Page 359 of Burn of the Everflame

“Luther, no.” She yanked back. “You have to stay. The Descended listen to you. The mortals respect you. The council elected you to be their leader. Our people need their King.”

“Without you, that title means nothing. There are others who can lead.”

“What happens if that person is Marthe Hanoverre? Or Garath? What if the old Crowns force things back to the way they were before?”

“The Guardians won’t let that happen⁠—”

“Exactly. They’ll declare war. Again. More people will die, Emarion will never be united, and all of this will have been for nothing. Teller’s death, my death, yours—it would all be for nothing.”

Arguments swirled in my head, but by the time any of them made it to my mouth, my traitorous mind had already shredded through them. I’d seen what happened to power when it was open to be seized. It always ended up in the hands of those who needed it least—and those who would use it for its worst.

But the alternative was a life without her.

“The spell requires something from all three of us,” she said, sympathy pinching her features. “Yours is the hardest. You bear the burden.” She looked down at Ophiucae, then back at me. “We just have to die.”

I watched, unable to speak, unwilling to move, as she picked up Sorrow’s Edge and again tucked the handle in my palm. She held up the sword until its blade formed a straight line into her heart.

“Take this dream we share and make it real,” she whispered fiercely. “I have faith in you, my love. More than I ever had in any god.”

“Don’t make me do this,” I begged.

“Take care of my mother. She will need you, and you’ll need her. And finish our home.” She gave a soft, sweet smile. “It will be so beautiful when it’s done.”

“I can’t,” I choked, eyes burning. “Diem, no—I can’t do this . . .”

“You have served me so well, my brave King. No matter how hard I pushed you away, you never let me fight alone.” She reached across the length of the sword and laid her palm against my heart. “I wish, more than anything, that I could do the same for you.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head, refusing to believe this was happening, screaming in my head that loving her meant never causing her pain and never, ever letting go—even as my own heart had already begun grieving what I couldn’t deny.

“I love you, Luther Bellator,” she murmured. “I have loved you in life, and I will love you in death. I will love you for as long as love exists.”

I don’t know which one of us moved.

Maybe I was the villain who slayed her.

Maybe she did what I was not strong enough to do.

A quiet whimper of pain broke the silence, and the soft, warm weight of her body sank against me.

“No!” I shouted.

My hands shook as I drew the sword out of her and laid her on the ground. Blood rose in dark red torrents, and I ripped my armor off, pulling my tunic over my head and pressing it to her chest. It was soaked within seconds, crimson rivers spilling through my fingers and flooding her arms and neck.

I looked up at the sky, screaming. “Heal her—fucking heal her!”

Neither the stars nor their murderous moon gave an answer.

A rattling sound rose from Diem’s lips. I threw all my weight against her wound, willing it to somehow close. “Keep fighting, my heart. Don’t give in.”

Her eyelids sank.

“No, Diem, don’t—don’t leave me. Please . . . keep fighting. I need you . . . I⁠—”

Her head rolled to the side.

In my chest, the heartbeat that had drummed beside mine since the day I claimed her as my mate was replaced by a deafening silence. The two glittering silhouettes beside me gave a final, mournful cry before fading away.

A curse fulfilled.