Page 133 of Spark of the Everflame

By the Flames,was I truly that desperate?

It was an odd thing, to feel so distrustful of my own heart. I wasn’t sure I was even capable of killing the King. If last night had shown me anything, it was that I had little stomach for murder.

The truth was I no longer knew how I felt about anything.

A month ago, I had been focused. I had clear, attainable goals.

Find my mother. Keep Teller in school. Serve as the palace healer. Help the Guardians.

I may not have loved my place in the world, but at least I knew where it was.

Now, though, my future was smoke, opaque and foreboding, threatening to suffocate me alive if I didn’t find some way out.

Now, my future felt... empty.

When I was upset as a child, my mother would wrap me up in a blanket and we’d sit by the hearth clutching clay mugs of steaming, sweetened tea. She’d tell me stories of old Emarion, a time before the Kindred and their devastating rule, stories that had passed down in oral tradition through generations after the Descended had burned every mortal-penned book they could find.

She had the most beautiful voice. Melodious and strong, brimming with confidence and edged with the mystery of all her hidden secrets. Even silent, she could captivate a room.

But as formidable as she was, she was still just my mother. The woman who soothed me after a nightmare, who fed me soup and stroked my hair when I was sick. She was my constant lantern when, like now, the world was dark and I didn’t know which way to go.

To the world, she was Auralie Bellator, but to me she was just... Mother.

And I missed her.Gods, did I miss her.

I wiped away the wetness on my cheeks, grateful for the small mercy of avoiding an audience forthat. I cautiously edged my way back to the King’s bedside like a wild animal approaching another in the woods, not quite sure which of us was the scarier predator.

Like Luther, the King’s power radiated in his presence. Weakened, yes, but impressive still. What must it feel like, to be the most powerful person in the realm? To know that you had not just the authority, but the ability, to wield life and death with the curl of a finger?

But today, he was no fearsome child of the gods.

Today, he was just an old, dying man. Alone.

A spasm rippled through his body, then another. His eyelids flickered delicately, as if lost in a dream. His breathing was so fast—far too fast, and far too shallow. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

I took his hand, laying my palm against his wrist until our pulses aligned. It was an old healer’s trick—when all medicine failed, sometimes a cherished touch could persuade a fading heart to match the stronger, faster beat of its beloved. I might not be Ulther’s nearest and dearest, but at the moment, he and I were all each other had.

I gave his wrist a gentle squeeze and softly whispered the sacred Rite of Endings:

“End be your time, a trade in kind,

a life well-lived for peace to find.

Be not afraid, as shadows fade,

all pain and woe shall be unmade.

Now fate well-sealed shall be revealed,

for those whose worthy souls shall yield.

In love and calm, this holy psalm,

shall guide your soul to realm beyond.”

As the final word fell from my lips, a crackle of energy passed between us, a static shock that made every hair on my arms stand on end.

The King’s knobby fingers seized mine. No longer was he feeble and frail—his grip was an iron shackle that chained me at his side.

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