Page 224 of Heat of the Everflame

I bolted upright, nearly knocking Eleanor off the bed in the process. The poisoned veins had receded from his head and limbs entirely. Their reach now barely touched the base of his ribs—and perhaps I was delusional in my shock, but I swore I could see themshrinking.

Even his wound was in far better shape. There was no more blood or poisonous ooze. The skin around it was a light, healing pink, and the beginnings of a scab had already begun to form.

I pressed my palms to his chest and let my magic rush into him. His godhood leapt to meet me immediately, its song trilling with elation. The cage around his heart had vanished, and the traces of toxin still inside him now seemed to cower from my reach. His ravaged organs mended where my magic soothed over them—but this time, the damage didn’t return.

Luther let out a quiet, contented grunt, then gave me a knowing look. “Fortos magic?”

All I could do was nod.

Pride gleamed in his eyes. “Careful with my scars. I’ve grown fond of them, thanks to you.”

I pulled back my magic before it reached his skin and leaned in close as I studied him. Color had returned to his cheeks, and the sunken hollows had faded from beneath his eyes. He looked healthy, happy,alive.

“Impossible,” I breathed.

His smile could have lit the realm. “Around you, ‘impossible’seems merely a suggestion.”

“Luther,” I choked out, my voice hushed for fear that a joy too loud might shatter this precious illusion. My arms trembled, and I collapsed against him, sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder.

He pulled me in and kissed my temple. “I couldn’t leave my Queen when she needed me.”

Lily clutched my hand, and we both dissolved into weepy, wailing messes. Luther’s chest bounced beneath us as he chuckled at our pitiful states, the sound of it filling me with a bliss I never thought I’d feel again.

“Holy sh—Lu? Are you...?” Taran sat up, gawking at Luther’s chest. “Lumnos’s tits, you’re alive.”

“Taran,” Luther scolded, though it lost its punch as his laughter grew louder.

Taran dove forward and tumbled on top of us. His arms spread wide around Lily and Eleanor and squeezed the four of us into a crushing embrace. Though Luther stifled a grunt from the pressure on his wound, he was beaming from ear to ear.

Around us, the others began to wake. Alixe grinned, tears shining on her cheeks. Zalaric rolled his eyes dramatically at Taran’s antics, though relief was evident on his delicate features. Teller sat forward, flashing me a tight half-smile before turning his focus to Lily, where his face warmed considerably.

Even Remis and Avana came to join us, their arms hooked on each other’s waists. Avana looked tired—simply ready for the ordeal to be over, I suspected—while Remis watched his son with a guarded expression.

Excited chatter continued around us, and I didn’t hear a word of it. I kept my face buried in his neck and let the world around us fall away. I needed to feel his skin, hear his heartbeat, smell the cedar musk of his scent. I needed to be convinced this was real and not a cruel hallucination that might end at any moment.

While Luther did his best to join in the conversation, I could tell he needed the same. I felt it in the way his face stayed turned to mine, his soft sigh each time he breathed me in. The way his hand roamed over my back, always gripping, always pressing harder, my body never close enough.

“I’m here,” he murmured in my ear. “I’m alive.”

It felt as much like a question as a declaration, so I laid my palm over his heart and nodded.

He threw his head back and gazed at the ceiling. “Thank you, Blessed Mother. You have given me yet another gift. I will not waste it.”

I tensed at his reverence, remembering what happened in his chambers. He noticed and gave me a questioning glance that I pretended not to see.

I forced myself to sit up and gently pushed at Taran’s shoulder. “You’re crushing my patient.”

With obvious reluctance, Taran shifted to the end of the bed. He brushed the back of his hand over his cheeks and cleared his throat, trying—badly—to pretend he hadn’t been messily weeping.

“What happened?” he asked me. “When we came back, we thought it was the end.”

“So did I,” I admitted.

“The vial you gave him,” Remis said, “I remember now—it was the Arboros gift from your ball?” I nodded, and his eyes darkened. “You were right. Their Queen has been keeping a cure to herself.”

“That’s what healed me?” Luther asked.

I stared down at my hand, still crusted with a glove of dried blood. The gash I’d cut on my palm was nearly healed, only visible by a shiny pink line. A faint pressure seemed to tingle around my wrist, though I was so overwhelmed, I might only have imagined it.

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