Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 49

49

DIEM

was still reeling from the sight of my former betrothed when Ophiucae’sI men hurled me into a giant cage.

“Why won’t he let us kill ’em?” a man grumbled.

“He’s weak when it comes to her,” another said, locking the door behind me. “That’s gonna be a problem.”

The other men muttered in agreement as they strode away. I ran to the cage door and kicked, hoping that even without my magic, my Descended strength might be enough to force it open, but it didn’t budge.

“It’s Fortosian steel,” someone said behind me. Their voice was hoarse and unraveled, like someone who’d just done a great deal of screaming.

“Don’t waste your time.”

I turned to see a pair of dull pink eyes staring from the corner of the cage. Their smooth-shaven head and anguished expression told me which

Sophos Descended had been spared.

“Doriel,” I breathed. “You’re alive?”

The walls of the building that once housed the cell had been blasted away, leaving it exposed to the open air. From its place halfway up the hill, I could see every mile of smoking rubble that had once been the realm’s shining capital. I realized with horror that Ophiucae had not spared Doriel at all. He’d condemned them to a far more agonizing fate—watching helplessly while their city, and its people, fell.

I had often prayed to see Doriel as thoroughly broken as my time on Coeurîle had left me. The vengeful god who’d granted my wish wasn’t the ones I’d prayed to. It was the one who had given me life.

“Are any of my people still alive?” Doriel rasped.

Though I’d wished for Doriel’s destruction, I took no pleasure in delivering its final blow: “No.”

A heart-rending sound cracked out of them, a guttural sob that frayed with the pain of a soul being ripped to its threads. “You should have killed me in Lumnos. I wish you had.”

Arms still chained behind me, I awkwardly sat on the floor beside them.

Though Doriel stiffened at first, I gently leaned my head against theirs, and the dam broke, a flood of grief surging out. Their delicate body shuddered while we sank together in an ocean of their tears—one for each soul that neither of us had been a strong enough Crown to save.

I noticed Doriel gripping their side and looking pained. “Are you hurt?”

They shook their head, then pulled up their shirt to reveal a silvery mark on their ribs.

“You’re mated.” My heart squeezed, imagining what it would do to me to watch my mate die—the way it would snuff out all light in my life forever. “Oh, Doriel . . . I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“No,” they murmured. “My mate lives.”

Oddly, there was no relief in their tone. If anything, it seemed to deepen their grief.

“We kept it secret for so long,” they said. “I feared our people would think we’d betrayed them by taking a foreign mate. Obie agreed that our

duties to our realms came first.”

“Wait . . . Obaneryn is your mate?”

They nodded bleakly. “When we lost our Crowns, a part of me was glad. At least we wouldn’t have to wait for the afterlife to be together anymore. I even convinced myself that Blessed Father Sophos was offering me a gift for my service.” Their eyes drifted to the smoking corpse of their city. “I wasn’t being rewarded. I was being condemned.”

Though the kinder part of me wanted to ease their pain, I could not absolve them of the role they’d played in the ruin of their realm. Doriel wouldn’t have believed me if I’d tried.

There was one burden I could ease. “Sophos didn’t take your Crown to punish you, Doriel. I needed all nine Crowns to break the spell and leave the island. It was nothing more than that.”

“Blessed Lumnos gave you her Crown long before then. Blessed Fortos and Blessed Montios, too. The Kindred chose you to lead.”

They chose me to die.

The words waited on my lips, tasting of curses and ash.

My mind shifted to my own mating mark, cold against my skin. The flameroot had dulled its magic, too. If I didn’t make it out of this alive, had I felt Luther’s heart beating alongside mine for the final time?

“We’ll find a way to escape,” I said firmly. “We—you will see your mate again.”

“If Obie comes to rescue me . . .” The color drained from their face.

“Death isn’t enough for those men. The things they’ll do to him . . .”

“That won’t happen. I won’t let it.”

“How? You’re locked in the same cell I am.”

I frowned, thinking on my sire and the affection for me he’d confessed.

“I think Ophiucae brought me here to win me over. He wants me to join

him.”

“Are you going to?”

My “no” came, but not quickly enough—and Doriel noticed.

