Heat of the Everflame (The Kindred’s Curse Saga #3)

Chapter 38

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

B y the time I reached my suite, I’d talked myself into barging into Luther’s room and insisting we talk—though whether I wanted to yell at him or beg his forgiveness, I still wasn’t sure.

But when I pressed my ear to his door and heard only silence, I forced myself to return to my quarters instead.

It was only one day.

Tomorrow, we would go home, and then everything would be better.

I tried to focus on my meeting with Yrselle. I scrounged up some ink and paper and scribbled the questions I wanted to ask: Who was my birth father, and what did he know? What had Umbros told her? What did the prophecy mean? And what did any of this have to do with the war?

But even that couldn’t keep my mind off the man across the hall. I shoved the papers aside, then ambled around the room, collecting my things in my satchel for the journey home.

Still, my eyes drifted again and again to my door.

At the sound of footsteps, I almost burst outside to greet them—but I was stopped by Taran and Zalaric shouting and a slamming door. I groaned and threw myself onto my bed, fully clothed and not at all tired.

For the next hour, I laid there, my mind spinning, then slowing, then settling. Much as I’d tried to ignore it, I was coming to a realization wholly against my will. Something I’d known for a while, if I was truly being honest, though I’d been too stubborn, too scared to admit it.

Even thinking on it now triggered every awful, self-doubting thought: Don’t do it. Stop. You’re being reckless again. Give it more time. You don’t want this. You’re going to regret it.

But deep down, I knew.

And running wasn’t going to make it go away.

I dragged myself out of bed and smoothed my wrinkled dress, then closed my eyes and tucked the Crown out of sight. This was about us . Diem and Luther, not a Queen and a Prince. I’d already let those lines blur too far.

Those titles might create other relationships between us—relationships that might look very different after tonight—but for now, it was long past time to put the private us in its proper place.

I opened my door.

Crossed the hall.

Took a deep breath.

And knocked.

This time, I wasn’t giving up. It was the middle of the night, and most of the palace was likely slipping into a booze-induced slumber, but I would knock as loud and as often as it took. I might never find the courage again if I didn’t.

After two knocks, I heard his voice, indistinct and muffled. After a third knock, I heard him again—louder, but strained.

“Just a moment.”

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” I called out. “I only need a minute.”

Sounds of rustling and thumping rang out, followed by a silence so long I thought he’d fallen back asleep.

I knocked again. “Luther? I really think we need to t—”

The door opened, and my breath choked.

He was dressed the same as at dinner, but everything about him was wrong. His clothes were rumpled, jacket misbuttoned and boots unlaced. His gloves sat awkwardly over his cuffs, and his dark hair was sweat-soaked against his sallow skin.

“What happened?” he asked. His eyes quickly scanned me, his innate urge to protect sparking to life. “Is something wrong?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but all my carefully planned words vanished on my tongue.

“Can I come in?” I asked instead.

He started to move aside, then paused and glanced over his shoulder. “One moment.”

He pushed the door almost closed, then disappeared from sight. The shuffling and quiet grunts that followed needled my curiosity, and I peered around the door’s edge.

His room was in total disarray. Clothes strewn about, a chair knocked on its side, bedsheets crumpled in a pile on the floor. Luther stood at a table, hurriedly shoving items into a bag. I almost thought I caught sight of a strip of gauze...

Again, a dark foreboding shivered over my skin. This was alarmingly unlike him. Luther was always organized, controlled to a fault. There wasn’t a single thing about him anyone could ever call messy . Everything he did had purpose. But this—it wasn’t even a mess.

It was more like he’d... given up.

He reached down to grab a bowl that had fallen, but halfway to the ground he stopped, swaying on his feet. He gripped the edge of the table.

I hurried over and picked it up. “There’s no need to tidy on my behalf.”

He pushed himself to his feet with noticeable effort, turning quickly to face me. “I’m not normally so...”

“I know,” I rushed out, hating the shame on his face. “I think this journey has pushed us all to our limits.”

He nodded and said no more, and for a long moment, we bathed in the quiet calm of the midnight silence. Our eyes locked, saying so much without uttering a word.

“We need to talk,” I murmured.

He sighed slowly, then nodded. “Yes, Diem. We do.”

“And I know there’s a better time and place for it than right here and right now, but I can’t wait. This... whatever this is, it’s killing me.”

He flinched, then nodded again.

“You’ve been different this past week.” I stepped closer. “In Arboros, despite everything going on, you and I—it felt... good. Right. But after you told me about the compass, everything changed. You started pulling away.”

His back straightened. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“I thought you were worried about Taran, and then I thought you were angry with me, then I thought maybe your feelings had changed, and you were just too kind to say so.”

“Diem...”

“You said you wanted me, but every time I got close, it was like you were afraid of me. And then today—”

“What you saw,” he growled, “it wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Are you sure? Because what it looked like is you keeping a secret from me, either because you’re trying to protect me or you’re afraid of my reaction. Is that true?”

