Page 348 of Burn of the Everflame

Beside me, Symond snickered.

“West,” I shouted. “Move west!”

By the grace of the Blessed Kindred, enough of the soldiers heard me, and the lines began to shift. I rubbed my sternum, frowning at the emptiness consuming my chest.

“Your godhood has reserves, High General, you just have to find them,” Symond mocked, echoing my words.

I glanced at Symond. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his face sunken from long hours of maintaining a constant stream of power. Though he’d done nothing but complain about his presence here, he was fighting with all he had.

“When you arrived, you claimed you were here against your wishes, but the Centenaries don’t make any decisions unless you all agree,” I said. “That means you chose to come here.”

He huffed. “Chose is a strong word.”

“You also said you were here because of someone you loved.” I lowered my voice. “It was her, wasn’t it? Yrselle?”

“Maybe you should focus more on them than my affairs.” He nodded to a cluster of Ophiucae’s soldiers that had broken free of the fighting and were staggering toward us. My waning magic had caused the illusion concealing the Centenaries to vanish. I pulled my shortswords and ran.

Taking their lives was easy work. My muscles were fresh, my instincts strong. Resheathing my weapons and resuming my post was harder. I’d been in leadership long enough to accept that I was more useful to my army here, but the warrior inside me was begging for a chance to let loose.

Symond gave a slight nod when I returned to his side, which I imagined was the closest he would get to expressing his thanks.

“I feared Yrselle,” Symond said as we both watched the fighting, “and I respected her, because she was a Queen worthy of fear and respect. But I did not love her. Not in the way you imagine.”

My brows lifted. “You two weren’t . . . ?”

“Are you asking if I fucked her? Of course I did. I’m a Centenary. I’ve fucked them all. Usually at the same time.” He smirked. “If I recall correctly, you fit in with us quite well, in that regard.”

My cheeks warmed. Though having multiple partners wasn’t unheard of in Lumnos, it was treated as something scandalous, better kept private. Even the Kindred’s mating magic seemed to insist that true love could only ever be shared with a singular person, an idea that never sat right in my soul.

The nights I spent in Umbros with the Centenaries had been the first time I’d seen people like me living and loving with no shame or judgment. Even Drusila and her mate had joined in, and the other Centenaries had embraced it. Encouraged it, even. It left me with a newfound confidence that there was nothing wrong with me or my desires—and it had made my evenings in Lumnos far more eventful since our return.

“But you did have someone you loved,” I pushed. “Someone you lost?”

Symond’s expression guttered, and silence fell between us. I shouted a few more commands to the archers, then to the soldiers who’d been ferrying the wounded to the healers in the trees. My hands, useless without their magic, clenched around the handles of my blades.

“I had a son,” Symond said abruptly.

The other Centenaries’ heads spun toward him. “Her Majesty gave you permission to have a child?” one asked incredulously.

“No. I never told her.”

The Centenaries exchanged stunned stares. For any of them to defy Yrselle was unheard of. For Symond to do it—their leader, the Queen’s most trusted Descended . . .

He refused to meet their eyes. “I was traveling on orders from the Queen. I had no contraceptive tonic on hand. I believed a single night would do no harm. I didn’t know a child came of it until years later. Decades. By then, he was a man. He risked everything to come to Umbros and meet his father. How could I take his life for that?” Symond shook his head. “I kept him hidden in the city. Trained him to use his magic.” He gave a slight, proud smile. “He was powerful. He could even shield his mind from me. When time passed and he wasn’t discovered, I thought . . . maybe from the Queen, as well.”

“You selfish prick,” Drusila hissed. “You know the law—if our numbers exceed one hundred, the youngest must die. If the Queen had found him, my daughter would have been executed. Her Majesty would never make an exception to that law.”

Symond chuckled, worsening Drusila’s ire, though his callous demeanor lacked its usual bite. “He was wounded in the first attack on Umbros. He kept it from me—didn’t want me to think him weak. I only learned of it when he asked if I’d been the one who sent healers to his home.” His glance cut to me. “The same ones that tried to help your Prince. They couldn’t do anything for him, either.”

“Godstone?” I guessed. He nodded, and I gave a sympathetic wince.

“Do you know what Her Majesty said to me before she left for the island?” he asked. “‘I’m sorry they could not save him.’” He laughed again, and his gaze drifted back to the fighting. “Of course she knew. She’d always known.”

Wingbeats drew my eyes to the southern flatlands. I swore as a pair of large, golden eyes glowed against the evening sky. I’d prayed the wounds Sorae had inflicted on Ophiucae’s gryvern had been enough to kill him, but Xipherus had healed enough to rejoin the battle—and he looked ready to take his revenge on the army Sorae had left behind.

“Ballista,” I shouted, though my command disappeared beneath the gryvern’s outraged snarls. I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Ballista! Load the ballista!”

Even if they’d heard me, my army was too overwhelmed to obey. The ballista was surrounded by Ophiucae’s soldiers, and the mortal rebels who manned it were busy fighting for their lives. I spotted Lonard and shouted for him to come to their aid, but he was in his own desperate press against some Unhoused Descended.