Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 45

45

DIEM

ell me your name.”“T

Empty eyes stared back, unblinking.

“Who sent you?”

I already knew the answer. That wasn’t the point.

“Who have you come to kill?”

His head turned toward the tent’s opening, and he strained at the ropes holding him to the chair.

My jaw felt near to cracking with how tightly it was clenched. “Will you at least have something to eat?” I held a piece of bread to his mouth.

“Take a bite. You can’t kill them if you’re passed out from hunger.”

Stuart was unpersuaded.

I put two fingers in my mouth and blew a shrill note, hoping to trigger some willingness to accept a new command. I’d seen it in their heads on the battlefield, the way Vance’s whistle was like placing a quill to paper to write his will into their minds.

Unfortunately, Stuart’s pages were blank. I couldn’t find a single memory or thought, only an irresistible compulsion to kill my army—but not me.

Vance had tried to make them do it. Had it failed to work because they were Sophosian, and I wore the Sophos Crown? My Crown had never stopped the Descended of Lumnos from trying to take my life. Nor the people of Faunos. Nor Fortos. Nor Umbros.

The command to spare me must have come from a higher authority than Vance. Perhaps the Kindred had intervened on my behalf, or maybe the Old Gods.

Or perhaps the man who had taken their minds in the first place.

I whistled again, then held the bread against Stuart’s lips. “Eat,” I commanded.

He didn’t eat. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Luther ducked his head into the tent. “Any progress?”

I flashed him a hard stare in answer. I threw down the bread and pushed past Luther into the evening air. The camp was unusually quiet. After returning home from Mort-Feu, there’d been no music or drinking. Even the campfires had been kept low, barely emitting a crackle.

These days, we’d all lost our taste for fire.

“There might be someone who knows how to help him,” Luther said.

“Send a note to Doriel and ask—”

He stopped as the realization hit us both. Though the former Sophos monarch had many flaws, they were passionate about protecting their people. When Ophiucae went back to Sophos, Doriel would have been on the front lines. And as the strongest Sophos Descended, Vance would have wanted their formidable magic for his army.

If Doriel wasn’t at the battle today, I could only imagine one reason why. Despite our unfriendly past, my heart stung.

More blood on my hands, more corpses at my feet.

Luther followed silently as I walked to the makeshift infirmary that had been set up for the injured. Thankfully, Alixe had the foresight to bring in Descended healers from Fortos days ago, though many of the mortals had refused the help of their magic.

Including, to my frustration, my brother, who had taken a dagger to the shoulder in the attack.

“Will you stop being so stubborn and let them heal you?” I said crossly as I stopped beside him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, staring at the sky. “They said the blade missed everything important.”

“There’s still a risk. The wound could get infected.” I reached for his

shirt. “Just let me —”

He smacked my hand away. “I’m fine.”

I perched on the foot of his cot, lowering my voice. “Is this because you don’t want to fight in the Royal Guard anymore? I can speak to Alixe—”

“I do want to fight,” he rushed out. “And I don’t want you interfering.

You promised you wouldn’t give me any special treatment in the Guard.”

“I lied.”

Teller glared.

I sighed. “If you won’t let them heal you, will you let me do it instead?”

“You’re out of magic.”

“I can absorb some from Luther.”

“Why haven’t you done that already?”

I bristled at his pointed stare. Little brothers could be obnoxiously perceptive when you least wanted them to be.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I snapped. “Why do you insist on suffering when someone’s trying to help you?”

Teller snorted. “The same reason you do.”

He and Luther exchanged a knowing look. I was one second away from grabbing both their hands and forcing Teller’s choice when Lily’s shouts turned all our heads.

“Teller!” She ran toward us, her eyes round and rimmed with silver.

“They told me you were hurt.”

He quickly sat upright. “Lily—hi.” He did a terrible job of hiding his wince. “It’s not that bad. A little scratch, that’s all.”

“Let me see,” she insisted, sliding onto the cot at his side. She reached for his wound, then paused. “May I touch you?”

His cheeks flushed pink as he gave a short nod.

