Page 228 of Burn of the Everflame

The hopelessness inside me stretched its jaws, consuming more of my tired, defeated heart. I’d begun my reign as Queen confident in my ideals. I’d sworn to be better than the manipulative Crowns who came before me. I believed I could inspire others to be better, too.

The line between a dreamer and a fool was a hair’s breadth thin. Maybe the line between a leader and a leash was even thinner.

“Why was the book on the Kindred’s home world hidden?” I asked.

“The Kindred feared someone would use the book to go looking for it.”

“It doesn’t sound like there’s anything left of it to find.”

“Given what they said about the power their people guarded, someone might be driven to try.”

That, at least, I agreed with. The book had painted the Kindred’s home world as an idyllic place, evolved beyond hunger or poverty or injustice, but even in utopia, greed had endured. A small faction yearned for more, and their world’s leaders, believing their paradise could not be improved, turned them away. The faction turned their efforts to the people. If our leaders will not share their authority, they argued, they must be hoarding the best resources for themselves.

The leaders ignored it, certain that the masses would see the harmony they’d achieved and trust them to maintain it. Some did, but others took the silence as evidence of guilt. The opposition grew, and so did their anger. For the first time, their world’s peace was at risk.

One leader suggested they use the heartstone’s magic to quell the unrest. The others feared that doing so would plunge them into war. While the debate went on, the turmoil grew. Their rivals launched an attack that left their city crumbling, and the leaders vowed retribution. Once they are punished, they promised, peace will be restored.

Punishments came, but peace did not.

More disagreements led to more resentment, more attacks, and more bloodshed. The desperate leaders finally offered up a place among them, but the dissidents were no longer content with a seat at the table. They wanted the leaders, who they saw as selfish and corrupt, to step down for good.

The leaders refused. More of them became convinced the heartstone’s power was the only solution. The law forbid them from using it for violence unless all the leaders agreed, and one holdout remained—their eldest member, who refused to sanction the slaughter of their people, no matter their crime. Frustrated, the others overruled her. Ending a war is not an act of violence, they insisted. It’s an act of peace.

And an act of peace did not require a unanimous vote.

The heartstone was used, and their rivals were vanquished in one deadly, unspeakable strike.

If only that had been the end.

Their clerics had warned that such a heinous deed would demand a steep price in return, but even they could not imagine how much the leaders would lose. The cost for the destruction of their most fervent opponents: their most loyal supporters. The leaders’ lovers, their children, their dearest friends—all condemned to the same lethal fate. Stricken by guilt for what they’d done, the leaders ordered their own execution.

New rifts formed between those disgusted that the heartstone had been used and those angry it wasn’t done sooner. In the leaders’ absence, many attempted to seize control for themselves. The clerics who guarded the heartstone decided it was better to destroy it than risk it being used for more violence. They broke its source into pieces, weakening its strength, and set off to hide them in places they would never be found. As they made their escape, they were discovered by furious mobs, who stole the heartstone fragments and eagerly turned its magic on their foes.

The world fell by day’s end.

The only survivors were a widowed cleric, her ten children, and the last-known remnant of the power that destroyed everything they once loved.

My focus narrowed on an object laying at Ophiucae’s side. “There was a book in that room that had a lock on its cover,” I said. “What do you know of its contents?”

“Nothing. I’ve never read it.”

“This is not the time for lies, Doriel. We both know there’s not a single book in that library you haven’t memorized cover to cover.”

“Of course I wanted to read it, but I couldn’t. Its lock requires the blood of all nine Crowns to open. If I had asked the other Crowns for their blood, they would have demanded to read it, too. I was told to never let that happen.”

My heart began to race.

Doriel sighed. “The curiosity is torture, but it’s not for me to question the Blessed Kindred’s command.”

“The Kindred?” I asked. “I thought the old Sophos Crowns decided to hide those books?”

“This one was different. The Kindred set the lock on that book themselves. Whatever is in those pages, they went to great lengths to make sure it never fell into enemy hands.” Doriel’s voice felt distant as my pulse thundered in my ears. “I always wondered why the Kindred left a book no one could read. Now I understand. They left it for you.”

51

DIEM

Dawn came, then afternoon, then evening again, and Vance and his men did not return. Besides a visit from a brusque man with our daily flameroot, we were left to stew in our fears—Doriel, for their mate, and me, for the world.