Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 78

78

AURALIE

t was unbecoming of a healer to wish a man dead, but I allowed myself anI exception for Remis Corbois.

He and his brother Garath were the puppeteers who had pulled King Ulther’s strings. They had the power to loosen the noose around the mortals’ necks, and they had used Ulther to tighten it instead. When Remis usurped my daughter’s throne, and after Luther opened up to me about his past, my grievances against his father went from political to personal. It was always just a matter of time until I stood across from Remis in battle, sword raised and ready to strike.

I never imagined it would be to save his life.

“Thank you,” he wheezed, tugging away the vines encircling his throat.

I slid my sword out of the freshly lifeless corpse of an Arboros Descended. “You could have killed them yourself if you’d stop trying to raise a shield every time someone attacks.”

“Old habit,” he muttered. “Behind you.”

I swung my sword as I spun, landing it deep in someone’s side, then froze as I met the dying stare of a foggy-eyed mortal woman.

Between mortal army soldiers, mortal spies sent by the Crowns to infiltrate the Guardians, and the Mortal City residents who betrayed their neighbors in the hopes it might spare them from the Royal Guard’s abuse (it never did), I’d long ago accepted that my own kind could be my biggest threats. But with every mortal life that ended on my blade, a piece of me chipped away—a stone hammered by a chisel, sculpted into a form I never wanted to take. After all these years, and all these deaths, sometimes I couldn’t recognize the woman I’d become.

“Down!” Remis yelled.

I dropped to my knees, and a whoosh of flying magic shot over my head. Remis ran past me, deftly gutting its owner. “You could have done that yourself,” he echoed, offering his hand, “if you didn’t lock up every time you killed a mortal.”

I ignored his help and climbed to my feet on my own. “I didn’t join this war to kill mortals.”

“Neither did I,” he said under his breath.

He turned away, I did the same, and we resumed our reluctant back-to- back dance through the fighting. Though it stung my ego, I let him lead the way. He was surprisingly perceptive, and he took no unnecessary risks, something my time in the Guardians had left me unaccustomed to. It made our progress slow, but it kept us both alive.

I crashed into him to avoid a flying spear. “Why did you join the war, Remis?”

“The same reason you did.” He pushed me off and straightened his tilted armor. “Penance.”

I bristled. “I’ve dedicated my life to bringing the Old Gods back to Emarion. I have no reason to earn their forgiveness.”

“Not from the gods, Auralie. From our children.”

With that, my lips pressed closed.

“Any sign of him?” Remis asked.

I scanned the fighting, searching for a glimpse of Taran, and caught a brief, distant flash of auburn-red hair. I squinted to confirm what I’d seen.

In the same spot, a swinging white braid flew by.

My heart raced. I knew Diem and Teller would eventually join the fight, but a voice inside me, a mother’s instinct, warned that something about this was wrong.

My distraction cost me—a broadsword came swinging, moving too fast for me to deflect. I seized up, bracing for its impact, and a loud clang rang in my ears as the blade smashed against my chest. I stumbled back, staring down in shock at the godstone breastplate Brecke had crafted from Andrei’s ashes. Without it, the blow would have been instantly lethal.

Even in death, my Andrei was still protecting his family.

“Over here,” Remis shouted, “I think I found them.”

I made quick work of the broadsword’s owner before they could strike again, then glanced over my shoulder and balked—a few feet from Remis,

Taran knelt beneath a shimmering dome, while Diem stood beside him, casting light and shadow magic at anyone who came near.

My head whipped back to where I’d spotted her moments ago. It was too far away for her to have made it here so soon.

“What happened?” Remis asked her. “Is Taran hurt?”

Diem shook her head.

“He’s gone,” Taran said hoarsely. Cradled in his arms, clutched against his chest, was a motionless body covered in burns. Only a patch of glossy golden hair revealed the man it had once been.

“Oh, Aemonn,” Remis murmured. He knelt at Taran’s side and placed one hand on Aemonn’s head, the other on Taran’s shoulder. “May the Blessed Mother guide him home.”

Taran’s body shook with sobs. “It should have been Father. He should have been here. He should have died instead.”

Remis sighed, then gave a slow nod.

“Jean Hanoverre—he was going to kill Zal,” Taran stammered.

“Aemonn took the blow instead. Why would he do that?” His anguished eyes turned to me, head shaking, as if he couldn’t bring himself to believe in his brother’s love, even as he held the burnt, bleeding proof of it in his arms.

Remis took Aemonn’s hand and clutched it between his. “Jean will pay for what he’s done.”

