Page 305 of Burn of the Everflame

“No, you’re an academic. Lily’s a princess. Brecke’s a craftsman. Mother’s a healer. None of us belong on a battlefield.” I shrugged. “Every time I try to protect someone, all it does is get them hurt. This time, I’m letting everyone decide for themselves, even if I hate their choice.”

“Is this about what Symond made me say earlier?” Teller asked. “D, I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

Except that he did. I wasn’t blind to my brother’s suffering, nor to the role I’d played in causing it. That had been Symond’s goal—not just to wound me, but to remind me that the blow had come from my own hand.

“You’ve brought a lot of good things to my life, too, you know,” he said. “You’re the reason I met Lily. You encouraged me to tell her how I felt even though everyone told me to stay away. Because of you, I got to see Umbros and Sophos. How many mortals can say that? And you’ve always looked out for me.” He nudged my side. “You’re a pretty good sister, I guess.”

I raised my brows. “Just pretty good?”

“You’re an okay sister.”

“I’m a great sister.”

“A tolerable sister.”

“Your favorite sister.”

“Also my least favorite sister.”

“Well, you’re my favorite brother.”

“I’m telling Taran you said that.”

“Did I say favorite? I meant second favorite.”

“Too late. The title’s mine.” Teller gestured to Luther. “He’s done. You’re next.” He glanced at the guard with the wax and pointed to his upper lip. “Maybe put a little extra on her right here.”

I swung for him, and he grinned and jumped away. His eyebrows danced in the goading way they’d always done when we’d sparred, and though I wanted to throttle him, my love for my baby brother soared.

“Should I string him upside down by the gate until we leave?” Luther rumbled in my ear.

I wheeled to face him and temporarily forgot how to breathe. With his dark hair and chiseled features, the effect of the godstone made him devastatingly handsome. His pale blue-grey eyes glowed against the dark, haphazard streak of black, two moons on a horizon of star-flecked midnight. He was light and shadow incarnate, beautiful and frightening. When I finally recovered from the shock, my body was aching to do something more wicked than breathe.

Luther’s lips rose into a knowing smirk.

With effort, I cleared my throat. “Save the mixture for someone else. Symond said it wouldn’t work on me.”

“You’re getting it anyway. So are the mortals. It will make it harder for him to spot the Descended and easier for us to tell our armies apart. We don’t want a repeat of Mort-Feu Pass.”

The reminder brought my mood back to somber. My army held almost the entire spectrum of Emarion—every gender, every skin color, every body type, every bloodline. All we lacked was a Centenary.

Through more nefarious methods, Ophiucae’s army might be just as diverse. This was a true Emarion war. The way we’d struggled to tell friend from foe in the thick of battle was symbolic in the worst kind of way.

I braided my hair back, then sat and lifted my chin to the guard. My muscles tensed in anticipation of pain, but when the molten wax touched my skin, I found the sting exhilarating. Something in me responded to its heat, like calling to like. The strange sensation I’d been feeling all week sparked anew and trembled within me. It felt like rage, excitement, terror, grief, and hope swirling in a tempestuous, fiery ball—but oddly enough, it didn’t feel like mine. It didn’t feel like Luther’s, either.

The guard hurried to spread the godstone slurry over the wax before it cooled. Luther came up beside him, brow creased, searching my face.

“You feel it again?” I asked him, and he gave a slight nod. “I don’t think it’s . . .” I trailed off. We couldn’t speak of Ophiucae so directly without risking panic. Those who could sense his aura were already visibly on edge.

“Try to use your magic,” he said.

The phantom shackles on my wrists seemed to tighten. “It’s not my godhood.”

“Try it,” he insisted.

I sighed and held out a palm, trying in earnest to conjure a wisp of shadow. I slumped lower in my chair when no magic came.

Luther turned, grabbing Teller’s arm and leading him aside. When they were out of earshot, their heads bent together in hushed conversation.