Page 342 of Burn of the Everflame

Ophiucae’s eyes flew open.

Teller glared. “Now get the fuck out of their heads.”

He lunged for Ophiucae.

Ophiucae lunged for the sword.

And I, against my will, lunged for my son.

But the gods had heard my prayers, and Teller had known I was coming. He flung himself onto Ophiucae, twisting their bodies as they fell, and the knives in my hands sank into Ophiucae’s back. The flameroot paste on their blades swirled with his onyx blood, and his magic’s grip on my mind faded away.

I let out a sob of relief and struck again, this time with merciless purpose. I thought of the woman I’d been when I met Ophiucae—young and naive, trusting that a man I loved would never hurt me—and I stabbed him again, and again, and again.

I needed to be sure that I stopped him, that the war was over and he couldn’t hurt anyone else. I needed to know that Teller was safe, and that Diem was finally free.

I was so lost in the frenzy, I barely noticed when Luther shoved his way through the soldiers. My hands kept stabbing and stabbing, even as Luther wrapped an arm around me and dragged me back.

Ophiucae didn’t move. His body had gone slack, head drooped over Teller’s shoulder. Luther gripped him by the arm and flipped him over. Teller’s shirt was shoved into Ophiucae’s mouth, its damp fabric draped over his nose.

His eyes were closed. His hands were empty.

And his sword was buried deep in Teller’s chest.

79

DIEM

Iwoke to my mother’s screams.

And I knew my brother was gone.

80

LUTHER

We flew beneath the clouds, hair whipping at my cheeks. I cradled one arm at my side, grimacing as each breath sent fire through my ribs. The side of my leg was burned so badly, every touch made my vision spot.

Sorae’s triumph over Xipherus had not come easy for either of us. One of her talons hung limp, missing two of its toes. Large chunks of her hide had been ripped away, while claw marks dragged across her throat and belly. The edge of one wing was shredded, forcing her to fight twice as hard to keep us in the air. Her body seemed ready to give out at any moment and send us hurtling into the Sacred Sea.

She let out a whimper, and I used my legs to give a reassuring squeeze. I knew her wounds weren’t her real concern. Battered and bleeding as we were, our agony was for the woman clutched to my chest.

“Still there?” Diem whispered.

I glanced over Sorae’s side to her uninjured talon, where Ophiucae’s body dangled, unconscious, with Teller’s sleeping-draught-soaked shirt knotted over his nose and mouth. At the sight of it, Auralie’s heartbroken wail replayed in my ears, as loud and as haunting as the moment I’d first heard it.

“He’s still there,” I murmured.

Diem’s hand slipped out from the ball she’d curled herself into and stretched toward her sword, which I’d tucked into my belt. Her fingers brushed along its golden markings, then turned upright, stained with red. I shifted the sword out of her reach, mentally throttling myself for not cleaning her brother’s blood from its blade.

There’d been little time to mourn. The sleeping draught had left Ophiucae unconscious, but it had not stopped his army’s attacks. With his soldiers closing in, we’d been forced to hurriedly whisk him away. Even Auralie had to be abandoned, left alone to weep over her son’s corpse.

Diem hadn’t wept. She’d stared at her slain brother, ghost-pale and swaying, until I gently led her away. Other than her repeated requests to confirm that Ophiucae was still beneath us, she hadn’t spoken a word. Her quiet demeanor might have been mistaken for denial, were it not for the overwhelming emotion engulfing our bond.

But it wasn’t grief. It wasn’t sadness, or guilt, or even despair—it was anger. Blistering, molten rage. She trembled with it in my arms, and I held her closer.

It felt like cradling a bomb.

I took her palm and swiped the blood away with my thumb, hoping my touch would calm her spirit, but she quickly pulled her hand back. She didn’t want calm, and I didn’t blame her.