“He already has,” Diem said, gesturing to a nearby corpse. Her voice sounded strange. Lower, almost masculine.

“Then House Hanoverre will pay,” Remis swore. “I’ll wipe every last one of them from Emarion soil.”

Taran nodded, fists clenching, and I frowned. Remis and Garath had many sins as fathers, but I feared the gravest was teaching their sons that violence and vengeance were the only ways a man could prove his love.

As Luther soared overhead on Sorae, I wondered with growing trepidation what that meant for my daughter.

“Teller!”

My daughter’s voice—her real voice—called out from somewhere nearby, sounding angry and harsh. But I’d been standing right beside her . . . and her lips hadn’t moved.

“Auralie,” Remis whispered. His eyes went wide as he gestured to Aemonn’s hand, lying limp in his lap. I frowned, not understanding—until

Aemonn’s finger curled in an almost imperceptible twitch. “I think he’s . . .”

I cut Remis off with a strong shake of my head. It wasn’t unusual for bodies to spasm after death, and I couldn’t bear to worsen Taran’s grief with misplaced hope. I looked back at Diem, trying to make sense of what I’d heard, but Remis hissed my name again.

He pointed to Aemonn’s shoulder, where the plates of his golden armor had melted under the heat of the light magic that had killed him. The fabric of his shirt had burned away, and the skin beneath was brutally charred.

Then my breath caught—in the center of the gruesome wound, a patch of new, pink skin was beginning to grow.

Remis’s eyes shot to mine in mutual realization: Aemonn was healing.

And dead Descended couldn’t heal.

I rushed to Aemonn’s side and grabbed his wrist, feeling for a pulse.

Each beat was so faint and far apart that if he was a mortal, there’d be nothing anyone could do for him but say the Rite of Endings. Even for a Descended, the odds were grim. His wounds would take hours, maybe days, to heal, and his heart might only last minutes.

I ran to Diem and lowered my voice. “Thank the gods your magic returned. I think we can still save Aemonn.”

Her brows flew up. “He’s alive?”

“For now. He needs healing magic.”

“The healers are in the forest.” She turned toward Taran. “I can shield if he can carry Aemonn.”

My frown deepened, both at the strangeness of her voice and the illogical words she spoke. The mortal healers from Lumnos were in the forest, waiting until it was safe to treat survivors, but the Descended healers of Fortos were on the battlefield. They deployed with the army battalions, saving lives while simultaneously fighting for their own—a fact that Diem well knew. Teller used to find great fun in suggesting she enlist, knowing it would bait her into a passionate rant about the (mostly female) healers doing twice the work of the (mostly male) soldiers.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. “You have to heal him

yourself.”

“I can’t heal him, Auralie.”

I bristled. Diem had never called me anything but Mother. “Diem, remember your healer’s vow. Aemonn is our patient. Put your feelings about him aside and—”

“I’m not Diem.” Her fingers twitched, and her face began to ripple, revealing flickers of ebony skin and short black curls.

“Zalaric?” I asked.

She—he nodded. “It’s an illusion. Works better than a shield. They don’t even try to attack her.”

My mind began to spin with the strategic potential of his discovery.

“Can you do the same to me?”

His hand flexed, and a tingling sensation crept over my skin. His eyes roamed over me, then he gave a short nod. I took a few tentative steps into the fighting. As soon as the enemy soldiers saw my face, they wandered past.

I leapt to take advantage, striking down as many of them as I could as I looked for a Fortosian healer. Their bright white tunics were designed to be easy for wounded soldiers to spot, but in the bloody mess of war, neither shirt nor sword nor soul had been left unstained.

Finally, I found a woman bent over a crumpled body, palms glowing as she pressed them to its throat. The light at her hands went dark, and her

shoulders drooped.

“I need your help,” I shouted.

Her eyes rose, bleary and bleak. “Your Majesty,” she mumbled, weakly saluting. “As you command.”

I took her hand and squeezed it as we fought our way back to Aemonn. I had criticism in abundance for the Descended of every realm, but the healers of Fortos had earned my pity, not my scorn. In my years in the army, I’d seen how their work wore on them. Fortos soldiers thrived on bloodshed, but for the healers, every life lost was a defeat.

“Teller, stop!”

I heard Diem’s panicked voice and realized, with growing dread, that it had come from the side of the battlefield closest to Ophiucae. I hurried my pace, practically shoving the poor healer toward Aemonn when we arrived.

