Page 76 of Burn of the Everflame

“Don’t tell anyone, alright?” I asked. “You know how Kindred-obsessed the Descended are. I don’t know what they’ll do if they find out there’s still one alive.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

The click of a bloodlock heralded the opening of the door. The warm pulse of the mating mark on my chest told me who had arrived, and Teller’s respectful nod of greeting confirmed it.

“You know, I haven’t slept in a bed for weeks,” Teller said. “I’d really like to do it again.” He gave my shoulder a final squeeze as he rose, then shuffled across the parlor to his old room. He paused and looked back. “Happy birthday to you, too.”

He forced a small smile that I couldn’t seem to return.

“Night, Tel.”

“Night, D.”

I stared at his door long after he closed it, even as Luther came and crouched before me. “The poultice is gone,” he said. “I burned the bowl to make sure no one from Ignios could get even a trace.”

“Was there enough for the other survivors?”

He nodded. “Alixe took the final batch.”

I grimaced. I hadn’t even thought to ask her if she was wounded. I’d questioned her loyalty, then put her to work. And she had done so, knowing the poison was killing her inside.

“Mireille and Ailani left for Arboros and Faunos,” he went on. “Obaneryn won’t return to Meros until you decide Doriel’s fate, and the Ignios prick is too ill to travel. I put guards on the three of them for tonight.”

I stared up at the ceiling, surprised at how strange it felt to see wood and stone instead of the evening sky I’d grown used to on the island.

Luther’s hand shifted on top of mine. The balm of his touch was immediate, soothing my hissing godhood and coaxing the last of the shimmering, angry glow to leave my skin.

“Are you second-guessing your choice?” he asked.

“No. Does that make me a monster?”

“Ignios deserves his death. Some people are too dangerous to save.” His focus moved to the sword and dagger in my lap. He picked up Doriel’s blade first, casting a glowing orb to illuminate its design. “You’re right—this does look like the knife that killed your father.”

“Except for the handle,” I said.

“And the marquenom.”

I frowned. “What’s a marquenom?”

“Custom blades like these are engraved with a symbol for their owners.” He brushed his thumb across a small design etched just below the hilt: the sigil of Sophos—an open book below a glowing spark—topped with a single-peaked coronet. “This one is for the Crown of Sophos.”

My Sophos magic spun to life, plucking an image of the knife that killed my father from my memories in immaculate detail—right down to the warm, sticky blood coating its unmarked blade.

“The other one didn’t have a marquenom,” I said.

“Perhaps its owner chose to leave it off so they couldn’t be found.” He hesitated. “Or perhaps it never made it to its owner.” Before I could push him on what he meant, his attention moved to Sorrow’s Edge. “That’s the sword from our vision—the one you fought with in Sophos. Doriel brought it to the island?”

“No. The Kindred did. They appeared to me on Coeurîle.”

He waited for me to say more, and when I didn’t, he glanced up at my Crown. “The Kindred gave all of those to you, too?”

All I could do was nod. There were so many things I needed to tell him and show him and ask him, I wasn’t sure where to begin. I wanted to curl up in his arms and open my mind to let him see every dark, defeated moment through my eyes, make him understand how damaged I’d become.

His thumb grazed the line of my jaw, then he rose to stand. “You must be tired. Let me run you a bath.”

He strode toward my washroom like a man determined. I wearily rose and followed him, dragging Sorrow’s Edge at my side. I paused by my bed and cast a plume of Ignios magic to light the fireplace. As the warmth of the flames heated my skin, a calm settled over me.

For weeks, I’d dreamed of this moment. Luther and I were alone. No distractions, no immediate dangers to fight, only truths to be revealed.