Page 168 of Glow of the Everflame

I couldn’t deny it—Ihadbefriended them quickly, even though I’d always struggled to make friends with mortal peers. I couldn’t help but wonder, was it just because of the Crown? Or had I isolated myself from other mortals because, somewhere deep down, I’d always known I wasn’t like them?

“It’s not as black and white as we thought when we were kids,” I confessed. “A lot of them are good people. Some of them even want to end the injustice just as we do. A few are as evil as we imagined, but...” I looked at Vance, noting his sour look as he eyed us from afar. “So are some of the mortals.”

Henri slumped, looking queasy. “I’m so sorry, D. I let my anger get carried away, and everything spun so far out of control.”

I snaked my arms around his waist and buried my head in his chest, needing to feel him against me and know he wasn’t gone forever. Tension eased from his muscles as he pulled me close. For a blissful moment, it felt like we had gone back in time, back when our love was untainted by war and unburdened by the weight of a Crown.

“I miss you,” I whispered. “You were my best friend, and then suddenly you were just...gone.”

“I regret so much of what has happened,” he murmured against my hair. “This isn’t the man I want to be.” He leaned away and raised a hand to cup my cheek. “Let’s put all this behind us. Forgive each other for everything we’ve done and start over. A clean slate.”

I managed a weak smile and nodded. “I’d like that.”

He nudged my chin up and pressed his lips to mine. It was tender and soft, so different from the breathless frenzy of our last kiss. That kiss had been like a plea—a promise, of what I might offer him if he would agree to stay by my side. This was a plea of a different kind.

Henri let out a groan as he deepened the kiss. He gripped my waist hard and my eyes fluttered open in surprise, falling instantly on two familiar pools of blue-grey across the clearing, stormy and teeming with emotion.

Regret. Hurt. Loss.

Taran wrapped a hand around Luther’s arm and tugged him back, forcing him to look away.

I pulled back so abruptly that I yanked clear of Henri’s grasp. He bristled, cocking his head with a frown.

Suddenly, I needed to beanywherebut here.

“Tomorrow,” I rushed out, falling back a step. “Meet me at sunset. The cove where we used to collect oysters.”

“Diem—”

“I have to go. I... I’ll see you then.”

I turned, and I ran—through the forest, past Mortal City, and down the road to the palace. Even as my guards shouted in confusion, Perthe chasing me with pleas to slow down, I ran and I ran, and I didn’t stop until I was back in my chambers, gasping for breath under the scrutiny of Sorae’s dark ochre eyes.

But no matter how hard I fled from my problems, there were truths chasing me I couldn’t outrun much longer.

ChapterThirty-Three

“Try it again.”

“I’ve tried it ten times.”

“So try it an eleventh.”

“I tried it twenty times yesterday. And the day before that, and the day before that. It’s not working.”

“Then you need to try harder.”

“Oh, is that all? Why didn’t you just say so?”

Taran and I scowled at each other from across the dungeon. My magic training sessions had been going poorly, to put it mildly. They hadn’t really beengoingat all. After countless daily sessions, I hadn’t been able to manifest a single spark.

Initially, Taran and Alixe had been supportive, dismissing it as a consequence of my grief, but their patience—and mine—had begun to wear thin. Taran had changed tack, deciding to force an outburst of power by provoking me in increasingly juvenile ways, and I had been responding in kind.

Luther continued to attend, though he kept a careful distance. At first, he had offered occasional advice, but every word from him only pushed me further into my head. Eventually, he took up a silent vigil, always watching but never speaking.

I wanted to beg him to leave. I wanted to tell him that every time I stumbled in front of him, every time he watched me dig into myself and come up empty-handed, it was an excruciating reminder of his words at the ball—the peace-bringing Queen he believed me destined to become—and the smothering heaviness of my own inadequacy. Failing was embarrassing, but failing in his eyes was almost more than I could take.

But, true to form, my stubborn pride won out, and instead of being honest, I retreated deeper into my own foul mood. So Luther watched, Taran teased, I sulked, and Alixe just tried to keep the peace.

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