Page 197 of Burn of the Everflame

Luther ducked his head into the tent. “Any progress?”

I flashed him a hard stare in answer. I threw down the bread and pushed past Luther into the evening air. The camp was unusually quiet. After returning home from Mort-Feu, there’d been no music or drinking. Even the campfires had been kept low, barely emitting a crackle.

These days, we’d all lost our taste for fire.

“There might be someone who knows how to help him,” Luther said. “Send a note to Doriel and ask⁠—”

He stopped as the realization hit us both. Though the former Sophos monarch had many flaws, they were passionate about protecting their people. When Ophiucae went back to Sophos, Doriel would have been on the front lines. And as the strongest Sophos Descended, Vance would have wanted their formidable magic for his army.

If Doriel wasn’t at the battle today, I could only imagine one reason why. Despite our unfriendly past, my heart stung.

More blood on my hands, more corpses at my feet.

Luther followed silently as I walked to the makeshift infirmary that had been set up for the injured. Thankfully, Alixe had the foresight to bring in Descended healers from Fortos days ago, though many of the mortals had refused the help of their magic.

Including, to my frustration, my brother, who had taken a dagger to the shoulder in the attack.

“Will you stop being so stubborn and let them heal you?” I said crossly as I stopped beside him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, staring at the sky. “They said the blade missed everything important.”

“There’s still a risk. The wound could get infected.” I reached for his shirt. “Just let me⁠—”

He smacked my hand away. “I’m fine.”

I perched on the foot of his cot, lowering my voice. “Is this because you don’t want to fight in the Royal Guard anymore? I can speak to Alixe⁠—”

“I do want to fight,” he rushed out. “And I don’t want you interfering. You promised you wouldn’t give me any special treatment in the Guard.”

“I lied.”

Teller glared.

I sighed. “If you won’t let them heal you, will you let me do it instead?”

“You’re out of magic.”

“I can absorb some from Luther.”

“Why haven’t you done that already?”

I bristled at his pointed stare. Little brothers could be obnoxiously perceptive when you least wanted them to be.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I snapped. “Why do you insist on suffering when someone’s trying to help you?”

Teller snorted. “The same reason you do.”

He and Luther exchanged a knowing look. I was one second away from grabbing both their hands and forcing Teller’s choice when Lily’s shouts turned all our heads.

“Teller!” She ran toward us, her eyes round and rimmed with silver. “They told me you were hurt.”

He quickly sat upright. “Lily—hi.” He did a terrible job of hiding his wince. “It’s not that bad. A little scratch, that’s all.”

“Let me see,” she insisted, sliding onto the cot at his side. She reached for his wound, then paused. “May I touch you?”

His cheeks flushed pink as he gave a short nod.

Lily gingerly pushed the hem of his tunic up past his torso and peeled back the gauze to inspect his wound. My eyes caught my brother’s and narrowed with an unspoken message: You’ll let her look, but not me?