Page 156 of Burn of the Everflame

As I clambered over the debris, my mind drifted to my conversation with Henri the night before. Is there a way to end this that doesn’t involve you dying? he’d asked.

Only if I can convince Ophiucae to leave the people of this world alone, I’d said.

But he’s immortal, and you’re not. What if he changes his mind after you’re gone?

That had been a nagging thought in my mind, too. Even if I got the long, happy life I dreamed of, could I leave Ophiucae behind when I died, knowing what he might do if his heart turned back to stone?

Can another Descended cast the spell? Henri had asked. If we get your sword back, can they sacrifice their life instead?

I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t thought to ask the Kindred, and now the bridge to them was cut.

There are a lot of people loyal to you, he’d pushed. One of them would do it, if you asked.

I’d known Henri long enough to spot the plan forming in his head—who he might ask to give their life for mine. Perhaps the same person who had arranged for us to speak.

No, I’d lied. Only I can do it. He hadn’t looked convinced, so I’d added, I won’t send anyone to fight a battle I’m not willing to fight myself.

I know. That’s why I’m here. To fight with you, too.

Promise me you won’t tell anyone, Henri.

I will—as long as you promise me you’ll do everything you can to avoid dying.

I will.

That was a promise I desperately wanted to keep.

I paused at a mile-long hall containing what looked like thousands of framed portraits along the walls. Each one had a golden plaque below with a name, a date, and an inscription: “May Blessed Umbros receive them.” Though there were several older and a handful newer, most of the dates were the same—shortly after the end of the Blood War.

“The Hall of Remembrance,” I murmured. Yrselle had mentioned it once. These were the Umbros Descended who died when she culled her people down to the one hundred most powerful. Most had volunteered, believing their sacrifice necessary to safeguard the future of their kind.

I paused to straighten a crooked frame, then pulled a fallen one from a pile of stones and remounted it on the wall. I felt an odd kind of kinship with these strangers I’d never known. I wondered if they’d add my portrait here when I was gone.

“Thinking of redecorating?” a smooth voice cut through the silence.

I whirled around, eyes darting over the rubble. “Who’s there?”

“It’s a bit of a fixer-upper now, but it was stunning in its day,” the voice rang out again.

I pushed out my aura until it brushed against another. I recognized its shifty, secretive energy immediately.

“Symond.” I finally spotted him lounging on a divan in a nearby alcove. “I’m glad to see you’re alive.”

He raised a bottle. Many more were scattered around him, mostly empty. “That makes one of us.”

“I thought the palace might be empty. I haven’t seen anyone else.”

“There’s not many of us left.” He took a long swig. “Turns out when there’s only a hundred of you, your numbers dwindle fast.”

“Where are the others?”

“Around.” He wiggled his bottle, it contents sloshing loudly. “Fancy a drink?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before rolling off his chair, nearly toppling over as he wobbled to his feet. He stumbled in a zigzag line to a blackwood cabinet impaled with jagged shards of crystal, then began to rummage in a low drawer.

“Aha!” he called out. He held up two metal goblets with a lopsided smirk. “I’ll even share a pour of the good stuff.” He pulled a flask from his pocket and turned his back to fill the goblets. “I’ve been saving this for Yrselle, but I’m starting to suspect she might not be coming back.”

It had been months since the ritual that trapped me on the island. Had the Crowns not sent a message to Umbros to tell them Yrselle was dead?