Page 12 of Burn of the Everflame

I sank to the ground beside him and added the flowers to a pile at his feet. More were scattered in the brush, carried by the breeze. This close to the shore, the sea was visible through the weeds, along with a faint smudge on the horizon that might have been the Lumnos coast—a sight I liked to believe brought us both a little comfort.

“Alright, you know the rules. Every time I start to feel sorry for myself, I come to you and say three things that bring me joy instead.” My eyes lifted to the dark grey clouds hanging low in the sky. “Looks like it’s going to rain today. That means we can give up waterweed for a while.” I pulled the chewed-up plant from my mouth and flung it away. “I’m pretty damn joyful about that.”

My attention caught on a flicker of movement out on the sea—a passing army patrol boat. “Get down,” I hissed at him, flattening my body to the ground.

There had been a lot less of them lately. The first week, the water had been swarming with boats, some even pausing at the island’s many docks. The soldiers would creep down the piers as close as they dared—and, seeing nothing, nervously scurry away. As the weeks went on, there were fewer soldiers, fewer boats, fewer signs of anything beyond this island.

The boat neared the shore for a moment, then sailed away. I rolled onto my back, tucking my hands behind my head. “Where were we? Oh yes—the rain.” A rumble of thunder rolled in the distance, and I chuckled. “That was you, wasn’t it? Impeccable timing, as usual.”

He’d always shown up right when I needed him most, inspiring me to keep fighting when I was at my lowest. Just like now.

“That’s number two,” I whispered. “You, Perthe. You brought me joy.”

I turned my head, staring at the rock that marked his grave. With the soil cold and hard from the winter, it had taken me a full day to claw out a shallow hole in the grass with my fingers. I’d gently laid him inside—pointed toward Lumnos, so he could always keep sight of home—then meticulously searched out the prettiest stone on the island to set on the upturned soil.

Perhaps a smarter person might have stripped his body down and taken his thick clothing and collection of blades. I couldn’t deny I’d considered it. Doriel, the Sophos Crown, had taken my weapons, making hunting damn near impossible. Though I’d thankfully worn the cloak gifted from the late Montios King, its warming spell was another casualty to the island, leaving me in a permanent state of miserably cold.

You should at least have taken a knife, Perthe chided me from my thoughts. It’s my duty to serve you, Your Majesty. Even in death.

“You’ve done enough,” I argued back, laying my hand on his gravestone. “You kept my brother safe, just like you promised.” A gust of wind swept by, sending the red flowers whirling into the air and fluttering my tunic. “You saved Teller and Luther.”

In doing so, he’d saved me, too.

I glanced down to the torn fabric exposing the skin just above my sternum—the same spot where, weeks ago, the Ignios King’s godstone blade speared through my heart.

It should have killed me.

When my chest stopped rising that day, I thought it had. I could have sworn I’d sensed the flickering warmth of the Undying Fire and the shadowy outline of a red-haired figure, hand extended to lead me away.

But then . . .

I made a choice, and a vow.

A shimmering veil of gold. An excruciating pain, as if my heart had been torn like a scrap of paper, followed by the purest sense of bliss I’d ever known.

And when my body jolted back to life, miraculously cured of its wound, my heartbeat returned in a soft duet. One, loud and steady, and the other an echo, with a formidable rhythm all its own.

Luther’s heartbeat.

My mate.

And yet . . . not.

Because only I had shed my blood. Only I had sworn myself to him for all eternity—in my mind, if not aloud.

And only I now bore the silvery swirl of two hearts entwined into a blade upon my chest: the mark of a mating bond. A one-sided mating bond.

They’re called stranded mates, Eleanor told me once. It’s all the worst parts of the bond—having to be near them, feeling their pain, never being able to love anyone else—without any of the benefits. It’s the worst fate I could imagine.

I burst into wry laughter. If there was some way to take something so precious and make a mess of it, of course I’d find it.

But as I laid my palm over the mark and felt a rush of comforting warmth, it didn’t feel like such a terrible fate—because I knew the second I got off this island and showed Luther my mark, he would pull his blade and complete the bond without a second thought.

I might be a stranded mate now, but I wouldn’t stay one forever.

“This,” I said, brushing my thumb across my skin and watching the mark turn golden and bright. “This is number three. This brings me the most joy of all.”

My third answer was always the same. The first two were my meager attempts at warding off the hopeless darkness that encroached further every day. The third was about remembering my reason to keep going.