Page 153 of Burn of the Everflame

Teller elbowed me out of his way and rushed into the library of the Umbros royal palace. At the sight of joy on my brother’s face, my own smile couldn’t stay away.

“The library of Sophos was larger,” I said. “Surely that was more exciting than this.”

“I wasn’t in Sophos very long,” he reminded me. “And all the studying there is logged. You have to tell them what you’re reading and why. They said I could study whatever I pleased, but . . .” He shrugged. “They said that at the Descended school in Lumnos, too. Then I started reading books about mortals, and they started asking questions.” He strolled down one of the rows of bookshelves, letting his fingers trace the spines. “Here, there’s no one to watch over my shoulder.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that was the one thing giving me pause. We’d arrived in Umbros this afternoon along with Taran and Zalaric, and we’d headed straight for Zalaric’s inn—what remained of it. Ophiucae and his army had left Umbros City in ruins. The black rock canyon had partially caved in, bathing the city of perpetual night in sunlight for the first time. Between that and the bloodlust of his men, the casualties in the realm had been enormous.

Thankfully, more of the half-mortals had survived than Yrselle had led us to believe. After some coaxing, I was able to convince many of them to return with us to Lumnos. While Zalaric and Taran secured a ship to sail them home, I climbed the long stairs to the palace to speak with the Centenaries. According to the half-mortals, they’d become reclusive since the attack. An hour of searching hadn’t turned up a single one.

Teller slid a book from its shelf and began flipping through it. “This place is even better stocked than Sophos when it comes to Emarion history. Doriel said there were books on the Kindred here that Yrselle refused to give up.”

“And I know exactly where they are.” I reached into the scandalously low-cut gown Eleanor had convinced me to wear instead of my battle leathers—speak to the Centenaries in a language they know, she’d said—and pulled a key from the filmy layers of wine-red chiffon, then crossed to a small nook in the back enclosed by an iron gate.

Use my key.

Yrselle’s words hung over me as I unlocked the gate and pulled it open. The entire ride to Umbros, I’d feared this place would be destroyed. It housed some of the rarest artifacts in Emarion, including many that once belonged to the Kindred themselves. If Vance wanted to wipe all record of the Descended from the continent, this would be a good place to start. There’d once been a time when I might have welcomed that, but I found myself sighing with relief to see the room untouched.

I picked up a leatherbound journal on a lilac cushion and handed it to Teller, watching his eyes grow large enough to burst out of his head.

“Is that . . . ?” He snatched it out of my hands. “Is this . . . ?” He thumbed through a few pages, jaw hanging ajar. “It is.”

“The personal diary of Montios herself,” I said dryly.

His eyes darted back up at my tone. “Did you meet her on the island?”

“I met all of them.”

“What were they like?”

I thought for a moment. Though they’d had the presence of gods, with their shimmering skin and their doomsday warnings, they’d also been oddly normal. They had losses to grieve and decisions to regret. They argued like the siblings they were, but they came together when it mattered, just like Teller and me. They were neither all-knowing nor all-powerful. In the end, they were simply . . .

“People,” I said with a shrug.

Teller rolled his eyes at my lackluster description and perused the other shelves. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Two things. First, how to make raw godstone. The Kindred said the original batch was made when they cut down the Everflame. I’ve made it a couple of times, but I’m not sure how, and I haven’t been able to do it again.”

“When you made it . . . do those situations have anything in common?”

“They were all times when I was experiencing a lot of emotion. Alixe thinks that might be the key.”

“If being emotional was all it took, you’d be making godstone every day.”

I shot him an annoyed older sister glare, which he returned with a smug little brother grin. “You’re lucky these books are too valuable for me to throw them at you.”

“As if that would stop you,” he teased. “What’s the second thing I’m looking for?”

“How to kill a Kindred.”

On the flight over, I’d told Teller what the Kindred had said about their magic, their mother, and Sorrow’s Edge. It felt good to share that secret. Knowing there was one more person trying to solve this mystery lightened my burden immensely. I was finally beginning to feel a little less alone.

It felt good to tell Henri, too. When I revealed my suspicion that I would have to die to kill Ophiucae, he didn’t argue that I had to be wrong or make false promises that everything would work out, he simply listened. He held my hand as I raged against the unfairness of it all and grieved the future I’d hoped for. He showed no sign of judgment when I admitted my tumultuous feelings on Ophiucae—my confession that I didn’t want him to die, and the shame that caused me, knowing all the evil he had done.

Henri assured me that didn’t make me a horrible person. Though I wasn’t sure I believed him, it was a relief to hear it from someone who knew me so well. He reminded me that love didn’t always make sense, and it didn’t always go away, even when we knew it should. In that moment, I knew we were talking about more than my sire.

Though we stayed in his tent alone for hours, it went no further than talking. My heart belonged to Luther, and Henri was committed to Lana and their unborn child. There would always be a connection between us, but it would never again be more than friends.

I pulled a few books on Kindred lore, as did Teller, and we sat at a small table in the alcove. Teller strategically searched each index while I used Sophos magic to quickly record them all to memory.