Page 74 of Spark of the Everflame

How very fitting, I thought dryly.

At the edge of the room, an enormous bed swallowed up a girl nestled beneath a cloud-soft mountain of thick, downy covers. The fabric jostled with the sound of sniffling, followed by a faint whimper of pain that cracked my heart wide open.

“Hello there,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. I scooted closer and brushed away the golden, sweat-soaked ringlets matted to her forehead. She was young, around five years old, and though her skin was pallid, it was warm to the touch. “You must be Evanie. I’m Diem—I’m a healer. I hear you’re not feeling so well today.”

Her pale eyelashes fluttered open, revealing two irises of robin’s egg blue. “I want Momma,” she whimpered.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, your mother isn’t here. But I’m going to try to make you feel better, alright?”

She nodded weakly, sniffling again.

I glanced across my shoulder at the boy, who was watching warily from the door. “Your sister is sick, and neither of your parents were willing to stay with her?”

He scoffed. “My parents are very important. They don’t have time to sit at home and coddle us.”

The dark timbre of his father’s cruelty already echoed in his young voice. My heart sank at the thought of the man he would likely become.

I struggled to keep pity off my face as I evaluated the little girl’s condition. With parents like these, what kind of woman wouldshebecome? What kind of spouse would she seek out? What kind of children would she raise?

Though we Bellators had our problems, I knew with soul-deep certainty what loving parents and a happy marriage looked like. My mother and father had made sure Teller and I always knew what it was to be cherished, to be given a soil of unconditional love to nourish our growth and keep us rooted no matter the world’s storms.

Until now, I hadn’t realized just how rare a gift that was.

Lorris moved closer to the bed. “Is she going to be alright?” Though he wore the same petulant scowl, concern crept into his features.

“I think so... but I could help her much better if I knew what happened.”

He studied his sister for a moment, then eyed me skeptically. “Yesterday, we were in town with Mother, and Evanie wandered off. When we found her, she said a woman had given her some flowers. A few hours later, she had red marks all over her skin.”

“And you think it was the flowers that caused it?”

“There’s a mortal man who tends the plants on our estate. He saw her carrying them and told us to take them away from her.”

I frowned. “Do you still have them?”

“No, we threw them out.”

I looked back at the girl. The bedding was pulled high and tucked tightly at her neck, but a hint of redness peeked out below her jawline.

“Evanie,” I cooed, “do you mind if I take a look at your arms?”

She shook her head vigorously. “Don’t touch! No touch!”

I held my hands up. “I won’t touch, I promise. I just want to see what they look like.”

Her eyes flew to her brother’s face in search for some confirmation that I could be trusted. I expected him to huff out of the room with a snide remark, but to my surprise, he sat down beside her.

“It’s alright, Ev,” he said in a calm, steady tone. “Show her where it hurts.”

Hesitantly, she pulled at her blankets until her arms appeared—thick and swollen, her fair skin covered in puffy, ring-shaped welts. My scrutiny shifted back to her face. Her eyes were clear and free of redness, her sniffles not caused by tears, but from a persistent runny nose.

“These flowers,” I asked, “were they small and yellow, with big waxy green leaves?”

The boy nodded. “I think so.”

“And did they smell of butterscotch?”

He sat straighter, surprised. “Yes—how did you know?”

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