Page 153 of Glow of the Everflame

The truth would come soon enough.

Sorae was frantically pacing on her perch and letting out scratchy, pained sounds I had never heard from her before. She sounded as if she were being ripped apart from the inside out and holding herself together through sheer force of will.

Alixe put a gentle hand on my back and nudged me toward her. “We’ll get there faster if we take Sorae.”

I obeyed and mutely climbed onto my gryvern’s back. Alixe whispered something in Sorae’s ear, then mounted behind me and clutched me tight against her as we launched into the sky.

My heart was no longer racing. Instead, it had slowed to the pulse of Sorae’s flight, each wingbeat reverberating with an ominous thump in my chest. My blood was slowing, my thoughts were slowing,timewas slowing.

I wanted it to stop.

Ibeggedit to stop.

But when that beautiful, modest cottage on the marsh came into view—that home so full of laughter and memories, so rich with loyalty and unbreakable bonds, the one place in the world where I had always,alwaysfelt loved—something in me fissured wide open.

Sorae landed with a smooth gait on the front lawn, the same place where my father and I had spent hundreds of nights sparring.

Luther stood in the open front door. His dark hair had spilled free from its usual restraint, now shielding his face like a veil. His arms were quivering and soaked in blood to his elbows as he stared at a headless body that lay at his feet.

Scattered around the clearing, I spotted two more bodies, their heads resting too far from their necks.

“No,” I whimpered. “No, please, no...”

The word kept falling from my lips as I broke into a sprint toward the door, my eyes fixed on the body at Luther’s feet. But as I stumbled on the front steps and crashed to my knees, I saw that the corpse wore the uniform of the Royal Guard.

I scrambled to my feet and tried to force my way past Luther. He grabbed me by the shoulders.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t look.”

I shoved against him with all my force, straining to look over his shoulder. He held me tighter and forced me away from the door.

“Don’t go in there,” he pleaded with terrible softness. “I’m begging you not to look.”

I finally stared up at him. His eyes were so filled with shadows they were nearly black, and the skin under his scar was angry and red like a fresh welt. His dark brows were drawn painfully tight, deep lines creasing his face with visceral anguish.

This face had revealed so many guarded emotions these past weeks. Frustration, amusement, pride, worry, affection. Maybe even something deeper.

It was the face I had come to look for in every crowd. Even when we were cross, it was his face that calmed me every time I spun out of control.

But today, his face spoke only of despair. Relentless, unfixable despair.

“Move,” I breathed.

Heartbreak slashed across his features. His shoulders sank, his hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped away.

At first, all I saw was blood.

Blood everywhere.

Pooled on the floor. Streaked across overturned furniture. Dripping from the drapery and the cabinets.

And then I saw the writing. Large, angry letters smeared in dark crimson on every wall.

Mortal lover.

Half-breed.

Rebel scum.

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