She gawked at Zalaric, then at me, then back at him, both of us still wearing Diem’s face.

“Don’t just stand there,” he yelled at her. He opened the shield around Aemonn. “Save him. Your Queen commands it!”

She shook her head in bewilderment, then crept to Aemonn’s side and set to work. I spun to Zalaric. “This illusion—how many people can you transform?”

“Many,” he admitted, “but if Ophiucae sees what I’ve done, he might order his soldiers to kill anyone who looks like her. It would put the real Diem at risk.”

I gazed across the battlefield. Ophiucae was staring at the sky, where Luther and Sorae were locked in battle with his gryvern.

“Do it,” I said. “I’ll distract him.” I dropped my knife, then pulled another from my thigh and two from my boots, dumping them at Zalaric’s feet.

“Auralie, no—you can’t face him unarmed.”

“I can only face him unarmed.”

I stared up at him, looking at my daughter’s face but only seeing the little boy I’d ferried to Umbros, his frail body fighting for life as we sailed across the Sacred Sea. I smuggled countless orphans to safety over the years, but none had been as hard to leave behind as him.

My voice turned softer. “I prayed the Old Gods would send you a family who cherished you, Zalaric. I couldn’t be happier that it ended up being mine.”

His throat bobbed. “I don’t want to lose another mother.”

I gave his cheek a gentle pat. “I’m a stubborn old bird. The Undying Fire will have to wait until my work is done.”

I left before the silver pooling in his eyes made me doubt my plan, and I ran for my life. My daughter’s likeness shimmered around me, cloaking faces as I sprinted by, while Ophiucae’s soldiers staggered in fruitless search of someone that his orders allowed them to kill.

I pushed myself harder, thighs burning, joints aching, in obstinate defiance of my exhaustion and my age. Somewhere nearby, my daughter’s voice called out again, and newfound energy surged. My plan had put Diem at risk—I had to make that risk worthwhile.

Ophiucae grew nearer, and the magic thrumming over my skin began to fade. I jogged to a stop, fearing I’d gone as far as Zalaric’s illusion could reach. Ophiucae’s soldiers looked at me and cocked their heads.

“Ophiucae,” I shouted.

Slowly, his stare turned to me.

I took a few more steps. Zalaric’s magic flickered, and Ophiucae’s soldiers lifted their blades.

“You have a debt to pay,” I called out. “I’ve come to call it in.”

His eyes narrowed. “Auralie,” he growled.

I strode forward, steeling my shoulders as the illusion around me stretched and snapped away. In seconds, I was surrounded. The sky disappeared beneath a mass of bodies as Ophiucae’s army clambered to tear me limb from limb. Hands scratched at my face and yanked at my hair, while roots cracked like whips against my back. It was only the godstone breastplate that kept their blades from slicing through my chest.

A hand closed around my ankle, and excruciating pain radiated up my leg. The nauseating rot of Fortos magic filled the air, igniting memories of the brutal interrogations I’d faced while imprisoned and the Fortos King’s sinister smile each time I was healed so his torture could start again.

The Guardians had declared me a hero for refusing to break, but in the delirium of agony, breaking had ceased to be a conscious choice. I would have confessed even for crimes I didn’t commit just to make it stop.

What stilled my tongue during those endless hours of pain wasn’t courage or strength—it was my children. So many of my secrets had been crafted to keep them safe, and I didn’t know which revelations would bring an end to my torment and which would bring a start to theirs. My loyalty to the Guardians, apparently, shamefully, had its limits. My love for my family did not.

So I clung to them now, as I did then, and I fought. For Diem and Teller, who I’d cherished from the day they drew breath, I dug in my heels and pushed against the soldiers’ crushing weight. For Taran, who needed me when his world was dark, I grappled to block the wrists of swinging blades.

For Luther and Lily and Zalaric, the hearts who’d made my children whole, I ignored the magic that stung my skin. For Eleanor and Alixe, who’d comforted them when I couldn’t, I endured the pain.

And I screamed as I broke through the horde—for Henri, the boy I’d embraced like a son, for whom my hatred and my love had twisted like twine.

Ophiucae raised a hand, and the soldiers around me stilled. “What a shame our daughter isn’t here for this lovely reunion,” he said, chuckling darkly.

I collapsed to my knees, clutching a wound on my arm. “You don’t deserve to call her ‘our daughter.’”

His smile twisted into a sneer. “You stabbed me and left me on that island to rot. You took my child away. You didn’t even tell her I existed.”

“I did what I had to do to protect her from the Crowns,” I rasped. “And from you.”

