Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 36

36

DIEM

think we died.”“I “What?”

“I think we died on the flight over. We’re in the afterlife, and the Old Gods allowed me to spend the rest of my days in the greatest place I could ever dream of.”

“Teller, when you enter the Undying Fire, I hope the Old Gods send you somewhere a lot better than Umbros.”

Teller elbowed me out of his way and rushed into the library of the Umbros royal palace. At the sight of joy on my brother’s face, my own smile couldn’t stay away.

“The library of Sophos was larger,” I said. “Surely that was more exciting than this.”

“I wasn’t in Sophos very long,” he reminded me. “And all the studying there is logged. You have to tell them what you’re reading and why. They said I could study whatever I pleased, but . . .” He shrugged. “They said that at the Descended school in Lumnos, too. Then I started reading books about mortals, and they started asking questions.” He strolled down one of the rows of bookshelves, letting his fingers trace the spines. “Here, there’s no one to watch over my shoulder.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that was the one thing giving me pause. We’d arrived in Umbros this afternoon along with Taran and Zalaric, and we’d headed straight for Zalaric’s inn—what remained of it. Ophiucae and his army had left Umbros City in ruins. The black rock canyon had partially caved in, bathing the city of perpetual night in sunlight for the first

time. Between that and the bloodlust of his men, the casualties in the realm had been enormous.

Thankfully, more of the half-mortals had survived than Yrselle had led us to believe. After some coaxing, I was able to convince many of them to return with us to Lumnos. While Zalaric and Taran secured a ship to sail them home, I climbed the long stairs to the palace to speak with the Centenaries. According to the half-mortals, they’d become reclusive since the attack. An hour of searching hadn’t turned up a single one.

Teller slid a book from its shelf and began flipping through it. “This place is even better stocked than Sophos when it comes to Emarion history.

Doriel said there were books on the Kindred here that Yrselle refused to give up.”

“And I know exactly where they are.” I reached into the scandalously low-cut gown Eleanor had convinced me to wear instead of my battle leathers—speak to the Centenaries in a language they know, she’d said— and pulled a key from the filmy layers of wine-red chiffon, then crossed to a small nook in the back enclosed by an iron gate.

Use my key.

Yrselle’s words hung over me as I unlocked the gate and pulled it open.

The entire ride to Umbros, I’d feared this place would be destroyed. It housed some of the rarest artifacts in Emarion, including many that once belonged to the Kindred themselves. If Vance wanted to wipe all record of the Descended from the continent, this would be a good place to start.

There’d once been a time when I might have welcomed that, but I found myself sighing with relief to see the room untouched.

I picked up a leatherbound journal on a lilac cushion and handed it to Teller, watching his eyes grow large enough to burst out of his head.

“Is that . . . ?” He snatched it out of my hands. “Is this . . . ?” He thumbed through a few pages, jaw hanging ajar. “It is.”

“The personal diary of Montios herself,” I said dryly.

His eyes darted back up at my tone. “Did you meet her on the island?”

“I met all of them.”

“What were they like?”

I thought for a moment. Though they’d had the presence of gods, with their shimmering skin and their doomsday warnings, they’d also been oddly normal. They had losses to grieve and decisions to regret. They argued like the siblings they were, but they came together when it mattered, just like

Teller and me. They were neither all-knowing nor all-powerful. In the end,

they were simply . . .

“People,” I said with a shrug.

Teller rolled his eyes at my lackluster description and perused the other shelves. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Two things. First, how to make raw godstone. The Kindred said the original batch was made when they cut down the Everflame. I’ve made it a couple of times, but I’m not sure how, and I haven’t been able to do it again.”

“When you made it . . . do those situations have anything in common?”

“They were all times when I was experiencing a lot of emotion. Alixe thinks that might be the key.”

“If being emotional was all it took, you’d be making godstone every day.”

I shot him an annoyed older sister glare, which he returned with a smug little brother grin. “You’re lucky these books are too valuable for me to throw them at you.”

“As if that would stop you,” he teased. “What’s the second thing I’m

looking for?”

“How to kill a Kindred.”

On the flight over, I’d told Teller what the Kindred had said about their magic, their mother, and Sorrow’s Edge. It felt good to share that secret.

