Page 338 of Burn of the Everflame

I gave his cheek a gentle pat. “I’m a stubborn old bird. The Undying Fire will have to wait until my work is done.”

I left before the silver pooling in his eyes made me doubt my plan, and I ran for my life. My daughter’s likeness shimmered around me, cloaking faces as I sprinted by, while Ophiucae’s soldiers staggered in fruitless search of someone that his orders allowed them to kill.

I pushed myself harder, thighs burning, joints aching, in obstinate defiance of my exhaustion and my age. Somewhere nearby, my daughter’s voice called out again, and newfound energy surged. My plan had put Diem at risk—I had to make that risk worthwhile.

Ophiucae grew nearer, and the magic thrumming over my skin began to fade. I jogged to a stop, fearing I’d gone as far as Zalaric’s illusion could reach. Ophiucae’s soldiers looked at me and cocked their heads.

“Ophiucae,” I shouted.

Slowly, his stare turned to me.

I took a few more steps. Zalaric’s magic flickered, and Ophiucae’s soldiers lifted their blades.

“You have a debt to pay,” I called out. “I’ve come to call it in.”

His eyes narrowed. “Auralie,” he growled.

I strode forward, steeling my shoulders as the illusion around me stretched and snapped away. In seconds, I was surrounded. The sky disappeared beneath a mass of bodies as Ophiucae’s army clambered to tear me limb from limb. Hands scratched at my face and yanked at my hair, while roots cracked like whips against my back. It was only the godstone breastplate that kept their blades from slicing through my chest.

A hand closed around my ankle, and excruciating pain radiated up my leg. The nauseating rot of Fortos magic filled the air, igniting memories of the brutal interrogations I’d faced while imprisoned and the Fortos King’s sinister smile each time I was healed so his torture could start again.

The Guardians had declared me a hero for refusing to break, but in the delirium of agony, breaking had ceased to be a conscious choice. I would have confessed even for crimes I didn’t commit just to make it stop.

What stilled my tongue during those endless hours of pain wasn’t courage or strength—it was my children. So many of my secrets had been crafted to keep them safe, and I didn’t know which revelations would bring an end to my torment and which would bring a start to theirs. My loyalty to the Guardians, apparently, shamefully, had its limits. My love for my family did not.

So I clung to them now, as I did then, and I fought. For Diem and Teller, who I’d cherished from the day they drew breath, I dug in my heels and pushed against the soldiers’ crushing weight. For Taran, who needed me when his world was dark, I grappled to block the wrists of swinging blades. For Luther and Lily and Zalaric, the hearts who’d made my children whole, I ignored the magic that stung my skin. For Eleanor and Alixe, who’d comforted them when I couldn’t, I endured the pain.

And I screamed as I broke through the horde—for Henri, the boy I’d embraced like a son, for whom my hatred and my love had twisted like twine.

Ophiucae raised a hand, and the soldiers around me stilled. “What a shame our daughter isn’t here for this lovely reunion,” he said, chuckling darkly.

I collapsed to my knees, clutching a wound on my arm. “You don’t deserve to call her ‘our daughter.’”

His smile twisted into a sneer. “You stabbed me and left me on that island to rot. You took my child away. You didn’t even tell her I existed.”

“I did what I had to do to protect her from the Crowns,” I rasped. “And from you.”

He walked to me and crouched, bringing his face to mine. “That was your greatest betrayal—that you ever believed I would hurt her.”

After twenty-one years, I’d forgotten how entrancing his eyes could be. Ash-grey and glowing, the color of lava as it began to cool. And just as deceptive a risk—a rocky exterior, paper-thin around its molten core.

“You’ve hurt Diem in ways you can’t begin to understand.” The quiver in my voice betrayed a pain that was more than physical. “We both have.”

Gryverns roared overhead, and his gaze drifted upward. I grabbed his wrist to keep his focus on me.

“I made you a promise that I would find a way to free you,” I said. “I kept it, did I not? You would still be in chains if not for me and Diem. You owe your freedom to us both.”

A slight smile teased at his lips, though I couldn’t tell if my pleas were working, or if he was a predator toying with his food before he pounced. “And what do you want in repayment?”

“I want you to stop this,” I begged. “Punish me, if that will bring you peace. But do not punish Diem. There are people here that she loves.”

His features softened. “It is difficult, isn’t it? Making choices we know will cause them pain in order to spare them a greater loss. I lost my home because my people refused to cleanse it of its evil. Your people lost theirs to my siblings’ offspring and their greed. I will not let Diem lose hers.”

I thought of my husband and the cottage we’d built on the marsh, and my eyes burned. “Land alone is not a home. Not without the people on it. If all that’s left is Emarion’s soil, you’ll take from her the only home that matters.”

He looked at me, his shadowed eyes swirling with something that was both a desperate plea and a dangerous threat. “Her people will demand that she lock me up. They will turn on her if she doesn’t.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “I can’t go back to that cell, Auralie. I will burn this world to the ground before I let that happen.”

“A parent doesn’t burn their child’s world, Ophius,” I said, dragging the affectionate nickname I’d once bestowed on him out from its buried depths. “They throw their body on the fire to spare their child the flames.”