Page 353 of Burn of the Everflame

Ophiucae smiled triumphantly as he walked toward her. “Lay down your sword, daughter. Our war is over.”

She tossed Sorrow’s Edge behind her.

“Diem,” I said, low and urgent.

Ophiucae extended his hand. “Come with me to the heartstone. We’ll join our magic and seize the power we are owed.”

“Diem,” I warned again.

She took Ophiucae’s hand and began to walk beside him toward the Temple. “Sheathe your sword, my King,” she called out to me, “and remember your promise.”

Begrudgingly, I slid the Sword of Corbois into its scabbard on my back.

Ophiucae arched a brow. “What promise was that?”

I wondered if he saw it—the sudden hitch in her step.

“Don’t you already know?” she asked lightly. “You’ve been reading my mind all day.”

“I had to be certain I could trust you,” he said. “Now that you’ve joined me, I’ll never do it again. You have my word. Will you return my trust, and tell me what it is you asked of your mate?”

“I told him I was ready to surrender. Luther promised me that he would submit to you, too.”

It was only the years I’d spent masking my emotions that kept my grin from unfurling. I’d promised her no such thing—I never would, and she damn well knew it.

But Ophiucae did not.

And when he gave a wide, satisfactory smile, I knew he hadn’t sensed her lie. He couldn’t—just like he couldn’t pluck the promise I’d made her from her thoughts.

The island didn’t just stifle Descended magic—it stole it even from the Kindred themselves.

Diem gave no sign of the critical revelation she’d just exposed. “What is it you plan to do with the heartstone?”

“Whatever we wish. Its power is incalculable.” He gave her a patronizing glance. “It will make that little fire of yours seem paltry in comparison.”

My legs warmed as heat pulsed from the soil.

“Heartstone magic requires a cost, doesn’t it?” Diem asked. “When you and the other Kindred cast the Forging Spell across Emarion, something must have been sacrificed to balance it out. Was it the Everflame?”

At the base of the Temple, Ophiucae motioned for her to precede him up the narrow stairs curving toward the circular platform. Diem held still, awaiting his answer.

He gave an irritated sigh. “Our mother crafted the spell. Only she knew the cost.” His expression darkened at the mention of his mother, and he left Diem behind, storming up the staircase.

“What you’re planning to do with the heartstone will require a great loss to balance it out,” she called out.

He flicked his hand without looking back. “The heartstone can take whatever it wishes. It matters not.”

“It matters to me.”

Silvery embers swirled at Diem’s feet.

“I think everything has a cost,” she said. “Not just magic. Every action. Every choice.” Her hair danced across her shoulders, the shimmer returning to her skin. “I swayed from what I swore to do, and someone I loved paid the price.”

Ophiucae’s gaze lowered to the godstone stairs, which had begun to sparkle, illuminated by Diem’s glow.

“Tell me, Ophiucae, what price should you pay . . .”

His head slowly turned back toward her.