Knowing there was one more person trying to solve this mystery lightened my burden immensely. I was finally beginning to feel a little less alone.

It felt good to tell Henri, too. When I revealed my suspicion that I would have to die to kill Ophiucae, he didn’t argue that I had to be wrong or make false promises that everything would work out, he simply listened. He held my hand as I raged against the unfairness of it all and grieved the future I’d hoped for. He showed no sign of judgment when I admitted my tumultuous feelings on Ophiucae—my confession that I didn’t want him to die, and the shame that caused me, knowing all the evil he had done.

Henri assured me that didn’t make me a horrible person. Though I wasn’t sure I believed him, it was a relief to hear it from someone who knew me so well. He reminded me that love didn’t always make sense, and it didn’t always go away, even when we knew it should. In that moment, I knew we were talking about more than my sire.

Though we stayed in his tent alone for hours, it went no further than talking. My heart belonged to Luther, and Henri was committed to Lana and their unborn child. There would always be a connection between us, but it would never again be more than friends.

I pulled a few books on Kindred lore, as did Teller, and we sat at a small table in the alcove. Teller strategically searched each index while I used Sophos magic to quickly record them all to memory.

He scowled. “Do you know what I would give to be able to do that?”

I flashed him a mocking smile. “Having a murderous, all-powerful sociopath for a father has its perks.”

“He’s not your father,” he said, his tone accusatory and a little bit hurt.

“Andrei is.”

“I know. I didn’t mean . . .” My eyes dropped, and so did my voice. “I know.”

The energy between us turned awkward, so I decided to make it worse.

“You and Lily back together yet?”

“Are you and Luther?”

My grip tightened on my book. “I asked first.”

“She says she’s forgiven me.”

“That’s good,” I said brightly, but my enthusiasm was met with a frown.

“It’s not the same as before. I can tell she’s holding back. She still doesn’t trust me.”

“She needs to see that you’ll do anything for her. Eventually, you’ll get a chance to prove that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Maybe you can push someone so far, there’s no getting them back.”

The thought twisted a knife in my chest.

“I’ve been wanting to thank you,” I hurried on before he could return to his question. “I’ve seen you spending time with Taran. I know Mother didn’t ask you if you wanted him as a brother. It means a lot to me that you’ve embraced it.”

“Mother doesn’t ask me before doing anything,” he muttered. “I don’t mind this, though. I like Taran. He’s funny, and he’s honest. He hates lying as much as I do. And he knows what it’s like to have family he can’t trust.”

I flinched.

“I didn’t mean you, D,” he said, and we shared a heavy look.

“I’m struggling with Mother, too,” I admitted. “I can tell she’s sorry she hurt us, but that’s not the same as being sorry she did it. She’s convinced it was all to protect us.”

“She’s always been stubborn about keeping us safe. Even when it made us angry, she never gave in.” He mulled it over a little more, brows knitting in thought. “I don’t like what she did, but I guess I understand why she thought she had to.” His nose wrinkled. “It’s the same thing I did to Lily.”

And the same thing I’m doing to Luther, I thought glumly.

“Maybe that’s what you do for people you love,” I said. “Do whatever it takes to keep them safe, and pray they forgive you for it later.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he said again. “Maybe being loved is more important than being safe.”

I really, really did not like the way my conscience prodded me at his words. I grabbed another book and set it in front of him, gesturing for him to keep reading.

He crossed his legs and pulled the book into his lap. “Taran thinks we all need to visit Father’s grave to say goodbye and talk things out. He thinks we can’t move on until we tell each other all our secrets.”

I bristled. That was the last thing I wanted to do. “Do you have any secrets?”

“Just one.” I looked up in surprise, but he cracked open his book, skimming it as he talked. “While you were on the island, I did some experiments with flameroot. I made a balm to put on weapons. It suppresses a Descended’s magic if it gets in their blood. Lily tested it on herself—the effect doesn’t last long, but it works.”

I jolted upright. “Teller, that’s incredible!”

“Mother wanted the recipe for the Guardians, and I refused. I told her I only trusted you to have it. I meant to tell you before . . .” His eyes drifted guiltily from his book. “I just wasn’t sure how I felt about something I created being used to hurt people. Even for a good cause.”

