Page 227 of Burn of the Everflame

They stared at it, frowning. “You brought this for me?”

I shrugged. Without food, Doriel would die, and I’d had enough of being alone.

They shoved the morsels of food in their mouth before someone could show up to steal it away. Not that there was anyone left to do it—the camp was almost empty, save for a handful of men on patrol.

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

Doriel swallowed down a mouthful. “They left for the coast. If they’re going by boat, they’re headed south, most likely.”

My eyes wandered over the southern grasslands and stopped on a bright light atop a low hill. At the center of the glow, Ophiucae was sprawled on his back. Xipherus soared in circles through the clouds above, his red-tipped wings looking like smears of blood against the evening sky.

“Ophiucae didn’t go with them?” I asked.

“He never does. He stays behind and does that.”

“What is he . . .” My question slowed and stopped as I remembered what the Kindred had told me about the consequences of their second Forging spell.

What it brought him was an unlimited source of power. He no longer needed to be attacked to take our magic—he could pull it directly from the soil. He went from our weakest to more powerful than all of us combined.

“That’s why he stopped going with the mortals,” I murmured. “His magic isn’t strong enough. He needs a connection with the soil to fuel it.”

“The soil fuels his magic?” Doriel asked.

My eyes narrowed. “You pretended to know nothing about the Kindred’s family or the tenth realm.” I jabbed a finger toward the library. “I saw the books you hid in the room that only the Sophos Crown can access. You knew everything.”

“I told you the truth,” they protested. “You asked what I knew about Omnos, and I said all I’d heard was rumors. The Kindred never mentioned him in their writings.”

I gritted my teeth, unable to deny it. The Kindred had been meticulous in leaving their youngest brother unmentioned. It left my heart aching on his behalf. How must it feel for your family to go to such lengths to erase you, all the while knowing you were alive in a cell beneath the earth?

“Tell me you didn’t let Ophiucae in that room,” Doriel said, their eyes growing round.

“He was only there for a few minutes.”

I bit down on the critical part I wasn’t admitting—that he’d taken one of the books with him when he left.

“Diem, those books are locked away for a reason.”

I rolled my eyes. “Right. The book on the Kindred’s mates is really dangerous. Thank the gods you hid that from the world. Those love stories have been known to kill people.”

“It’s more dangerous than you think,” they snapped at my mocking tone. “Why do you think the people of Montios live in silence in the mountains, while Merosians spend their lives at sea? Do you think no Descended among them wish to live otherwise?”

“Of course. The ones who do leave and go to Umbros.”

“And they can never go back, because they are shunned as heretics.” Doriel pressed a hand to their chest. “My people follow Blessed Father Sophos’s example. He spent his life in study, so we do the same. Even my guards devote their free hours in research to fulfill their divine duty. ‘As the Kindred lived, so shall we.’ It is the fundamental precept of our kind.” They gave me a loaded look. “And that can extend to all aspects of the Kindred’s lives—including their lovers.”

“Are you saying Descended will take mortal mates simply because the Kindred did?”

“Some Descended will do anything because the Kindred did. There was a time when nearly every Descended took a mortal lover—whether the mortal wished to be taken or not.”

I recoiled in disgust, though I wasn’t surprised. Every evil the Descended ever committed had been justified as an act of obedience to the Kindred. The Guardians had done reprehensible things in the name of the Old Gods, too. That was the danger of faith. When a sword swings to please a god, all in its path end up bleeding, the innocent and guilty alike.

“The Crowns of long ago decided to limit what people know of the Kindred,” Doriel continued. “By withholding some details and emphasizing others, we can more precisely guide our people.”

“You mean you can control them.”

They ignored my jab. “It was decided that it would be best for everyone to believe the Kindred wanted their mortal mates to be forgotten—a temporary need to populate our kind, nothing more. Every Sophos Crown since has honored that decision.” They lifted their chin. “And we are better for it. The Descended and the mortals.”

I wanted to yell that when a child hits another child, you teach them that hitting is wrong, you don’t give them something different to swing at, but if the Crowns hadn’t believed in the Descended’s ability to do the right thing, how could I?