Page 230 of Burn of the Everflame

“Victory has made me generous,” Ophiucae announced, striding toward my cell with a smirk and a mug. “I’ve decided to share the spoils of war.”

“I don’t want your ale,” I said.

“Pity. Vance said it was only for the men. I was looking forward to seeing his face turn red when he watched you drink.” He pushed his hand through the bars, offering it to Doriel. “How about you?”

Doriel eyed both man and mug with heavy trepidation. “I’ll pass.”

Ophiucae’s smile dropped. “Take the mug.”

Doriel looked at me in panic.

I jumped to my feet. “Fine, give it to me. I’ll drink it.”

“No. You’ve rejected my gifts one too many times.” He looked back at Doriel. “Drink.”

His voice was laced with compulsive magic, and Doriel was powerless to refuse. They took the mug and downed its contents in a single gulp.

Ophiucae’s frosty grin returned. “Now the fun has begun.”

“Where is my mate?” Doriel demanded. “Did you kill him like you killed my people?”

Ophiucae looked offended. “I killed no one in Sophos.”

Doriel threw themself against the bars. “You erased all those brilliant minds. You destroyed Emarion’s greatest resource!”

Ophiucae gestured to the library. “I spared your precious books, didn’t I? I’m sure they contain meticulous notes on the research done here. The new generation will be back at work on it in no time.”

“Those people were worth more than their research,” I scolded, shooting them both disappointed looks. “Their lives are not replaceable.”

Doriel looked abashed.

Ophiucae looked annoyed. “Doriel, I hear your people found antidotes for nearly every poison that Descended healing can’t overcome. An impressive accomplishment.”

Doriel stood a little taller. “Indeed. We saved many lives with that work.”

“And the poisons that only affect mortals—did you find cures for those, too?”

Doriel tensed. “Well, you see . . . there are so many. We can’t be expected to solve every ailment that makes mortals ill.”

Ophiucae leaned in closer to the bars. “Were you studying those ailments at all?”

Doriel looked everywhere but at me.

I turned away, disgusted. At Ophiucae, for insisting the Descended were unworthy of being saved. At Doriel, for giving him all the evidence to prove it.

“It’s not that we didn’t care,” Doriel protested. “We prioritized research that could help mortals and Descended.”

“Like a cure for godstone?” Ophiucae said dryly.

I buried my face in my hands.

“Godstone is different,” Doriel sputtered. “It has plagued our people since . . . the time of the Blessed Kindred. We don’t know where . . . it came from or how . . . it works . . . or . . .” Their voice took on a slurred, unsteady cadence. “We don’t . . . the poison . . . it’s . . . poison . . .”

The sound of a shattering mug and a heavy thump rang out behind me. I turned to see Doriel sprawled on the ground, eyes closed. I ran to their side and shook them. They didn’t stir, though their chest still rose and fell with steady strength.

“A sleeping draught,” Ophiucae explained. He looked out at the city of dozing men. “I don’t know what’s more surprising, my brother’s kin doing something with ale other than drinking it, or the mortals waiting to bring it back here before they took the bait. They should have known better than to trust an empty port.”

My hope soared. If the people of Meros had laid a trap and evacuated Meros City, they must have been warned about what happened in Sophos. Perhaps the warnings had reached the other realms, too.