Page 226 of Burn of the Everflame

But he was a killer. How could I not?

Closer, I walked.

I softened my footsteps. Held my breath.

I lifted my hand . . .

“I’ll spare your mother, if you wish.”

I froze, my fingers still outstretched. The handle of Sorrow’s Edge was inches away.

He didn’t look up, though he spoke again. “I’ll spare your mate, too. Luther, was it?”

I didn’t dare move. The sound of Luther’s name on his lips turned my blood cold.

He smoothly turned a page. “I can be forgiving, Diem. I’ll spare anyone you want. I could spare the entire continent, if you really insist.”

My hand squeezed into a fist. “You would do that?”

He flipped to the front of his book, one fingertip skating over its list of contents. “You are so willing to die to save others. I wonder, are you willing to live to save them instead?”

His finger stopped on a line of text, and the corner of his lips rose high.

He smoothed the book open to a section topped by a roughly drawn sketch. It was all jagged lines and sharp angles, its shape reflecting neither person nor building nor any man-made thing. My focus moved to the text scrawled above it.

Harnessing the Heartstone.

Hair rose on the back of my neck.

A knock rapped at the door. Ophiucae snapped the book closed and stood. “Our food is here,” he announced, carrying the book—and Sorrow’s Edge—out of my reach.

He opened the door to an exhausted-looking woman holding a silver tray burnt with scorch marks, carrying steaming food and a jug of ale. At Ophiucae’s stare, she cast her eyes down, though her lips tightened to a bitter line.

She hurriedly set the tray down, looking eager to get out of the room as quickly as possible. “Father Vance asked me to tell you his preparations are done. He’s ready when you are.”

He nodded, then turned to me. “I must go. You may stay as long as you like.”

Panic soared as my chance to get Sorrow’s Edge slipped away. “We just got here. Don’t you want to keep reading?”

His hand tapped against the book under his arm. “I got what I came for. The rest are for you.” He chuckled as he turned to leave. “If you really want to help your people, daughter, keep reading the book in your hand. Find out how deadly peace can be.”

50

DIEM

The golden age our elders spoke of is difficult to remember. At times, it seems that all we’ve ever known is violence and unrest. And yet, when we reflect on our past, it is neither peace nor war we think of, but love. It was love that birthed us, love that saved us, and love that has led us to our end.

— OUR BEGINNING

The opening words to the Kindred’s retelling of their history echoed in my head as one of Vance’s men ushered me back to my cell. I’d spent the day combing the books Ophiucae left behind in search of anything that might help me. Despite the hundreds of pages I’d skimmed, those first few lines dominated my thoughts.

“None of that allowed,” my escort barked, knocking the tray I carried out of my hands. Bits of fire-cooked quail and roasted parsnips spilled across the grass. Before I could stoop to grab them, he shoved me into the cage and slammed the door at my back. I stretched my arm through the bars, and he laughed as the food sat just out of reach.

“Wasting food rather than giving it to those who need it,” I said tersely. “You’re no better than the Crowns.”

His laughter stopped. “My father died in a Fortos prison because the guards wouldn’t feed him.” He drove the heel of his boot into the fallen food, smashing it into the soil. “Now you know how it feels.”

He stormed away, and I slumped to the ground beside Doriel. “I figured that might happen,” I muttered. I reached into my tunic and pulled out a hidden bundle of food I’d tied up in a napkin, setting it in Doriel’s lap.