“I’ll make him think I am,” I hurried to add. “If I can get him to trust me, maybe I can convince him to let you go.”

Creases twitched along their brow. “Why would you help me?”

In the burning rubble, my eyes lingered on the twisted metal that had briefly been my brother’s home. The last time I was there, Luther had let me see his memory of the moment he’d spared Vance’s life. He’d done it for me, knowing I would choose mercy over murder. To him, it was my greatest strength.

I wondered now if it would be my downfall.

“You helped me solve my father’s murder,” I said. “Let’s call it repayment for that.”

We both settled against the bars and curled our bodies in against the midnight chill. With the air still thick with smoke, our minds on our mates, and the mortals loudly reveling in their triumph, there would be little sleep for either of us tonight.

“The people who killed your father,” Doriel murmured, “did you make them pay?”

“No.” I turned my face to the burning city. “But I will.”

MANY HOURS LATER, Ophiucae’s men grew tired of celebrating and wandered into the few remaining intact buildings to sleep. The city fell quiet, save for the occasional swoop of Ophiucae’s gryvern on patrol and the soft sounds of Doriel weeping. By dawn, they succumbed to exhaustion, leaving me with my thoughts.

Though the mating bond had dulled since drinking the flameroot, some part of its presence had survived—a flutter of feeling, the faintest tightening of an invisible chain. Each time I reached to grab it, the sensation slipped away, but it was unmistakably there.

Did Luther know I’d been taken? I’d stormed off without explanation. I hadn’t even left the compass— I gasped, jerking upright. My bound wrists shifted to the pocket where I’d stowed the compass, but it was empty. My scabbard was missing, too.

My hand flew to my neck, and when I felt no sign of the golden pendant Luther had given me, my heart shattered.

That necklace was so much more to me than jewelry. It had been a talisman on the island, a lifeline to the future I so desperately wanted to have. It had continued to give me comfort in the weeks I’d pushed Luther away, my small but mighty sentinel against the sadness that had made me

feel so alone.

And now, it was gone.

As the morning wore on, I sank deeper into misery. A group of rebels approached and tossed two black, rocklike objects through the bars of the cell. It took me far too long to realize they were loaves of bread that had

been burnt beyond recognition.

“Are we supposed to eat that?” I asked.

“I don’t care what you do with it. It’s all you’re gonna get.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll die of hunger,” another chimed in, and the others laughed.

The man leading the group looked around. “Who’s got the flameroot?”

Two men with flasks headed for our side of the cage. I nudged Doriel awake, and they drowsily climbed to their feet and faced the bars, looking as if this was a familiar routine. Grudgingly, I stood and joined them—then glowered when I saw the man standing across from me.

Henri wouldn’t look at me. He held the flask up, eyes cast low.

“You haven’t betrayed me enough already?” I spat.

“You banished me from Lumnos,” he mumbled. “I had nowhere else to go.”

The leader eyed us both. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Henri said quickly. He shoved the flask in my face. “Drink, Descended scum, or we’ll make the other one bleed until you do.”

Doriel blanched. They tried to back away, and the other man grabbed them by the collar and yanked them against the bars. He pulled out a knife and pressed its point to Doriel’s neck.

I threw every flame of my rage into the scowl I gave Henri as I leaned forward and drank. It took everything in me to swallow the flameroot instead of spitting it in his face.

“So much for being a better man for your child,” I said coldly. “I hope they never know you.”

Even though I hated Henri for what he’d done—really, truly, to the depths of my soul, despised him—at the sight of his heartbroken reaction, I hated myself a little bit, too.

“Ophiucae wants to speak with you,” the leader said to me, unlatching the cell door.

Doriel shot me a nervous look. I wasn’t sure whether they were grateful or terrified when I obediently walked out.

I followed the men up the hill as they bragged about all the Descended they’d murdered and boasted about what they’d do to the next ones they found, smirking at me all the while. They were trying to bait me into a reaction, and it was getting dangerously close to working.

Henri edged closer. “Don’t, D.”

It stung, how well he knew me.

“He ordered them not to hurt you,” he whispered. “Keep your head down, and you’ll survive this.”

