Page 347 of Burn of the Everflame

I whispered her name like a prayer. The silver-tinged Flames that danced around her pulsed, moving as if they were not from her, but of her.

“The Undying Fire,” I murmured. “The Kindred were not the only gods who blessed you with their magic.”

She gazed at the rings of corpses surrounding us. “Is power a blessing,” she asked softly, “if all it brings is death?”

“Have you learned nothing, daughter?”

Ophiucae’s voice boomed across the island. In the distance, he stood alone among the dead, untouched by Diem’s Flames. Dark clouds had gathered overhead, casting him in ominous shadow.

“Power is always a blessing. You must control it if you can . . . “ His hands curled to fists at his side. “And destroy it if you can’t.”

81

ALIXE

“I’m running out.”

“Me too.”

“Push yourselves harder,” I told them. “Even if you feel empty, keep going. Your godhood has reserves—you just have to find them.”

“We’ve been using our reserves. They’re empty, too.”

“Find some more,” I snapped.

The line of Centenaries beside me fell silent, though their gazes shifted back and forth in unison, eyebrows lifting and diving, as the conversation continued without me.

“If you can share thoughts, you still have magic,” I barked. “Stop arguing and use it.”

Normally, I prided myself on my ability to stay calm under pressure, but my patience had worn thin. I’d underestimated what it took to fight an enemy that never retreated and never tired. In a woefully morbid way, Ophiucae’s soldiers had proven how far the body could push itself when the mind wasn’t there to give up. After hours of fighting, they were as determined as they’d been on the very first wave.

The psychological effect was almost worse than the violence. Our training had given us the advantage at first, but as our energy and magic waned, so had our morale. The mortals were exhausted, and most of the Descended had depleted their magic, forcing them to turn to weapons, which many had never used until today. It made the fighting sloppy and the casualties high.

We were losing.

I was losing.

Diem had put her trust in me to lead in her absence, her army had put their lives in my hands. Emarion’s future was at risk . . . and I was losing.

“Our Queen did not tolerate Centenaries who whine,” Symond cut in, giving his fellow Umbrosians a withering stare. “Do not disgrace her memory with your weakness.”

Their chins sank. They lifted their palms toward the fighting, brows low with renewed resolve.

“Thank you,” I murmured to Symond, “but you really shouldn’t talk about Her Majesty as if she’s dead.”

He scoffed. “I wasn’t talking about Diem.”

I swallowed my retort. I hated the open disrespect he showed toward Diem, but if indulging Symond’s grudge kept the Centenaries here and fighting, so be it. Until Ophiucae was dead, the threat of his magic on our army’s minds remained. With most of the godstone mixture having melted away in the summer heat, the Centenaries were our last defense.

I squinted through the early evening dusk, scanning the field. Though the moon was full, a blanket of clouds had hidden it away, leaving us fighting in the dark. With our army surrounded on three sides, I’d forced myself to stay by the tree line so I could issue strategic orders, but I could barely see the fighting, let alone tell my army from theirs.

I raised a palm to fire off an order: four short pulses of light, which would direct more soldiers toward the overwhelmed western front. One, two⁠—

Nothing.

I frowned and jabbed my hands forward, but no more light came out. On the battlefield, soldiers began to push east, obeying an order of two bursts of light—the exact opposite of where I needed them to be.

I dug my heels in, pulling every muscle taut as I strained toward the sky, scraping for any bit of magic I could find. I managed to pull one more burst, followed by a weak, flickering glimmer.