I understood too well. As valuable as I knew more godstone would be in the war, the thought of people dying from the poison I’d watched Luther endure made me sick to my stomach. But was arming my soldiers with Guardian bombs or Fortosian steel swords any better?

“Do you think it’s possible to keep our morals in a war?” I asked him.

“If we’re willing to pick up a weapon and kill someone, does it matter how and why we do it, or are we all murderers just the same?”

“I think it matters. That’s why there are so many mortals choosing to fight for you instead of Ophiucae.”

I kicked him under the table until he glared up at me, then flashed him a smile. “Thanks, Tel. And about the flameroot—let’s keep it to ourselves. We won’t use it unless we have to.”

His shoulders relaxed, finally freed from their burden. “Have you told

Mother what happened on the island?”

My smile vanished. “No.”

“Have you told Luther?”

I looked away. “No.”

“Don’t you trust him?”

“I do.”

“Diem, did Luther do something? Do I need to pretend to be the older sibling and go beat him up to . . . I don’t know, defend my sister’s honor, I guess?”

My lips twitched. “Luther would never hurt me. My honor is safe.”

He whooshed out a breath. “Thank the gods. He’d crush me like a beetle.” His relief shifted to confusion. “Then what’s going on? Why are you two spending so much time apart?”

I slammed my book closed and grabbed another. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m in the middle of a war. I don’t have time for a messy love life.”

“What’s messy about it? You love him, he loves you.” He cocked his head. “Is this like when I went to Sophos because I thought Lily was better

off without me?”

Yes.

“No,” I said.

He held up his book. “Does what we’re looking for have anything to do

with it?”

Yes.

“No.”

“Honestly, D, you’re the worst liar in Emarion.”

I threw my book on the table and stood. “I’m gonna go search the palace.”

He shook his head. “Sure, D. Run away, like always.”

“I’m not running,” I said hotly. “For once in my life, I’m facing reality.

I’m doing the hard thing I don’t want to do, no matter what it costs me.”

“Is this because of what you have to do with Ophiucae? You’re worried you’re going to end up dead, so you’re trying to keep Luther from getting

too close?”

Yes.

“No!” I yelled, my shout echoing off the stone walls.

“I knew I got the brains in the family, but I didn’t realize that left you with nothing up there but rocks.” He lowered his chin in a disappointed stare. “You have an entire army in Lumnos. You’ve got Descended, half- mortals, Guardians, the royal family, soldiers from Ignios and Fortos, everyone in Mortal City. Do you understand how many people have put their faith in you?”

My jaws ground together at the reminder of the thousands of lives sitting on my shoulders. “Yes Teller, I’m very fucking aware.”

“So how many more is it going to take before you have some faith in yourself?”

I COULDN’T RISK LEAVING Teller alone in a palace that might be teeming with hidden Centenaries, but I also couldn’t take one second more of the brutal mirror he was shining into my face, so I set off to wander the vacant hallways. Though the library was undamaged, other parts of the palace had not been so lucky. Ophiucae had used Montios magic to bring down the carved stone ceilings, reducing many hallways to rubble. The airy throne room where Yrselle and I had our first proper introduction was now open to the sky, her jade throne cracked in pieces on the ground.

As I clambered over the debris, my mind drifted to my conversation with Henri the night before. Is there a way to end this that doesn’t involve you dying? he’d asked.

Only if I can convince Ophiucae to leave the people of this world alone, I’d said.

But he’s immortal, and you’re not. What if he changes his mind after you’re gone?

That had been a nagging thought in my mind, too. Even if I got the long, happy life I dreamed of, could I leave Ophiucae behind when I died,

knowing what he might do if his heart turned back to stone?

Can another Descended cast the spell? Henri had asked. If we get your sword back, can they sacrifice their life instead?

I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t thought to ask the Kindred, and now the bridge to them was cut.

There are a lot of people loyal to you, he’d pushed. One of them would do it, if you asked.

I’d known Henri long enough to spot the plan forming in his head— who he might ask to give their life for mine. Perhaps the same person who had arranged for us to speak.

No, I’d lied. Only I can do it. He hadn’t looked convinced, so I’d added, I won’t send anyone to fight a battle I’m not willing to fight myself.

I know. That’s why I’m here. To fight with you, too.

Promise me you won’t tell anyone, Henri.

I will—as long as you promise me you’ll do everything you can to avoid

dying.