I threw him a bitter look. “You know I have no plan to survive this.”

He solemnly returned my stare. “Maybe that should change.”

The men marched me through the library doors and down the massive central hall. Seeing the place where Luther and I had shared so many special moments made the distance from him feel all the more acute.

The feeling worsened as they led me toward the rooms marked for the Crowns’ use only, the sign for which had been torn down and defaced. We neared the Everflame-carved rotunda that housed the room where Luther

and I had first made love, and I tried to stagger back, unable to bear seeing it ruined, but the men dragged me toward a different hall.

They stopped first at a washroom loaded with a basin of warm water and a fresh set of clothes. “You’ve got ten minutes,” the leader snapped, opening my shackles. He shoved me in and slammed the door.

I considered refusing out of spite, but I was covered in filth from the journey, and in the small quarters, my own reek was strong enough to make me ill. I hurriedly washed as best I could, then squeezed into the tight- fitting slacks, billowing silk blouse, and opal-buttoned vest, trying not to think about their original owner and whether they had died at my hand.

When I finished, the men bound my hands again and pushed me down the hall to a large godstone door. Luther and I had seen it while exploring the library, but its bloodlock hadn’t opened with my blood. Today, Ophiucae stood beside it, hands clasped behind his back—and Sorrow’s

Edge hanging from his hip.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said.

“Unless it involves letting me go, I’m not interested,” I grumbled.

“Very well.” He glanced at the leader. “Unlock her chains.”

“She’s dangerous,” the man protested.

Ophiucae smiled frostily. “So am I.”

No one was willing to argue with that. The man freed my wrists, and the mortals scurried to get out of my reach.

Ophiucae looked me over. “Have you eaten?”

“We gave her food,” the leader cut in. “She refused it.”

Ophiucae ignored him, awaiting my response. When it didn’t come, he clicked his tongue. “As stubborn as Auralie.”

It was deeply unsettling to remember that this terrifying man had known my mother in every way. There was a vital part of her life, a part that completely changed her future, that only he had seen and perhaps only he would ever fully understand.

“Bring us a platter of food,” Ophiucae ordered. “The rest of you, leave us.”

The leader bristled. “I’m not your servant.”

“Are you questioning me?”

“Maybe I am. Just because we’re here doesn’t mean you—”

“Do as you’re told,” Ophiucae compelled.

His face went slack. All their faces went slack. The men nodded as one and walked away.

Ophiucae let out an irritated sigh. “They test me at every turn. I have waited thousands of years to enact my plans. My patience is wearing thin.”

“The mortals have been making plans for just as long,” I said.

“I’m offering them the vengeance they want,” he snapped.

“You’re offering the same cage with a different captor. They’re never going to kneel to you.”

His skin pulsed with a malevolent glow. “We’ll see.” He pointed to the door. “This room is the personal archive of the Sophos Crown. Only their

blood can open its lock.”

My blood.

Though I hated to admit it, my heart sank. “So this is why you had me taken.”

“Not at all. I only discovered the room this morning. It’s a pleasant surprise you happened to be here.” He smiled. “One might even call it fate.”

Without my Umbros magic, I had no way to tell if he was lying. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.

“Shall we explore it together?” he asked.

Since bloodlocks only worked with willingly given blood, this was the one choice he couldn’t force me to make. Ironically, it was also the one request I had no desire to fight. I was equally curious what knowledge the Sophos rulers had hidden from the other Crowns.

I started to offer my hand, then hesitated. “Show me the children first. I

want proof they’re safe.”

“That’s going to be difficult.”

My stomach dropped. “Because they’re dead?”

“Because they’re not here.” Invisible fingers tapped against my mind.

But I can show them to you, his voice boomed inside my head.

I braced for his Umbros magic to seize me in its grip, but he waited with a silent, expectant look. Would he really stay out of my mind if I withheld my consent? He’d never extended that courtesy to anyone else.

“Show me,” I agreed. This was not the time to test his limits—not when I was already at the furthest reaches of mine.