Lily gingerly pushed the hem of his tunic up past his torso and peeled back the gauze to inspect his wound. My eyes caught my brother’s and narrowed with an unspoken message: You’ll let her look, but not me?

His nostrils flared in response: Go away.

Lily gasped. “Teller, this is a serious wound.”

I crossed my arms. “Lily, since my brother refuses to obey his Queen’s orders, maybe you can convince him to let one of the Fortos Descended heal him.”

She nibbled her lip for a moment, glancing between us. “Oh . . . um . . . well, Your Majesty, it’s just that . . . Maura says that we’re supposed to respect a patient’s choices.”

My brother mirrored my crossed arms with a smirk.

Lily looked back at Teller. “I could make you a salve, if you’d like. It will help with the pain and the swelling.”

“There are others hurt worse than me,” he said. “I’m sure they need you more.”

“The mortal healers just returned from the arena. They’re tending to the others.” Her face fell. “But I understand if you prefer someone with more experience.”

“No,” he blurted out. “I want you.” His cheeks exploded with red. “To help me, I mean. With the salve.”

She brightened, nodding, then reached to unfasten his uniform. As her fingers moved over the buttons, her voice dropped to a murmur. “When they told me you were wounded in the battle, they didn’t know if you’d survived.” Her fingers slowed, her lip trembling. “I thought . . .”

Teller set his hand over hers, and their gazes met. My mating mark burned hot at the familiar emotion glowing on both their faces. Though I was struggling to feel much of anything—my heart felt like the frozen, empty wasteland where unworthy souls were forever condemned—I wanted a different fate for my brother.

His soul was worthy. Good. Unstained by the sea of innocent blood that flooded mine.

“Lily,” I said, “Teller’s going to have to disrobe for you to tend that wound. Why don’t you take him somewhere more private? His bedroom in the palace, perhaps?”

Luther growled behind me. Teller went pale.

Lily nodded emphatically. “Yes, of course, Your Majesty.” She stood and tugged on Teller’s hand, but he hesitated, and I wasn’t sure why. I knew my brother well enough to know he wanted to reconcile with Lily more than almost anything in the world.

But then he gazed out at the campfire, and his throat bobbed. I knew without asking he was thinking of the Sophosians who’d died. People he’d known, even if only for a short time. People who would have become his friends and colleagues and neighbors, had it not been for Doriel’s schemes.

People whose fate he might have joined. People whose fate that, perhaps, he felt that he deserved to join.

I couldn’t force Teller to heal, if he preferred to hurt. He was right—I’d be a hypocrite if I tried.

But perhaps I could help him in other ways.

“You know,” I said, “I bet someone else would like to check your wound.” I scanned the camp until I saw a splash of vivid red hair, then waved to catch her eye. “Mother! Over here!”

Teller shot to his feet. “Come on, Lily, let’s go.” He clutched her hand tight and practically ran for the palace, dragging Lily behind him.

“What is it?” my mother asked as she approached. She frowned at my fleeing brother. “Is Teller alright?”

“He’ll be fine. Have you finished logging the Guardian casualties?”

“I have. One hundred thirty from our camp.”

It was an effort to keep the air in my lungs. “So many?”

“We were prepared to fight mortals and godstone, not magic. Your Descended did their best to shield us, but when the second wave arrived behind us, it was every person for themselves.” She let out a long sigh. “I did not want to use our usual methods against Vance, but I fear we have no choice. Next time, we’ll come prepared with bombs.”

Next time.

I swayed unsteadily on my feet at the idea that what happened today could happen again.

My mother glanced toward the Ignios camp. “The others fared better.

Hardly any Descended at all.” She made an effort to bury the bitterness in her words, but to my ears, the resentment was screaming.

After all my promises to make things equal, the mortals were still paying the heaviest price. I wondered for the thousandth time if I’d done the right thing in asking the Guardians to fight for me at all. I wanted to help the mortals, not force them to earn their liberation in tombstones and blood.

I looked down. “If any of your people wish to leave . . .”

“Some already have,” she admitted. “I didn’t try to stop them. I only asked them not to join Ophiucae’s army instead.”

“They would do that? Even after what they saw today?”

