Page 238 of Burn of the Everflame

He grabbed a crossbow out of the hands of one of the men and pointed it at me. “Quit talking and go.”

The two other men grabbed me by the arms and dragged me around the building’s side. With the lights that once illuminated Sophos City smashed and ruined, the area was fully draped in darkness. The hooded figure turned to the man with the lantern. “Leave it. Can’t risk being seen.”

Hair rose on my nape. I tried to pull away, only to be shoved into the wall and pinned in place while they dimmed the lantern and hid it behind a large stone.

“Are you sure the new guy can do it?” one man asked.

“Yes,” the cloaked man said. “He just arrived. We have to move fast, before the Descended bastard gets in his head like he did to us.”

The alarm bells in my head rose to a deafening clamor. Ophiucae’s compulsion kept the mortals from killing me, but if there was someone new that he’d not yet had the chance to control . . .

I fought against their grip, shouting for help, and a gauze-wrapped hand clamped across my mouth. “You don’t want to do that,” the cloaked figure murmured. The strange affect to their voice had vanished, leaving a low, familiar tone beneath.

Henri.

I ripped my face from his grip, overwhelmed with rage that I’d spared him from execution only to have him spearhead mine. “Fuck you,” I hissed. “I hope the Old Gods give you the end you deserve.”

“I hope the same for you,” he mumbled. He grabbed my arm and yanked me beside him as he walked. “Maybe they’ll answer both our prayers.”

After all he’d done, I was a fool to be surprised, but my mind could not accept how hateful he’d become. Growing up in Mortal City, I’d struggled to grow close to anyone. Friendships stayed shallow, lovers were never more than sex. Even with the other healers, though we were cordial, there was a persistent distance no one could explain.

But not with Henri. My grey eyes and white hair hadn’t spooked him. What others saw in me as rash, he found exciting and brave. We shared all the same dreams of adventure, indulged in all the same sins. He was by my side for every harebrained plot, his crooked grin always egging me on.

He, and he alone, had never cared what made me different. And now he, and he alone, knew the full truth of everything I was fighting to save—which was why it hurt so very badly to see him stand so determinedly in my way.

“Don’t do this,” I begged him. “I told you what happens to the world if I fail.”

“Yeah,” one of the other men snorted. “We’ll finally be free of the Crowns.”

I kept my pleading gaze on Henri. “It won’t stop there. We hate each other, but we both know it’s true. It won’t just be the Descended who suffer.”

“Stop talking,” he snapped. He slowed to a stop and kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to kneel.

“You don’t have to kill me. Please, Henri, you know I’m already going to die when⁠—”

“Quiet,” he growled.

One of the other men gave him a curious look. “Brother . . . how does she know your name?”

Henri ignored the question and pointed north. “Look, there he is. It’s time.”

A few hundred yards away, two hooded figures emerged from a thicket along the city’s northern edge. One carried a massive broadsword, the other a bow.

The man beside me tensed. “I thought you said it would only be one.”

“It was only supposed to be one,” Henri muttered. He pulled down his hood and walked out of the shadows and into the moonlight. He let out a low, quiet whistle that was almost lost among the evening crickets’ songs. A moment later, a whistle rang back.

Henri turned back to the man who’d questioned him. “Go stand by the library and keep an eye out for the night patrol.”

The man didn’t move.

“Hold on, you’re Henri from Lumnos?” the other one said. “I’ve heard about you. You’re supposed to be in Umbros. Heard Father Vance made you go with him ’cause he didn’t trust you here.”

Henri shrugged. “I snuck away and stayed behind. I’ve gotta prove myself to Vance. Killing her is how I do it.”

The emptiness of his stare sent my skin prickling. There was not even a flame of hatred or spark of resentment, certainly no sign of conflict or regret. He was a lightless pile of ashes, the remnants of something that had been set ablaze, then thrown away.

I couldn’t afford to mourn his loss. My chance to escape was dwindling fast.