I will.

That was a promise I desperately wanted to keep.

I paused at a mile-long hall containing what looked like thousands of framed portraits along the walls. Each one had a golden plaque below with a name, a date, and an inscription: “May Blessed Umbros receive them.”

Though there were several older and a handful newer, most of the dates were the same—shortly after the end of the Blood War.

“The Hall of Remembrance,” I murmured. Yrselle had mentioned it once. These were the Umbros Descended who died when she culled her people down to the one hundred most powerful. Most had volunteered, believing their sacrifice necessary to safeguard the future of their kind.

I paused to straighten a crooked frame, then pulled a fallen one from a pile of stones and remounted it on the wall. I felt an odd kind of kinship with these strangers I’d never known. I wondered if they’d add my portrait here when I was gone.

“Thinking of redecorating?” a smooth voice cut through the silence.

I whirled around, eyes darting over the rubble. “Who’s there?”

“It’s a bit of a fixer-upper now, but it was stunning in its day,” the voice rang out again.

I pushed out my aura until it brushed against another. I recognized its shifty, secretive energy immediately.

“Symond.” I finally spotted him lounging on a divan in a nearby alcove.

“I’m glad to see you’re alive.”

He raised a bottle. Many more were scattered around him, mostly empty. “That makes one of us.”

“I thought the palace might be empty. I haven’t seen anyone else.”

“There’s not many of us left.” He took a long swig. “Turns out when there’s only a hundred of you, your numbers dwindle fast.”

“Where are the others?”

“Around.” He wiggled his bottle, it contents sloshing loudly. “Fancy a drink?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before rolling off his chair, nearly toppling over as he wobbled to his feet. He stumbled in a zigzag line to a blackwood cabinet impaled with jagged shards of crystal, then began to rummage in a low drawer.

“Aha!” he called out. He held up two metal goblets with a lopsided smirk. “I’ll even share a pour of the good stuff.” He pulled a flask from his pocket and turned his back to fill the goblets. “I’ve been saving this for Yrselle, but I’m starting to suspect she might not be coming back.”

It had been months since the ritual that trapped me on the island. Had the Crowns not sent a message to Umbros to tell them Yrselle was dead?

Of course they didn’t, I realized. Announcing her death would mean admitting they knew who murdered her. Much easier to feign ignorance and let everyone assume she’d been killed on her way home. Then blame would conveniently end up on the Guardians—or the traitor Queen that the Crowns claimed had joined them.

“I’m very sorry about what happened here,” I said. “I saw the damage in

the city. I hope—”

“Do you think she knew?”

I blinked. “What?”

He lumbered toward me, the goblets’ contents splashing over the sides.

“I couldn’t understand why Yrselle was so determined to keep you here.

She was furious that you left.” He came to a stop in front of me. “Do you think she knew Ophiucae was coming?”

I considered it. Yrselle was known for the control she kept over her city.

It was hard to imagine she would let it be destroyed without warning her Centenaries to prepare. But she was also the most unpredictable woman I’d ever met. She thrived on chaos and delighted in knowing what others didn’t.

“She knew something bad was going to happen in Emarion,” I said.

“Perhaps she didn’t know it would happen so close to home.”

He offered one of the goblets to me, but when I reached for it, he

abruptly jerked it back. “Is she dead?”

I held his bleary gaze and nodded.

“And our gryvern?”

I winced, then nodded again.

“Did you kill them?”

That was a harder answer to give.

“They died trying to protect me.”

His eyes wandered to the empty space above my head. Though I’d kept my Crown hidden since our arrival, I let the dark wisps of the Umbros crown appear long enough for recognition to light up on Symond’s face.

“Well then.” He held the goblet out again. “Welcome home, Your Majesty.”

I wasn’t much in the mood for drinking, but it seemed rude to decline a man who’d just survived a slaughter. I took a small sip and nearly spit it right out. Whatever he’d poured tasted like it was strong enough to strip my insides clean.

Symond chuckled. “It’s been a long time since we had a Queen who couldn’t handle a glass of wild cherry liqueur.”

I forced down another sip with only a tiny grimace, then flashed him a defiant smile.

His eyes raked over me, though it lacked his usual provocative heat.

“Did she tell you that you were her heir?”

“No. I thought it would be you.”