I caught a flash of his satisfied smirk before my vision clouded, and a new image appeared inside my mind: Kéani and her niece, bound and seated on a horse. They stared at me in terror as I rode beside them, and I

realized I was seeing through the eyes of the man Ophiucae had sent to take them away. Though the sun was high, we were bathed in speckled shadows from the blackened, knotty trees.

The Forgotten Lands. Of course he’d kept the stolen children hidden in his own realm. I’d sent the gryverns to look for them here before, but the dark canopy of branches made it almost impossible to search. The real mystery was why Ophiucae and his men weren’t here, too.

They approached a high wall hidden among the trees. The ground rumbled, and an opening formed in the slab of rock, revealing a village within. The buildings inside were rudimentary, made of the same Montios stone as the outer wall, while fields of crops (flourishing, despite the lack of sun) and a landlocked brook looked to be gifts of Arboros and Meros magic.

Perhaps the strangest part was that there was hardly an adult in sight.

Young children ran unchecked through the settlement, while teens tended the crops or strolled with infants in their arms. Among the hundreds of inhabitants, only a handful were of age.

At our arrival, the younger children tucked nervously behind the legs of the older, while the adults—all women, and unlike the children, all mortal —marched for the opening.

“More children?” one woman asked. I recognized her from my days in the Lumnos Guardians. She’d been one of Vance’s most dedicated supporters. She was also one of the only people present armed with godstone weapons.

“Just these two,” the man answered. “More are coming from Meros soon.”

My heart stopped. Was Ophiucae planning to do the same to Meros that he’d done to Sophos?

The woman squinted at Kéani. “She’s too old.”

“He says she stays with the girl.”

“We only agreed to the children. She should be dead with the others.”

He grunted in agreement.

The woman jerked her head toward a pile of empty wooden barrels.

“We’ve hardly got any fresh water left. The children bathe in the stream— it’s not safe to drink. Food is running low, too, and we can’t get outside the wall to get more. I’ll take the girl, but that woman can go freeze in h—”

Her voice choked off as her eyes glazed over. A moment later, she gave a hurried nod. “We’ll take them both.”

I could feel the man’s confusion, but I knew what Ophiucae had done— just like I knew why the barrels were suddenly brimming with water and the crops had begun growing at impossible speed.

It terrified me to see the things his magic could do from so far away. He could probably kill every Descended in Emarion with a snap of his fingers.

So why hadn’t he?

My suffering lasted for centuries, Ophiucae said. Why should theirs be quick?

I startled at his voice in my mind, even more at the realization that he’d probably just heard my every thought. He moved us into Kéani’s head, allowing me to see through her eyes as the Guardian woman pointed out where she and her niece would sleep, the chores they would share, and the flameroot they were required to take every day.

My attention lingered on the flameroot. The Forgotten Lands existed in a strange limbo of control. It was originally Omnos, the long-lost tenth realm, but after the Kindred changed the Forging spell, it became part of Montios, too. Though I’d lifted the Forging’s ban on foreign magic in all the realms to give the Descended a fighting chance to survive his attacks, as the Crown of Omnos, Ophiucae should have been able to overrule me and reinstate it here. If he was relying on the flameroot to suppress their magic instead, perhaps he feared the Forging magic was stronger than his.

Or perhaps he feared mine was.

If he was still listening to my thoughts, he offered no response. He did, however, keep us in Kéani’s mind long enough for me to see that the other children were unhurt. I also caught sight of the two missing Lumnosian women caring for the infants. They eyed both Kéani and the Guardian woman with equal unease, as well as the weapon-bearing women positioned along the village wall.

Are all the female Guardians here? I asked inside my head.

This time, Ophiucae did answer: Most. A few stay with the men to handle their cooking and mending.

Back in my physical body, I felt myself scowl. There was no dishonor in cooking or mending, and certainly none in caring for the children. Still, I had to wonder . . .

Did the women choose their roles, I asked, or did Vance choose it for them?

I told him if anything happened to the children, I’d do the same to him, Ophiucae answered. Apparently, he didn’t trust his men.

I wasn’t convinced the children’s welfare was Vance’s real motive, even with his neck on the line. The more I learned about him, the more his vision of Emarion looked a lot like the Crowns’, but with the whip in his hand instead of theirs.

