Page 319 of Burn of the Everflame

The words played in my head, but the voice that spoke them was my father’s. Every time he’d caught me lying to cover up Taran’s misbehavior or paying off someone Taran had upset, Father never failed to remind me that I was protecting a brother who thought I was lower than mud on his boot.

And Taran had never done a thing to prove him wrong.

My teeth ground together as I turned my back and stormed toward the forest. I was stupid to come here. The only thing fighting at Taran’s side would earn me was an early death.

A hand gripped the fabric on the back of my coat. “Wait,” Taran said. His shield glimmered into a dome around us as he scowled guiltily at the ground. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

My fucking brother.

Nothing had changed at all.

He was still the impulsive brat he’d been as a child, unable to stop himself from acting out, even when he knew it would bring down hell on both our heads. And I was still the bitter older brother, resentful of everything he brought to my life, but unable to accept one without him in it.

“I wasn’t just talking about Descended,” I shot back. “The mortal assigned to me was a baker, Taran. He didn’t belong here, either. The Emarion Army should be fighting this war.”

“They are,” he said. “But that glowing prick is too powerful. Queenie needs all of us to stop him. Besides . . .” The corners of his lips slid upward. “I don’t know about you, but I’m having fun.”

His shield misted away, and he let out a loud whoop as he took out two more people with a single arc of his sword.

I started to call out a warning to Zalaric that he’d bonded his heart to a lunatic, but the expression on Taran’s new mate kept me quiet. His hands were raised, magic firing in luminous strands into the shield above us, but his eyes were on the bodies at his feet. His lips were bloodless and pressed into a hard line.

“Aemonn, watch out!”

Taran crashed into me, and my back hit the ground. All ten thousand pounds of his muscle came down on my ribs.

“Get off me, you overgrown cow,” I wheezed.

“Then pay attention, you puny rat. You almost took an arrow. This is no place to get distracted.”

I coughed for air, trying and failing to push him off. “Tell that to your mate.”

Taran’s head snapped up. “Zal? You alright?” When his mate didn’t answer, he frowned. “Fuck. I think he recognizes someone from Umbros.” He shoved his sword into my hand. “Stay away from anything sparkly and black.”

He ran off, and I raised a shield as I dragged myself to my feet and looked around. Zalaric wasn’t the only one seeing familiar faces. Everywhere I turned, I spotted Descended I knew from court. Weeks ago, we’d gossiped about trivial House drama over bottles of expensive wine while lounging on armchairs in embroidered robes. Now, we were all staggering like kittens who’d lost their mother, unsure what to do or where to go. The proud elite of Lumnos had revealed themselves to be an embarrassing, useless mess.

I gripped Taran’s sword and raised it to my chest, then took a tentative step toward the fighting. Don’t be delusional, boy, my father’s voice chided in my head. You can’t kill anyone. You couldn’t even fight me.

I’d heard those words often, too. Every time I asked to train in weapons or combat, my father forbid it. He wouldn’t even allow me a tutor for magical attacks, deeming my godhood too insignificant to be worth the effort.

Sometimes I wondered whether he really thought I was too weak, or if he worried that, once I learned to kill, I’d use it on him.

An enemy soldier hobbled toward me, if you could even call him a soldier. He looked more like a courtesan, with his chest bare and gauzy fabric draped around his hips. He was a mortal—from Umbros, I guessed. He had no weapon, and blood oozed from his thigh where he’d already taken a blow.

I raised Taran’s sword, and I sneered. My father was wrong. I wasn’t weak. I could fight, and I could kill.

I already had.

As I stared into the man’s vacant brown eyes, a different mortal flashed into my vision—a little boy lying on the street in a pile of broken wood.

It happened months ago, in Lumnos City. I hadn’t believed the boy at first. Every Descended had been warned that mortals often feigned wounds, then demanded to be paid, and that day had the markings of a similar ruse. The boy had stepped right into my horse’s path, with another mortal standing feet away to serve as witness. It seemed obvious that it was all a nefarious plot.

But the mortal with him never asked for money.

And the boy never moved. Never even blinked.

Something scraped across my cheek, yanking me back to the battle. In my distraction, my shield had dropped, and the mortal was clawing at my face. His nails couldn’t break my skin, but Blessed Kindred, it fucking hurt.

Taran’s sword slipped and fell as I shoved the man away. I reached down to grab it, and the mortal dove for me again and knocked me to the ground. He clamped his hands around my neck and squeezed with surprising strength.