Page 13 of Burn of the Everflame

My reason to not just stay alive, but to live.

I pressed a kiss to Perthe’s gravestone. “No more negative thoughts today,” I promised. “This time, I really mean it.”

I stood and smoothed down my pants, frowning at how low they hung on my hips. Food on the island was scarce, and though my Descended healing had slowed the effects of starvation, my stomach ached for something more than roots and bugs.

I started on my evening routine by checking on all the rainwater collectors I’d crafted to make sure they’d be ready for the storm, then rolled out the canopy I’d woven from stalks of tall grass. I couldn’t leave the makeshift shelter up during the day and risk being spotted by patrols, so every morning I tore it down, only to put it back up again every night.

“This would be a lot easier if you stopped hiding, you know,” I told myself as I tied the corners to one of the few clusters of palm trees scattered among the grass. “You could have a feast with all that food she left you. Maybe she even packed you a tent.”

I stared wistfully toward the Arboros port. Before I knew what I was doing, my feet were carrying me south, lured by an empty stomach and a pitiful mood. When I arrived at the pile of wooden crates, I crossed my arms, staring them down like an old, loathed nemesis.

Doriel had promised I would be taken care of until Ophiucae was dead and my magic was lost to the foolish bonded bargain I’d made. But, much like on the mainland, prisoners out of sight were easily forgotten, and supplies from Sophos never came. When shipments arrived instead from Arboros, I knew it was an attempt to assuage the guilty conscience of its Queen. After a week of debating, my spite defeated my hunger, and I decided to forego the supplies to conceal my survival.

Let the Crowns wonder if I’d lived. Let them lie in their beds at night, fearing that the most powerful among them was plotting their demise. Let them toss and turn with terror that the next time they came to this island for a ritual, it might be their last.

I did, I was, and it would be.

I spat at the crates. “Keep your supplies. The only thing I’m taking from any of you is your thrones.”

I started back for my campsite when a crack of lightning sliced through the sky to the east. I jumped in surprise, but what caught my eye wasn’t the storm. It was a tiny black spot, its bobbing form barely visible against the clouds.

I squinted and leaned forward. Is that . . . ?

“Shit,” I mumbled as I broke into a sprint.

I veered off the twisting pathways and cut through the brush to stay hidden, flinching at the fronds that slapped my face. I skidded to a stop at my camp and fumbled with the strips of fabric I’d torn from my clothes to tie the canopy, but the sudden surge of adrenaline had set my heart racing and my hands shaking.

A fat drop of liquid splashed against my cheek, then another. “Now you send rain?” I cried out. I could almost hear the laughter of the gods in the thunder that answered.

Within seconds, the sky opened up with a freezing drizzle. With my hands slick and the fabric soaked, the knots might as well have been forged of Fortosian steel. There would be no untying them now.

I shot a look over my shoulder. The black dot in the sky had grown, wings now visible on either side.

I had a few stones with sharp edges—I could saw through the fabric, but how quickly? If I was spotted, my sacrifice these past few weeks would be for nothing. And, if they knew I was alive, they might never come back. Then I might never get my chance to escape.

My focus darted back to the canopy. So many hours I’d spent gathering supplies, so many days spent weaving it together just so to prevent any leaks . . .

A visceral scream of defeat erupted from inside me as I clawed my fingers down the center. I ripped and I ripped, wielding my despair as destruction. A drizzle became a downpour, and the rain mixed with hot, angry tears to blur my vision as my hard work fell to the grass in tatters.

I gathered the shredded remnants and scattered them in the brush just as the drumbeat of gryvern wings cut through the storm.

Thump, thump, thump.

I dropped to my knees and bent my head low until I was shrouded in the grass. The one good thing about the spell the Crowns had cast to trap me here was that it also kept their gryverns from flying overhead. They could only come as far as the shore without risking their deaths—and they had, many times, searching for any sign of me from the air.

And so had Sorae.

Each time she’d returned to circle the island, I’d told myself it was too great a risk to let her see me—what if she sensed my poor health and couldn’t resist the urge to get closer? What if I couldn’t resist the urge to get closer?

And then, early one morning, Sorae landed on the Lumnos pier with Luther on her back. My heart had stilled as I watched him dismount and walk to the shore’s edge, the same place he’d kissed me goodbye before my disastrous coronation.

When I caught sight of those blue-grey eyes, my self-control vanished like smoke. In that moment, something feral within me took over, and all that mattered was making my way back into his arms—even if it cost me my life.

It was pure luck, or perhaps another twist in the gods’ cruel game, that he never saw me run toward him, thanks to an approaching patrol boat that pulled his attention away.

But Sorae did. Her sorrowful wail had cut through my frenzy and brought me back to sanity. I had been ready to risk everything for one look, one touch.

But I wanted so much more than one touch.