Page 190 of Burn of the Everflame

I fought a cringe. “That role is held by someone with authority. I have none.”

A mischievous glint gleamed in his eyes. “Maybe if you ask nicely, Queenie will make you her Kingie.”

Diem tensed.

“Taran,” I warned.

“If you ask really nicely, Zal might let us make it a double ceremony so you two could speed up this torture you’re putting us all thr⁠—”

“Taran,” I snapped. “I’ll do it.”

He brightened. “Really?” He lunged forward, and I let go of Diem just in time to avoid taking her down with me as he knocked me to my ass with a rib-crushing hug.

I slapped him hard on the back, but our brotherly moment was interrupted by a trumpet’s blare. We quickly climbed to our feet and turned our eyes to a column of shadow shooting through the trees.

The lookout’s signal.

Vance and his men had arrived.

Hardly a word was spoken as we watched the enemy emerge from the forest. It was immediately apparent that this was not the ragtag group of rebels we’d grown accustomed to facing. Their clothes were nicer, their weapons were fancier. There was even a line of people at the front of their ranks who inexplicably appeared to be wearing uniforms. And there was something I’d never seen among Vance’s troops before: women. Plenty of them. In less than a week, Vance’s army had more than tripled in size.

“They’re not shielding,” Alixe said. “Not unless Ophiucae learned how to make his shield invisible.”

“There’s his shield,” I grumbled, pointing to the furthest edge of the ranks, where Vance sat on horseback along with ten other men behind a shimmering veil.

Taran snorted. “Hiding in safety while his people put themselves at risk. He’s proving Queenie right.”

I glanced at Diem. She was quiet, brows drawn in.

Nidara eagerly spun her blades. “Why do they keep fighting for him? He’s going to get them all killed.”

“Maybe they’re happy to die as long as they take us with them,” Zalaric said.

Diem took a few steps forward, her troubled look deepening.

“Your Majesty,” Alixe called out. “We advance on your command.”

Diem shook her head.

“What is it?” I asked her.

“They’re so . . . still.”

I began to see it, too. The host amassed across Mort-Feu Pass looked more like a painting than living, breathing people. Our soldiers were squirming with energy, but the fighters at Vance’s command were perfect statues. Their lines were flawless, not a toe out of place. The only movement was their clothes fluttering in the wind.

Diem raised her arm, and a bolt of shadow sprang from her palm. None of the enemy soldiers even raised their chins to watch as it sailed across their heads and crashed into Vance’s shield.

His booming laughter echoed across the pass.

Diem’s hand shifted and fired again. Again, the dark bolt whistled through the air. When it reached its target—a soldier in dark clothes at the center of their front line—the man’s hand jerked up, and a dome of shimmering pink appeared at the last second to knock it away.

Diem and I stiffened, coming to the same realization at once. That wasn’t Ophiucae’s shield—and that man was not a mortal.

“It’s not his aura we felt,” Diem said. “It’s theirs.”

Vance’s laughter grew louder.

“Don’t fire,” Teller yelled. He shoved his way through the lines as he sprinted toward us. “Diem, stop the attack!”