Page 337 of Burn of the Everflame

I ran to Diem and lowered my voice. “Thank the gods your magic returned. I think we can still save Aemonn.”

Her brows flew up. “He’s alive?”

“For now. He needs healing magic.”

“The healers are in the forest.” She turned toward Taran. “I can shield if he can carry Aemonn.”

My frown deepened, both at the strangeness of her voice and the illogical words she spoke. The mortal healers from Lumnos were in the forest, waiting until it was safe to treat survivors, but the Descended healers of Fortos were on the battlefield. They deployed with the army battalions, saving lives while simultaneously fighting for their own—a fact that Diem well knew. Teller used to find great fun in suggesting she enlist, knowing it would bait her into a passionate rant about the (mostly female) healers doing twice the work of the (mostly male) soldiers.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. “You have to heal him yourself.”

“I can’t heal him, Auralie.”

I bristled. Diem had never called me anything but Mother. “Diem, remember your healer’s vow. Aemonn is our patient. Put your feelings about him aside and⁠—”

“I’m not Diem.” Her fingers twitched, and her face began to ripple, revealing flickers of ebony skin and short black curls.

“Zalaric?” I asked.

She—he nodded. “It’s an illusion. Works better than a shield. They don’t even try to attack her.”

My mind began to spin with the strategic potential of his discovery. “Can you do the same to me?”

His hand flexed, and a tingling sensation crept over my skin. His eyes roamed over me, then he gave a short nod. I took a few tentative steps into the fighting. As soon as the enemy soldiers saw my face, they wandered past.

I leapt to take advantage, striking down as many of them as I could as I looked for a Fortosian healer. Their bright white tunics were designed to be easy for wounded soldiers to spot, but in the bloody mess of war, neither shirt nor sword nor soul had been left unstained.

Finally, I found a woman bent over a crumpled body, palms glowing as she pressed them to its throat. The light at her hands went dark, and her shoulders drooped.

“I need your help,” I shouted.

Her eyes rose, bleary and bleak. “Your Majesty,” she mumbled, weakly saluting. “As you command.”

I took her hand and squeezed it as we fought our way back to Aemonn. I had criticism in abundance for the Descended of every realm, but the healers of Fortos had earned my pity, not my scorn. In my years in the army, I’d seen how their work wore on them. Fortos soldiers thrived on bloodshed, but for the healers, every life lost was a defeat.

“Teller, stop!”

I heard Diem’s panicked voice and realized, with growing dread, that it had come from the side of the battlefield closest to Ophiucae. I hurried my pace, practically shoving the poor healer toward Aemonn when we arrived. She gawked at Zalaric, then at me, then back at him, both of us still wearing Diem’s face.

“Don’t just stand there,” he yelled at her. He opened the shield around Aemonn. “Save him. Your Queen commands it!”

She shook her head in bewilderment, then crept to Aemonn’s side and set to work. I spun to Zalaric. “This illusion—how many people can you transform?”

“Many,” he admitted, “but if Ophiucae sees what I’ve done, he might order his soldiers to kill anyone who looks like her. It would put the real Diem at risk.”

I gazed across the battlefield. Ophiucae was staring at the sky, where Luther and Sorae were locked in battle with his gryvern.

“Do it,” I said. “I’ll distract him.” I dropped my knife, then pulled another from my thigh and two from my boots, dumping them at Zalaric’s feet.

“Auralie, no—you can’t face him unarmed.”

“I can only face him unarmed.”

I stared up at him, looking at my daughter’s face but only seeing the little boy I’d ferried to Umbros, his frail body fighting for life as we sailed across the Sacred Sea. I smuggled countless orphans to safety over the years, but none had been as hard to leave behind as him.

My voice turned softer. “I prayed the Old Gods would send you a family who cherished you, Zalaric. I couldn’t be happier that it ended up being mine.”

His throat bobbed. “I don’t want to lose another mother.”