Page 339 of Burn of the Everflame

He leaned back as a deep crease formed between his brows. The light emanating from his skin faded to a faint, silvery glow. I felt like I was right back on that island, watching Ophiucae hold a dagger over our baby girl’s heart and wondering if I was about to lose her forever.

“I have a gift!”

The world screeched to a halt.

Time stood still. The wind refused to blow, the sun ceased its blistering shine—at least for me. Even my heart seemed to still, not even daring to tremble.

Teller walked past the frozen soldiers, shirtless and covered in wounds. He stared at Ophiucae and held up Diem’s sword. “Here. This is for you.”

A cry of all-consuming terror ripped from my lungs. I threw myself toward my son, but Ophiucae’s shadows caught me by the waist and yanked me back.

“The rogue Bellator son,” Ophiucae said, standing. “I hoped our paths might cross again.”

Teller flashed a tentative smile. “You must be pretty angry about that whole trying to kill you thing. In my defense, it didn’t work. You’re alive, so . . . no harm done?”

Ophiucae growled.

Teller swallowed.

“Have you come to try again?” Ophiucae asked.

Teller shook his head. With his other hand, he pulled two knives, each of them coated with a scarlet paste, and tossed them out of reach. “Those won’t kill you anyway. You’re immortal. Only Diem can do that. And I’m pretty sure she needs this to do it.” He held the sword out. “So here’s your chance to take it.”

“Teller, run⁠—”

My words were cut short by a swath of shadow wrapping over my mouth.

Teller’s smile tightened. “It’s a trade. I give you this sword. In exchange, you spare my family’s lives.”

Ophiucae pointed at the battlefield. “You’re willing to let the rest of them die?”

“If you have the sword, Diem can’t stop you. She’ll have to surrender. Then no one else will have to—” Teller paused. “Then we can end this war. You, me, and Diem.”

Ophiucae tutted approvingly. “I heard you were the smarter of your siblings. So was I. It’s a curse, isn’t it, to know so much in a world that understands so little?”

Teller’s gaze drifted to me, something apologetic hiding within it. “Yes,” he murmured, “it is.”

My eyes bulged in a frantic attempt to warn him not to trust Ophiucae’s calm. It was a vicious creature, the kind that stalked and watched and laid its trap before it struck.

Ophiucae beckoned him forward. Despite my shrieks of protest, Teller approached, eyes low. He bent at the waist in an awkward bow and offered up the sword.

Ophiucae took it from his hands and held it up, turning the blade so it twinkled in the crimson sunlight. “You’re right. With this sword, I will end this war. I’ll end every war.” He lifted a finger and sliced it on the sword’s edge, drawing a bead of black liquid. “With this sword . . . I’ll remake the world.”

He smeared his blood across the dark grey gemstone embedded in the blade. It began to glow, and so did he, skin radiating with a light so blinding, I was forced to look away. A chill skittered down my spine as his triumphant laughter filled the air.

Overhead, a gryvern’s wail rang out, then abruptly cut off with a horrifying crack. I held my breath as two airborne beasts shot toward the ground—one dangling, limp, from the other’s jaws. In the glare of the low-lying sun, I couldn’t tell which gryvern was which, but the sight of a man caged in the flying gryvern’s talons turned my blood to ice.

Ophiucae’s sword illuminated in a silver corona that filled the golden markings on its blade with a pulsing glow. He held it high, and the world around him seemed to curve, as if existence itself bent beneath its power.

Teller looked at me, his features absent any sign of alarm. “I understand now,” he said simply, “why you did the things you did. I see how far a person will go to keep their family safe.”

“Where is my daughter?” Ophiucae boomed, gazing across the battlefield.

Teller’s eyes stayed on me. “I love you, Mother. I forgive you. I hope someday you forgive me, too.”

I was thrown to my side as the earth began to quake. Two ridges rose from the rocky earth and sliced a route past me into the fighting. Ophiucae’s army split along its line, pushing our troops back to leave the pathway clear. At its end lay my daughter’s body, prone and still.

“Diem!” Teller shouted, racing toward her. He crashed to his knees at her side and felt for her pulse. “She’s alive⁠—”