Page 53 of Burn of the Everflame

“Ophiucae,” Doriel went on, “I know your history. What happened to you was inhumane. Those responsible for it are dead.”

“Ah, but still they watch.” His smile was vicious yet bright, a sanguine sunset heralding a violent night. “And what a show I’m going to give them.”

“You have a Crown and a gryvern, and you have subjects of your own.” Doriel pointed to the mortals, whose smug grins fell at being viewed as a Descended’s pawns. “You’re one of us. Let us discuss this like the leaders we are.”

Ophiucae looked over them. “I see only four of you here. Not even a majority.”

“Another is inside. The other Crowns are . . . indisposed. But their Regents⁠—”

“Where is she?”

Ophiucae’s tone changed. It vibrated in the air and shuddered through the soil, its timbre ominous and dark.

Doriel’s throat bobbed. They glanced at the Meros King, who shifted on his gryvern’s back. Even the Faunos and Arboros Queens shared an apprehensive look.

“Where is she?” Ophiucae growled again.

“The Lumnos Queen is dead,” Mireille answered. “Killed by the Ignios King.” Her fingers trembled where they gripped her gryvern. “We assure you, he will die for his crimes.”

His eyes swept slowly over the crowd and stopped on me. “You again. Her lovesick suitor.”

My godhood snarled. Ophiucae smiled.

“Do they speak the truth?” he asked. “Is my daughter dead?”

I wasn’t sure why the next words came out of my mouth, let alone with such resolve: “No. She isn’t.”

The others gaped at me, but I held Ophiucae’s stare as he dismounted his gryvern. The moment his feet hit the soil, his skin pulsed brighter, and his aura trembled like a stretching cat.

I pushed through the crowd until I was standing alongside the Crowns. Ophiucae’s eyes moved over me, pondering, assessing. “Tell me, Prince,” he said lightly, his tone almost taunting, “what do you know?”

He raised a hand, and the world disappeared, replaced by a darkness with no beginning or end, nor solid land to keep me grounded. I was falling, not through air but through memories.

Memories of the island, and just before. Of Sophos’s betrayal, of Teller’s rescue and our narrow escape. Of what I’d seen as we flew away—the Ignios King with his blade, and Diem’s collapse. Memories of today’s meeting with the Crowns, and their revelation about Diem’s fate.

And then things that weren’t memories at all. The truth of what Diem meant to me . . . thoughts, emotions, confessions, my darkest fears, my hopes and dreams. What I’d become in her absence.

As the alarming awareness of what was happening hit me, I thrashed to get free. There were too many dangerous secrets in the vault of my mind that I couldn’t let him see.

The only thing I succeeded at was piquing his interest. Though I could sense his curiosity at what I was so desperate to conceal, he willingly withdrew.

I swayed on my feet as the Lumnos sun glared back into view. The way he’d used Umbros magic to rifle through my thoughts as casually as a messy stack of papers felt nothing like when I’d let Diem into my head back in Sophos, the soft caress of her consciousness nestling in the arms of mine.

Ophiucae looked at Doriel. “Bring me the Ignios King.”

“He is, um . . . ill. Unable to come outside. But he will be dealt with⁠—”

“Indeed, he will.” His stare shifted to the Meros King. “Bring him to me.”

Meros’s aquamarine eyes went glassy. His gryvern squealed in protest as its master slid off its back and stiffly marched for the palace gates.

“Obaneryn, no,” Doriel cried. They ran to block his path, but Ophiucae’s Umbros magic had left Meros as bound to his orders as the Crowns’ gryverns were to theirs.

Meros flung Doriel aside, their petite frame no match for his brawn, and continued to weave through confused-looking soldiers. The Fortos Vice General watched with nervous hesitation, trapped between conflicting orders to protect the Crowns.

When Meros reached the locked gate, he hurled his shoulder into the bars in a mindless bid to break through.

“Ah, yes, that pesky gate,” Ophiucae crooned, fingers twitching. Strands of pale blue light wove through the sculpted iron swirls, and the bars began to glow red-orange. Alixe barely managed to yank Meros safely aside as the gate softened, slumped, then pooled into a molten puddle.