Page 27 of Burn of the Everflame

Then, I’d tried reciting healer knowledge, listing out every ingredient in our inventory at the center, then the recipe for every salve and tincture. That lasted for a while, until I was certain I’d die from boredom before hunger.

Today, I was celebrating my birthday by teaching Perthe the most irreverent jokes and songs I knew. I’d done so before, at the victory dinner after my Challenging, and I’d never seen him laugh so hard.

I’d been overwhelmingly happy that night. I’d felt hopeful for the future and so, so loved.

By one man in particular.

My legs quivered. I fell to my side, panting to catch my breath. “Don’t think about him,” I mumbled. “You know what happens when you do.”

Too late.

Everything began to feel tighter—my skin, my lungs. My pulse picked up speed as two heartbeats stampeded in my chest. I wanted to hurl myself into the sea, even if it killed me, just to feel a tiny bit closer to him.

Memories collapsed like a crumbling building on my head. His voice, that rich bass that sang of velvet and iron. His eyes, cold as frost yet ablaze with a fire only I could fully see. His touch. Gods, his touch. His palms, strong and broad, resting on the small of my back, circling my neck, pushing inside me.

My fingers dug into the soil as I gasped for air. My head throbbed, my skin sizzling like I was bathing in hot oil.

I need him.

I need him.

I need him.

I tore at the collar of my tunic, now reduced to a threadbare rag, and pressed my trembling hand to my heart. The silvery symbol beneath it shimmered to a golden glow.

Instantly, I felt calmer. Safer.

Certain that, once we were together, everything would be alright.

Perhaps then this gods-damned bond would give me a moment of gods-damned peace.

My eyes turned to the sky, azure and cloudless. The weather was warm but not uncomfortably so. For the first day of spring, it was perfect. Annoyingly perfect.

Like the gods were mocking me yet again.

“What good is this doing?” I yelled at them. “Why tell Luther to serve me, then keep us apart? Why give me Crowns just to trap me here?” I pushed back up to my feet, a bit breathless and a lot unsteady, and pointed to the sea. “Your people are dying. Do you care for them so little that you would watch them slaughtered while I do nothing?”

A thought struck me like a slap. “Or do you not trust me, either? You think I’ll join him.”

If I was being really, truly, brutally honest . . . I couldn’t blame them. Even before discovering there had been a tenth Kindred named Omnos, and that Ophiucae and I were the only known Descended of his line, I’d felt a connection to my sire that even his evil deeds couldn’t erase.

“I know what I have to do,” I muttered. “I don’t have to like it.”

I looked down at my body. Stains had darkened my clothing, and my skin was caked with dirt and gritty sand blown in from the shore. My once white hair was a frizzy grey-brown nest of knots.

“If Luther could see me now, he’d take off running,” I grumbled.

The mating mark throbbed. Toward you, it seemed to remind me. The only place he’d run is to you.

I sulked toward some nearby flowers to gather an offering for Perthe. When I reached for a handful of stems, my focus caught on a single flower with eleven ruffle-edged, yellow-red petals. Its hue was so similar to the bright crimson of the flameroot, I’d almost overlooked it.

I plucked it free. “You’re only supposed to bloom in summer,” I murmured. “And never in sandy soil.” I rolled the stem between my fingers. “Hey, Perthe, I found you something special.” I held it out toward him. “Look—rosebane. Isn’t it lovely? It’s very rare, you know.”

He didn’t seem impressed.

“They used to call it God’s Horn. Some people say the right dose will get you just close enough to death to speak with the gods.” I smirked. “Should I see if it works?”

The gravestone gave off a distinct air of disapproval.