Page 147 of Burn of the Everflame

He frowned. “And she won’t talk to you?”

“She said she needs space.” I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes until it hurt. “I think I lost her, Taran.”

I’d thought admitting my fear aloud would make it feel too large and unbearably real. Instead, it felt like swimming to the surface and taking a breath.

Taran nudged me with his knee. “Nah. I see how she looks at you. She’s more in love with you than ever.”

I let out a long exhale. “Then why is she so determined to keep me away?”

“A Bellator trait, I think. I tried to talk to Teller about whatever’s bothering him.” He smirked. “Never seen a mortal run so fast. Auralie, too. Did you know she still hasn’t been to Andrei’s grave? I offered to go with her. She said she doesn’t need to go.”

“Bullshit,” I muttered.

He grunted in agreement. “Do you visit your mother’s grave?”

“She doesn’t have one. Father had her body taken away and burned.” My fists clenched. “I’d visit her every day if I could.”

The conversation lulled into silence, and though we said nothing, I could feel the wall between us crumble. We’d been through too much to let one fight divide us.

“I’ll tell Diem about the half-mortals as soon as she’s home,” I said. “You were right. It’s her choice, not mine.”

He flashed a sheepish smile. “I guess I could have been a little less dramatic about it.”

“I’m not sure you’re capable of that,” I teased, and he grinned. “I know you did it for Zal. He deserves someone that passionate about his happiness.”

“Lumnos’s jugs, I’m glad we’re friends again. There’s something I’ve been dying to tell you.” He took a deep inhale, but didn’t go on. His leg bounced, his hand raking over his stubbled jaw.

“Well?” I asked.

“I thought, maybe . . . I was considering . . . you know, if he’s open to it . . . but only if he wants to . . .”

“Out with it, Taran.”

“I’mgonnaaskZaltobemymate,” he blurted out.

What I should have done was smile. I should have beamed and clapped him on the back and told him at length how obscenely happy I was that he found someone he loved enough to make such an important, permanent bond.

What I actually did was stare at him blankly, that final word pounding in my ears.

His face fell. “You don’t approve. You think it’s too soon.” He looked distraught. “You think he’ll say no.”

I shook my head to clear away the echoes. “No—nothing like that.” I managed a smile. “He’d be a fool to say no, and Zalaric is no fool.”

Taran blew out a nervous laugh. “It just feels right, you know? I think he’s ready, too. Last week, he gave me a jar of oil. He said mating magic would never work on a man with jagged nails.” He proudly flashed his nails—still jagged, but distinctly softer. “And with the war and Ophiucae . . .” He shrugged. “I’d feel better going into battle knowing that whatever happens, we’ll be together on the other side.”

I was happy for him, I truly was. But every word he spoke was a sword through my ribs, a reminder of what I craved down to the core of my being—and what I couldn’t have. The bitter sting of jealousy poisoned my joy.

Taran knew me too well, and I could tell from his pained look that he understood. I loved him all the more that he did not judge me for it.

“Have you thought about asking her?” he said.

I sighed. “Every day.”

“You really think she’d say no?”

“She won’t even speak to me. She thinks I’m too . . .” Pathetic. “ . . . devoted. That there’s nothing in my life but her. She said there needs to be a ‘Luther without Diem.’”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Cousin, I love you, I respect you more than anyone on this earth . . .”