Page 51 of Spark of the Everflame

In the days since, I’d pored over my mother’s records, familiarized myself with the small trove of potions and powders that were reserved for their treatment (none of which, to my dismay, included flameroot), and spent several long evenings being tutored by Maura on all the eccentricities of treating the powerful beings that I’d been so carefully segregated from all these years.

With all the secrecy my mother had shrouded it in, I’d expected some grand reveal that might justify her efforts, but in the end, their treatment wasn’t all that different from the mortals.

There was one substance I’d learned could be lethal to the Descended: godstone, a rare material that could only be made by the Kindred. If formed into a projectile or blade, a serious strike could be instantly fatal, and even minor blows risked an infection from its lethal toxin. Though harmless to mortals, its effects were ferociously destructive to Descended, a gruesome and painful death with no known antidote.

It was the one piece of knowledge that lingered and haunted my thoughts for days afterward. This was precisely the kind of information Henri’s rebel group would want to know.

IfI decided to work with them.

And so, armed with an arsenal of newly acquired wisdom, I was ready to accompany Maura on her visits to the palace. Our first trip would be simple and quick—a final follow-up to check on the two youngest children who’d been hurt in the roof collapse weeks earlier.

“No shortcuts through the garden this time, I suppose,” I mused as we passed the patch of forest where Elric had led us through the hidden hole in the stone wall.

Another detail Henri’s rebels would be thrilled to discover.

“You’d do well to forget that ever happened,” Maura warned. “If they find out you know about an unguarded entrance into the palace, you’ll be lucky if losing your post as healer is the only consequence.”

“Front door it is, then,” I offered cheerfully.

And what a front door it was.

If the back of the palace seemed to be molded of glittering moonlight, the front was the dark side of its magnificent coin. Writhing, ominous shadows skulked along the facade as twisting vines in a perpetual state of growth. The dark cords knotted and twined along every balustrade and spire, looking like a nest of black vipers coiling to strike. The palace seemed to pulse with their endless movement—the throbbing, blackened heart of the realm.

It was incredibly intimidating, no doubt by design. I struggled to imagine how any potential enemy could take a single look at the shadowy edifice and not take off running in the opposite direction.

But what really stole every word from my lips was no feat of architecture, but the creature that guarded it. Like a living, breathing gargoyle, the beast reclined on a landing high atop the palace walls, its furred tail swishing idly as two glittering eyes skimmed the surrounding lands.

A gryvern.

I’d heard stories of them in school and seen their likeness stitched and carved into various materials around the realm, but to see one with my own eyes felt like walking into the pages of a fairytale.

The spiked, scaled head of a sea dragon. The wings and front talons of an eagle. The body of a lion. Kings of the sea, sky, and land—all transformed into a single beast. The fearsome amalgamation was the stuff of nightmares, unlike any other creature in our world.

When the Kindred arrived in the mortal realm many millennia ago, each of the nine sibling deities brought a gryvern as their companion and guardian. At the Forging, the Kindred bound the immortal beasts to an eternity of service to the Crowns of each realm. Only seven remained living, as the gryverns of Fortos and Montios had been killed by mortal rebels during the Blood War. Though their deaths had been a great victory to the rebellion, a profound sadness struck me at the thought of such a glorious animal meeting its end.

Sunlight shimmered off the creature’s iridescent scales, their smooth, dark surface reflecting a rainbow sheen like oil puddled beneath a lamp. A passing breeze ruffled the soft down of the wings folded tight against its back.

As if it could feel the weight of my attention, the gryvern’s golden eyes lowered to meet my own. Its slitted black pupils pulsed and thinned, twitching as they took me in. I paused my steps, transfixed by the creature’s gaze.

With a sharp jerk, it launched into the air. The beat of its outstretched wings kicked up swirls of dust as it smoothly circled the palace in a graceful arc, howling a shrill note into the clouds. Its shadow passed over us as its broad wingspan blotted out the sun. Its course abruptly shifted downward, and it slammed into the front walkway with enough force to send a tremor rumbling through the earth.

Maura shrieked and stumbled back a few steps, unapologetically tucking behind me to shield herself. I wasn’t offended—in fact, a part of me sang with pride that she believed me capable of protecting her from such a beast.

My chin joined my gaze in lowering with deference. I took a tentative step forward, hand hovering at the blade on my hips.

The gryvern took insult at the gesture, a growl thundering behind its bared fangs. Muscles rippled along its thick hide as a talon stretched forward and scraped down the tiled stone path.

I froze. My hands rose, empty palms outstretched. “We’re no threat,” I murmured, wondering if the creature could understand. “We’re here to help.”

It took another step, then another, its spiked snout stretching to within an arm’s reach from my face. Its nostrils flared wide—smelling me. Its head tilted slightly, first one way, then another.

Behind me, Maura whimpered. “Can someone h-help us please?” she called out to the guards in a desperate voice. She tugged at my arm in an attempt to pull me to a safer distance.

I held my ground, attention fixed on the gryvern. There was something so curious about its eyes. Something expressive, almost human-like in their captivating shrewdness.

“I mean you no harm,” I said in a soothing voice, the same one I used on my wildest patients. Slowly, cautiously, I extended a single hand, pulled forward by some unexplainable urge.

The creature’s eyes darted to my hand, then back to me. Just as slowly, just as cautiously, its neck arched forward to meet my touch.

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