Page 104 of Burn of the Everflame

He continued, undeterred. “Run, Diem, if that’s what you need. Wherever you go, I will follow. At a distance, if I must, but I will not let you walk this road alone. Do you understand?”

“Luther,” I begged, unsure what I was begging for.

He caught up to me and snagged me by the waist, his grip rough in a way that sent heat through my blood. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Good. Now try again.”

I glanced around. With the Ignios Descended to our left, Guardians to our right, and the palace and its many windows behind us, we were surrounded by curious eyes.

“They can’t see us,” he said. “Whatever happens, it’s between you and me.”

“Luther, everyone can see us.”

He looked at the Guardians, where his cousin was walking through the tents carrying two wooden casks of ale on his shoulder. He cupped a hand around his mouth. “Taran!”

Taran’s head whipped toward us. “Who was that?” His narrowed eyes roamed over us, never stopping, until they stopped on the Ignios camp. “Zal, was that you?”

Across the field, Zalaric paused his conversation with a group of women wearing the leather fist of the Ignios Royal Guard. “You’re hearing things, old man,” he shouted back.

“Hey, you think you could talk them into selling me one of those strappy leather things?” Taran puffed out his chest. “I think I could pull it off.”

“Sorry, handsome. I don’t think it’ll fit over that giant boulder you call a head.”

From the stars in his eyes, I wasn’t sure Taran had heard any word after handsome. He handed off the casks to some of the Guardians, who—to my surprise—smiled and clasped his wrist, then jogged across the field toward Zalaric. Luther pulled me against him just in time to keep Taran from walking right into me.

“See?” Luther said, squeezing my hip. “They can’t see us. No one can.” His fingers twitched against my side, and I felt the caress of his magic brush my skin. “We’re hidden behind an illusion. I’ve been working on them while you were away. So you and I can have . . . privacy.” His gaze dropped to my lips, and my pulse picked up speed. “Close your eyes.”

My stomach fluttered as I obeyed.

“Good. Put your hands on me. Anywhere—just so you know I’m here.”

My hands rose to the thick muscles of his torso. One roamed higher to rest atop his heart. Its steady thump resonated through my blood, matching the ghostly beat that had joined mine.

“Good,” he said again, slower—huskier. “Now go back to that day.”

“The Challenging?”

“No. The day your father died.”

Panic flared. Luther’s hand shifted to the small of my back and spread wide, pressing me close.

“Don’t think,” he said, “just feel. Let yourself go back to the moment your magic took over.”

Everything in me resisted. The loss of my father had become more like a bruise than a wound: unpleasant to look at, but tolerable. Survivable. Painful only when touched. Reliving that moment would mean slicing it open, and hadn’t I bled enough?

I opened my eyes. “I can’t go back there.”

Luther frowned. “Is this why you haven’t questioned the Sophosians who were at your ball? They arrived days ago.” I looked down in shame, and he studied me for a moment. “Let’s try the night you returned from the island.”

“I didn’t create godstone that night.”

“But you did lose control. It’s that, or your father’s death. Your choice.”

My deepest cut or my freshest. Luther’s ability to root out everything I hid from was merciless in its precision.

Grudgingly, I let my mind drag me back to the night I returned, standing naked in my chambers with Luther at my back, his arms wrapped around me. Despite everything, there had been joy in that moment, anticipation of the forever I was sure we would get.