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

Chapter 68

Chapter

Sixty-Eight

O phiucae’s voice wasn’t just heard—it was felt.

It pierced my thoughts and slithered over my skin. It was nowhere and everywhere, distant and muffled yet bellowing in my ear.

It had a primal, magnetic hold on me, like my blood somehow knew it had come from his veins.

He leaned over his gryvern’s neck to stare at me where I lay pinned in the creature’s hold. The blinding starlight of his illuminated skin made him painful to look at, yet I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

I could see myself in him. Not just the ice-white hair and dark grey eyes that I’d spent a lifetime explaining away, but smaller things—the bell of his nose, the slope of his cheeks. The coy smirk fixed on his lips. The way his posture oozed irreverence as his shoulders pulled lazily back.

His gryvern snapped its fangs in my face, its black-slitted eyes as wild and maddened as his.

“I’m the man who gave you life.”

There was no emotion in his words, no trace of pride or fatherly love. Merely a cold introduction. A statement of fact.

“Y-yes,” I stammered. “And I’m the woman who gave you freedom.”

He nodded slightly. “And for that, you alone will be spared from what’s to come.”

“What does that mean? What’s coming?”

His smile grew, no answer offered.

I struggled against his gryvern’s hold. It dragged me slightly off the ground, the weight of my dangling body causing its talons to crush my ribs and choke tighter around my throat.

Ophiucae slid off its back and sauntered forward. He stared down at me, my legs flailing as I gasped for air. His upper lip twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted or amused.

“Release, Xipherus,” he said.

The gryvern’s talon unclenched, and I smacked down onto the road. My fear had always masqueraded as anger, and now was no exception—my answering glare was scorching .

Strangely, that seemed to please him.

I scrambled back to grab my fallen sword and climb to my feet. The hilt of the blade throbbed warm in my hand, a pulsing heartbeat with a toxic edge.

“The people in this city are under my protection,” I snapped. “I won’t let you hurt them.”

“Ah, yes. I see the Crowns inside you. Three of them, in fact.”

He hooked a finger and yanked it back, and the Crowns shot up through my body. They strained at my skull with excruciating force, like he might rip my head from my neck just to steal them away.

Ophiucae clicked his tongue. “How very impressive.”

He wanted them. I smelled the hunger in him, saw it swirling in his eyes.

“You wish to rule these people?” he asked. “To protect them, give them a better world? Together, we can make it so.”

“Not if you keep killing them,” I shot back.

His smile turned colder. Harder. “There are debts that must be paid.”

“I heard what happened to you. I’m sure you must be angry—”

“ Angry? They left me to rot in a lightless room, feasting on vermin and living in filth. They tried to forget me.” He laughed—a dangerous, poisonous sound. “Oh, I am so much more than angry. And I’ve had plenty of time to plan all the ways I’ll make sure they never forget me ever again.”

Icy fingers skimmed down my back.

“You want vengeance against the Descended. Believe me, that’s something I understand. But these are not the people who did you wrong. You cannot punish them for—”

“ You dare tell me what I cannot do? ” he exploded. His furious roar rolled through the earth, sending buildings trembling and boulders cracking. My godhood shrank back, cowering in my chest.

His stature grew as he prowled closer. Again, the sword in my hand thrummed with an odd, restless energy. My grip on it tightened as I forced myself not to yield.

“Fire burns within you, daughter. That can be useful. But even the brightest flame can be extinguished.” He raised a long finger to my throat, and the ten-pointed star burned so hot, the odor of burnt flesh singed my nose. “Perhaps you need to learn this lesson the hard way. If you—”

His threat cut short, garbled among a celebratory howl as Doriel and Vexes collided into us, sending me sprawling on my back and knocking Ophiucae and his gryvern through the air. Doriel speared a bolt of electric energy into the enemy gryvern’s hide, and it tumbled to the ground with a wounded shriek.

“By the Flames,” I gasped, crawling backward. “Doriel, he’s going to kill you.”

At the desperate pace they fled, they were well aware. Doriel raced from the city at impressive speed, helped by the two Descended seated behind them and casting magic at their back.

Ophiucae roared and mounted his wounded gryvern. He pressed a hand to its neck, a pale light glowing beneath his palm. The creature staggered to its feet and sprang into the air, a predatory glare mirrored on man and beast.

For a moment, I was paralyzed with equal parts excitement and horror. And then— relief . The plan was working. The pressure of Ophiucae’s aura had already begun to ease. If Doriel could keep up the chase, we stood a chance.

But if they couldn’t...