“Ophiucae has been wise to keep himself out of sight. The mortals are starting to see Vance as the person we’re really fighting.”

“He is.”

“He’s not,” she said sharply. “You need to learn that even more than they do. Ophiucae will never submit to anyone, Diem. If he’s letting the mortals think they’re in control, it’s for a reason. Asking myself why is what keeps me up at night.” She rubbed wearily at her eyes. The signs of age that crept across her face looked deeper and starker than ever. “My Guardians do not distrust Vance like you and I do. He has always been open about desiring a Descended-free world, and now he’s proving to them that he can make it happen. The mortals are tired, sweetheart. They’re sick of fighting,

and they’re sick of dying. The solution you’re offering requires time and sacrifice and hard work. Vance’s solution does not.”

“What can we do to convince them to stay?” Luther asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But we need to find a way to do it soon.”

She paused. “There’s something else. Alixe just told me that Vance and his men went to Mortal City after the battle.”

My blood went cold. “Another attack?”

“A few dead guards, nothing more. They didn’t stay long, but when they left, some of the villagers left with them.” She opened her mouth to say

more, then decided against it.

“How many?” Luther asked.

“A handful of men, including Brant.”

“Good,” I muttered. I’d been itching to kill him myself for his part in my father’s murder, but Brant’s place on the governing council meant that any strike at him would be seen as a punishment for voting against me.

With him gone, his seat on the council was free for the taking—and so was his life, if I met him in battle.

“And two women,” she went on, looking solemn. “An elderly worker at the orphanage and a wet nurse.”

Luther frowned. “Why would they want to join his army?”

“From the looks of it, neither woman went willingly.”

I had no time to process that chilling revelation before the evening quiet was broken by distant horns.

Luther turned eastward. “That’s a signal from the lookouts. Something’s coming from the coast.”

The entire camp stilled as more horns blared, this time in a deliberate series of long blares and short, staccato bursts.

“Gryvern incoming!” Alixe yelled.

She barked orders at her guards as people began to spill from tents and grab their weapons. Luther looked at me. “I don’t feel Ophiucae’s aura. You think his gryvern came alone?”

“Not his.” I pushed past them both. “Mine.”

I yelled for Alixe to stand down as I marched for the palace lawn and gave the last in a series of commands I’d been silently delivering since the battle’s end. This one, I’d been dreading all day.

“Sorae, come.”

She wasn’t far away. Even though she was the final one called, her familiar silhouette was the first to appear on the horizon. I forced myself to slow my breaths until my heart calmed enough to thump in time with the steady beat of her wings. I savored the sight of her golden eyes, her sleek lines, those downy-soft wings that had been both comfort and protection more times than I could count.

I thought of what I had to do, and the empty cold inside me felt a little colder. A little emptier.

She sensed it, too. She hit the ground at a gallop and didn’t stop until her muzzle touched my chest. She nudged at my palm with a tender whirr, her desire to soothe me rippling over the bond.

I couldn’t even look her in the eyes.

Tybold landed next. Sorae’s throat rumbled grumpily, and I set my forehead to hers. “Let it go,” I begged her. “He loves you. You love him.

Nothing matters more than that.”

She snorted in protest, though her malice was waning. Even the most fearsome of beasts could grow sick of fighting, and much like the mortals, Sorae had been fighting for a very, very long time.

I eased her away, and she shuffled back to sit at Tybold’s side. Her eyes stayed stubbornly on me. Tybold’s eyes stayed steadily on her.

Luther joined me on the palace steps. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Righting a wrong.”

That was a good enough answer for him. His hand slipped into mine, and we watched in silence as Tybold’s wings spread—slowly, slowly, inch by excruciating inch—until the tip of his dark feathers fluttered against Sorae’s.

She hissed and sidled away. Tybold’s wings snapped in, angry smoke

curling from his nostrils.

“Sorae,” I murmured. “Please.”

Rosha, the Faunos gryvern, was the next to arrive. She was a beautiful creature, and she knew it. Her fur was dense and glossy, and her pale feathers almost seemed to glow under the moonlight with an iridescent shine. When her knife-sharp talons sank into the soil on Tybold’s other side, she ruffled her wings, flirtily flicking them out against him.