Ophiucae’s laughter echoed in my head. What was it you said earlier . .

. new captor, same cage?

My mood turned dark. I’ve seen enough.

The settlement grew fuzzy as we receded from Kéani’s mind, though it wasn’t my own head I returned to. Through the eyes of the man who’d escorted her here, I watched him hand off the reins of the horses to a Guardian woman inside the wall.

“Eat ’em or keep ’em,” he said. “Up to you.”

“Don’t you need one to get back?” she asked.

He gave no answer as the wall sealed shut. He turned and walked into the woods.

This man betrayed you, did he not? Ophiucae asked.

I couldn’t answer. I wasn’t even sure who this man was.

He walked until the settlement was too far away to see, then he stopped beside a tree with a large, wide trunk. Its blackened bark was dotted with patches of healthy brown, as if a coat of ash had been partially wiped away.

Up high on its knobby branches, a few emerald leaves emerged from scattered buds.

Ophiucae’s magic rippled, and a sheet of ice formed across the trunk, reflecting the man in its glassy surface. Though I wasn’t sure I’d ever met him, I knew his face. I’d spent hours committing every feature to memory, planning what I might do if I ever saw it again.

He hadn’t dealt the death blow to my father that day, but he’d been at Vance’s side, ready to slay Henri if he wouldn’t. And when my father took his final breath, this man had been the first to cheer.

What are you going to do? I asked.

But I already knew the answer.

As I watched the man pull a knife from his sheath and plunge it into his own chest, the “Stop!” that should have come from my lips never arrived.

The vision vanished.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, once more in my own body. “I don’t answer those who’ve wronged me with murder.”

Liar, my conscience hissed, knowing the violent end I’d hoped to give the man myself. Perhaps I was more like Ophiucae than I wanted to admit.

He pulled out a small knife and held out his palm. “I fulfilled my end of our agreement.”

I offered my hand and gave no reaction when he sliced his blade across my flesh. He looked pleased at my stoicism. Shame rose at the way my chest warmed at his pride.

He swiped my blood across the lock. When the door swung open, I wasn’t sure either of us were prepared for what we saw.

To the Sophos Crowns’ credit, the number of books they withheld from their peers turned out to be not many at all. The room was nearly empty, with one plush chair at its center surrounded by a ring of stone pedestals, each topped with a soft cushion holding a single book.

Ophiucae’s eyes lit up. He walked the perimeter, letting his fingers glide across the covers as he read each book’s title, one by one. On the third, he rolled his eyes, knocking it to the floor. On the second to last, he stopped still. He lifted the book and sneered as an orange glow formed in his hand, then smoke began to rise.

I shouted, running forward to snatch the book away and smother it with the cushion to extinguish the flames.

He shrugged and left me behind, moving on to the final pedestal. An ominous smile slowly unfurled across his lips. He picked it up and held it out to me. “One more door to open.”

The book had been caged with lengths of godstone, secured with the circular disc of a bloodlock at its center. “Why would they do this?” I asked. “The room is already secure.”

“Some people only know one way to handle things they fear,” he said sourly. “Lock them up.”

I leaned closer to study it, but there was no title on its cover or spine.

“What is it about?”

His eyes gleamed. “Only one way to find out.”

I hesitated. If someone had feared this book enough to guard it so tightly, was I a fool to unleash it? Especially now—especially to him?

Then again, every choice the Kindred made was a wrong one: binding the gryverns, casting the Forging spell, cursing Ophiucae, forcing me to wear their Crowns. Time and again, instead of freedom, they had chosen control.

If this was one more thing that had been condemned to a life in chains, then I would have to free it, too.

I’d barely lifted my hand before Ophiucae grabbed it and pressed my bloody palm against the disc. The lock opened with a click.

He yanked the book from its bindings and sank into the chair at the center of the room. “I’ll start with this one,” he said, cracking it open on his lap. He threw a tight glance at the book he’d tried to burn. “You can take that one, since you were so determined to save it.”

I picked up the half-singed book, blowing ash from the cover to reveal its title: A History of Our Mates. I flipped through its pages, shocked to find stories, penned by the Kindred themselves, about the mortals they’d loved.

