Page 199 of Burn of the Everflame

I looked down. “If any of your people wish to leave . . .”

“Some already have,” she admitted. “I didn’t try to stop them. I only asked them not to join Ophiucae’s army instead.”

“They would do that? Even after what they saw today?”

“Ophiucae has been wise to keep himself out of sight. The mortals are starting to see Vance as the person we’re really fighting.”

“He is.”

“He’s not,” she said sharply. “You need to learn that even more than they do. Ophiucae will never submit to anyone, Diem. If he’s letting the mortals think they’re in control, it’s for a reason. Asking myself why is what keeps me up at night.” She rubbed wearily at her eyes. The signs of age that crept across her face looked deeper and starker than ever. “My Guardians do not distrust Vance like you and I do. He has always been open about desiring a Descended-free world, and now he’s proving to them that he can make it happen. The mortals are tired, sweetheart. They’re sick of fighting, and they’re sick of dying. The solution you’re offering requires time and sacrifice and hard work. Vance’s solution does not.”

“What can we do to convince them to stay?” Luther asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But we need to find a way to do it soon.” She paused. “There’s something else. Alixe just told me that Vance and his men went to Mortal City after the battle.”

My blood went cold. “Another attack?”

“A few dead guards, nothing more. They didn’t stay long, but when they left, some of the villagers left with them.” She opened her mouth to say more, then decided against it.

“How many?” Luther asked.

“A handful of men, including Brant.”

“Good,” I muttered. I’d been itching to kill him myself for his part in my father’s murder, but Brant’s place on the governing council meant that any strike at him would be seen as a punishment for voting against me. With him gone, his seat on the council was free for the taking—and so was his life, if I met him in battle.

“And two women,” she went on, looking solemn. “An elderly worker at the orphanage and a wet nurse.”

Luther frowned. “Why would they want to join his army?”

“From the looks of it, neither woman went willingly.”

I had no time to process that chilling revelation before the evening quiet was broken by distant horns.

Luther turned eastward. “That’s a signal from the lookouts. Something’s coming from the coast.”

The entire camp stilled as more horns blared, this time in a deliberate series of long blares and short, staccato bursts.

“Gryvern incoming!” Alixe yelled.

She barked orders at her guards as people began to spill from tents and grab their weapons. Luther looked at me. “I don’t feel Ophiucae’s aura. You think his gryvern came alone?”

“Not his.” I pushed past them both. “Mine.”

I yelled for Alixe to stand down as I marched for the palace lawn and gave the last in a series of commands I’d been silently delivering since the battle’s end. This one, I’d been dreading all day.

“Sorae, come.”

She wasn’t far away. Even though she was the final one called, her familiar silhouette was the first to appear on the horizon. I forced myself to slow my breaths until my heart calmed enough to thump in time with the steady beat of her wings. I savored the sight of her golden eyes, her sleek lines, those downy-soft wings that had been both comfort and protection more times than I could count.

I thought of what I had to do, and the empty cold inside me felt a little colder. A little emptier.

She sensed it, too. She hit the ground at a gallop and didn’t stop until her muzzle touched my chest. She nudged at my palm with a tender whirr, her desire to soothe me rippling over the bond.

I couldn’t even look her in the eyes.

Tybold landed next. Sorae’s throat rumbled grumpily, and I set my forehead to hers. “Let it go,” I begged her. “He loves you. You love him. Nothing matters more than that.”

She snorted in protest, though her malice was waning. Even the most fearsome of beasts could grow sick of fighting, and much like the mortals, Sorae had been fighting for a very, very long time.