He walked to me and crouched, bringing his face to mine. “That was your greatest betrayal—that you ever believed I would hurt her.”

After twenty-one years, I’d forgotten how entrancing his eyes could be.

Ash-grey and glowing, the color of lava as it began to cool. And just as deceptive a risk—a rocky exterior, paper-thin around its molten core.

“You’ve hurt Diem in ways you can’t begin to understand.” The quiver in my voice betrayed a pain that was more than physical. “We both have.”

Gryverns roared overhead, and his gaze drifted upward. I grabbed his wrist to keep his focus on me.

“I made you a promise that I would find a way to free you,” I said. “I kept it, did I not? You would still be in chains if not for me and Diem. You owe your freedom to us both.”

A slight smile teased at his lips, though I couldn’t tell if my pleas were working, or if he was a predator toying with his food before he pounced.

“And what do you want in repayment?”

“I want you to stop this,” I begged. “Punish me, if that will bring you peace. But do not punish Diem. There are people here that she loves.”

His features softened. “It is difficult, isn’t it? Making choices we know will cause them pain in order to spare them a greater loss. I lost my home because my people refused to cleanse it of its evil. Your people lost theirs to my siblings’ offspring and their greed. I will not let Diem lose hers.”

I thought of my husband and the cottage we’d built on the marsh, and my eyes burned. “Land alone is not a home. Not without the people on it. If all that’s left is Emarion’s soil, you’ll take from her the only home that matters.”

He looked at me, his shadowed eyes swirling with something that was both a desperate plea and a dangerous threat. “Her people will demand that she lock me up. They will turn on her if she doesn’t.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “I can’t go back to that cell, Auralie. I will burn this world to the ground before I let that happen.”

“A parent doesn’t burn their child’s world, Ophius,” I said, dragging the affectionate nickname I’d once bestowed on him out from its buried depths.

“They throw their body on the fire to spare their child the flames.”

He leaned back as a deep crease formed between his brows. The light emanating from his skin faded to a faint, silvery glow. I felt like I was right

back on that island, watching Ophiucae hold a dagger over our baby girl’s heart and wondering if I was about to lose her forever.

“I have a gift!”

The world screeched to a halt.

Time stood still. The wind refused to blow, the sun ceased its blistering shine—at least for me. Even my heart seemed to still, not even daring to tremble.

Teller walked past the frozen soldiers, shirtless and covered in wounds.

He stared at Ophiucae and held up Diem’s sword. “Here. This is for you.”

A cry of all-consuming terror ripped from my lungs. I threw myself toward my son, but Ophiucae’s shadows caught me by the waist and yanked me back.

“The rogue Bellator son,” Ophiucae said, standing. “I hoped our paths might cross again.”

Teller flashed a tentative smile. “You must be pretty angry about that whole trying to kill you thing. In my defense, it didn’t work. You’re alive,

so . . . no harm done?”

Ophiucae growled.

Teller swallowed.

“Have you come to try again?” Ophiucae asked.

Teller shook his head. With his other hand, he pulled two knives, each of them coated with a scarlet paste, and tossed them out of reach. “Those won’t kill you anyway. You’re immortal. Only Diem can do that. And I’m pretty sure she needs this to do it.” He held the sword out. “So here’s your

chance to take it.”

“Teller, run—”

My words were cut short by a swath of shadow wrapping over my mouth.

Teller’s smile tightened. “It’s a trade. I give you this sword. In exchange, you spare my family’s lives.”

Ophiucae pointed at the battlefield. “You’re willing to let the rest of them die?”

“If you have the sword, Diem can’t stop you. She’ll have to surrender.

Then no one else will have to—” Teller paused. “Then we can end this war.

You, me, and Diem.”

Ophiucae tutted approvingly. “I heard you were the smarter of your siblings. So was I. It’s a curse, isn’t it, to know so much in a world that

understands so little?”

Teller’s gaze drifted to me, something apologetic hiding within it.

“Yes,” he murmured, “it is.”

My eyes bulged in a frantic attempt to warn him not to trust Ophiucae’s calm. It was a vicious creature, the kind that stalked and watched and laid its trap before it struck.

Ophiucae beckoned him forward. Despite my shrieks of protest, Teller approached, eyes low. He bent at the waist in an awkward bow and offered up the sword.

Ophiucae took it from his hands and held it up, turning the blade so it twinkled in the crimson sunlight. “You’re right. With this sword, I will end this war. I’ll end every war.” He lifted a finger and sliced it on the sword’s edge, drawing a bead of black liquid. “With this sword . . . I’ll remake the world.”