If this became Doriel’s final sacrifice, I’d have to make it count.

I rushed back into the city, aiming the black blade at every shielded mortal I could find. It was getting harder and harder to remember to pull my blows. Perhaps if I were smarter, colder, more ruthless, I would have killed them all.

But these were still my people. Vance had poisoned their minds, and Ophiucae had weaponized that hate for his vengeance. These mortals were not my real enemy, and I had to hold out hope some part of them could be saved.

Between blows, my eyes combed for my missing Prince. My heart leapt at every glimpse of black hair or olive skin, only to plunge when there were no blue-grey eyes to be found.

I was so distracted by my growing unease that I nearly caught a blade as it swiped past my arm. I hissed and lunged toward its wielder—then froze.

“I know you,” I said as the Sophos magic spun to life and rummaged through my memories to pluck the right one. “You’re from Lumnos. You were my patient once.”

“And I know you—you’re Auralie’s daughter,” the man clipped, his hatred palpable. “How can you fight for them when your own mother is one of us?”

“I’m fighting for the mortals, too,” I argued.

His brown eyes narrowed. “Are you? Because all I see is mortal blood on your blade and Descended fighting at your back.”

Uncertainty tangled the words on my tongue. I looked around to see mortals fall as the Descended guards I’d armed with godstone slice through Ophiucae’s shield.

Gods , was he right? Had I become the very thing I’d sworn to destroy?

A gryvern’s cry rang out in the distance, and the man’s shield guttered. All throughout the street, the glimmering shields around the mortals flickered, then went dark. The Descended let loose a victorious cheer.

The man staggered backward, his anger turning to alarm. “By the Flames... he’s abandoned us.” He looked around at the Sophos guards rushing forward with sparks swirling at their palms. “They’re going to kill us all.”

“ Run ,” I ordered, lacing my voice with the command of Umbros magic. I turned to the street. “ Run away now, all of you. Leave this realm, and harm no one else. ”

The mortals’ eyes went glassy. My will became theirs, and they were forced to obey. Their weapons rattled to the street as they began to flee.

But the Descended weren’t ready to let them go. Their city had been breached, their people slain. The fear they’d carried into battle had seared away, and now, they wanted some revenge of their own.

The mortal only made it a few feet before a bolt of Sophos magic struck him in the back and he collapsed, convulsing, to the ground.

Other mortals began to fall. With no shields, no weapons, and my command to do no harm, they were completely vulnerable. If I didn’t do something, I’d be trading one mass execution for another.

“They’re retreating,” I shouted at the guards. “Let them go.”

A few Descended dropped back, but too many more continued their assault. Mortal voices rang out in agony as attacks plucked them off one by one.

In a panic, I threw out my hands and raised a shield at each mortal’s back.

“What are you doing?” a Sophos guard snapped at me. “You’re letting them get away.”

“The battle’s over. Let them go.”

“So they can try again another day? You’re supposed to be protecting us, not them.”

I clenched my jaw and said nothing. I used to know the difference between my people and my enemy so clearly. These days, I wasn’t so sure.

More mortals emerged from surrounding streets, many being chased by angry Descended now that their fallen shields had left them exposed. They took one look at the Descended-packed streets and their fleeing brethren, and their faces went ghostly pale.

“Retreat,” they yelled, stumbling over each other in a dash for the Ring Road. “ Mortals, retreat! ”

“Descended, fall back,” I demanded. “Let them leave. That’s an order from a Crown.”

The Sophos guards shot me scowls that stunk of resentment, though, to my relief, they reluctantly obeyed.

I doled out orders to secure the city, then set about wading through fallen bodies, healing who I could and whispering the Rite of Endings for the rest.

Through it all, everyone’s eyes lingered on the sky. Even with the mortals retreating, we knew Ophiucae could return at any moment—and if he really wanted to destroy this city, I doubted he needed his mortal army to do it.

Doriel was still unaccounted for, as was my Prince. Both left me nervous, but the latter left me frantic. It wasn’t like him to let me out of his sight for long, especially with danger so close at hand.

Every minute without him ratcheted my pulse higher and dragged my thoughts deeper into a bleak, shadowy place. What would I do, if he was gone? What would I become?

Things had changed between us these past few days. Hearing him tell me I was enough , even with all my limits and flaws, and knowing he would join me in anything, whether that meant leading a war or running away to a new life across the sea—my walls had turned from stone to flimsy parchment, and my heart had been falling, tumbling, plummeting into a love so deep no other man could ever hope to reach it.

