thing that

keeps him in line when he’s like this.”

“Wait,” I said.

On the surface, the gryverns looked one twitch away from a throat- ripping brawl, but what I felt through our bonds told a different story.

Tybold wasn’t mad . . . he was jealous.

For reasons I couldn’t fathom, he’d believed me a threat to Sorae, so he’d stepped in to shield her from me—and she’d stepped in to shield me from him.

Not because the bond required it. Sorae knew the spell that bound him wouldn’t allow him to do me any real harm. She’d done it because she cared. Because I had become more to her than just a Crown, and she wouldn’t let anyone threaten me, not even her mate.

She’d chosen me over him.

At least that’s how Tybold saw it. And for his bitter, resentful heart, watching her turn on him for a human—worse, a Crown—was the deepest possible betrayal.

His wings unfurled, and with a single angry thrust, he took to the sky and left us both in a cloud of sand.

Sorae lowered her snout to me, sniffing rapidly for any sign of a wound.

“I’m fine,” I assured her. “He didn’t want to hurt me.”

I wasn’t sure I believed that, and neither was Sorae.

“Let’s get you to the palace,” Nidara suggested. “I’ll find you a change of clothes.”

With one last frown up at Tybold’s silhouette and a sympathetic caress of Sorae’s muzzle, I nodded and followed Nidara across town to the

towering palace.

“I thought you said Ophiucae came without soldiers?” I asked as we

walked through its winding halls.

She gave me a strange look. “He did.”

“So he did all this damage himself?”

Though I could tell this had once been an extravagant place, little of its splendor remained intact. Frames that had once held sprawling artwork lay empty alongside piles of broken stone where golden tiles had been chiseled from the floor. Pedestals were missing their statues, tables were missing their chairs.

The place looked less ruined than robbed.

Nidara’s sinking exhale hinted at annoyance. “This, we did ourselves.

Once our reserves ran low, our only option was to send caravans to Umbros to trade for food and water.”

“I’m surprised the King allowed that, considering how deeply he hated Umbros.”

“His Majesty never knew. After the last meeting on Coeurîle, he never came home. He went to Sophos, looking for a godstone cure. His brother, the Regent, went with him. They were the only ones whose blood could open the locks on the royal coffers, so I made the decision to sell what we could from the palace. If you wish to punish someone for that choice, I beg you, take it out on me alone. The people here were only following my command.”

“Nidara, you saved your people. The man who let his realm starve is the one who deserves to be punished.”

She stopped short of agreeing, but the judgment on her face spoke volumes. “That decision is with the Blessed Mother now.”

She led me to her chambers and offered up her wardrobe to replace my ruined clothes. I was secretly a little grateful to Tybold for forcing me out of the thick, sweat-inducing leathers I’d brought from Lumnos. I reached for a cropped linen top and flowy pants that I’d seen on so many of the Ignios women, then hesitated at the awareness of how much of me it would leave bare. My body was still thin from my time on the island—would the people here see it and think me too fragile to lead?

Then again, the people here had been starving, too. They’d spent these same weeks scrounging for every meager scrap, just as I had on Coeurîle.

Did I think them weak?

I slipped into the clothes, then took a headscarf from her collection and fumbled with my hair in an effort to mimic her style.

She fought a smile at my clumsy attempt. “Let me,” she offered, taking it from my hands. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer some nicer robes before you meet the others?”

“You think this outfit will offend them?”

“I think it will confuse them. You look like a fighter, not a noble.”

I snorted. “Good. Let them see me for what I truly am.”

Her smile grew. As she deftly wrapped the scarf, my eyes dropped to the harness of interweaving leather cords that clung tight to her ribs. Each strap was fitted with an arsenal of sharp, oddly shaped pieces of Fortosian steel.

Nidara noted the shift in my gaze. “We call it our ‘fist.’ It’s meant to represent the hand of Blessed Mother Ignios holding us in battle and lending us her strength. Every person receives one when they join the Royal Guard. The blades are earned over time through skill and bravery.” She finished my hair and stepped away, grabbing a matching harness from the armoire. “You can have this one, if you’d like. I’ll get you some blades from the armory to fill it.”

“Yes to the fist,” I said, taking it from her hands, “no to the blades. If women here have to earn theirs, so will I.”

She helped me slip on the harness and tighten its many buckles until it formed a snug cage around my torso. The name was fitting—I did feel as if I was being gripped within a powerful hand. It left me feeling stronger, bolder, and strangely, a little less alone.

