Page 212 of Burn of the Everflame

Sorae’s head swung back to me, her eyes narrowing to irritated slits. I’d given the same command twice, despite the short flight home lasting less than an hour.

At the moment, an hour felt like a lifetime. When I’d returned from Mortal City this morning and Diem still had not come back, I nearly canceled everything to go find her. It wasn’t unusual for her to disappear for a while when she felt overwhelmed, but rarely without a gryvern—and never without her magic.

Sorae knew even less about Diem’s absence than I did. With their bond severed, she could no longer sense Diem’s emotions or location. If Sorae wanted to find her, she’d have to look for her like everyone else. That’s precisely how I’d convinced her to fly me to the western coast to meet with the Unhoused Descended. A compromise: she could search the forests by air, and I could be home by nightfall.

But as the sunset-streaked skyline of Lumnos City came into view, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my Queen wouldn’t be waiting at the palace for my return.

“There were so many more than I expected,” Zalaric called out over the wind from behind me. When he heard I was planning to meet with the Unhoused Descended, he’d asked to come. “I counted at least sixty half-mortals among them.”

“And those were just the ones brave enough to come forward,” I agreed. “There were surely more in hiding.”

“They’ll see they can trust us,” Zalaric said firmly. “Especially once you take over as Chief of Council.”

I glanced back. “I suppose I should have asked for your vote before bringing you along to ask for someone else’s.”

“As long as you don’t ask me to be your second, you have my vote. I’m serving on the council as a favor to Diem. I have no desire for a life in politics.” He smoothed a hand along the brocade trim of his silken robes. “I’m far too pretty for that.”

I studied him for a moment. “What kind of life do you desire? If you wish to open an inn like you had in Umbros, Diem would make it happen. Nothing would make her happier than emptying more of the royal vaults.”

“Please, Luther. I’m too pretty for that, as well. The inn was never about the inn. It was a place for the half-mortals to be safe until they were ready to make a life of their own.” His features gave way to something a little softer, a little more pensive. “It was Margie’s idea, that inn, but she was never able to save enough gold.”

I held out a palm and let an orb of light glow for a moment, then rise up and disappear. “May the Old Gods watch over her spirit.”

Zalaric’s eyebrows shot up. An offering of magic to the mortal gods was heresy, punishable by death. But my Diem would never enforce it, and if any mortal deserved to spend their afterlife in the gods’ favor, it was Miss Margie, the woman who had taken in the half-mortal orphans and found them new families to call home.

All except for Zalaric—the little boy she’d kept and cherished as her own.

He held out his hand and matched my offering, then watched the rising wisp of shadow melt into the clouds. “There are going to be a lot of orphans when this war is over. They’ll need a home. Schooling. Training in their magic.”

“You want to open an orphanage?”

“I want to make sure no child ever finds themselves walking the streets alone with nowhere safe to go.” He smiled tightly. “Not again.”

The memory of the day we first met resonated in the silence between us. How far we’d come, thanks to the two women in our lives who had been bold enough, and selfless enough, to fight for half-mortals like us.

“I did not think I would ever meet a person worthy of Taran’s love,” I said. “You, Zalaric Hanoverre, have proven me wrong.”

Muscles flexed on his throat beneath the scar from the botched execution that had nearly taken his life as a child. He sometimes hid it beneath jewelry and silks—particularly around the Hanoverres, I’d noticed, perhaps to deprive them of the satisfaction of seeing his pain. Today, he’d left it bare, paired with a low-cut robe that made the rippled line stand out against his oiled, dark umber skin.

One of the Unhoused Descended had remarked on our scars, giving us the chance to tell our stories. Once they saw how we, like them, had suffered from not fitting the Twenty Houses’ mold, it led to discussions of what could be done to make old wrongs right. I’d left the coast not only with their vote to lead the council, but with a growing optimism for what Emarion could be and the role that I could play within it.

“You think the mating bond with Taran will be successful, then?” Zalaric asked, his nonchalance a little too forced.

“I do.” My brows rose. “What is it that concerns you, Taran’s part . . . or yours?”

His lips pursed. “I know there was someone before. Taran won’t speak of it much. The most he’ll say is that his brother ran them off.”

I chose my words with care. It was not my place to share what Taran didn’t want him to know, but I could understand Zalaric’s fear. If Taran was still pining for a long-lost love, his attempt to seal the mating bond would fail, leaving Zalaric a stranded mate.

No fate could be worse than that.

“What Aemonn did was cruel, but it turned out to be a blessing. It kept Taran’s heart open to finding you.” I gave him a reassuring smile. “He loves you, Zalaric. When he sheds his blood at the ceremony next week, I have no doubt the mating magic will confirm it.”

I waited for the haughty quips and arrogant armor Zalaric was so quick to hide his heart behind. Instead, his chest rose with a deep inhale, followed by a nod and a quiet “thank you.” We continued the rest of the flight in brooding silence, though I was fairly certain both our minds churned with thoughts of the Bellators we loved.

When Sorae landed on the palace lawn, Taran was waiting, along with Alixe, Eleanor, and Auralie—but no Diem.

“Is she back?” I called out as we dismounted.