Page 322 of Burn of the Everflame

I stumbled into someone, and I froze, bracing for a blow. For a moment, I was back in Father’s office, cowering in wait for his fist to strike.

“You survived,” Jean said. “I’m impressed.”

He didn’t look impressed. He looked annoyed.

I tried to speak, but my throat was still too raw. A hoarse “Taran” was all I got out.

Jean rolled his eyes. “Your drunkard brother is your problem. I’m here to clean a half-breed stain off my House.” He turned and raised his arms, shadows at his palms. “Then I’ll find Luther and do the same for yours.”

“Taran,” I croaked again, louder. I forced my voice to a shout. “Taran!”

Finally, my brother looked my way. He took me in, then Jean, and I saw it in his face—the assumption he’d already made that whatever evil thing Jean was about to do, I’d played a part to make it happen.

And maybe, in a way, I had.

Jean’s aura trembled as his magic gathered in a single, lethal strike. Taran tore his hands away from Zalaric, rushing to strengthen his shield, but the terror on his face said what all three of us knew—he wasn’t strong enough to spare his mate.

“Jean?” I said. “You forgot something important.”

“What?” he snapped.

His eyes cut back to me, then grew wide as they dropped to the sword I buried in his side.

I leaned in close. “No one crosses my family and survives.”

I’d always known that if I ever had to fight for my life, I’d be lucky to land a single blow. So I’d used my weak, pathetic magic to hide against the walls while Taran trained, and I’d memorized all the places his tutor said you could kill a man with just one strike.

And one of them happened to be right between the plates of Jean Hanoverre’s armor.

He stumbled back, but not before unleashing his deadly whorl of magic. Not at Zalaric—at me.

Suddenly, it dawned on me that the Blessed Mother had answered me, after all. Because of Taran, I’d learned that I could endure all manner of pain. I’d learned that I could be cunning, and I’d learned to use it to protect the people I loved. I’d learned that I could do the right thing, the good and honorable thing, even when everyone looked at me and expected the worst.

As Jean’s magic engulfed me and my brother’s screams faded with the light, I smiled at the irony. I’d been the one to save Taran, in the end.

I wished he knew he’d saved me, too.

73

DIEM

Ilooked at Luther. “Did you hear that?”

He gave a shallow nod. His mask had fallen, worry stark across his face. “Where is he?”

My eyes returned to the battlefield. I’d heard Taran’s anguished scream, but between the shield that glittered over the fighting, the constant bursts of magic, and the swarm of bodies, it was hard to spot anyone in the chaos.

More screams rang out, from voices high and low, both unknown and unsettlingly familiar. There were moans of pain, shrieks of terror, prayers for mercy, and heartrending wails, thick with the unmistakable grief of a loved one lost.

I could feel the scars forming on my heart, a thousand tiny little cuts, one for every trauma I witnessed. The survivors’ wounds would heal, but the scars would remain, and there wasn’t a single person here who would walk away without them.

“Help! Someone, help!”

Taran’s voice bellowed again, and Luther’s head snapped west. “I see him.”

“Is he hurt?” I asked. “Is Zal alright?”

Luther squinted. “I can’t tell. There are too many people around him.” I nudged my horse forward, and Luther’s hand shot out to grab my reins. “What are you doing?”