Nidara walked to a drawer and pulled out a thin, triangular slice of Fortosian steel, perfect for throwing. She returned to my side and clasped it to a strap on my ribs. “You forced Ophiucae to retreat and saved your realm. If that doesn’t earn you a blade, nothing will.”

We embarked on a tour of the palace to check the state of the kitchen’s stocks—empty—and the palace water supply—even emptier. The situation turned from bleak to disastrous when we stopped at the vaults that housed the royal gold. The Crown’s transfer to me allowed me to finally open the bloodlocks, but what we found on the other side was not the overflowing trove the late King had boasted of having. His embargo on trading with outsiders had stopped wealth from coming in, while his hypocritical indulgence in luxuries from abroad sent a flood of it out. There were riches, but not nearly enough to sustain an entire city for years, or even months.

Nidara looked ashen as we walked away, the ominous reality weighing on us both. I’d come to Ignios expecting to appoint local leaders to handle affairs and then return home as fast as Sorae could fly, but without my help, this city wouldn’t survive much longer. Ophiucae hadn’t killed them, but the desert would.

We followed the sound of shouting to a long, narrow room. A strip of plush ginger carpet ran down its center to a platform topped with an oversized chair of copper and brass that resembled a rising flame. On either side of the aisle, men in colorful robes exchanged heated debate.

“The throne room,” Nidara explained. “And the men—”

“Let me guess,” I cut in. “The ‘good men who stayed silent’?”

My palm rose, and my godhood purred with malicious joy as I let my magic flow in a stream of red-hot, flickering flame. At first, its slow crawl through the room went unnoticed as it slithered around columns and wove between legs. The longer it stretched, the hotter it grew, and the heat in the room rose with it. Men began plucking at their collars and fanning their necks, pearls of sweat glistening on their brows.

It wasn’t until the throne took on a bright crimson glow that their arguing quieted to baffled silence.

I snapped my fingers, and a ball of fire exploded at the head of the room, swallowing up the chair. It softened and sagged, pitching to one side, then melted under the blistering heat.

Panicked nobles jostled for the exits. A gust of Meros wind slammed the doors closed and sent the inferno roaring higher.

“What’s the matter?” I said loudly. “I thought you all liked a little fire.”

Their gazes turned to me—a horizon of sunset eyes, not one of them friendly. Another curl of my finger, and the fire died as quickly as it came, leaving the chair a heap of shapeless metal.

I flashed a scathing smile. “I’m not a fan of thrones.”

A man stepped forward. “Where is our King?”

“Dead,” I answered.

“Did you kill him?”

My answer stalled. Had I?

“The King died from his godstone wounds,” Nidara responded for me.

“This is our new Queen.”

The man squinted. “Her eyes aren’t orange.”

“And that’s not the Ignios Crown,” another called out.

“It is,” I said. “And the Lumnos Crown. And Montios, and Fortos, and Umbros, and all the others.”

My claim was met with incredulity and sneering doubt, and an idea struck. I reached my mind beyond the bounds of my body and felt for the nine sparks of power that made up my Crown. I carefully plucked free the one that burned the hottest and tucked the others away.

With Umbros magic, I slipped into their minds to catch a glimpse through their eyes—the Crown of Ignios, with its single peak, sat atop my head. With a bit more effort, the flames and sand swirled into the black mist of the Umbros Crown, then the waves of the Crown of Meros, then the sparks of Sophos, continuing all the way around the continent until each

Crown had had its moment.

“Now do you believe me?” I asked.

An elderly man lurched forward, hand wobbling on his blackwood cane.

“How is this possible?”

“It’s quite the story. But if you want to hear it, you’re going to have to follow me.”

AS I MADE my way across the city, I called on my Meros magic and crafted two massive cobras of crystal-clear water to coil around me in a tall, elaborate display. I became a walking fountain, glassy orbs swirling in the air while glittering arches splashed against nearby walls. People rushed forward with buckets and cupped hands to catch whatever precious drop they could steal.

Perhaps it was cruel to lure them with the thing they needed most, but with this many lives at stake, there were few lines I wouldn’t cross.

My plan worked, and by the time I arrived at the city’s center, a hefty crowd had followed, along with the men from the palace. I’d sent Nidara to fetch Alixe and the women of the Royal Guard. I’d even called in Tybold and Sorae. The gryverns marched at my sides like two mighty sentinels, eyeing each other with indignant glares.

