Page 49 of Spark of the Everflame

My body locked up, my heart jumping to my throat. “But that’s the name—”

“Of the mortal rebellion during the Blood War,” he finished with a nod. “The Descended thought they’d crushed it completely, but some of the rebel cells survived. They’ve been operating in secret ever since, gathering information and weapons. The hope is that someday we’ll be strong enough to try again and actually win.”

War. Last night, I’d heard them whispering of it. I could barely catch my breath as new questions and fears tumbled through me.

“And when is ‘someday’?” I asked.

“We can’t afford to act too early and fail again, but many think the blood sun on Forging Day was a message from the Old Gods that the time is coming soon. But only if...” He hesitated. “Only if we have more mortals on the inside.”

“Is that why your father is working as the palace courier?”

“No.” His features sharpened. “My father is not supportive of the rebel effort. Nor is he aware of my involvement.” He shot me a meaningful look, a silent request.

“I won’t say anything,” I said quickly. “To him or anyone else.”

He slowed his horse to a stop and adjusted in his saddle to face me directly. “Join us, Diem. The access you would have at the palace as their healer would be invaluable. You could find out their weaknesses, how to get around their healing abilities, maybe even test out different poisons by telling them it’s medicinal.”

A sick, greasy feeling twisted my gut. Healers took vows to save lives. To use my knowledge and the sacred trust of my patients to do them harm instead...

As horrible as the Descended were, I wasn’t sure I could stoop that low.

Henri seemed to notice my apprehension. “You could at least pass along any information you overhear. Military things—movements of their armies, weapons they’re developing.”

As I gazed off at the road ahead, it struck me that this might finally be my opportunity to choose my own future. My family, my tiny village, even my work as a healer—these were all paths laid out for me by my mother. Even my body had lately felt like a prisoner to unwelcome thoughts and emotions.

Andvoices.

Mad as it was to work against the godlike creatures that were the Descended—this was something I could choose for myself. Whatever the consequences, they would be mine and mine alone.

Surely the Descended, and especially the royals, would not be foolish enough to divulge useful information in my presence. But if they did, if they slipped up—and if it was information that would not harm my patients, but rather protect innocent mortals...

Maybe that was exactly what I needed.

Thevoicekept demanding that I fight. Maybe instead of fightingsomeone, what I needed was something to fightfor. Maybe I could channel the temper smoldering inside me and direct it somewhere it could help someone, instead of slowly burning me to ash. And if Prince Luther or any other Descended were responsible for my mother’s disappearance, who better than the Guardians to help me find the truth?

But...

I took a vow. A vow so precious and sacrosanct that it was the foundation of a healer’s training. A vow that a healer could be banned forever for violating. If I was caught, it would end my career. My mother would be ashamed of me, Maura might never speak to me again.

And worse, it would undermine my fellow healers. If our patients did not trust us to keep their secrets, they might not call on us when they needed help. Innocent people could die needless, preventable deaths.

No. I couldn’t do it. That line was too important, too sacred to cross.

But...but.

“I’ll think about it,” I said finally.

Henri grinned and nodded as enthusiastically as if I’d given my full-throated agreement. He nudged his horse forward, and we continued down the path. “You won’t be alone. I’ll be there, and—well, I can’t tell you yet. But there’s other members you know. Maybe we could recruit Teller, too. The information he’s learning at that Descended school—”

“Absolutely not.” I shook my head vehemently. “Leave Teller out of this, Henri. He’s too young. I don’t want him involved.”

“He’s not a child, Diem, he’s nearly a grown man. He might want to help.”

“I don’t care. I’ll consider helping you, but only if you keep him out of it. Those are my terms.”

“It should be his choice—”

“Promise me, Henri.”

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