Page 270 of Burn of the Everflame

I shrugged—too blandly. “I’m sure it’ll start coming back any day now.”

“It hasn’t even started to return? Most Descended begin to gradually feel it within⁠—”

“I’m not most Descended,” I snapped—too sharply.

Teller’s eyes narrowed. He leaned in close, voice hushed. “D, what are you hiding?”

The music was thunderous now and racing toward an end at an urgent speed. Its pretty tune had turned shrill, accentuated by Zalaric’s cackling. Though tiny fissures had begun to appear, the shield was nowhere close to giving way. Heads in the crowd began to swivel in search of a last-minute savior. One by one, they all came to rest on me.

“Come on, Queenie,” Taran shouted. “You’ve already freed six gryverns—what’s a few hundred more?”

Zalaric’s triumphant pride faltered. Unlike Taran, he could sense my aura, and though he’d been kind enough to keep it to himself, I’d caught just enough of his curious glances to know that he had noticed its absence.

I looked at Luther, silently pleading for help. His gaze instantly snapped to mine—then, seeing me safe and surrounded by smiling friends, returned to his father.

I began to panic. I knew I couldn’t hide my magic’s loss forever, but I’d hoped to wait until Vance and his men were found. My army believed my magic to be its strongest weapon, and if we had to face one last battle, I feared the consequences to their morale.

I felt my hands rise toward the orb before I could think my doomed plan through, and the crowd let out a cheer. Their hands fell, their magic fading to make room for me to do what all of them combined could not.

“Diem,” Teller whispered, “what are you doing?”

The orchestra hit their final note and let it hold, sustained, eyes peering at me over their music.

Suddenly, a flash of light exploded at my palms. A glowing stream spiraled around me, then arced across the sky. It collided into the shield and instantly crushed it into a cloud of glittering mist. From within the shield, a mass of white broke apart, its pieces fluttering toward the ground.

The crowd erupted. Their hands returned to the air, this time stretching toward the twirling items.

“Did you do that?” Teller asked.

I shook my head. I looked at Luther—he gazed back, but his frown was written with questions, not answers.

“Let the Blessed Mother Lumnos guide the Gilded Gryvern to its home,” Zalaric announced blandly, feigning irritation as a clapping Taran hopped up and down beside him. Zalaric’s eyes found mine, softened, and winked.

Thank you, I mouthed.

I’ll send you a bill tomorrow, he mouthed back.

“They’re little gryverns,” Teller said. He grabbed a handful from the air and squinted at the tiny scraps of translucent paper. Each one had been folded into miniature versions of the creature, their pleated wings causing them to flap in chaotic circles as they fell.

A cloud of them rained down over me, their tiny tails tickling my nose. I reached up to catch a few, wanting to save one for Sorae, who’d been spending every waking hour patrolling the borders and coast. My eyes caught on a gleam of warm light—one gryvern unlike all the others, whose edges had been tipped with gold. Its wing had crumpled, causing it to tumble in a fast descent.

I held out my palm to catch it, but just as it grazed my skin, another paper gryvern bounced off my finger and knocked it aside—right onto Lily’s shoulder. She plucked it off and gasped. “I found it,” she yelled, beaming. “I found the⁠—”

Her smile vanished. She looked at Teller, who was distractedly unwrapping one of the miniature creatures to study its folds. Lily quickly placed it in my palm.

“Her Majesty found it,” she announced, a good deal louder and a great deal less enthused.

I frowned. “Lily, you⁠—”

“It’s a very good omen,” she interrupted. “They say the Descended who catches it will be the next to mate.” Her lips pressed tightly as she nestled into Teller’s side—Teller, a mortal, who she could marry but not mate. Her joy of a moment earlier had transformed into something bittersweet, something made of love and sacrifice and complicated, contradicting want. He dropped the paper he’d been studying to wrap an arm around her waist, and she hurriedly washed her face of anything less than bliss.

She’d apparently learned a thing or two from Luther about hiding her true emotions, though where Luther’s mask was stone-carved reserve, Lily’s mask was purity and light. For Teller’s sake, I was grateful for her kindness. For her sake, my heart broke.

I gave a subtle nod to let her know I understood, and her eyes crinkled with silent appreciation. “You’re the right person to catch it,” she offered. “You and Luther would make perfect mates.”

The mark on my chest burned in agreement.

“Queenie!” Taran hollered. He bounded through the crowd, nearly toppling over countless guests, and swept me off my feet into a lung-squishing hug. “Well, this is ironic, huh?” he murmured in my ear.