I climbed onto the low stone wall around the oasis. The toxic, blackened water froze beneath my feet as I strode to its center. I turned to the crowd,

and when the final Ignosian arrived, I began to speak.

First, I told them who I was. How I’d been raised and where I came from, the healer’s trade that shaped my soul. I told them how I’d come to be Queen, and my rocky past with Guardians and Crowns alike. I showed them my magic, dispelling their doubts by filling empty barrels with water and urging a handful of potted plants brought in from Arboros to flourish and grow.

Then, I told them what I was. Though I kept Ophiucae’s Kindred status to myself, I acknowledged him as my sire. I explained the bloody goal he sought, and I gave them my word that I would never let him win.

And I told them about the mortals—that I was fighting for them, too. I warned them the days of persecution were over, and I laid out the same ultimatum I’d given to everyone else: accept the mortals as equals or leave Emarion for good.

“I have come to set up a council to govern this realm’s affairs,” I announced when I’d finished. “I want it to represent the people of Ignios.

Rich and poor. Descended, mortals, half-mortals. The soldiers”—I paused, gesturing to the women gathered behind Alixe, then cut my stare to the robe-clad men—“and whatever you all are.”

“We don’t have mortals,” someone called out.

“Or half-mortals,” another added.

“In time, you will,” I said. “I put an end to the wards that kept the mortals out. When they return, you will welcome them. Your hospitality was once this realm’s greatest pride. It can become so again.”

One of the men scoffed loudly, this one wearing casual clothes that hinted at a lowborn status. “We can’t feed the people we have. I had to choose between slaughtering my family’s goats so we don’t die of hunger and keeping them for the milk so we don’t die of thirst.”

“Once I’m back in Lumnos tomorrow, I’ll send money for—”

“You can’t leave. If you don’t use your magic to keep making us fresh water and food, we’re not going to survive.”

I frowned. “I can stay a few days more to help you all find a new oasis.”

Nidara shook her head. “There isn’t another oasis, Your Majesty.

Ophiucae destroyed them all.”

“There must be one he missed.”

“I assure you, we checked. Perhaps, in time, new ones will form, or the sand will filter the water to make it drinkable again, but for now . . .”

For now, I thought, this desert is a cemetery. These people are standing in a sandy grave, waiting to be buried.

I took a deep breath. “Then you all will have to leave.”

I braced myself for screaming backlash but was met with silence instead. The crowd stared at me as if I’d started speaking in tongues.

“We have plenty of open land in Lumnos,” I said. “You can stay in your own community, away from outsiders, if you wish. There’s plenty of food and water. Land for farming, schools for your children. I’ll release you from the Forging spell, so you won’t even lose your magic. I’ll make sure you’re all taken care of, I swear it.”

In the long quiet that followed, distant water burbled in the palace’s poisoned waterfall, an insidious reminder of the damage Ophiucae had

wrought.

“But this is our home,” someone said.

All around them, faces were heartbroken and defeated. Knowing I was right made their pain no less real.

“I lost my home, too, not that long ago,” I said. “I wish I could tell you the pain goes away. It hasn’t—not for me. I don’t know if it ever will. But I think, if we keep close to the people we love, the part of it that matters stays with us, no matter where we go.”

My mating mark warmed, reminding me of Luther’s words to me in Montios: Diem . . . you’re my home.

My heart reeled. “I’ll do everything I can to help you, but I cannot stay here. This war threatens the entire continent. I’m trying to save a world, not just one realm.”

“She needs our help to stop him, and we need hers to survive,” Nidara said loudly, her fierce gaze sweeping over the throng. “We have closed ourselves off for so long. Perhaps it’s time for the rest of Emarion to meet the people of Ignios.” She raised her hand high into a fist and turned to me.

“I will fight, Your Majesty. For my home . . . wherever it may be.”

Her Vice General raised her fist, then another woman, then another, fists rippling over the sea of heads as more of the guards joined in, along with a handful of poorer residents. The pompous, wealthy men who had dominated the realm, however, hesitated to join them.

The crowd parted as an elderly man—the same one who had challenged me in the palace—came shuffling forward, hands on his cane. He stared out

at the blackened oasis, sorrow stark on his weathered face. With a heavy

sigh, he bowed his head and nodded.

“For our home.”

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