Page 202 of Glow of the Everflame

So I showed them.

For the next two hours, I took them on a tour of Mortal City, sparing them nothing.

I showed them the ramshackle buildings that lacked hearths or clean water, where families crammed in ten to a room, and the grimy streets that were never clean—and never would be, given how many mortals huddled in every corner to escape the snow and rain.

I guided them past the brothels of the Garden and the drug dens of Paradise Row, telling stories of my patients and the impossible choices that had forced many into these back alleys. I reminded them how many half-mortals like me were likely imprisoned in the dimly lit buildings, condemned to a life in hiding for fear of the progeny laws.

I took them to the seediest bars where women did not stray alone after sunset, and to all the makeshift graves I’d made over the years for those who had died from starvation or exposure or a violent attack in the streets—including a few who had died at the hands of the Royal Guard.

I showed them the bright spots, too—the school and its burgeoning library, an art studio that offered free classes to those without means, and the night market, with its impressive array of food and goods. I showed them the orphanage the community had come together to run, where every need was met by donations from those who had little to spare themselves.

And I told them about my life. In hushed voices, I explained what it had been like to grow up here—the friends I’d made, the future I’d been headed toward before the Crown repaved my path. I didn’t tell them about the Guardians, of course, but I shared what I could, explaining how resentment toward the Descended had driven friends, families, and even lovers apart.

Though I couldn’t see their faces, I could sense their reactions in their quiet comments and questions, and in the way they resisted leaving certain areas, needing more time to let the reality settle in.

I could sense it in the way their arms held me a little tighter, as if they realized how easily my young life might have been cut short, even with all the protections of my Descended blood.

“This is my home,” I said finally, when I’d shown them what I prayed was enough. “Whether the gods give me one more day to live or thousands, this will always be my home. These are my people.” I came to a stop, giving myself a moment to let my eyes sweep over the familiar streets and buildings. “This is what I’m fighting for. And I’ll risk everything to protect it.”

“So will we,” Alixe said. Taran murmured his agreement. “No matter what happens.”

Had they not been holding me up between them, I might have collapsed at the relief that flooded my heart.

If I died tomorrow, my death—myfather’sdeath—would not be for nothing.

And that meant everything to me.

* * *

We arrivedat the simple wooden building that marked my last destination. Movement caught my eye in the warm, candlelit glow of the windows, and my stomach twisted into a tangled mess of knots.

“Wait here,” I ordered.

I trudged up to the building, my body reappearing beneath me as Alixe pulled her magic away, and knocked lightly on the door.

As I waited, I fidgeted with my hands, toying with my hair, my clothes, my weapons. My posture felt too casual, then too formal. My expression rotated through a bright smile, then a casual smirk, then a very serious frown. My mind knew this place so well, but my body felt like a stranger—a Descended traitor in an unwelcome land.

The door cracked open. “Diem? By the Undying Fire, what are you doing here?”

“Hello Mr. Albanon,” I said with a strained smile. “Sorry to bother you so late. Is Henri home?”

Henri’s father blinked at me.

His frozen silence was a dagger to my heart. My showing up at his door should have been a normal occurrence, barely worth noting.

But things were different now.

Iwas different now.

“No dear, I’m so sorry. Henri’s out of town. He’s not due to return until next week.”

“Wh-what?” I stammered, falling a step back. “He left?”

“He had a large delivery to make in Arboros. I told him I could arrange for someone else to handle it...” He suddenly looked deeply uncomfortable. “He said he had to deliver it personally.”

My mouth hung open. I searched for words, but none came.

He’d left.He’d left. It might be my last week alive, and Henri, my best friend, my betrothed, my supposed King-to-be, had just...left.

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