Page 225 of Burn of the Everflame

“You think me evil,” he said, his timbre low and dangerous. “You think I care only for revenge.”

I didn’t want to ask whether he was guessing, or whether he’d already seen the truth in my head.

“I think you’re punishing the wrong people,” I said. “Your mother is the one who wronged you.” I looked again at Sorrow’s Edge, remembering her screams. “She’s been paying the price ever since.”

His aura rippled.

I risked a longer glance at the sword, secured to his waist with a leather strap. If I could get close enough, I could distract him long enough to rip it free, and then . . .

I opened the book and pretended to skim it as I paced the room. “Your siblings paid a price, too, you know. The Forging spell kept them from crossing into the afterlife. They’re stuck somewhere in between.” I walked a little closer. “They gave up their lives to be with their mates, and now they’re separated forever.”

His smile was bright, his satisfaction savage and bounding. “What delicious retribution.” He laughed darkly as he turned another page. “I warned them it would be their downfall. Love made them lose sight of what really mattered.”

“Or maybe love helped them find it,” I murmured.

His eyes returned to mine and narrowed.

“You loved my mother,” I reminded him, edging closer. “You planned a future with her, too.”

In his harsh expression, Ophiucae’s armor rattled loose, exposing a slivered glimpse of something unsettled beneath—but just as quickly as it was there, it was gone.

“Then she betrayed me,” he spat, resentment simmering like steam. “What good is love without loyalty?”

“She said she found you holding a blade over my heart.”

Again, that troubled look flickered over him.

I stopped in front of him. “Were you going to kill me?”

He held my stare as he answered. “I was going to do whatever it took to get free.”

Something in me shattered. I nodded and looked back at my book, silently trying to fight my burning throat and tightening chest. My footsteps echoed through the room as I resumed my pacing, each footfall carrying us further apart in more than distance.

He watched me for a while, saying nothing, before returning his attention to the book in his lap. I shifted my path toward his chair, walking so close that my foot brushed Sorrow’s Edge. Everything in me screamed to seize it right then, but I forced myself to wait, studying his reaction. He didn’t bat an eye or shift the sword. He didn’t seem to notice me at all.

Plans swirled in my head as I made another loop through the room. I shifted my book into one hand, letting the other dangle at my side. One more pass, and I could grab it, and then . . .

Then what? If he was willing to kill me as a baby for his freedom, he’d do the same now to avoid his death. I would have a second at most to strike, and the blow would have to be lethal. Then I would have to die to seal his fate. Was I ready to give up on him?

Was I ready to give up on myself?

My feet felt made of stone as they carried me toward him, my fingers flexing and curling with my indecision. If I tried and failed, I’d doom Emarion forever. If I didn’t try at all, countless more could die at his hand.

And if I tried and succeeded, I’d never see Luther, or anyone I loved, ever again.

I steeled my jaw. The Crown on my head had to weigh more than the hearts in my chest.

My wrist twisted to prepare to grab the handle. One swift, strong move would do it. Even if he raised his shield, the godstone blade would cut right through it.

I could do this. I could do this.

Ophiucae turned another page, looking utterly oblivious to my intent.

Everyone he cared for betrayed him, my conscience scolded. He’s trusting you to be different.

My stomach roiled.

Gods, I couldn’t do this. How could I do this?