Page 232 of Burn of the Everflame

I took Ophiucae’s palm and placed it on Doriel’s cheek, then laid mine atop it. “This world has seen enough bloodshed.”

He held my gaze for so long, I wasn’t sure Doriel would survive to see his answer. Finally, his magic thrummed against my skin, and Doriel’s chest filled with a sudden, wheezing gasp. Color returned to their cheeks, and they sank to the ground to catch their breath, leaving Ophiucae’s hand clutched in mine.

“Thank you,” I said, sagging in relief—and no small amount of fear for how close I’d come to giving in.

How close I still might be.

“Tell me, daughter,” he said coolly, “if I had let you grab that sword in the library today . . . where would its blade have ended up?”

I froze, eyes going wide.

He leaned in through the bars, his face an inch from mine. “I will rule this world, one way or another,” he growled. “If you won’t stand with me . . . I’ll find others who will.”

52

DIEM

For two days, Ophiucae walked by my cell to and from the library, the book on the heartstone always in his hands, and not once did he so much as glance my way. If he was hoping to unsettle me, it was pathetically effective. I recited my mother’s story of her time on the island to remind myself what he was capable of doing, even to those he loved. He was far too dangerous to trust—not with the heartstone, not with Emarion, and not with me.

It did not stop my chest from squeezing each time he passed me by without a word.

I was not the only person in Sophos wrestling with conflicting feelings. Ophiucae had healed the mortals from the poisoned ale, leaving them begrudgingly grateful. When he ordered them to gather their weapons and prepare to leave for Umbros, even Vance gave a deferential nod.

“Are you coming with us?” Vance asked him.

“No. I’ll do my part from here.”

He nodded toward the Descended they’d captured in Meros. “What about them?”

“Until you prove to me that you can do something other than run away or get them killed, they stay with me.”

Vance’s lips formed a thin, hard line.

“Is there something you’d like to say?” Ophiucae’s smile spread wide at his silence. “Very well. Take your men and go.”

“One last question,” Vance gritted out. “Where’d you send our messenger hawk?”

Ophiucae arched a brow. “If I want to send a message, I don’t need a bird to do it.”

Vance frowned. “It left when we got back from Meros. None of my men know where it went.”

“Perhaps it was sent by whoever warned Fortos you were coming, or whoever told the Merosians to poison their ale.”

“Can’t you use that mind magic of yours to figure it out?” Vance grumbled.

“I’ve grown tired of giving help without getting something in return.” Ophiucae’s eyes slid to me for a brief moment, sending my heart pounding, then returned to Vance. “You’re dismissed.”

Vance stalked toward the Ring Road, muttering colorful words beneath his breath and clenching his good hand around the handle of his blade. Ophiucae watched, stone-faced and still, until the men were gone, then he set off toward the grasslands.

“Why are you really staying here?” I yelled out.

“Don’t provoke him,” Doriel hissed.

I waved them off, raising my voice even louder. “Is it because you’re afraid to fight?”

Ophiucae ignored me, silently walking away.

I walked to the bars. “You’re too powerful to be such a coward.”