Sorae’s jealousy boiled across the bond. Her pupils slitted as muscles tensed beneath her fur.

Rosha chuffed, the sound coming out like a laugh.

Tybold didn’t move an inch. He stayed focused on Sorae, oblivious to Rosha’s preening.

The Arboros gryvern, Onaar, landed not long after, another pretty female who eyed Tybold with curious interest—and whose purrs had Sorae unsheathing her claws.

“Claim him,” I whispered. “Show them he’s yours.”

Sorae’s eyes darted to me, then to Tybold. Her tail thrashed wildly back and forth, echoing the feud playing out in her head.

By the time Arilloc, the Meros gryvern, soared down from the ink-dark sky, a crowd had gathered. On one side, members of the various camps watched in wary, exhausted silence. On the other, curious palace residents huddled in glittering, colorful groups, their gossipy whispers carrying on the breeze.

Arilloc was strong and large, undeniably a formidable force in battle, but his temperament was more scamp than serpent. He paced like a proud tomcat and affably bunted his head against each of the female gryverns, lingering against Sorae at the sound of Tybold’s growl. His black-tipped tail flicked against Tybold’s snout, drawing a hiss from the Ignios gryvern that sent the crowd shuffling back.

“I’m beginning to think,” Luther murmured in my ear as Arilloc lounged lazily against Sorae, “that the real reason the Crowns kept the gryverns apart had more to do with their libido than their tempers.”

I felt his gaze on me, scouring my face in fervent hope for a laugh or a smile, even a crinkled eye—some sign that I had not been another casualty

of the morning’s slaughter.

That was reassurance I could not give.

Vexes, the Sophos gryvern, was the last to arrive. The sound of his sluggish, unsteady wingbeats had everyone, even the gryverns, frowning up at the sky. When he finally crossed the palace roof, it seemed as if his wings could not hold his plump weight for one second longer, and he tumbled to a hard landing on the soil.

He didn’t lift his head or turn his eyes to mine. Claw marks had been gouged down his haunches and his neck was bruised in the shape of a vicious bite. His battered body gave a shuddering exhale, and his wings, blood-soaked and misshapen, fell limp against his sides.

Sorae let out a quiet whine.

I walked down the steps and knelt at Vexes’s side, stroking a hand down his snout. “You did what you could,” I murmured. “You couldn’t have stopped him.”

An ocean’s worth of guilt soaked the bond we shared, its tide surging in both directions. Shame, too—that he’d been too small and too weak to save the people of his realm. And anger—at me, his Queen—for not being there when I should have been.

A small amount of my magic had returned since the battle, and I pushed it into Vexes to heal his wounds. I was glad to be free of it. The fondness I’d once developed for my godhood was hard to recall. Its thrumming presence in my blood was now a brutal reminder of what I’d done.

I reached to stroke Vexes’s muzzle, but he jerked his head away. He dragged himself to his feet and lumbered to the end of the gryverns’ line, as far from me as he could get.

Rosha paid him little mind as he shuffled by. Her efforts to woo Tybold were still going strong. She cooed as she brazenly leaned in to groom his fur.

Tybold let out a sudden snarl. He snapped his jaws around Rosha’s neck until she whimpered and lowered her head in submission. When he let her go, orange fire glowed behind his fangs, and Rosha scurried away to Vexes’s other side.

Sorae noted it all. When the Meros gryvern twined his tail around her leg, she pulled it free and shifted closer to Tybold.

As I stared at the line of gryverns, I wished, as I so often did these days, that I had more time. Time to help Sorae and Tybold mend their rift. Time to get to know them—what they’d been through and how they felt, what they thought of the war, what lives they wanted for themselves.

But perhaps those were things I was not meant to know. These creatures were never meant for this world.

And they certainly were never meant to be mine.

“The six of you have seen more than any person here can begin to fathom,” I said loudly. “You have crossed worlds and witnessed generations. You survived the worst of wars and Crowns. You watched as those you cared for died again and again. And you endured it alone, without the comfort of another of your kind. You all deserved better. The gryverns who died deserved better—Rymari and . . .”

