Page 284 of Burn of the Everflame

This new reality was even more horrifying than before. Luther didn’t know about the mating mark, he knew about the spell, and his reaction was exactly what I’d feared—he was trying to fulfill it himself.

“Luther, promise me you won’t ever touch that sword again,” I pleaded. “You have no place in this.”

“Is that why you won’t go inside the house? You think you’re going to die, and it hurts less to lose something if you never let yourself have it?”

My eyes stung. “Swear to me you won’t interfere.”

“I’ll swear only this: if there’s a way to survive this, we’ll find it.”

I held his gaze, lingering in the certainty of his love, and I let myself believe that he was right. I let myself picture it—the future he promised. Waking up in his arms, stumbling lazily to the kitchen to warm two mugs of tea, only to have him sneak up behind me and steal a kiss. Luther, humming a mortal tune I’d taught him while he chopped fresh firewood, and me, singing along as I worked in my garden. We’d deliver the herbs I’d harvested to the healers’ center, then we’d wrinkle our noses and laugh at a questionable bowl of stew at our favorite tavern. If the weather was good, we’d follow the Ring Road to visit our friends in Lumnos City. If not, we’d stay in and curl up by a fire, stealing flirty glances across the top of our books.

We’d watch the sunset from our porch, where Luther would use his magic to bring the stars to our feet, just because he knew it made me smile. We’d shed our clothes and make love in the moonlight, our voices rippling through the forest, then he’d carry me to bed and we’d make love by firelight, too. We’d drift to sleep in a tangle of limbs, smiles on our faces, knowing that everything we’d suffered, everything we’d lost and endured, had earned us this. Our happy ending.

But this wasn’t a daydream or some storybook I got to write. This was war.

And happy endings were never guaranteed.

“Diem, there’s something I want to ask you.” He took my hands, staring down at them as muscles worked on his throat. “Whatever answer you give, it changes nothing. I will love you just the same. Without condition. Without end. For as long as love exists.”

The mark on my chest pulsed in recognition of his words—the promises of the mating bond, the vows we’d heard Taran and Zalaric speak hours ago.

“You’ve taught me so much over the past year,” he said. “Courage. Kindness. Mercy. Patience.” He laughed lightly. “So much patience. You showed me that strength doesn’t mean being the loudest or the most powerful. Strength can be silence, or holding your blows in a fight. Strength can be knowledge—seeking out the things we don’t know and allowing our minds to change when we find them. I was always taught that love made you vulnerable. Then you came into my life, and you loved like an act of war. Loving you, and being loved by you, makes me the strongest I’ve ever felt. And though your strength outshines me in so many ways . . .” His gaze lifted to mine. “I hope I’ve made you stronger, too.”

Tears streamed down my face in drops, in rivers, in oceans, enough of them to sweep me to sea. He reached to brush them away, then stopped short, a crease forming on his brow. He set his hand on my cheek instead and let the tears spill over his fingers, and I knew it was his promise that, when he could not end my troubles, he would hold me and endure them at my side.

“You have humbled me, Diem. You saw things in me I never saw in myself. Then you gave me a gift: you let me see the you that you show to no one else. And when I look at you, I see the most incredible woman I’ve ever known. I see . . . my heart. Beating outside my chest.” He leaned down until our foreheads touched, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You might never forgive me for asking this, but I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.”

“We can’t,” I said hoarsely, knowing the question forming on his lips.

“Diem Bellator, daughter of Auralie, beloved of Andrei, Descended of Omnos⁠—”

“Luther,” I begged.

“—guardian of hope, redeemer of hearts, savior of the forgotten⁠—”

My voice choked with a breathless sob.

“—healer of Mortal City, Queen of Emarion⁠—”

He withdrew a step to see me fully, and he smiled.

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my mate?”

Only the threat of our imminent deaths in battle could have pushed Luther to ask, knowing how wary I’d once been. One word—No—and I knew he’d never, ever ask again.

One different word, and I’d be happy at last.

The mark seemed to catch fire on my skin, like it knew how close I was to giving in. So I sacrificed one truth to spare another.

“You were right,” I said, voice breaking. “Killing Ophiucae means I die, too.”

The light in his eyes shined a little less brightly, but his look of resolve didn’t waver.

I shook my head. “I heard how King Ulther changed when his mate died. Everyone says it destroyed him. He spent centuries miserable and alone.”

“I would trade a thousand years of pain for a single day as your mate.”

“That’s madness, Luther. If I die, I want you to be happy. To be . . .” My stomach lurched, these words harder to force out. “ . . . free to fall in love with someone else.”