Page 325 of Burn of the Everflame

“What is it?” I asked.

“Every time magic goes that way, it disappears.” He pointed, and I watched a stray flame from an Ignios soldier fly off the battlefield, then blink away.

“Isn’t that what happens when magic runs out of energy?” I asked.

“Maybe for weaker Descended.” He raised a palm, and a glowing orb shot across the sky, into the open expanse, then vanished. “My godhood is stronger than that.”

“Are you sure? The flatlands are deceiving. Everything’s further than it looks.” He looked so offended, I almost smiled. “Send Sorae. If there’s something there, she’ll sense it.”

He sent a series of short bursts toward the sky. Sorae acknowledged with a trill and dropped her wing, banking toward the coast. The movement caught the attention of my troops, who fell silent as they watched her soar.

She crisscrossed the eastern stretch, surveying the land and the distant sea. While Luther tensed in wait for her assessment, my attention drifted back to Ophiucae and to the confrontation that neither of us could avoid for much longer.

“Whatever you sent Sorae to look for, she can’t seem to find it,” Alixe called out.

“She’s too high,” Luther said. “She needs to get closer.” He lifted a hand and fired off more signals, and Sorae dove toward the soil.

“It’s almost over,” a soldier said behind me.

“Not long now,” agreed another.

“Assuming a victory is the surest way to lose it,” I warned, reciting words Andrei had drilled into me over the years. As a child, his lessons on combat had been like reenacting a fairy tale, something I might play at but would never live. I had expected my life to mirror my mother’s, and what use would a mortal healer in a poor forest village ever have for warcraft?

Perhaps he knew that my mother was more than a healer—and perhaps he was preparing me to follow in her footsteps more than either of us could have ever imagined.

“Do you have any more surprises?” a different soldier asked.

“No,” I said, “but Ophiucae might.” I glanced over my shoulder. “That’s why you have to stay aler⁠—”

I froze. The soldier was staring at me. They all were. The mortals, at least—hundreds of brown eyes, locked on me with unwavering focus.

I shifted uneasily in my saddle. “No matter how close we seem to winning, we have to stay prepared. My father used to say, ‘Always expect the hidden dagger.’”

“Andrei Bellator was a smart man,” a fourth soldier said.

“But he wasn’t your father,” Cordellia added.

“He was,” I snapped, “and my mother would have your head for saying otherwise.”

“Ah, yes. Your mother.”

Those last two words rolled with a masculine growl that felt out of place on Cordellia’s lips. I met her stare—her expression was blank, and her eyes seemed unusually dull.

Hair rose on the back of my neck.

“Cordellia?” I asked quietly.

The corners of her lips slowly rose.

“Luther!” I shouted. “Alixe! Shields up—hurry!” A dome began to shimmer around me, and I frantically shook my head. “Not me. Shield the mortals, they’re⁠—”

My words were drowned out by a shriek. Sorae tumbled through the air as if struck by some invisible force. She fell toward the ground—and vanished.

Far away, across the battlefield, someone began to laugh. I might have only heard it in my head, or in my blood, but the chill running through me was ominous confirmation of its origin.

“My people,” Obaneryn screamed. The former King of Meros suddenly crumpled to his knees, clutching the soil. “Blessed Mother, no, make it a lie.”

“Fuck,” Luther whispered.