And I didn’t want them to.

I was his. Wholly, inescapably his .

Losing him to the godstone had nearly broken me. Losing him now would leave nothing left of me but empty, blackened earth.

“Luther?” I called out, peering in the windows of buildings the mortals had breached. “Where are you?”

I couldn’t feel him, either. The air felt too thin, too empty. His magic had gone dark, either from distance or overuse.

Or another reason , my cruel thoughts reminded me.

“Luther, come back—I need you,” I yelled, my voice going shrill at the deeper meaning beneath my words. “Has anyone seen my Prince?”

Only shaking heads and apologetic murmurs answered me back.

I ran down the main thoroughfare, the tremor in my hands growing with every empty city block. My godhood fed on my terror, building to an unbearable pressure until my ribs felt like they might crack open just to give some relief. I shot a plume of shadows and sparks into the sky, remembering how he had called me back to him when I’d gone flying in Montios.

I just hoped Luther was the only person my beacon would lure.

I waited for what felt like an eternity, and still, no sign of him came. I shouted his name louder, shriller, my voice increasingly fraught. Though the Sophos guards joined in my search, loaded stares flew behind my back when they thought I wasn’t watching.

Maybe he’s barricaded in somewhere , I told myself. Or he’s guarding a group of people until it’s safe. Or tending wounded guards until they can heal.

Or maybe he needs help. Maybe he’s bleeding to death alone because you can’t find him.

Maybe you’re already too late.

“Luther?!” I screamed.

Everything about me grew wild and desperate—my voice, my eyes, my heart. The corners of my vision darkened, the gods tightening their fists around my neck. I began gasping, heaving for air.

“Luther, please , come back to m—”

“I’m here, my Queen.”

His aura brushed against me a second before he turned a corner and came into view, dragging a body behind him using his shadow magic like a rope—and grinning with an ear-to-ear smirk.

“Where in the glaciers of hell have you been?” I snarled.

He slowed, his smile dropping at the fire in my eyes. “I went after a mortal who got away. It seemed like you had things handled here.”

“I didn’t .” My voice cracked—like a whip, not a glass—pumped full of fury to cover up the fear. “I needed you. You should have been here.”

A deep crease formed between his brows. His gaze fell to my hand, and he stilled. “Where did you get that?”

I stared down at the sword Stuart had brought me. I’d been so distracted, I hadn’t even looked at it until now. The broadsword bore a gilded, finely carved handle and a glittering onyx blade as wide as my thigh that had been inlaid with golden scrollwork.

It was a true piece of art—and it wasn’t the first time I’d seen it.

“By the Flames,” I breathed, “it’s the sword from our vision. The one I was holding on the battlefield.”

I lifted it to study more closely. The delicate filigree on the blade seemed like a pattern—almost like words, though not in any language I recognized. The swirls and lines wove around a glassy disc embedded in the center, so dark it was nearly black yet radiating a smoky internal glow.

“Where did it come from?” Luther asked.

“The archives. The guards said it belonged to the Kindred.” Its energy warmed my skin as the blade pulsed with a soft, silvery glow.

“I think it’s meant to belong to you now.”

I frowned. It did feel like mine in a way I couldn’t explain. The thought of letting it go had my instincts hissing in protest.

“Looks like we both found some new jewelry ,” Luther added with a teasing lilt. He held up his weapon—not the plain blade he’d gone into battle with, but a gleaming one, capped with a jewel-encrusted hilt.

Triumph flashed in his eyes as he wiped off the bloody Sword of Corbois on his pants, then slid it into its scabbard and swung it onto his back like it had never been gone.

My heart leapt at seeing the ornate handle rising over his shoulder once more. The teasing over it, the revelation of its meaning, his offering of it at my father’s grave—the sword had become part of our journey, a vital step in revealing the truth of who Luther Corbois really was.

But, glad as I was to see it restored, the red-hot adrenaline had not yet cooled in my veins.

My awestruck stare turned into a snarl. “You abandoned me in battle for a gods-damned sword? ”

He bristled, looking wounded by my words. “Not for the sword.” He raised his vine-wrapped fist and tugged the body behind him forward. “Caught this one breaking into a school.”

I looked closer. The man’s features were bloody and swollen, and a gag of shadow magic obscured the lower half of his face.

“He went after the younger children whose magic hasn’t yet manifested. They were defenseless.” Luther’s fist twitched, and the dark cords clenched tighter, squeezing a gasp from the man’s throat. “Fortunately, I am not.”

