Page 155 of Heat of the Everflame

I set the plate and the carafe down in the corridor, then leaned my forehead against his door.

“Please, Luther,” I whispered, eyes burning. “Don’t give up on me yet.”

Chapter

Thirty-Four

“Idon’t want to be Tiffany anymore.”

I stared down at Taran, hands propped on my hips. Morning had come and he was still dozing in my suite, clutching the bundled-up blanket in his arms and murmuring gibberish.

“Taran,” I sang brightly. “Good morning.”

“You want me to put thatwhere?” he mumbled.

I crouched at his side and gently pushed his arm. “Time to wake up.”

“Zal, that tickles!” His eyes shot open, his pupils dilating before fixing on me. “Oh—uh, Queenie. Hi.”

“Hi. You fell asleep in my room. I think it was all that wine you swore to Alixe you didn’t drink.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh.” I grinned. “You were talking in your sleep.” My grin spread further. “About Zalaric.”

His smile twisted into a scowl. “Must have been a nightmare.”

“Mmhmm.” He sat up, and I perched beside him. “Taran, did something happen between you two yesterday?”

He sighed heavily and scraped a hand down his face. “After you went to the inn, he introduced Alixe to a weaponsmaster he knew. She wanted to learn some technique from the guy, so Zal and I wandered off for a while, and we, uh... talked. Once he stopped making fun of me, he turned out to be a pretty good guy.” He grunted. “Or so I thought.”

“He is a good guy. Zalaric didn’t want to betray us, Taran. He didn’t really have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he snapped. “You sound just like Aemonn.”

I flinched. Coming from Taran, that was a deep blow. I wasn’t sure there was anyone he hated more.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean that.” He hunched forward, forearms on his knees. “I guess you’ve heard the rumors about our father.”

I nodded. Eleanor once told me Taran’s father had been suspected of violently abusing his sons, but after their healing abilities manifested, no one knew for sure.

Taran’s voice got quiet. “I used to beg Aemonn to protect me. He was older, he could heal. And he had his magic.” Taran’s knuckles blanched. “But he never would. He said we had to be tough, show Father we could take it. He said we didn’t have a choice. That’s bullshit—he had a choice. He just chose Father.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Taran. You should have had someone to look out for you.”

He shrugged, though he laid his head against mine. “Luther did. He’s my real brother, in all the ways that matter.”

My chest warmed with a swell of emotion. Of course Luther had protected Taran. He protected everyone—that was who he was.

“Can I say something you don’t want to hear?” I asked gently.

“Let me guess—you’re going to say ‘Zalaric isn’t Aemonn, and you shouldn’t hold your issues with your brother against him’?”

“Well, I wasn’t, but now that you mention it...” He groaned, and I nudged him until he looked at me. “Aemonn was a victim, too. And he was a child, just like you.”

“But he grew up,” Taran shot back. “After everything we went through, he became Father’s pet, like it never happened.”

“I worked with patients in similar situations. Children hurt by parents, wives hurt by husbands. Sometimes their reactions didn’t make sense to me. Sometimes it even made me angry. Wounds take many forms, and not all of them are physical. Healing from a trauma like that can be...” I sighed sadly. “...complicated.”

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