Page 36 of Burn of the Everflame

“I’m sorry—who did you just say you are?”

“The Kindred,” the woman repeated. She touched her chest. “Your people gave me the name Lumnos.”

I gawked around the Temple as my brain tried to accept what I was seeing. Nine pairs of grey eyes stared back from faces that were distinct yet unquestionably related.

“Impossible,” I gasped.

“Nothing is impossible,” the man under the Sophos arch corrected, “for those willing to search for an answer.”

“How is this happening?” I asked him.

“You took the God’s Horn, did you not?”

“It seems you are capable of doing what you’re told,” Umbros said dryly. He swept a loose braid of his long, silky hair over his shoulder. “We were beginning to wonder.”

I shook my head. “God’s Horn . . . that’s just a myth. A story. It can’t—you’re not⁠—”

“It can, and we are,” Fortos said. He was brawny and broad, built like a brick, exactly how I would have pictured him.

“Great power lies in stories,” Montios said softly. She was the most petite of the group, mild and unassuming, but her features carried the heaviness of quiet wisdom.

“Indeed,” said the woman under the Ignios arch. She reminded me of Alixe—fierce, hardy, clearly a warrior, yet with an approachable warmth. “There’s one story in particular we’ve come to share with you.”

I stared down at my palms, then pressed them to my cheeks. My skin felt flushed, but my hands were clammy—the effects of rosebane toxin, most likely, along with these wild hallucinations.

“You’re not hallucinating,” Umbros said.

Umbros—the god of thought magic.

My eyes snapped up. “Did you just read my mind?”

“I didn’t need to. You, Daughter of the Forgotten, are painfully easy to read.”

I walked around the Temple, taking them in one at a time. They were so much like the Descended of the realms that bore their names. Umbros wore the smirk of a man with many secrets. Sophos looked . . . well, like he lived in a library. Faunos was preternaturally still, staring like he might pounce at any moment. All of them were beautiful in their own way, their skin illuminated with unearthly light.

When I reached Lumnos, I paused. Something in me felt drawn to her, even more so than the other Kindred whose Crowns I wore.

I took a step closer, and so did she. Her hand rose to my face, her fingertips lightly lifting my chin.

The moment her shimmering flesh touched mine, my skin blazed with the same starshine glow. Though her touch was neither warm nor solid, it felt like being enrobed in the calming embrace of a loving, protective light.

It felt, somehow, like him.

My hand rose to my mating mark. Lumnos noted the gesture and smiled. “I hoped you might open your heart to my Prince. He does love you so.”

. . . Her Prince?

My awe shifted, sharpened, hardened to steel. How dare she claim Luther, after all she’d put him through? He’d sworn himself to her service and received only pain in return.

“If you really are the Kindred . . .” My eyes narrowed. “Then fuck you.”

Her smile dropped.

I recoiled from her touch and pointed at each of them. “Emarion belonged to the mortals. This island belonged to the Old Gods. You stole it all to feed your own egos.”

“We stole nothing,” Fortos argued. “We used our magic to help the mortals, and they welcomed us.”

“Not all of them,” I snapped. “That’s the lie you wanted us to believe, but I read the books you banned. I know the history you tried to burn.”