I winced. I’d never learned the Umbros gryvern’s name. I’d never learned the Fortos gryvern’s name, either.

“Baldrum,” Lonard called out. “Our gryvern was Baldrum.”

At the mention of the fallen gryvern’s name, the other soldiers from Fortos crossed their arms at the wrist in salute. I nodded deeply and returned the gesture.

“You defended your Crowns and your realms with honor. You may have had no choice, but our gratitude is no less for it.” I sank to one knee and bowed my head. “For all that you’ve given, we thank you.”

Behind me, I heard rustling, then Luther’s voice: “We thank you.”

Movement rippled over the crowd as the members of my army—then, after a stern glare from me, the residents of the palace—lowered to their knees and repeated the words.

The gryverns looked around with narrowing eyes, suspicion flowing strong through each bond. The Descended had always felt entitled to the gryverns’ submission, and the mortals had always hated the gryverns for it.

Gratitude was not an emotion they were used to, nor one they trusted.

“The only Emarion worth defending is one where we stand together,” I said. “This is your home, too, so I am asking you to fight for it. Not for me or my Crown. For yourselves. Help me fight for an Emarion where no one, not even a gryvern, is forced to bend their will to another. But if you do . . .”

I paused. Took a deep breath.

“ . . . do it without a chain around your neck.”

My eyes fell closed as I reached inside myself to the bonds I shared with each gryvern. Though each link was its own unique, shimmering cord, all six were bound together by the Forging magic that flowed through the Emarion soil. Even traces of the fallen gryverns lingered, their ghostly resonance still enslaved by phantom chains.

I wasn’t entirely sure that I could do it. The Kindred had never intended these binds to break. They left no locks to unlatch, nor walls to tear down.

The Forging spell seemed to offer no path to free the gryverns from their bondage.

But Ophiucae had never joined their Forging. With his blood in my veins and the Kindred’s Crowns on my head, I existed both within and without the Forging’s control. It was that unique position that had allowed me to shatter the arena’s barrier at the Challenging and tear a fracture through the heartstone. Only I could break the Forging’s chains.

And so I did.

Nine golden, unbreakable threads.

One sharp, unstoppable sword.

I issued my final command—“Be free.”—and I let them go.

When the first bond went dark, it took me by surprise. One moment, Vexes and his fretful guilt were in my head, and the next, he was simply . . . not.

I’d been so overwhelmed by the number of minds tied to mine, I’d almost taken their presence for granted. They’d been a reliable constant— always checking on me when they sensed my terror or pain, always listening for my needs and making sure I was safe. More than once, I’d grumbled that I felt smothered by their overprotective care.

But as their minds were abruptly plucked away, I didn’t feel free or light, I felt empty.

My gaze met Sorae’s, and her slitted pupils blew wide. In the final fraying wisp of our bond, I felt her realize what was happening. She snorted in protest, scurrying back as if to escape it. I had only enough time to send one final pulse of the most grateful, unconditional love for my loyal

gryvern.

And then she was gone.

Sorae lifted her head to the sky and howled—a panicked, mournful sound. In reflex, I tried to send her a soothing calm, but there was nowhere for it to go. The warm light of her presence inside me had become an icy hollow.

The golden chains around their necks snapped loose and fell to the soil in a ripple of thuds. Rosha wasted no time—she gave the other gryverns a split-second glance, then launched for the clouds.

“Wait!” I yelled.

The gryverns tensed, perhaps awaiting the harsh snap of the spell that forced them to obey. Even Rosha’s wings shuddered and stilled. Then . . . they pushed downward again.

The first disobeyed command in millennia.

“Please,” I shouted, running forward. “Don’t go yet. We still need your help!”

The Meros gryvern nearly trampled me as he leapt into a gallop and speared for the clouds.

The Arboros gryvern moved to follow, and I lunged to block her path.

“You’ve earned your freedom, but you can still choose to fight with us. I am begging you, please—”

A low rumble brought a shift in the air as my left side stung with a scorching heat. An arm hooked around my waist and shoved me to the grass as a dome of pitch black blotted out the sun. In the darkness, I heard the snap of clicking fangs, then a whimper.

