Page 134 of Burn of the Everflame

Tybold scorched a blackened scar across the road in warning. I sensed his reluctance, too. I wondered if I’d been wrong about his desire to unleash his rage in battle. After centuries of bloodshed at his masters’ command, maybe it was the violence he hated most.

Protect my people, I sent across our bond. Take no lives unless you must.

In the sky, his gaze swung to me with a slow, appraising blink.

And do not come to save me, I warned him. My life is my own to defend or to lose.

Beside me, Luther unsheathed the Sword of Corbois. Once again, he’d refused a godstone weapon, handing each one I gave him to another soldier until no black blades remained. Noble as it was, my heart hammered with fears of what that selflessness might cost him.

“Take a weapon off them the first chance you get,” I snapped at him. “If you end this battle with that gaudy thing in your hands, Luther Corbois, I’ll never let them touch me again.”

He leaned in, voice dropping low. “That’s all the motivation I need.”

My blood heated. I broke away before I gave the Fortosians a whole new reason for thinking me a scandalous Queen.

“Your horse,” I commanded to a mounted Descended, an older man who’d been scowling at me all day.

He climbed off the mare but held the reins out of reach. “She’s no docile pony,” he warned. “She bucks hard, and she’s got a hell of a bite.”

“Just like me.” I snatched the lead from his hands and swung onto her back, easing her feisty spirit with a pulse of Faunos magic and prodding her into a gallop. Behind me, Luther’s snarls joined a crackle of light magic as he clashed with a man less obliged to give up his horse.

The group was almost close enough to see their faces. To my surprise, quite a few were female. I couldn’t remember more than a handful of women in Vance’s camp, and never in battle. He and his kind had more in common with the Fortos Descended than either side would ever admit.

That was the part of this war that infuriated me most. Vance and his men didn’t want to end the world’s injustice, they just wanted to control it for themselves.

“Halt,” I shouted down the road.

They continued to advance.

I reached out a palm and raised a massive, glittering shield. “Halt,” I shouted again.

They yanked their horses to a stop and bowed their heads together in discussion.

“Leave now,” I yelled. “Whatever you’ve come to do, you won’t succeed.”

The two in front—a petite woman with a raven-black bob and a brawny man with a full head of hair that could never be mistaken for Vance—dismounted and walked toward us.

Even more strangely . . . they were holding hands.

Luther nudged his horse forward. His head was cocked, his stare focused. “Release their magic.”

I balked. “Magic? They’ve got Descended with them?”

He nodded. “Release them from the Forging spell.” Our eyes met. “Trust me.”

The Forging magic rose up within me, my soul responding to those two words in an instinctual way. Just as he’d suspected, it sensed the presence of foreign Descended among them. I hesitated, but when Luther sent a plume of his shadows spiraling toward the clouds, I gave in and set their magic free.

In the distance, several suddenly sat taller on their horses. The man in front lifted his arm, and ropey brown roots shot up from the rocky soil, mirroring Luther’s shadows.

“An Arboros Descended?” I asked. “Working for Vance?”

Luther dismounted and sheathed his sword. He strode toward the edge of my shield without explanation, for once leaving me behind to catch up.

“Luther, wait,” I shouted, scrambling off my horse. “They could have godst⁠—”

“Diem!” the woman called out, waving.

I stopped in place. “Runa? What in the Flames are you doing in Fortos?”