Page 245 of Burn of the Everflame

My blood chilled to ice. “Ophiucae—he’s found us.”

Luther didn’t answer. He no longer could.

The shadows beside the library seemed to turn to liquid, melting away in puddles as they filled with ominous grey light. At its center, a glowing man appeared with Taran and Doriel walking beside him in a stiff, unnatural gait.

“I warned you so many times, my wayward daughter. What a shame this slaughter will be.”

55

DIEM

Aflick of Ophiucae’s wrist sent Luther, Taran, and Doriel slamming to their knees.

A second flick forced me to do the same.

“They only came because they believed I was in danger,” I said. “They see now that I’m perfectly safe. You can let them go. They won’t come back.”

Ophiucae lifted Sorrow’s Edge and pressed its blade to Luther’s cheek. “He will never stop coming back.”

Panic soared at the sight of godstone against Luther’s skin. “Let me talk to them. They’ll see I’m here by choice.”

“You had that chance when they arrived. Instead . . . you chose to leave.” His shimmering skin pulsed brighter. Though his voice rumbled with anger, I heard the hurt buried beneath. “Now you’ll make a different choice. One may stay here. The others will return to your army.”

“Thank you,” I breathed.

“Well, most of them will return.” He unleashed his cold, cruel smile. “Their heads will not.”

My heart stopped. “Ophiucae, please . . . Taran and Luther are family to me.”

“What does family matter to me? Family betrays you—or leaves you behind.” Again I heard that sharpened, polished pain, honed over centuries and brandished like a sword. Another person lost to their hatred, convinced that the world would always fulfill their worst expectations. How could I change him, when I’d just proven him right?

When I wasn’t even sure I believed it, either?

“Choose, daughter, or I will choose for you.”

Though Luther was trapped in Ophiucae’s hold, the pain echoing through our bond told me he heard what was happening, and his heart was breaking at the choice he knew I’d make. A life taken so his might be spared—a torture he’d been forced to witness twice before.

“If you do this,” I said, “you will lose me forever.”

Ophiucae’s eyes darkened. His face was inscrutable, his body still. “And if I spare them . . . will you join me?”

“If you spare them, then I . . . I’ll . . .”

How simple it seemed to say yes. Save my friends, end the war—and if Ophiucae didn’t have to die, then neither did I. It was the perfect solution. A solution I couldn’t afford to refuse.

So why was the Kindred’s vision of the graveyard replaying so vividly in my head?

“Spare them all,” I said. “Just like you promised. Every Descended, every mortal, every half-mortal—give them all a blank slate. A fresh start, so this world can move forward. And stop Vance and his men from killing them, too. If you do that, then . . .” I took a deep breath. “Yes. Then I will join you.”

The world shrank in the silence that followed. Something in my spirit was deeply unsettled at the offer I’d made, but it was drowned out by burgeoning hope. If I could convince Ophiucae to walk away from violence and choose love, I could change anyone. I could change the world.

He crouched in front of me. His skin blazed bright, surrounding us both in his glow. It felt as if the moon herself had cast us in a silvery spotlight as she watched from her distant sea of stars. Ophiucae stared at me, the lines on his face mapping the rivers of rage that surged within him, carving through canyons of suffering and seemingly endless plains of resentment.

The nature of his magic had made him a creature of conflict, and his life had been war after war. I wondered what kind of man he could be in peacetime, or if he would always seek a new enemy because it was all he’d ever known.

Frantic shouting arose from the city. “He’s helping them escape,” a voice bellowed behind me.

“Diem, run!” Henri yelled.