Page 205 of Burn of the Everflame

My hand brushed against my empty scabbard. “Vance ordered those people to kill me, but they acted like I wasn’t even there. Ophiucae must have kept them from hurting me.” My gaze met hers. “He has my sword. He knows I plan to use it against him. Why is he still protecting me?”

Her mouth tightened. “Maybe it wasn’t protection. Maybe he knew what would happen, and he wanted to force you to be the one to do it.”

A sick, oily feeling coated my stomach.

“Diem,” she started again, moving closer. “Maura told me you made a grave for Andrei. I want to visit it, and I’d like you and your brother to come with me. I think it’s time for the three of us to go home.”

I flinched. “We don’t have a home anymore. The house is gone. There’s nothing left.”

“Our memories are left. Those can’t be destroyed.”

I barely managed to hold back a retort at the irony of her words, given the day’s events. After what I’d seen in Henri’s head, the thought of going back to the place my father died felt more terrifying than ever.

The sounds of weeping drew my eyes over my mother’s shoulder to the campfire. Maura had her arms around Lana, who was holding her belly and sobbing. When I’d banished Henri, I hadn’t given much thought to what would happen to her or their child.

The nausea in my gut hardened and heavied. I backed away, overwhelmed by a frantic need to escape the choices I’d made and the consequences they’d brought down on everyone around me.

“Diem, stop,” my mother called out. “Where are you going?”

I was walking away before I could answer. Past my mother, past the camp, and into the forest.

The chirps and howls of the woods had always been a source of comfort. Although the people of Emarion had never fully welcomed me, the land did. It could be unforgiving, quick to take the lives of any who weren’t wise enough to respect it, but for those who took the time to learn its secrets, the forest was a confidante, a benefactor, a protector, a home. In the company of the trees, I never felt alone.

I wasn’t alone tonight, either. As I wove through the trunks, footsteps at my back matched me step for step, and the burning mark on my chest told me who it was.

He didn’t grab me or call for me to stop. He simply followed behind, my steadfast shadow, forever ready to love me when I was ready to accept it.

Guilt slowed me to a stop. “You told me once that you’d run away with me,” I said bleakly. “You said we’d find ourselves a cute little house somewhere boring.”

“I remember,” he said. “I was promised goats.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding pathetic and small.

His warmth heated my back as he moved closer behind me. “We could still do it. Build our cottage on the sea. Plant an apple orchard for Sorae and Tybold.”

My heart stumbled. “Tybold’s gone.”

“He’ll be back.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

Luther hummed thoughtfully. “He will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because of how I feel for you.” His hand curled around my waist, holding me against him. “If the Kindred cast us apart like they did the gryverns, my love would survive every stolen moment. If they bound me to the will of another, my love for you would be the vow that their command could never break. I would love you across realms and centuries, and when fate brought us together again, I would love you all the more.” He pressed a kiss to my hair. “We found our way back to each other. So will they.”

In the dark gulf of my soul, my brittle heart collapsed under the weight of the unbearable night, and when I could not endure a second more, the ghost of his heart sang its hopeful tune to call me, crawling and battered, back to the sun.

But after all that happened today, sunlight and hope felt too far away. I wanted to stay in the darkness where I belonged.

“Distract me,” I whispered.

I spun in his arms and clutched his shirt, dragging him closer. My mouth crushed against his, and the need it kindled spread like a wildfire. I raked a hand through his hair and scraped another down his chest, then grabbed his belt and dragged him with me as I hurried backward.

His hand curled around my head to soften the blow as I slammed us against the trunk of a massive oak. A part of me warmed at the gesture—how he always found ways to protect me, even from myself—but the scratch of the rough bark fed a different, darker emotion.

My hand slipped into his pants and pumped his hardening length. “You still haven’t taken me against a tree.”