In school, we’d learned so much—too much, in my opinion—about each Kindred, especially Lumnos, but never a word about their mates. Until now, I’d never even seen their names.

Each section had page after page of detail—sketches of their faces, their likes and dislikes, stories of how they’d met, their feelings on the Kindred’s arrival and the conflicts it had caused. I was stunned to read how Ignios had fallen for the man who’d led the resistance against them after he took her hostage. In fact, it was their union that eventually put an end to the fighting by proving that even the most hostile among them could turn hatred into love. How fitting, I thought, that her Descended now fought in my army at the Guardians’ side.

My hand grazed my mark. If the Kindred had left behind this much detail about their mates, they must have wanted them to be remembered.

Why had this been locked away instead?

“I told you I kept the children safe,” Ophiucae said, interrupting my thoughts. His eyes roamed over the pages of his book as he spoke. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”

“Can you blame me?” I asked. “You’d happily watch the rest of the Descended die.”

He turned the page without looking up. “A poisoned tree must be ripped out at its roots. The children I’ve spared are the seeds I will use to grow a new one, healthy and strong.”

“I would have thought you Kindred learned your lesson about cutting down trees that don’t belong to you.”

“A world belongs to whoever is powerful enough to take it.”

“Is that what the people who took over your home world said before they destroyed it?”

He ignored my biting tone, calmly gesturing to another pedestal. “Read about it for yourself, if you’d like.”

I set down the charred book and walked to the one he’d pointed out, squinting at the markings on its leatherbound cover. The ink looped and swirled in a beautiful design. I began to see a pattern, almost like . . .

My eyes darted to Ophiucae’s hip, where Sorrow’s Edge dangled from the side of his chair. Similar markings were etched in gold up and down its blade.

“Is this your native language?” I asked, holding up the book, and he nodded. “What does it say?”

“Our Beginning.” He threw a scowl at the book on the Kindred’s mates.

“They should have titled that one Our End.”

I frowned. “Why do you hate their mates so much?”

“My siblings abandoned immortality for them. We were the last of our kind. We had a responsibility to keep living and carry on the legacy of our people.”

“Isn’t that what they did by starting their families? Aren’t the Descended their legacy?” I paused, grappling with the words that came next. “Am I not yours?”

His gaze rose to me. “That remains to be seen.”

His stare was too heavy to hold, too laden with a fate I wasn’t ready to confront. I looked down at the book in my hands, running my fingers over the swooping letters. “This language . . . can you teach me to read it?”

“No need. The content inside is written in your tongue.”

“Can you teach me anyway?”

I looked back up at his silence to find him studying me with an

inscrutable expression.

“Why?” he asked.

Because I want to know what’s written on that sword.

“Because it’s my history,” I said instead.

He bristled, and I knew I’d made a grave mistake. His Umbros magic would have sensed my dishonesty—and he would be wondering what I was

lying to hide.

“You think me evil,” he said, his timbre low and dangerous. “You think I care only for revenge.”

I didn’t want to ask whether he was guessing, or whether he’d already seen the truth in my head.

“I think you’re punishing the wrong people,” I said. “Your mother is the one who wronged you.” I looked again at Sorrow’s Edge, remembering her screams. “She’s been paying the price ever since.”

His aura rippled.

I risked a longer glance at the sword, secured to his waist with a leather strap. If I could get close enough, I could distract him long enough to rip it free, and then . . .

I opened the book and pretended to skim it as I paced the room. “Your siblings paid a price, too, you know. The Forging spell kept them from crossing into the afterlife. They’re stuck somewhere in between.” I walked a little closer. “They gave up their lives to be with their mates, and now they’re separated forever.”

His smile was bright, his satisfaction savage and bounding. “What delicious retribution.” He laughed darkly as he turned another page. “I warned them it would be their downfall. Love made them lose sight of what really mattered.”

“Or maybe love helped them find it,” I murmured.

His eyes returned to mine and narrowed.

“You loved my mother,” I reminded him, edging closer. “You planned a future with her, too.”