He let his magic dissolve, and the man slumped to the ground, coughing as blood leaked from his lips. When he finally glared up at me, the hatred in his brown eyes was unmistakable.

“Vance,” I hissed, surprised and yet not. Going after children was just what I’d expect. He might talk a bold game about self-sacrifice, but when it counted, the man was a coward to his core. “I should have let my gryvern fry you.”

“And I should have let you die on the island.” His focus shifted to my throat. “He marked you? Why would he do that?”

“Probably because he’s my birth father.”

“ He’s the Descended Auralie fucked?” His stunned look melted into a smile. “That should put an end to our problems recruiting the rest of the Guardians.”

I crouched at his eye level. “You don’t know what you’re getting into with this man, Vance.”

“I know he wants the Descended to bleed. That’s good enough for me.”

“And when he kills every Descended strong enough to defeat him, what then?” Luther snapped at him. “He’s wearing a Crown, you idiot. You think he’s going to hand it off to you? ”

A flicker of something approaching an intelligent thought skimmed Vance’s face before he dragged it back to a glare. “I don’t need advice from you two. If you’re going to kill me, get it over with.”

I glanced around. We’d attracted a crowd, and they were all staring at Vance with patent bloodlust. If I didn’t execute him, these book-loving pacifists might rip his limbs clean off his body themselves.

But the mortal man’s accusation from earlier still haunted my thoughts. All I see is mortal blood on your blade and Descended fighting at your back .

Perhaps I could grudgingly accept killing in battle as a necessary evil, but slaying a wounded hostage on his knees felt like the same kind of petty revenge that had sparked this fight in the first place. Blood for blood would only end when there was no one left to kill.

I could declare Vance a prisoner of the Crowns, bound for the prison in Fortos—but one look at the Sophos guards told me he would never make it out of this city alive.

And what good was an execution? It wouldn’t stop Ophiucae and his men from continuing to kill. At best it would remove a thorn from my side, but at worst, it could turn Vance into a martyr that might ruin any chance I had at swaying the Guardians to my cause.

“Promise me, Vance,” I said. “I let you go, you’ll leave this man behind, and you and your followers will go back to Lumnos.”

He chuckled darkly. “Sure, Sister Bellator. I promise.” His toothy, bloodied grin made it painfully clear—to me and to everyone else—how little honesty lay in that empty vow.

My heart was torn. I desperately wanted to pull Luther aside and seek his advice, but I was still so shaken by his disappearance I could barely meet his eyes without falling apart.

All I could rely on were the same words he’d given me from the start.

Trust your instincts, my Queen—above all else, trust yourself .

If he didn’t already regret saying that, this would seal it for good.

Vance flinched as I reached for him, but Luther held him still. I cupped his swollen, injured jaw—perhaps pressing a little too hard and savoring his grimace of pain a little too much—to release healing magic into his skin.

Luther had done a number on him—countless broken bones, stab wounds to the side and foot, and a thigh muscle sliced clean through. The wounds to his groin were particularly gruesome.

I gripped his face to make him meet my stare. “ Run away, Vance. Leave this realm, and don’t ever come back, ” I said, lacing the command with Umbros magic. “ And stop helping Ophiucae .”

It was unfortunately impermanent—short of erasing Vance’s mind completely, the compulsion of my order would fade in a few days. Hopefully by then, he would decide to heed my warnings.

If not, as least Sophos would be ready for the next attack.

Vance’s eyes went vacant. He scrambled to his feet, then set off in a rush for the Ring Road. I pulled a shield around him and used my wind to push back a few Descended who lunged forward to take justice into their own hands.

Angry mutters rumbled around me. If anyone still believed I was secretly involved in the attack, this would pour kerosene on the fire.

I didn’t dare look at Luther and risk seeing his disappointment that I wasn’t strong enough, brave enough to make the bloodier call. He’d risked his life to capture Vance, and I’d just let him go.

As Vance faded to a speck into the grasslands, my brow furrowed. The repetitive rhythm of his fleeing footsteps seemed to be growing louder and nearer, not further away.

Far too late, I understood why.

“ Gryvern! ” someone yelled.

The guards shouted and ran for cover, shields flickering back into place, as Luther pulled his sword and moved to my side.

“Wait,” I said, squinting at the approaching form. “That’s Doriel’s gryvern.”

Vexes let out a weak, exhausted mewl. At the last moment, its wings gave out, falling limply at its side as it crashed into the street.

