Page 20 of Spark of the Everflame

Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “He did?”

“He said you’ve been very kind to him. I’d hoped to thank you personally for that. Maybe our meeting here today was fate.”

“A blessing from the Kindred,” she murmured reverently.

My lips pressed tight as I averted my gaze. Mortals did not particularly view anything from the Descended gods as a blessing, but here in the heart of the royal palace, I didn’t dare admit that out loud.

“Your brother is the mortal that attends the Descended school?” the man asked, his voice sounding oddly strained.

I nodded without looking at him. His attention lingered on me as I fussed with a jar of salve in feigned distraction.

Mercifully, Lily intervened. “Uncle Ulther gave him special permission to attend. He’s the smartest boy in class. He would be wasted at the mortal school.” She caught herself at the end and cringed in my direction. “That is—I didn’t mean—I’m sure the mortal schools are very good, I only meant—”

I gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s alright. I agree with you completely.”

She let out a deep exhale in relief.

I wondered at the relationship between Lily and the man across from me. He cared for her like a father, though he appeared only a few years older than me. Then again, the Descended matured like humans only until adulthood, at which point their aging slowed to a crawl. He could just as easily be 25 as 250. But his gruff protectiveness seemed something other than parental—a doting older brother, perhaps?

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Lily said. “I hope she’s found soon.”

The man went deathly still. Again I felt the weight of his focus, and this time, it took all my effort not to meet it with a glare of my own.

He knew.

Somehow, I felt certain—he knew what happened to my mother. Hehadto know.

An inferno kindled deep in my chest. Anger and accusation seized my throat and squeezed until I flinched. My muscles trembled with the urge to lunge at him and demand the answers locked inside his head.

Fight.

Thevoice, the same one that had hounded me this morning in the kitchen with my father, clanged through my head like a clocktower bell.

Or perhaps a death knell.

My fingers tightened around the flask, knuckles blanching. “How does your arm feel?” I gritted out.

“I can’t feel anything—does that mean it’s working?”

I applied pressure to her arm, gradually moving closer to where her flesh had begun to redden and swell. She gave no reaction. “Good. Now I’m going to set the bone. It won’t hurt, but you might feel a little discomfort.”

Remnants of my ire still throbbed between my temples. I rolled my shoulders back and tried to settle myself through a few shaky breaths.

Fight.

I clenched my jaw and channeled the energy coursing through my blood into my hands as I gripped her delicate shoulder. “Ready?”

“Wait,” the man interrupted. “Shouldn’t I do this?”

“Areyouthe healer?” I shot back. I refused to look at him for fear that his condescending expression might make me lose the fraying control I had on my temper. How dare he suggest I need his help to do my job? “Lily, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and count to three.”

Lily eyed my hands nervously for a moment, then her eyelids fluttered closed. Her chest rose once, then fell.

“One... two...”

The man held up a hand. “Are you sure I shouldn’t—”

I snapped her arm into place with a sickening crack.

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