Page 159 of Burn of the Everflame

“Fuck,” I whispered.

I edged back toward the door, and two strong hands gripped me hard by the shoulders.

Going somewhere? Symond crooned inside my head.

Across the room, a match struck, and a wooden torch ignited. As its glow cast out the darkness, I realized it wasn’t Symond holding me in place. He was facing me with ten Centenaries at his back and a handful more at mine.

Every one of them held a blade.

And they were all pointed at me.

37

DIEM

“Really, Diem, that was far too easy.”

Symond’s smile was triumphant, his eyes lucid and sharp. His sloppy, drunken lean had transformed into menacing alertness, a vulture circling its kill.

My cheeks grew hot. It really had been too easy. I should have noticed his too-precise questions, how his gait on the stairs had turned curiously sure-footed and swift. I certainly should have predicted the flameroot—it wasn’t even the first time they’d tried it.

Lately, I’d lost my instincts. My mind was fractured, my emotions volatile. The line between enemies and allies had turned so murky, I’d grown numb to being surrounded by threats. Only in battle could I set it all aside and give myself over to the fight. Maybe that was the real reason I’d been hunting all over Emarion for a brawl.

And now that I’d found one, it might be my last.

“This isn’t a very polite way to welcome your Queen,” I said, my tone deceptively light. I tried to pull free of whoever held me, but the grip wouldn’t give. “I believe we discussed consent the last time I was here.”

“As I said, that is your way. You’re in Umbros now. We take what we want.”

“And what is it you want?”

Symond’s smile grew wider.

My hand drifted toward the dagger I’d strapped to my thigh. Two Centenaries closed in, their blades hovering at my neck.

I stilled. “Too afraid to face me with my magic or a knife? I never took the Centenaries for cowards.”

Voices hissed behind me, but Symond’s smugness didn’t waver. “You know, Yrselle is the only Crown I’ve had in two hundred years of life. I served as her Chief Centenary for eighty of them.” His features softened, as if bathing in a fond memory. “She still read my mind every time I handed her a drink.”

“Well, I’m not Yrselle.”

He huffed a laugh. “Clearly.”

My eyes darted around in search of an exit. The walls of the room all shared the telltale sparkle of godstone. The only door was the one I’d closed, now guarded by a pair of scowling women. What really chilled my blood was what I spied in the back—a body-shaped table, covered in straps, with spikes on every surface. There was a drain on the floor crusted in a suspicious brown-red, and chains hanging from the ceiling held an assortment of scalpels, pliers, and hooks.

“Welcome to our playroom,” Symond purred. “Yrselle ensured her Centenaries had all the toys our hearts could desire.” I forced myself not to flinch as he moved closer and ran a knuckle along the column of my throat. “And I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you.”

I was so utterly, completely doomed. Even if I could get to my weapon, I was absurdly outnumbered. If I had any hope of getting out alive, it would be by wits alone.

Not my strongest asset.

As the circle of Centenaries closed tighter and stepped into the torchlight, I got a better look. They were true to their legendary reputation, sensual and ruthless, a viper slithering through silk.

Yet there was something different in the way they moved now. The last time I’d come, they’d all shared the same swaggering confidence that the empire they’d built in the darkness could never be breached. Now, they looked shaken, unsure—and there was nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal backed up against a wall.

The soft cries of an infant suddenly floated out of the shadows.

I squinted into the dark. “Is that a baby?”