Page 116 of Spark of the Everflame

“I heard the explosion from my house. I thought if anyone was injured, any children, maybe I could help.”

“There are no children here.”

Thank the gods. I nearly collapsed.

“Still,” I insisted, “maybe I can help with the wounded, at least until they can heal themselves. I’ll follow the rules this time, I swear it on my life.”

He studied my face, saying nothing.

“I made a mistake. One that I regret more than you know. Let me at least try to make it right.Please.”

I wondered if he could hear the sincerity in my words—if he knew that the truth of them meant so much more than he could possibly understand.

He raised a palm, and a sphere of pale blue light shimmered into place around me. He jerked his chin in a silent invitation to follow and turned away. I held my breath as I passed through the glowing ropes of the boundary, marveling at the way they fizzled and disappeared where they hit the glittering dome.

I scurried to keep up, and the shield around me vanished as I joined his side with a softly mumbled thanks.

“Stay out of the way, and stay away from the fire,” he ordered. “And do not take off running anywhere. If you do, I’ll throw you in the dungeon myself.”

“Understood.”

He looked far from convinced. “Where are your supplies?”

“I don’t have any.”

“You came all the way here with no medicine or supplies?”

“Well I left Mortal City with all the supplies I could carry, and then I was attacked on the trail by a group of jackasses who stole my bag. So, technically, I only camehalfwayhere with no medicine or supplies.”

He stopped. His eyes darkened as they unapologetically roamed my body. “Did they hurt you?” he growled.

I shifted my weight under his sudden scrutiny. “No. I was able to escape.”

“Were they mortal or Descended?”

“I, uh... I couldn’t tell. It was too dark.” I scowled. “Can we focus on this right now?”

He shot me a look that suggested my lies were even less believable than they sounded, but he didn’t push it any further, leading me over to where a group of bodies were sprawled across a patch of grass.

As we approached, the reek of burnt hair and charred flesh wafted to my nose, drawing a wave of nausea heightened by the sound of tormented groans. Burns of concerning severity littered the prone figures, their guard uniforms tattered and scorched—some still smoking like a blown-out candle. At least a few were missing limbs. One was unnaturally still.

“These are the worst of them,” Luther said quietly. “I don’t know if there’s much you can do. We’re gathering carriages to send them out to the Descended healers in Fortos.”

I could only nod, words proving too difficult to form.

Gradually, I walked into the group and sank to my knees between two of the injured. On my right, a man writhed in pain and clutched his face, screaming strings of mangled words I couldn’t make out. I reached for his hand and gently pulled it toward me.

“Hello, I’m Diem. I’m a healer, and I’m here to h—”

My throat closed up as his hand dropped away. His face—what had been his face—was now a mess of gleaming flesh, broiled and bloody.

His hand, still hot from the fire’s touch, tightened around my wrist.

“H-hel... m...” His lips were gone, his tongue a blackened stump, rendering his speech a slow, garbled tangle of blood and pain. Still, there was no mistaking the words he was fighting to say.

Help me.

There was nothing I could do. If I’d kept my bag of medicine, I could at least ease his pain or soothe him into sleep while his body healed, but I’d surrendered it all to the Guardians.

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