Page 51 of Glow of the Everflame

I’d never told anyone, not even Teller, the full story. I’d only claimed that I had wild hallucinations and the flameroot had made them stop.

But my mother knew.

All those years ago, as a scared little girl, I’d confessed the entirety of it only to her.

I’d told her that, in my visions, I could make the glow of candlelight paint a picture across the ceiling. I could persuade the shadows into leaving the corners of rooms and curving around me like a warm quilt. I could make them dance together, light and darkness, in a jaunty waltz. I’d told her that the bright and the dark were my friends, silent companions that answered to my beck and call.

In return, she’d told me I had adisease, and the crimson powder would make it all go away.

And it did—until I stopped taking it two months ago. Right before thevoicethat Luther called the godhood had begun urging me tofight.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I whimpered as the full breadth of my mother’s betrayal sank in. I staggered to a table and gripped the edge for support, blowing out air to keep myself from retching.

Henri’s hand gingerly touched my back. I focused on the feel of it, clung to it like a rope dangling off a cliff.

“The flameroot powder must have blocked my Descended side somehow,” I forced out between gasps. “And my mother knew. She knew my magic was coming in, and she—”

“Can it negateeverythingabout the Descended?”

I looked up at Henri. His face had taken on a shrewd glint.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The other Descended traits. Strength, healing, hard skin and bones, long life. Could the flameroot block those, too?”

I was still struggling to breathe, fighting to keep my stomach from turning inside out. “I’m not sure. I don’t th—”

“Where did she get it? Do you have any more?”

“I destroyed my supply a few weeks ago. I don’t know where she got it, but I—”

“Could you get more of it? Or show me how to make it?”

My lips parted as realization dawned. “You want to use it as a weapon.”

Henri stilled. His eyes jumped to the Crown, then dropped back to me.

An awkward awareness passed between us—and a question.

Henri was a Guardian of the Everflame, a group devoted to infiltrating, even killing the Descended. He’d shown me the rebels’ faces, their meeting spots, the tattoo they used as a secret mark of membership.

And I was not just their enemy, but their enemy’sQueen. I could have every Guardian rounded up and executed for treason. I could even have their friends and families killed as a deterrent. The Descended laws set no limits for the punishment of mortal traitors.

Or I could let him go—forget I knew him or the Guardians or any of it, and pray their maneuvering never targeted me. I could watch my best friend, the man I cared for as deeply as I’d ever cared for anyone, walk out of my life forever.

Or...

“I can try to get some more,” I offered weakly.

Simple enough words, but they said everything:I choose you.

He frowned, carefully studying my reaction. “You’re still willing to help us?”

I slowly raised my hand to his face. I was terrified he would stop me, or recoil as he had earlier, but he held stone still as my fingers grazed his cheek.

“I’m still me, Henri. I’m still Diem. And... I still love you.”

I’d never said those words to him before.

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