In his harsh expression, Ophiucae’s armor rattled loose, exposing a slivered glimpse of something unsettled beneath—but just as quickly as it was there, it was gone.

“Then she betrayed me,” he spat, resentment simmering like steam.

“What good is love without loyalty?”

“She said she found you holding a blade over my heart.”

Again, that troubled look flickered over him.

I stopped in front of him. “Were you going to kill me?”

He held my stare as he answered. “I was going to do whatever it took to get free.”

Something in me shattered. I nodded and looked back at my book, silently trying to fight my burning throat and tightening chest. My footsteps

echoed through the room as I resumed my pacing, each footfall carrying us further apart in more than distance.

He watched me for a while, saying nothing, before returning his attention to the book in his lap. I shifted my path toward his chair, walking so close that my foot brushed Sorrow’s Edge. Everything in me screamed to seize it right then, but I forced myself to wait, studying his reaction. He didn’t bat an eye or shift the sword. He didn’t seem to notice me at all.

Plans swirled in my head as I made another loop through the room. I shifted my book into one hand, letting the other dangle at my side. One more pass, and I could grab it, and then . . .

Then what? If he was willing to kill me as a baby for his freedom, he’d do the same now to avoid his death. I would have a second at most to strike, and the blow would have to be lethal. Then I would have to die to seal his

fate. Was I ready to give up on him?

Was I ready to give up on myself?

My feet felt made of stone as they carried me toward him, my fingers flexing and curling with my indecision. If I tried and failed, I’d doom Emarion forever. If I didn’t try at all, countless more could die at his hand.

And if I tried and succeeded, I’d never see Luther, or anyone I loved, ever again.

I steeled my jaw. The Crown on my head had to weigh more than the hearts in my chest.

My wrist twisted to prepare to grab the handle. One swift, strong move would do it. Even if he raised his shield, the godstone blade would cut right

through it.

I could do this. I could do this.

Ophiucae turned another page, looking utterly oblivious to my intent.

Everyone he cared for betrayed him, my conscience scolded. He’s

trusting you to be different.

My stomach roiled.

Gods, I couldn’t do this. How could I do this?

But he was a killer. How could I not?

Closer, I walked.

I softened my footsteps. Held my breath.

I lifted my hand . . .

“I’ll spare your mother, if you wish.”

I froze, my fingers still outstretched. The handle of Sorrow’s Edge was inches away.

He didn’t look up, though he spoke again. “I’ll spare your mate, too.

Luther, was it?”

I didn’t dare move. The sound of Luther’s name on his lips turned my blood cold.

He smoothly turned a page. “I can be forgiving, Diem. I’ll spare anyone you want. I could spare the entire continent, if you really insist.”

My hand squeezed into a fist. “You would do that?”

He flipped to the front of his book, one fingertip skating over its list of contents. “You are so willing to die to save others. I wonder, are you willing to live to save them instead?”

His finger stopped on a line of text, and the corner of his lips rose high.

He smoothed the book open to a section topped by a roughly drawn sketch. It was all jagged lines and sharp angles, its shape reflecting neither person nor building nor any man-made thing. My focus moved to the text

scrawled above it.

Harnessing the Heartstone.

Hair rose on the back of my neck.

A knock rapped at the door. Ophiucae snapped the book closed and stood. “Our food is here,” he announced, carrying the book—and Sorrow’s Edge—out of my reach.

He opened the door to an exhausted-looking woman holding a silver tray burnt with scorch marks, carrying steaming food and a jug of ale. At Ophiucae’s stare, she cast her eyes down, though her lips tightened to a bitter line.

She hurriedly set the tray down, looking eager to get out of the room as quickly as possible. “Father Vance asked me to tell you his preparations are done. He’s ready when you are.”

He nodded, then turned to me. “I must go. You may stay as long as you like.”

Panic soared as my chance to get Sorrow’s Edge slipped away. “We just got here. Don’t you want to keep reading?”

His hand tapped against the book under his arm. “I got what I came for.

The rest are for you.” He chuckled as he turned to leave. “If you really want to help your people, daughter, keep reading the book in your hand. Find out how deadly peace can be.”

OceanofPDF.com