Page 55 of Spark of the Everflame

Their mothers, however, seemed as foreign to me as wild animals. They each wore gowns befitting a grand affair, shimmering fabric hanging stiffly over layers of puffy candy-colored petticoats that swallowed them on their tiny tufted settees. Chunky gemstones circled their necks and wrists, unnaturally-colored hair piled atop their heads with a mess of ribbons and colorful feathers. It was such an absurd scene, I had to cover my mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Cousins,” Luther said with a shallow nod.

“Your Highness,” they said in unison as they rose and curtsied.

One of them, a pretty woman dripping in emeralds and mauve taffeta, fluttered her lashes in his direction. “How kind of you to come sit with us, Luther,” she cooed, her smile coy.

“PrinceLuther,” he corrected, and the woman’s face burned pink enough to match her dress. “I’m only here to escort the healers.”

My eyes bounced between them, fascinated by the dynamic. They were... cousins? Was she... flirting with him?

And what kind of person expected family to use formal titles? I wondered if Luther had a spouse—surely no handsome face could be worth putting up withthat. Gods, imagine the man in bed... he probably demanded his lovers address him by title there, too.

Harder, Your Highness. Wilst thou give me permission to come, Your Highness? Let me kneel for you and show the Prince’s little prince a good time, Your H—

Luther cleared his throat, and my eyes jumped to his face from where they’d been unintentionally lingering beneath his belt. I threw him my nastiest scowl, fighting my blush with everything I had.

“Who are they?” the second woman asked. She was a good deal older but still quite beautiful, her dark violet bouffant streaked grey at her temples. Her features seemed carved into a permanent frown as she looked us over.

“These are the healers who treated the boys the day of the incident,” Luther said. He turned to us. “Maura, Diem, these are my cou—”

“Why does that one have weapons?” she interrupted sharply. She gestured to me with a limp wrist and a curled lip, the way one might point to a pile of rotting meat. Her gaze rose to my face, then narrowed. “Your eyes, girl—are you Descended?”

“She’s just a mortal,” Luther answered on my behalf. “And she is permitted weapons while under my escort.”

“Justa mortal?” I said under my breath, drawing an elbow to the ribs from Maura.

Luther smoothly stepped in front of the woman to position himself between us. I nearly snorted, wondering which of us he was intending to protect.

I had my answer a moment later, when she waved her hand and a thin wall of shimmering pale blue light appeared around the two young boys. “Not around our children, she isn’t,” she sniped.

Luther worked his jaw. Though Idearlywanted to hold my ground and watch him squirm—this was a man who despised having his authority threatened, and now he was trapped between two women intent on doing exactly that—the children had begun to take notice of the tension. The littlest one was staring at us with growing fear in his sky-blue eyes. Whatever my dislike of Luther, I wouldn’t stoop to putting an already injured child through undue stress.

“It’s fine,” I said tersely. I strolled across the room to a far corner table and unhooked my knife belt, dropping it onto the wooden top with a loud clunk—though I left Brecke’s knife stashed safely in my boot. I whipped back around with a saccharine smile. “Problem solved.”

The woman sniffed, unimpressed, but a moment later, the glowing barrier disappeared.

We set to work before the tension could escalate further. Maura had the harder task, checking on the youngest boy’s numerous broken bones. I busied myself with the older child, propping him on an armchair and checking his mostly healed cuts and scabs while distracting him with corny jokes my father had taught Teller and me as children.

“What do you call a trout wearing a ball gown?” I asked as I peered beneath a bandage on his knee.

The boy beamed a gap-toothed grin at me. “What?”

“Very so-fish-ticated.”

He collapsed into giggles, nearly taking out my eye while he kicked his legs with glee. I laughed with him as I held his feet down. “How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?”

“How many?” he nearly screamed, bouncing in anticipation.

“Ten-tickles!” I shouted back, reaching for his sides and wiggling my fingers. He squirmed out of my reach and dissolved into a fit of belly laughs.

“They are so adorable at this age, aren’t they?” the younger woman asked.

I smiled and turned my head up to answer her, but she was gazing adoringly at Luther, having moved to his side. His eyes were on me, his expression softer than usual.

“Aren’t they?” she asked again, setting a hand on his arm.

His features hardened immediately. “What?” he snapped.

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