When the shadows receded, Luther stood in front of me with palms extended, a ring of rose-hued flames surrounding us both. In front of him, Sorae’s back was arched, blood dripping from her jaws as a wounded Vexes

abandon his attack on me and cowered.

The Arboros gryvern was already gone.

“What in the Blessed Kindred’s names are you doing?”

Remis elbowed through the onlookers and stormed toward me. He jerked to a stop at a warning snarl from Sorae, though his glare shot at me like an arrow.

“Undo it,” he hissed at me. “Bring them back.”

“I will not,” I snapped. “They never should have been bound in the first place.”

“Those gryverns were not yours,” Nidara said. I stiffened in surprise to see her standing at the front of the other crowd. “Tybold belongs to us—to all of us,” she added, gesturing to the other Ignios refugees. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, we have followed you across the continent and served you loyally. We already lost our water and our homes. Now you ruin

our realm’s last resource?”

Tybold let loose a menacing growl.

“He is more than a ‘resource,’ Nidara,” I said angrily. “He is a creature with thoughts and desires of his own.”

“And he will still have them after the war,” Remis shot back. “Free the gryverns then, if you must. We need them to win, especially now.”

“I will not!” I screamed. “My army will fight by choice or not at all.”

Vexes flapped his wings loudly, straining hard to lift his portly body.

“Looks like they’re choosing not at all,” someone muttered.

“I think I might join him,” another grumbled.

All across the lawn, faces stared in brutal disapproval. A handful of Guardians looked pleased that I’d just rid the Descended thrones of their

greatest weapon, but even their smug smiles were tempered with nerves at what this might mean for the war.

Vexes made it off the ground and slowly bumbled toward the sea. I didn’t bother trying to call him back. From the way he’d just tried to burn me alive with his dragonfyre, he wouldn’t be willingly serving me anytime soon.

My focus swung back to the only two gryverns left: Sorae and Tybold. I reached for the latter and he flinched away, a reminder of the cruelty he’d endured to get here and that he now had the chance to escape.

He nipped at Sorae, but it was all mouth, not teeth. He let out a series of noises that I was devastated to discover I could no longer understand, though as he stretched his wings in preparation to fly, the message was clear: he was leaving, and he wanted Sorae to come with him.

“Tybold, wait,” I started to plead, but the next word that came to mind was why?

Why should he stay? What right did I have to ask him to save a people who had torn him from his mate, abused him, and forced him to do evil, violent deeds? He deserved a life of his own. He deserved Sorae—and we deserved neither of them.

He circled away from me and nipped Sorae again, his rumbles getting more insistent. She looked between us. Indecision was bare on her reptilian features as she edged a step closer to me.

My battered heart swelled at the confirmation that our broken bond had not destroyed the love we shared. And then it shattered all over again, because I knew what I had to do.

I cupped my hands beneath her chin and lifted her face to mine. “You have served me so well, my sweet friend. I could give you all the apples in Emarion, and it wouldn’t begin to repay you. But I can give you this.”

I set a kiss on her forehead, cementing to memory for one final time the glossy smoothness of her scales beneath my lips and the whiskery softness of her muzzle in my palms. I pulsed my love out toward her, hoping that somehow, some way, she could feel it.

“I promised you that I would find a way for you and Tybold to be together. This is it. Go, Sorae. Be with your mate, and be happy.”

Tybold screeched and stamped his talons.

Sorae looked at him and whined, then back at me, her eyes tracing the fall of my tears down my cheeks. She arched toward me, and though it felt

like dying a thousand deaths, I moved out of her reach.

“Go,” I said, louder and firmer. “Your service to Lumnos is done.”

“Blessed Kindred, are you mad?” Remis shouted. “You finally have a gryvern willing to stay, and you’re telling her to leave?”

Luther unsheathed the Sword of Corbois and tipped the point toward his father. “Silence,” he snarled.

But Remis was not the only one to object. The crowd raised their voices with similar protests. They edged in closer on both sides, and someone from the Royal Guard appeared with a heavy chain in his hands, watching Alixe and awaiting her command.