He swirled his glass, staring pensively at the liquid inside. “Maybe

someday.”

My eyes narrowed at the subtle threat.

“I heard you made Ophiucae retreat in Sophos.” He clinked his goblet against mine. “Cheers to your victory.” He lifted the rim to his lips, pausing with an expectant look until I downed another gulp. He abruptly turned and sauntered down the hall. “I heard you made him retreat in Lumnos, too.

And again in Fortos. I even heard he abandoned an attack in Meros, because you were already waiting for him there.”

“He did? Wait—how do you know that?”

“Yrselle is dead,” he called out over his shoulder, “but her spies are not.”

“You have spies in Ophiucae’s army?” I started toward him. “Does that mean you know where they are now?”

Two gryvern cries echoed down the hall. I stopped and looked up at the slice of sky visible through the caved-in roof. Sorae and Tybold circled overhead, though I couldn’t sense alarm or distress. I wasn’t thrilled to have left Lumnos without a gryvern to protect it, but I’d made a promise to Sorae, and the last time we made a trip across the sea with several people on her back, we barely made it home.

When I looked back at Symond, he was all the way down the hall and turning a corner. I threw my goblet down, its scarlet contents looking a little too much like spilled blood, and set off jogging in his direction. I caught up to him just as he pressed a hidden panel that opened to a dimly lit staircase.

“If you know where they are, you have to tell me,” I pleaded.

“Why?” He began to descend. “Seems like you keep letting them go.”

I couldn’t really deny it. Letting Vance and his men retreat had left many, including me, wondering at my plans. I told them we weren’t yet ready to face the full brunt of Ophiucae’s wrath. I’d claimed we needed

more soldiers, more godstone.

What I really wanted was more time.

“They have something I need,” I insisted, jogging down the steps behind him.

He let out a harsh laugh. “Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of something you need.”

I gritted my teeth. “Symond, please, tell me where they are.”

“You’ve got the Crown. That makes you the most powerful. Force me to tell you, if you want it so badly.”

“I don’t want to do that. I’m not like Yrselle. I don’t force everyone to my will just to prove I can.”

He stilled. “Careful. It was not just her Crown that won Yrselle our loyalty.”

“I’m sorry,” I said gently. “I didn’t mean to insult her. I only meant—”

He set off again, drowning me out with heavy stomps on the stairs. He reached a door at the bottom and pulled a ribbon from his pocket containing several keys. He began to rifle through them.

“Not a fan of bloodlocks?” I asked.

“Yrselle forbid them. A person can’t be compelled to give blood for a bloodlock. It must be given willingly. A key, on the other hand . . .” He held one up, eyes glinting. “A key can be taken from anyone.”

Suddenly, I deeply regretted leaving Teller alone.

Symond unlocked the door and pulled it open to reveal an abyss of pitch black. He gestured for me to go ahead, and when I hesitated, he simply shrugged and strolled through. “Shut it behind me,” he called out as he disappeared into the shadows. “Your Majesty.”

I swallowed a retort at his mocking tone and followed behind him, tugging on the heavy door. As it swung toward me, I noticed its dark surface almost seemed to be . . . glittering.

“Godstone,” I breathed as it snapped shut, leaving me in total darkness.

“Symond? Where are we?”

“If you want answers, you’ll have to take them,” his voice crooned.

I stuck my hands out and blindly shuffled forward. “Can’t you just tell me? I’d rather work with you than against you.”

“That’s your way. This is our way.”

“Symond, don’t be—”

I fell silent at the sound of rustling behind me.

Then to my right.

Then again to my left.

My pulse quickened. “Symond?”

No answer came.

Light, I ordered my godhood.

No answer came there, either.

When I reached inside for my magic, I found only hollow space. My mind flashed back to the red liquid in the goblet, and only then did I notice the strange, citrus-and-smoke aftertaste Symond’s drink had left on my

tongue.

Flameroot.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

I edged back toward the door, and two strong hands gripped me hard by the shoulders.

Going somewhere? Symond crooned inside my head.

Across the room, a match struck, and a wooden torch ignited. As its glow cast out the darkness, I realized it wasn’t Symond holding me in place.

He was facing me with ten Centenaries at his back and a handful more at

mine.

Every one of them held a blade.

And they were all pointed at me.

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