Page 172 of Burn of the Everflame

“Actually,” she said, hurrying to sit beside him, “I was hoping the three of us could talk.”

“Not without Taran,” I rushed out. “He’s part of the family now. He would hate to be left out.”

“Oh, not at all. This was his idea.” She nodded to a spot across the bonfire, where Taran was motioning wildly for me to sit, followed by an animated thumbs-up.

I bit down on my sigh as I reclaimed my seat.

“Look at you,” my mother said to me, her smile warm but faintly wary. “Never thought I would see my Diem in such a dress.”

My face burned. All the confidence I’d felt earlier vanished like smoke. I tugged awkwardly at the fabric. “Well, my leathers were dirty, and, um . . . it’s just a silly⁠—”

“You look beautiful, sweetheart. That color suits you.”

“Oh. Thank you.” I glanced at Teller, who looked gleeful at my obvious discomfort. My eyes narrowed. “I bet the Princess has some lovely gowns I could borrow. What do you think, Tel? Do you like Lily’s dresses? Do you like the one she’s wearing now, or would you prefer Lily in something . . . less?”

His cheeks flushed as red as a blood sun. I hate you, he mouthed.

“Diem, stop teasing your brother. And Teller, don’t say those words, not even in jest.”

My mother’s scolding tone hauled me back across months and miles—to a little cottage on the marsh, and a loving family of four gathered around a rustic wooden table, laughing and sharing stories of our day.

It was so normal. Like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

I pulled back from her reach. “Was there something you needed to discuss?”

She sighed. “I know you’re both upset with me. You have every right, but we are family. Andrei would want us to end this fight and make up.”

My fists squeezed as I battled another wave of rising barbs, but my temper quelled with one look at my brother. He was watching me, his eyebrows somehow managing to both furrow in fear and rise with hope.

Teller was superior to me in every way that mattered. He was smarter, kinder, calmer, more well-behaved, more practical, easier to trust. But for reasons unknown, whenever the world turned uncertain, it was my reckless, unpredictable voice that he relied on to tell him everything’s going to be okay.

I wasn’t sure that it would.

I wasn’t sure that it could.

But for him, I had to try.

I drew in a slow, deliberate breath, filling my lungs with the smoky evening air and imagining it as all the resentment swirling around inside me. When I blew it out, I told myself to let go. My mother had her flaws, but she was not selfish. She was not cruel, nor unthinking. She loved us deeply, and everything she’d done was to protect those she cared for.

And war was a dangerous game. Any battle could be my last.

Or hers.

I took her hand and clasped it between mine. “I forgive you, Mother.”

“Oh, Diem,” she breathed. “This is not the life I wanted for you. I prayed that by the time you discovered what you were, the world would be a different place where being mortal or Descended wouldn’t matter. I grieved when I realized I could not give that to you.” She gave a choked laugh, thick with emotion. “I should have known you would simply create that world yourself. I am so very proud.”

I offered her a small but genuine smile. “We’ve all been through enough this past year. Let’s put this behind us.”

“That’s it?” Teller said, glancing between us. “That’s all you both have to say? Nothing more?”

I shrugged at him. “Of course there’s more, but I’m sick of holding grudges. It’s time to move on.”

He balked. “How do we move on from something that’s still happening?”

Mother’s shoulders sank. “Teller, sweetheart⁠—”