“Your Majesty,” Alixe said carefully, “if Sorae desires to stay—”

Luther silenced her with a glare, but Alixe was the least of my worries.

With even my High General doubting my order, the emboldened crowd grew louder and nearer.

“What if Ophiucae takes over their minds, too?” someone yelled out.

“He’ll have six gryverns, and we’ll have none.”

My blood chilled at the thought. When the bonds were intact, even Ophiucae’s Faunos magic couldn’t have compelled the gryverns to disobey me. Now . . . gods, their minds were free for the taking.

I leveled Sorae with a hard, unyielding stare. “Go with Tybold. Get as far away from Emarion as you can.”

Tybold growled in agreement. He launched into the air and circled over the palace, howling for Sorae to join him. Her wings slowly unfurled, muscles rippling under her fur in preparation for flight. Still, she hesitated.

“Be free,” I begged her. “You’ve done enough.”

She looked up at Tybold and let out a heartrending whimper, then back at me. Her talons stretched forward, and her chest sank to the ground as her

fearsome head lowered.

One last bow to her Queen.

“Don’t let them leave,” Remis shouted at the man with the chains.

Tybold swooped low, unleashing a plume of orange flames that would have taken out a third of the crowd if it weren’t for Luther’s quick work to raise a

shield.

“Sorae, go!” I screamed.

She left the ground, and my heart went with her. Emotion choked in my throat when the shadow of her wings passed over me—those magnificent wings that had curled around me in my darkest moments and shielded me

from countless harms. She and Tybold circled in tandem, the tips of their feathers brushing in a long-awaited caress.

Tybold let out an ear-splitting roar, and for once, it wasn’t burdened with rage. At last, the Ignios gryvern was happy.

At last, they were free.

Luther held me against him as we watched Tybold bank and soar toward the sea. Only then did I realize how truly empty I felt. Every life lost today had taken a piece of me with them, and with the gryverns’ bonds gone, a chasm had been left behind that even Luther’s touch couldn’t soothe.

I pulled away from him and headed for the forest. Perhaps I owed it to Sorae to see her off, but I couldn’t bear to watch her go.

Then I heard the distinctive click of talons on stone.

When I looked back at the palace, up to the terrace of the royal suite that my gryvern and I had both been forced to call home, Sorae stared back.

She folded her wings against her body, then lowered her back legs to the ground.

Tybold swooped toward her. He gnashed his jaws, nipping at her each time he flew close. She answered back in plaintive whines and imploring mewls, but she didn’t budge.

“No,” I breathed. I ran for the palace, waving my arms. “Leave, Sorae, go with him!”

Tybold flew away from the palace, then hovered, glaring back at her.

The ground rattled with his roar, a warning that he was leaving, with or without her.

Sorae tilted her head up toward the moon in a yowl, then lowered her body flat to the ground. An ultimatum—stay with her here, or leave her for good.

“Don’t do this,” I screamed at them, fresh tears starting to fall.

Both gryverns ignored me, trading chirps and snarls. Tybold’s tone grew harsh as Sorae’s cries turned shrill and achingly desperate.

I grabbed Luther’s arm. “Give me some magic. I have to make her leave.”

“Diem, the Faunos magic won’t last. Once it wears off, she’ll come back.”

“Then I’ll do it again. I’ll force her to keep leaving until she stays away for good.”

He dropped his chin, his features stern. “And that’s different than forcing her to stay?”

“Luther, if she chooses me over him again . . .” My voice broke. “He’ll never forgive her. She’ll lose him.”

He set his palm over mine. “It’s not your choice to make, my heart.”

The fight drained out of me. I looked at Tybold, who sank low enough to perch on the ivy-covered wall that circled the palace grounds. Both gryverns had fallen silent, their gazes locked. They were no longer quarreling with each other, but waging a war against their own hearts: How much is love worth giving up?

Tybold’s glare smoldered as it shifted to me. His talons curled like fists, gouging lines in the stone. He growled, low and rumbling.

I held his stare. “I’m sorry,” I said, and I hoped he understood it was about so much more than Sorae.

He spread his mighty wings. Launched for the sky.

And moments later, he was gone.

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