He smeared his blood across the dark grey gemstone embedded in the blade. It began to glow, and so did he, skin radiating with a light so blinding, I was forced to look away. A chill skittered down my spine as his triumphant laughter filled the air.

Overhead, a gryvern’s wail rang out, then abruptly cut off with a horrifying crack. I held my breath as two airborne beasts shot toward the ground—one dangling, limp, from the other’s jaws. In the glare of the low- lying sun, I couldn’t tell which gryvern was which, but the sight of a man caged in the flying gryvern’s talons turned my blood to ice.

Ophiucae’s sword illuminated in a silver corona that filled the golden markings on its blade with a pulsing glow. He held it high, and the world around him seemed to curve, as if existence itself bent beneath its power.

Teller looked at me, his features absent any sign of alarm. “I understand now,” he said simply, “why you did the things you did. I see how far a person will go to keep their family safe.”

“Where is my daughter?” Ophiucae boomed, gazing across the battlefield.

Teller’s eyes stayed on me. “I love you, Mother. I forgive you. I hope someday you forgive me, too.”

I was thrown to my side as the earth began to quake. Two ridges rose from the rocky earth and sliced a route past me into the fighting. Ophiucae’s army split along its line, pushing our troops back to leave the pathway clear.

At its end lay my daughter’s body, prone and still.

“Diem!” Teller shouted, racing toward her. He crashed to his knees at her side and felt for her pulse. “She’s alive—”

Ophiucae’s choked sound of relief took me by surprise, matching my own.

“—but something’s wrong. She won’t wake up.” Teller looked up at him. “Can you use your magic to heal her?”

My head gave a slow, terrified shake as understanding dawned.

As a child, Teller rarely misbehaved. When he did, it was usually at his sister’s request. He was her favorite accomplice, thanks to his ability to tell an impeccable lie—in part, because he never lied at all. He skillfully twisted his words to emphasize the truths that helped them and distract from the ones that didn’t. While Diem wore her emotions stitched across her chest in vibrant colors, Teller’s cunning composure could fool almost anyone.

The son I stared at now looked scared. His hands were trembling, his voice was shrill. If anything he’d said had been a lie, Ophiucae’s magic would have sensed it. There was no reason to doubt him.

But a mother knew.

A mother always knew.

I thrashed against my restraints as my panic mutated into something frenzied and wild. Ophiucae ran through his shield to join Teller at Diem’s side. Teller shoved her body into his arms. Ophiucae grimaced at the touch of her godstone armor on his skin.

The magic that held me flickered, weakening enough for me to slip away. I tried to run toward them, but Teller shot me a look so grave, it stopped me still.

He looked back at Ophiucae. “Can you heal her?”

Ophiucae dropped his sword and set his palm on Diem’s cheek. “Her wounds aren’t deep. They shouldn’t have caused this.”

Teller’s eyes found mine again. They held my gaze for moment, widened, then darted to a different spot nearby. I spun toward it, raising my hands in anticipation of a surprise attack, and blinked at the empty expanse.

No soldiers, no gryverns, no threat. Only the rocky Fortos flatlands . . . and two discarded blades coated in a scarlet paste. I snatched them both and cursed myself for teaching my children to scheme.

“So it was a magical attack?” Teller asked him.

“My soldiers wouldn’t attack her.” Ophiucae’s hands curled into fists.

“She must have been betrayed by one of her own.”

Teller nodded encouragingly. He was toying with Ophiucae’s paranoia, using his distrust of the world against him. “You could look at her memories,” he suggested. “Find out what happened to her right before she went unconscious. Then we’ll know how to help her.”

“And who to kill,” Ophiucae snarled.

Teller nodded again. “Anyone who hurts my sister has to pay.”

Ophiucae fell quiet as his gaze roamed over Teller’s face, and my breath stuck in my throat. For a long moment, none of us moved—then Ophiucae gave a slight smile. He laid Diem’s body on the ground, pressed his palm to her forehead, and closed his eyes.

“Diem was watching the battle from the Lumnos border,” Teller said.

“Start looking at her memories there.”

He shot me a look, and I shook my head, silently ordering him to stop.

“Diem wanted to come to me,” Ophiucae murmured. “She was ready to make her choice.”

“Focus on the memories that will help us heal her,” Teller insisted. He beckoned for me to come closer. “Try later—after she joined the battle.”

I crept forward, careful not to make a sound.

