Page 352 of Burn of the Everflame

And like my Queen, I would not fear the flames.

Xipherus opened his jaws again, and a wave of dragonfyre came surging toward us.

“Now!” Symond yelled as the flames engulfed him.

Twang.

The ballista fired.

A massive beast collapsed against the soil.

The excruciating pain of the fire that consumed my body faded into a comforting, everlasting warmth, and I finally felt pride for the name I bore.

In the darkness of my mind, Andrei Bellator appeared with Teller at his side. They smiled, extending their hands toward me.

And together, they welcomed me home.

82

LUTHER

Ophiucae’s gaze settled on an opening in the soil, where a set of stairs led underground. “Is that what you brought me here to do?” he asked. “Chain me up and leave me to be forgotten like before?”

Diem watched him, saying nothing. The Flames of her newfound magic crackled around her.

“Some fates are worse than death,” he said.

“Much, much worse,” she answered coldly.

Ophiucae’s hand twitched at his side. “You can still join me. We can end this war. Rule Emarion together.”

“Join you?” I cut in. “What’s left of your army is too far away to save you. You’re no match for Diem’s power. You’ve lost, Ophiucae. It’s over.”

Neither of them seemed to hear me, and nothing about the way they stared each other down suggested that this was anywhere near over.

Reminders of the vision tugged at my memory. So many of the details around me were exactly as they’d been . . . but there were differences, too. In the vision, there had been no Temple in the distance, and Ophiucae’s body had been bright and glowing, filled with the evidence of his power. Now, his skin was dull, no sign of his magic to be seen. Was this a trick—Ophiucae holding back until he was ready to strike?

Or had something changed the threads of fate?

“I believed in you,” Diem said. “Everyone wanted you dead, but I believed you could be a better man. Even when you slaughtered my people, I never gave up on you . . . and I hated myself for it.” She began to walk toward him. “I hated that I cared for you. I hated that I wanted you to love me back. I felt like such a weak fool.”

Ophiucae scoffed. “Everything I’ve done has been for us—for you—to secure this world for our reign. I made sure that all who defied you met their end at your sword. Would I do that if I did not care?”

“The worst part of all is that I believe you,” she said. “I think you really do believe that love is the same as ruin and destruction. Maybe you’re right.” She looked at me, and my heart roared at the sadness in her eyes. “Maybe the people we love the most are the ones we’re doomed to hurt the worst.”

She brushed her fingers over her mating mark, and a flood of grateful love flowed through our bond. “You’re right, too,” she told me. “Hope isn’t weakness. There’s strength in trying to heal what everyone else wants to burn. You never let me forget that.” Her stare returned to Ophiucae. “And you never let me forget that the greatest strength of all is letting go.”

He eyed her warily. “That’s right. You must let go of the people of this world. Death may be a monstrous thing, but we cannot bring peace to this land without it.”

Her shoulders seemed to droop in defeat. “No,” she said, sighing. “We cannot.”

“You and I, we are gods. We have a destiny to fulfill.”

She nodded. “We do.” The Flames flickering over the island faded away. “I’m tired of fighting, Ophiucae. I’m tired of watching the people I care about suffer and die. I want it to end.”

“It will . . . if you join me.”

Diem looked up at the sky, where the clouds had parted just enough to reveal the moon, bright and full, bathing us in its light. “I’ve made my choice.”