Page 201 of Burn of the Everflame

And they certainly were never meant to be mine.

“The six of you have seen more than any person here can begin to fathom,” I said loudly. “You have crossed worlds and witnessed generations. You survived the worst of wars and Crowns. You watched as those you cared for died again and again. And you endured it alone, without the comfort of another of your kind. You all deserved better. The gryverns who died deserved better—Rymari and . . .”

I winced. I’d never learned the Umbros gryvern’s name. I’d never learned the Fortos gryvern’s name, either.

“Baldrum,” Lonard called out. “Our gryvern was Baldrum.”

At the mention of the fallen gryvern’s name, the other soldiers from Fortos crossed their arms at the wrist in salute. I nodded deeply and returned the gesture.

“You defended your Crowns and your realms with honor. You may have had no choice, but our gratitude is no less for it.” I sank to one knee and bowed my head. “For all that you’ve given, we thank you.”

Behind me, I heard rustling, then Luther’s voice: “We thank you.”

Movement rippled over the crowd as the members of my army—then, after a stern glare from me, the residents of the palace—lowered to their knees and repeated the words.

The gryverns looked around with narrowing eyes, suspicion flowing strong through each bond. The Descended had always felt entitled to the gryverns’ submission, and the mortals had always hated the gryverns for it. Gratitude was not an emotion they were used to, nor one they trusted.

“The only Emarion worth defending is one where we stand together,” I said. “This is your home, too, so I am asking you to fight for it. Not for me or my Crown. For yourselves. Help me fight for an Emarion where no one, not even a gryvern, is forced to bend their will to another. But if you do . . .”

I paused. Took a deep breath.

“ . . . do it without a chain around your neck.”

My eyes fell closed as I reached inside myself to the bonds I shared with each gryvern. Though each link was its own unique, shimmering cord, all six were bound together by the Forging magic that flowed through the Emarion soil. Even traces of the fallen gryverns lingered, their ghostly resonance still enslaved by phantom chains.

I wasn’t entirely sure that I could do it. The Kindred had never intended these binds to break. They left no locks to unlatch, nor walls to tear down. The Forging spell seemed to offer no path to free the gryverns from their bondage.

But Ophiucae had never joined their Forging. With his blood in my veins and the Kindred’s Crowns on my head, I existed both within and without the Forging’s control. It was that unique position that had allowed me to shatter the arena’s barrier at the Challenging and tear a fracture through the heartstone. Only I could break the Forging’s chains.

And so I did.

Nine golden, unbreakable threads.

One sharp, unstoppable sword.

I issued my final command—“Be free.”—and I let them go.

When the first bond went dark, it took me by surprise. One moment, Vexes and his fretful guilt were in my head, and the next, he was simply . . . not.

I’d been so overwhelmed by the number of minds tied to mine, I’d almost taken their presence for granted. They’d been a reliable constant—always checking on me when they sensed my terror or pain, always listening for my needs and making sure I was safe. More than once, I’d grumbled that I felt smothered by their overprotective care.

But as their minds were abruptly plucked away, I didn’t feel free or light, I felt empty.

My gaze met Sorae’s, and her slitted pupils blew wide. In the final fraying wisp of our bond, I felt her realize what was happening. She snorted in protest, scurrying back as if to escape it. I had only enough time to send one final pulse of the most grateful, unconditional love for my loyal gryvern.

And then she was gone.

Sorae lifted her head to the sky and howled—a panicked, mournful sound. In reflex, I tried to send her a soothing calm, but there was nowhere for it to go. The warm light of her presence inside me had become an icy hollow.

The golden chains around their necks snapped loose and fell to the soil in a ripple of thuds. Rosha wasted no time—she gave the other gryverns a split-second glance, then launched for the clouds.

“Wait!” I yelled.

The gryverns tensed, perhaps awaiting the harsh snap of the spell that forced them to obey. Even Rosha’s wings shuddered and stilled. Then . . . they pushed downward again.

The first disobeyed command in millennia.

“Please,” I shouted, running forward. “Don’t go yet. We still need your help!”