Ophiucae hummed. “Yes. The battle. She was looking for you.”

“That’s right,” Teller said.

“You’d done something to upset her.”

“I’m her brother. That’s my job.”

“She was angry at you. Worried, too.”

“She’s my sister. That’s her job.”

Teller laughed.

Ophiucae didn’t.

I neared Ophiucae’s side. Slowly, carefully, urgently, I lifted one knife.

Oh, Auralie, a low voice purred inside my head. Will you never learn?

No.

No.

No.

Compelled by Ophiucae’s magic, my body involuntarily turned toward my son. My legs advanced a step, then another.

NO! I screamed—with my thoughts, with my heart, with my blood, with my prayers.

You raise courageous children, Auralie, I’ll give you that, Ophiucae said in my thoughts. If all mortals shared their valor, this world might not have needed me to save it.

“Diem seemed to think you were about to do something foolish,” he said aloud. “She wanted to stop you.”

“I was coming to see you,” Teller admitted. “She was afraid you’d kill me.”

In the torturous prison of my mind, Ophiucae gave a knowing laugh.

Teller’s hand drifted behind him. Across the chains that bound my mind, I felt Ophiucae take note. He used my eyes to watch, used my legs to walk.

When Teller glanced at me with last-minute hesitation, I felt Ophiucae use my head to nod and urge him on.

It was hard to believe that I once thought the worst way I could fail my

children was to die.

“Then what happened?” Teller asked.

“She found you,” Ophiucae answered. “You started to fight her.”

“I had to get her sword so I could bring it to you.” Teller fidgeted with something behind his back, and Ophiucae sent me closer to investigate, forcing me to stand behind my son. Dread iced my veins as my eyes dropped to Teller’s hands, but there was no hidden weapon clutched inside them, only his rumpled, bloodstained shirt.

A tiny mercy, that I couldn’t betray Teller’s plan because I had no clue what it was. Though I fought the intrusion with all I had, I was completely under Ophiucae’s control. I was his soldier. His spy.

And as my hands lifted Teller’s knives into striking position over my son’s head, I realized with horror that I’d become his executioner, too.

Do you think of that day as often as I do? he asked in my thoughts. Our final moment together on that wretched island. The way you looked at me when you saw me with our child.

Suddenly, Diem stirred. Using my eyes, he watched her eyelids twitch.

What do you think she’ll do when she sees you? he went on. Will she believe the worst of you? Will she kill you and leave you behind?

I screamed my thoughts inside my head and hoped he could hear them.

Diem knows I wouldn’t hurt Teller unless I was forced by you to do it. And she will never forgive you. Diem’s love can survive many tests, but this will

close her heart to you forever.

“Do you see it?” Teller asked him.

Ophiucae was silent. Though his eyes were shut, I felt like they were boring a hole right through me. My fingers quivered on the hilts of Teller’s blades.

“Do you see what happened?” Teller pushed.

Diem let out a soft waking noise, and Ophiucae’s brows drew low. “I do.”

Teller’s hand moved to his side, still clutching his balled-up shirt. “Do you see now who betrayed her? Do you see who has to pay?”

“You,” he growled.

“No. You.”

Ophiucae’s eyes flew open.

Teller glared. “Now get the fuck out of their heads.”

He lunged for Ophiucae.

Ophiucae lunged for the sword.

And I, against my will, lunged for my son.

But the gods had heard my prayers, and Teller had known I was coming.

He flung himself onto Ophiucae, twisting their bodies as they fell, and the knives in my hands sank into Ophiucae’s back. The flameroot paste on their blades swirled with his onyx blood, and his magic’s grip on my mind faded away.

I let out a sob of relief and struck again, this time with merciless purpose. I thought of the woman I’d been when I met Ophiucae—young and naive, trusting that a man I loved would never hurt me—and I stabbed him again, and again, and again.

I needed to be sure that I stopped him, that the war was over and he couldn’t hurt anyone else. I needed to know that Teller was safe, and that Diem was finally free.

I was so lost in the frenzy, I barely noticed when Luther shoved his way through the soldiers. My hands kept stabbing and stabbing, even as Luther wrapped an arm around me and dragged me back.

Ophiucae didn’t move. His body had gone slack, head drooped over Teller’s shoulder. Luther gripped him by the arm and flipped him over.

Teller’s shirt was shoved into Ophiucae’s mouth, its damp fabric draped over his nose.

His eyes were closed. His hands were empty.

And his sword was buried deep in Teller’s chest.

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