Page 282 of Burn of the Everflame

“I hired a crew from Mortal City,” he went on. “The chief served with Andrei in the army. He let me pay his workers, but he wouldn’t take my gold. He said he owed it to the Commander to make sure his little girl had a home.” Luther hesitated, awaiting my response. I could barely blink, let alone form a coherent sentence. “I wanted to have a hand in building it, too, though I thought better of interfering with the house. We’d end up with the roof crashing down while we slept.”

He gave a short, huffed laugh that I met with silence. Behind me, I heard him swallow. He folded the paper up and tucked it away, then pointed at a fence bordering a nearby patch of grass.

“I built that instead, for the animals. Some chickens would be nice, I think.” I heard a smile creep into his voice. “And our goat, of course. Taran Junior.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes from the hearth. It was encased in a column of smooth white stones, exactly like the one in my childhood home. My father had gathered the rocks himself from the shore of the Sacred Sea. Water and fire, he used to say. A fitting balance, don’t you think?

Luther had only been to my family’s cottage once, the same day it burned to the ground. Had he noticed it? Had he done this on purpose, or was it a cruel, beautiful coincidence? I wanted to ask him, but my throat felt gripped by a fist.

He shifted to see my face, his gaze dancing between me and the house. He raised a hand, fingers twitching, and the air rippled like a pebble dropped in a pond. When it stilled, the house had changed. A second floor appeared to sit atop the first, smoke billowing from a tall brick chimney on its shingled roof. Arched shutters framed flower-filled windows lit with a comforting glow that beckoned you in. A rope-hung bench swung to and fro in the evening breeze, two steaming mugs waiting on the floor below. It looked exactly like his sketch, but real enough to make my insides knot.

He pointed to the top of the illusion. “There’ll be a reading room there, upstairs, with a view of the sea.” His finger shifted lower. “An armory closet by the front door.” He gestured to the side. “I considered a formal dining room in the rear with a table large enough for our friends, but I built a garden instead, for the medicinal plants you need for healing. I thought it might be nice to keep the house small. Just enough for two.” He hesitated, eyes lingering on me. “With room to grow, should you ever desire it.”

Cracks opened in my soul—a broken mirror on flimsy backing, pressed too hard and splintering into shards.

His fingers curled, and tiny blue sparks emerged from the trees. They swarmed like fireflies to an adjacent parcel of land, bathing a line of saplings in their light. “Our orchard,” he explained. “For Sorae. I had a bit of heartbreak when the mortals told me apple trees don’t grow in this kind of soil. Enness and his magic saved the day.”

My brain screamed at me to answer, but I could not.

I could feel his hope begin to shrink at my silence. “We can change anything,” he said, quieter than before. “If you dislike it⁠—”

A sound croaked out of me, something between a scream and a sob. I stiffly turned away, thinking I might combust if I looked at the house for one second longer. Thinking that I might burn so hot I’d turn to ash where I stood. I lurched toward the bridge we’d crossed, newly built and painted white. Floating beside it, a small rowboat had been tied off to a wooden post.

I stopped.

My father’s boat.

The day he died, it had been docked near the sea, far enough away to escape my destruction. The only family relic to survive.

I stumbled to the water and fell to my knees, tugging at the line until the boat came within reach. My fingers brushed its side, rough from lack of oiling in my father’s absence. Inside, I caught a flash of red—his favorite fishing knife. The handle had cracked years ago, but he’d refused to replace it, insisting it was the perfect blade for cleaning a fresh catch. My mother had bound the handle with waxed crimson twine to keep it intact.

I snatched the knife and clutched it to my chest, running my fingers over the cords. It had been so long since my hands had touched something Andrei once held. Not since the twin daggers I’d laid in his grave.

“Don’t be angry,” Luther pleaded, crouching behind me. “The boat—it’s not for me. It’s Teller’s, by right. I’m keeping it safe for him here. He told me his fishing trips with your father were his happiest memories. I hoped maybe I could join him. I’d like to learn.”

I was so close to breaking. So dangerously close.

“Stop,” I whispered.

Luther didn’t hear me. “Teller helped me choose the land. He’s considering a home for himself a mile upstream.” He pointed south, closer to town. “I thought we might build something for your mother that way. Close enough to visit any time, but far enough away for us to have . . .” He cleared his throat. “Privacy.”

I shook my head. “I can’t do this.”

Luther tensed. Leaned back. “I thought . . . that day in Sophos, you said you wanted—” He stopped abruptly. “Are you worried that I’m only doing this for you? Diem, for years I wished I could walk these streets without a cloak concealing who I am. Mortal City feels more like home to me than the palace ever did. This is the life I should have had, if my mother had raised me. It’s what I want. What I’ve always wanted, even before we met. I just never believed I could have it . . . until you.”

My heart cracked with the worst, most devastating kind of joy. The kind that felt too much like despair.

“Good,” I managed to rasp out. “Good . . . you deserve that.” I looked around, searching for an escape that didn’t exist. I could run for miles, fly on Sorae’s back to the ends of Emarion, and still, the truth would catch up.

Luther slowly rose. “If this is too much, we can find something else. A place for you to be alone.”

Alone.

I shuddered at the word. How could I possibly explain? Yes, it was too much, far too much—because it was also exactly right. I couldn’t have pictured a more idyllic home if I’d put the pen to paper myself. It made me believe that I didn’t have to choose between healer or wife or mother or Queen or mortal or Descended. Luther’s vision of our future allowed me to be all of those things and more, or none of them at all. My choice, not my fate. And I wanted it so very, very badly.

“This house . . .” Every word I forced out hurt like broken glass, set aflame and poisoned. “It’s . . . perfect. Everything about it is perfect.”

“But you don’t want it?” His head angled lower, trying to catch my eyes.