Page 18 of Spark of the Everflame

The splendor didn’t end when I stepped past the threshold.

If Mortal City was a gloomy array of stone and dirt, this place was an artist’s palette. Buttery yellows, flaming reds and oranges, watery blues, mossy greens—every hue imaginable painted the interior, woven into plush, tassel-edged rugs and tapestries that loomed larger than my house. Lifelike paintings in gilded frames adorned the walls, each one lit by a hovering orb of pale blue light.

Maura yanked me alongside her as we followed Elric down a long corridor lined with vaulted, hand-carved wooden trusses.

The cries of pained young voices echoed through the rafters. A group of Descended, dressed in an eye-popping kaleidoscope of colorful silks, had gathered at the end of the hallway. A few turned their attention to us, their expressions guarded.

“I brought the healers,” Elric shouted, pushing his way through the throng. “Move!Move!”

The crowd parted and a pathway formed, revealing an airy, glass-walled sunroom filled with rubble, the air still cloudy with particles of fallen stone.

Several long tables overflowed with fruits, pastries, and steaming dishes whose aromas wafted through the chamber. A table in the center lay in disarray, its edges jutting with splintered wood where it had been snapped in half by falling debris, while a hole in the ceiling opened up to the level above.

By the Flames. It was a miracle no one had died.

“Which child is the most critical?” Maura asked.

Elric waved over a pretty, golden-haired woman whose face was splotched with dried tears. After an exchange of words, he turned back to us.

“The youngest.” With a trembling hand, he gestured to a small boy lying motionless nearby. Not missing a beat, Maura broke off toward the child, leaving me and Lana behind. “The oldest, she’s hurt badly as well.”

I turned to Lana. “I’ll tend to her. You check the other, then help Maura.” She nodded and hurried off.

As Elric led me away, something hit me about the air in the room—something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It felt heavy in an oddly sentient way, like the heft of it pressed against my skin, exploring me,assessingme.

“Do you feel that?” I asked Elric.

My words fell on unhearing ears, his attention consumed by the whimpering girl at his feet.

She was cradled in the arms of a man kneeling among the wreckage, his long, ebony hair fallen free from its binding and obscuring his features. He gently stroked the girl’s cheek as he murmured to her in a hushed, soothing tone.

She stared up at him, her expression twisted in pain. Blood caked her temple, and her arm lay against her chest at an unnatural angle. Her brunette hair was woven into a labyrinth of tiny braids across the crown of her head, now matted with blood and dusted with shattered stone.

I kneeled at her side. She flinched as I gingerly touched her arm, and I felt the scorch of the man’s glare snap to my face.

“Hello,” I said to her softly, conjuring up my well-practiced calm. “I’m a healer, and I’m here to help you. Can you tell me what hurts?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the man snarled. I ignored him, my gaze locked on my patient.

“My arm,” she answered. Her voice was quiet but smooth, her eyes bright, her breathing steady—all good signs.

“Can you move it?” I asked.

“No,” the man shot back on her behalf. “It’s clearly broken.”

The presence I’d felt in the air seemed to engulf him and pulse in time with the flares of his anger. The heady aura sent something flickering beneath my ribs, but I refused to let my focus waver. I had years of experience working around the overbearing family members of my patients. Just because this one happened to be a Descended—a furious, heavily muscled,royalDescended—would not keep me from doing my job.

“Can you move it?” I repeated to her.

The girl shook her head weakly, wincing with the effort.

From her age, I guessed that her healing abilities had already developed and would be able to repair the injury soon, but I suspected I’d need to set the bone first to ensure it healed correctly.

I dug in my satchel and retrieved a large stoppered flask. “I’m going to give you something to help with the pain. Can you tell me your name?”

“I—I’m Lily,” she stammered.

“You may call her Princess Lilian,” the man corrected, still boring a hole through me with his stare.

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