The earth rumbled at the gryvern’s impact, its two Descended riders tumbling to the ground. The first, thank the gods, was Doriel, bruised but otherwise unhurt. The second was a woman—unconscious, badly wounded, magic depleted—but fortunately alive. As I mended her with healing magic, her eyes cracked open to reveal two blue-green Meros irises.

The Faunos Descended who had gone with them was nowhere to be found.

I put another hand on Vexes to heal its wounds, then turned to Doriel. “What happened?”

They crouched at their gryvern’s side and pulled its head into their lap, stroking along its muzzle. “Your plan was working. Then he got through my shield and knocked Brion off. We tried to get to him...” Doriel shuddered and fell quiet. Behind them, the Meros woman burst into tears.

An all-too-familiar guilt lodged in my chest.

More blood on my hands.

More corpses at my feet.

“Did Ophiucae return to Montios?” Luther asked.

Doriel’s face was grave as they shook their head, their blush-colored eyes rising slowly to the sky.

My throat began to tingle.

In the distance, another gryvern approached, the man on its back a twinkling star among the clouds. His aura was far weaker than before, but even depleted, his power was staggering.

A heartbeat thundered in my ears as he drew closer. I wasn’t sure whether it was mine or his .

Ophiucae slowed his pace, his gryvern swooping low. Its claws clicked against the pavestones as it strolled smoothly into a landing on the street.

I strolled forward and raised a shield at my back to wall off the city’s guards and residents, though I left myself exposed.

“Diem,” Luther warned.

I silently shook my head.

Ophiucae’s smoke-dark gaze narrowed on Doriel and Vexes, then moved back to me. “Get out of my way.”

I lifted my chin. I had to fight all my instincts—and the eager thrum of the golden hilt in my hands—to stop myself from raising my sword.

“I told you, these people are under my protection.” My voice dropped so only he could hear. “I don’t want to fight you. But I will if I must.”

A chilling wrath churned in his eyes. “Where are the mortals?”

“I sent them back to your camp in Montios.”

“ That is not Montios ,” he thundered.

He jerked forward, palms facing me, muscles quivering down his arms. His magic crackled in the air, and I felt the violent, malicious energy that tangled through it, just as I felt his indecision as he debated my fate.

Suddenly, a puzzle piece fell into place. A realization, an innate understanding, of the cold, empty numbness I’d been fighting since Fortos.

I gave in and embraced it, let it wash the humanity right from my bones. In Ophiucae’s presence, it felt as natural as breathing. As inevitable as death.

Because it had come from him all along.

Those cold, steely eyes, such a mirror to my own, felt no remorse at killing, no compassion, no regret. He killed simply because he wanted to, simply because it pleased him to know that he could.

And whether I wanted it or not, some part of that lived in me, too.

Perhaps he saw it in my eyes or read it in my thoughts, but he smiled, sinister and knowing, as surely as if I’d spoken the words aloud.

“I could kill you for this,” he taunted.

In the hollow abyss, I found that I didn’t care. I didn’t fear him, and I didn’t fear death. I didn’t fear anything at all.

I didn’t feel anything at all.

“You could,” I agreed.

His smile curled higher. “Perhaps I should.”

His fingers twitched, his vicious magic inching menacingly close.

I blinked in surprise as a shimmering veil rose in front of me and brushed protectively against my skin, its familiar aura comforting me, encouraging me. Loving me. Reminding me who I was.

And reminding me who I had to live for.

Luther .

Ophiucae knew that, too. His eyes cut over my shoulder, and his head cocked sharply in a predatory tilt. “So my daughter has a suitor,” he hissed. “Perhaps I should find out if he’s worthy of your hand.”

The icy numb’s grip on my soul shattered.

Fear—a terror unlike I’d ever known—flooded through me, along with the grounding warmth of Luther’s love.

I might lose my humanity, but I couldn’t bear to lose him.

My fingers squeezed the hilt of my sword. “If you hurt him, I...”

I couldn’t finish the sentence. With a man like this, my threats might only make it worse. And with Ophiucae immune to my magic, I didn’t really know if I could protect Luther, if it came to that.

“ Please ,” I whispered.

Ophiucae’s focus shot back to me. For an agonizingly long moment, he didn’t speak. He just pinned me with those dead, shadowed eyes.

“I can be generous, daughter. I can be forgiving.” His fingers curled, and the mark on my neck flared with a painful, choking heat. “But I will not be disobeyed. You have struck at me twice. Do it a third time, and my protection will end.”

His hand dropped to his side, and I collapsed to my knees. His gryvern arched its neck in a howl, then fell back on its haunches and sprang into the air.

They circled the city—and then they were gone.