Page 331 of Burn of the Everflame

I felt awful for what I’d asked him to do. Knowing the alternative was worse didn’t make the guilt any less heavy.

There was no escaping pain in war. All who stepped into battle would feel it. The only difference was whether yours would end at the tip of a sword, or whether you would survive and endure its torture for years to come.

“You promised my people an illusion,” Symond said sharply.

I raised my hands and brought the image of the forest forward, draping it like a curtain in front of the Centenaries to hide them from view, then did the same for the Faunos Descended.

“There’s not many of us,” Symond warned, “and there are quite a lot of mortals to shield.”

I glanced out at the battle, the mantle of High General feeling heavier than ever as I debated which lives to sacrifice and which to spare. I pointed toward the catapults. “Focus your efforts there. If those bombs get turned on us, we’re finished.”

He glanced at the other Centenaries, brows silently twitching, and a moment later, their hands moved to obey.

“Thank you, Symond,” I said. “Your help will mean a great deal to Diem.”

“It shouldn’t. I only agreed to come so I could watch her die firsthand.” He smirked as his stare shifted over my shoulder. “Shame that I already missed it.”

I spun around to see Diem’s body crumpled among the fallen soldiers. I looked around for Luther and found him riding toward Sorae, casting his shadows toward the Merosians whose wind had pinned her down. My head shook in confused disbelief—Luther would never leave Diem’s side while she was wounded. And if she was dead . . .

A shudder rippled through me at the dark beast I knew he’d become.

I ran toward Diem. “Stay with your people,” I called back to Symond. “I’ll handle this.”

“Whatever you say, High General. But I’m curious . . . who’s going to handle them?”

I glanced back. His smile had turned markedly tighter as he raised a single pointed finger. I followed its path across the battlefield, toward the west—where another wave of dark figures rode toward us, silhouetted against the deep crimson sky.

77

DIEM

“Your Majesty? Are you alive? Are you hurt?”

I answered with a groan. Two strong hands gripped my shoulders and shook. The movement sent my stomach flipping as if I was tumbling through the air. Confused thoughts and attempts to answer were overridden by a desperate need to make the free fall stop.

“Diem, are you alright? Are you still . . . you?”

Then it hit me—where I was. The war, the battlefield. Ophiucae. My mother and my mate, somewhere in the thick of combat. And my brother . . .

“Teller,” I rasped.

Alixe helped me sit up, and nausea churned again. I drew in air through my nose to keep it down, and the lingering traces of a cloying, spicy fragrance dragged a memory from the haze.

“That little shit drugged me,” I mumbled.

“Your brother?” she asked. “Why would he do that?”

A different kind of sickness rose as a gnawing suspicion began to grow. I looked at the forest, searching the trees. Lily’s face, wrecked with concern, peered out from between two trunks.

“Where is he?” I shouted at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, lip trembling. “The healers were using it on the wounded soldiers. He asked me to give him a vial. He said . . .” Her body shuddered as more tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Where is he?” I yelled again, panicked and shrill.

Her eyes shifted beyond me, and I swiveled toward the battlefield. At its center, a shock of auburn hair bobbed through the clashing fighters.

“He told me he was going to stop Ophiucae,” Lily cried. “I didn’t know he was going to use it on you, I swear.”