Page 109 of Burn of the Everflame

I climbed up Tybold’s side and mounted his back, and when we were far enough away that the only thing I could feel was his shackled wrath and my own shattered heart, I finally let go, and I burned.

And when I finished, there was not an ounce of godstone to be found.

27

LUTHER

Every force this side of the afterlife was conspiring to keep me from my Queen.

Including the woman herself.

She was avoiding me. That much was painfully clear. If she thought it would put me off her, she’d made a grave miscalculation. For a brief moment, she had let me see beyond her armor to the woman beneath—a woman who still desired me. A woman who needed me.

Something was keeping her at arm’s length. I had my suspicions what that something might be, none of which I let myself dwell on. I’d given her distance to honor her wishes, but now that she’d confessed what she really wanted, I was done with space. It was time to show my Queen that I was ready to fight for her.

I just had to find her first.

After returning to the training field to find her gone, I’d gathered the belongings she left behind and set out to find her. I’d arrived too late to the palace library, though its damaged state and the darkness of her aura warned me what would come next. I ran to Sorae just in time to see Diem soar away on Tybold instead. Sorae was apoplectic, but she was bound by Diem’s order to stay, forcing us both to await her return.

Unfortunately, the rest of Lumnos did not share my one-track focus. First came Zalaric, who’d received a hawk from the half-mortals he left behind in Umbros. Despite his promise that he’d been welcomed here, they refused to join him, too fearful they would be executed on their return. Taran was convinced that one conversation with Diem would resolve it.

In truth, a visit was needed regardless. Umbros had been without a Crown for nearly two months, and nothing good happened in a vacuum of power, especially in a realm still nursing wounds from Ophiucae’s attack. But how could I ask Diem to turn her focus half a continent away when I’d just urged her to trust her advisors to handle it? What good were we to her if we could not back up her trust with action?

So I told Zalaric to send another hawk and try again. I swore to do the same, to give my word as a fellow half-mortal that their exile from Lumnos was well and truly over. Zalaric, though visibly disappointed, had accepted.

Taran had not.

His words grew zealous, then heated, but when it came to protecting Diem, I was immovable. When it came to Zalaric’s happiness, so was Taran. Our argument turned hostile, and we very nearly came to blows. At Zalaric’s urging, Taran finally stomped away, leaving me torn between my own irritation and a nagging worry I’d done something I might come to regret.

The next hurdle in my path was Alixe. As my right hand for years, she was no stranger to weathering my temper. The way she astutely took note of my mood and got straight to the point—security logistics for tomorrow’s first meeting of the governing council, which she’d expertly prepared on her own—left me feeling guilty for the lingering tension between us since my return.

Then came Eleanor and her worries for the staff, who were being worked to the bone with the palace full of guests, all while dealing with both the emotional and practical consequences of losing so many peers in Ophiucae’s attack. By then, I could feel Diem’s aura dwindling, and my godhood was roaring at me to find and protect. I forced myself to swallow it down and talk through Eleanor’s proposal to give the staff time off to rest and hire additional workers at a lucrative wage.

Wise as her plan was, it would require the cooperation of my father, who kept a stranglehold on the coffers of House Corbois. Reluctantly, I sought him out him next.

To my surprise, he put up no dispute.

He then brought up my uncle Garath and cousin Aemonn. Their names were barely out of his mouth before I walked away, raising a shield at my back to stop him from following. Taran’s father and brother had been keeping their distance since Diem’s return, and that was how I preferred it. If I never saw either one again, it wouldn’t be long enough.

Then came the nameless others. Distant cousins with inane complaints that staff were no longer baking their favorite pastry or making their beds just so. Residents from Lumnos City, demanding the Crown repair their ruined homes. Ignios nobles, who’d heard about Diem’s council and demanded a seat.

I clenched my teeth and heard every request, reminding myself it was all for her—anything for her—until I began to feel a draw to the west. I gave an abrupt excuse and made my way back outside.

The pull became irresistible at the sight of Diem landing on the palace lawn. Her meager aura and the wisps of darkness that had replaced her clothes confirmed my suspicion—she’d lost control again.

Her eyes, dull and empty, locked with mine. “You were wrong,” she called out, her voice unsettlingly cold. “No godstone.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I said. “Don’t lose hope.”

Something flickered over her face—something that had my instincts screaming.

I started toward her, then jumped back as Tybold snapped his jaws and flared his wings to block my path. Sorae shrieked and speared from her perch to slam down beside me. Diem gave them both an emotionless glance, then dismounted and began to walk away. When I moved to follow, Tybold swiped a talon that almost took off my head. Sorae’s wings curled protectively around me, trapping me in a feathery cage, and I was forced to wait it out as the two gryverns traded hisses and snarls. Tybold’s rumbles turned distant, and when Sorae let me go, I spied him brooding inside the forest, his golden eyes glaring from the shadows.

Diem, however, was gone.

I palmed the Meros compass in my pocket as I spied a blur of tawny skin and ice-white hair duck inside a tent.

I continued toward her. Finally, we could be alone. No spectators or distractions, no excuse for her to flee. The sword she’d left behind seemed to pulsate in my hand, its metal unusually warm. Some ancient knowledge written in my blood recognized the blade’s strange engraved design as the same language of the unintelligible whispers that filled my ears at its touch.