Page 233 of Glow of the Everflame

“You know they aren’t allowed in my realm. If they aren’t going to keep to the Ring Road, they have to stay in Arboros.”

“Life is meant to propagate and spread.Youmay insist on defying nature’s course, but I shall not. If your borders need securing, take it up with him.” She gestured to the Fortos King, who seemed to perk up at the prospect of a new battle.

The Faunos Queen practically snarled. “You keep those mongrels out of my jungles, or I’ll make sure no bee or butterfly everpropagatesin your realm ever again.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed, flinging back her moss-edged cape. “We need those pollinators, Faunos.”

The two women stormed toward each other in a huff, continuing to quarrel. The Fortos King’s eyes gleamed eagerly as the exchange grew increasingly laden with threats.

“I’ll handle this,” he said, stalking off to join them. “You go on ahead.”

I looked around at the wide open land. “Go where?”

“Just keep walking. All roads on the island lead to the Temple.” He paused and shot me a condescending look. “And don’t wander. Until you’re coronated, you’re not allowed off the path.”

I debated staying to watch the spectacle, grinning to myself as I imagined telling the story to Luther later. However, if the King of Fortos did have information on my birth father, provoking his temper was not an ideal way to win his trust.

I walked on and soon lost sight of the others. Over the top of the wild overgrowth, the dark form of the Kindred’s Temple came into view. The circular platform rose high above the ground and was edged nearly all the way around by a series of ornate archways topped with tall, thin obelisks. The entire structure was made of a night-black stone that glittered under the rays of the midday sun.

Godstone. A substance stronger than metal and imbued with a deadly toxin that could kill a Descended. No one was certain whether the Kindred brought the godstone from their home world or created it with their divine power, but it was as difficult to find as it was sought-after.

In addition to building their Temple with the mysterious material, the Kindred left behind a cache of weapons crafted of godstone to each of the first Descended Crowns, but after several fell into the hands of mortal rebels during the Blood War, the Crowns agreed to confiscate and destroy them. Though illicit pieces could still be found for outrageous prices on the black market, sightings of it were rare, even for the Descended.

It felt surreal to gaze upon such a large expanse of it now. As my eyes roved over the elaborate architecture, its black stone twinkling like the surface of a sunlit sea, something hovered at the edge of my memory. Something familiar. Something important, but just out of reach.

Nearby whispers reached my ear. I spun around, expecting to see the three Crowns I’d left behind, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.

“Hello?” I called out.

My gaze hooked on a flutter of movement in the grass. I crept closer, my focus fixed on the swaying blades as they rippled back to stillness.

“Is someone there?” I shouted.

I stepped off the gravel path and onto the springy soil. A few more steps took me into the tall brush. I nudged at the roots with my toe, hoping to stir up some wild creature to blame for the disturbance.

“Hello?” I said again, softer this time, and took another step. I fell still, the way I’d learned during years of hunting in the forest, honing my eyes and ears for the faintest rustle.

After a long, silent minute, embarrassment rushed through me. Coeurîle was the most well-guarded place in Emarion—what was I expecting to find?

As I turned back, rolling my eyes at my own foolishness, I reached down to snap a handful of the red wildflowers from their spindly stalks. I raised the blooms to my nose and closed my eyes as I slowly breathed in.

My back instantly went stiff.

The smell was crisp and vaguely smoky, the scent of a distant fireplace on a brisk winter night, with a hint of bright citrus. It was an aroma I knew intimately—far too intimately.

My mind was transported back to so many mornings, sitting at the kitchen table, teasing my brother as my mother poured me a cup of tea. I could almost feel the hot steam rising to my lips, the bitter taste on my tongue. And in my mind’s eye, I could spy it there on the counter—a crescent-shaped jar, filled with a powder of vivid scarlet. The very same color as the petals wilting in my fist.

Flameroot.

These flowers had to be the origin of the powder my mother had used to suppress my Descended abilities.

Of course—if the island’s soil could nullify magic, then the flowers must be imbued with that same trait. That would explain why the Fortos King kept it so guarded, and why the other Crowns had been alarmed at the idea of it growing on the mainland.

But if it only grew here, how had my mother obtained so much of it? And why had that knowledge upset Luther so deeply?

A glint of light sparkled deep within the brush, like sunlight reflecting off metal. I strained to peer through the tall foliage. “Hello?” I called out again.

“What the hell are you doing?”

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