He looked down, the muscles on his throat straining as he struggled for words. “Yes,” he said finally, and I winced. “But not for the reason you think.”

“You know how I feel about secrets, Luther. We promised each other honesty. I know I haven’t been perfect, but I’ve at least been trying .”

“I know.” His arm shook, and I realized he was leaning his entire weight against the table. “I never intended to keep it from you. I only wanted to wait until we were back in Lumnos. But it can’t wait—not anymore.”

“Yes, it can.”

He looked up, frowning.

“It can wait. In fact, you don’t have to tell me at all. Because it doesn’t matter. I’ve thought through every possible explanation you could have, the most innocent and the most unforgivable, and none of it changes the decision I’ve made.” I steeled my shoulders. “No explanation you give me will change how I feel.”

He looked stricken. Devastated. “I understand,” he said quietly. “Whatever you’ve decided, I accept it, but before you say anything, there’s something you should know.”

“No. I need to get this out first.”

“Please, Diem, let me explain—”

“I have trusted you from the very beginning, Luther. For reasons I can’t begin to understand. Even when I despised you for what I thought you did to my mother, something inside me still wanted to believe in you. I think because...” I sighed. “You made me feel safe. You protected me in every way you could. Not just my body, but my heart, my happiness—you were always guarding them, right from the start. Even when we were fighting, I always felt seen by you. Heard by you. Understood, in a way no one else ever has, even the people who have known me all my life. You’re the first person that made me think about the future in a way that excited me. You gave me hope .”

His features warped in agony, every word a harsher blow. The cracks in my broken heart fissured deeper, threatening to shatter me completely.

“But lately,” I said, “it feels like that hope is gone. Like you’ve left it behind. Left me behind.” I took a deep breath and looked down as my nerves began to rattle. “Maybe that’s my fault. I know I’ve made mistakes. In Ignios, I never should have—”

“No,” he said harshly. “This has nothing to do with that. This is not your fault. None of it is.”

“Then why are you—” I stopped and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. “It doesn’t matter. I told you, I’ve made up my mind.”

“Diem—”

I placed a finger over his lips, and he fell silent. My shoulders rose and fell, my pulse hammering in my ears. “At the Challenging, when I realized the truth of why you’d Challenged me, I swore to myself I would never doubt you again. And that’s a promise I’m trying to keep.”

My palm slid to his cheek. His skin was on fire beneath my touch, triggering a wave of alarm bells somewhere deep in my brain, but the words were coming faster than I could stop them.

“My father told me that loving someone doesn’t always mean brutal honesty. He said you don’t have to see all of someone to love all of someone. I didn’t believe him then, but now... I think I understand.” I smiled softly. “Love isn’t contingent on never keeping a secret. It’s about trust. It’s about standing together, even when you don’t understand, and never giving up, even when things get hard.”

His eyes grew wide. I stepped closer until our chests pressed together. Like clockwork, his hands curved around my waist and folded me in, our bodies becoming a single, pulsing thing.

“You said I was a Queen worth fighting for. Luther Corbois, you’re worth fighting for, too.”

My forehead leaned to his. “If you don’t want to be with me, tell me, and I’ll let you go.” I raised on my toes and pressed a soft, tender kiss to his lips. “But I don’t think that’s what you want at all, is it?”

His arms wrapped tighter around me in wordless response.

“So keep your secrets. Push me away, if that’s what you need. When you’re ready, I’ll still be here.” I kissed him again, deeper this time, leaning into him as my hand trailed down his torso. “For you, I will always be h—”

As my hand crossed his hips, his body shuddered and hunched inward, a pained groan bursting from his lips.

I recoiled as he collapsed against the table and sank to the floor. I reached for him, then froze, horrified at the sight of a blackish-red liquid coating my hand.

“Luther, you’re bleeding .”

His head hung low as he clutched at his waist. “I know.”

“You’re wounded.” I kneeled in front of him and began yanking at the buttons of his jacket. He made a halfhearted attempt to stop me, but after I shoved his hand away, his head thumped back against a chair, his eyes dull and pleading. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I’ve failed you again.”

“You’ve never failed me,” I scolded. “How did you get hurt? What happened at the bathhouse?”

I grunted in frustration at my hands, which were trembling too hard to manage the intricate fastenings. I spied a small dagger on the table and snatched it, then ripped its blade along the fabric.

“Not the bathhouses,” he panted. “Arboros.”

I stilled. “Arboros?”

The dread that had been quietly pacing in the depths of my chest reared its ugly head and roared with all its might. I dropped the blade and clawed frantically at the fabric, yanking it free of his chest.

And I screamed.

Only it wasn’t a scream—no sound came out at all. Because it wasn’t my voice. It was my hopes, my joys, my every happiness fleeing my soul at once.

Low on his hips, a wrap of gauze was soaked through with dark blood, the surrounding skin swollen with infection. Spreading in every direction, stretching up his scarred chest and circling his neck, was a thick, tangled web of blackened veins.

Poisoned veins.

Godstone .