Page 23 of Heat of the Everflame

Last I could remember, I was in the clearing, fighting Vance as he tried to steal my blood. Then Sorae had arrived with Luther and fighting had broken out, and then...

The ballista.

My heart began to pound in my ears.

“Did you kill them?” I whispered. “My gryvern and my...” I trailed off, still unable to find the words to describe what Luther had become to me.

“Eight of my people died. Another twenty have serious burns.” Disdain dripped from Cordellia’s voice. “I should keep the answer from you and let you suffer the way their families are suffering.”

“I begged you to stop that attack. And when you refused, I called off my gryvern and sent away the deadliest Descended in Emarion before he cut you all to shreds.” I rolled my head toward her with a harsh, bitter laugh. “Your people aren’t dead because of me, Cordellia. They’re dead because ofyou.”

One of her men rammed a foot into my ribs, knocking me off the log I was sprawled on and sending me tumbling face-first into the ground.

I groaned and clutched my side, sharp pain rocketing through me with every inhale. None of the Guardians made any effort to help me. Even Cordellia remained still as she watched me writhe in pain on the forest floor, arms crossed over her chest.

I flopped onto my back, hacking and wincing. “White asterberry,” I croaked out.

Cordellia cocked her head. “What?”

“Grind the stems into a paste and spread it on the burns.” I coughed again and swore at the burst of pain, then forced the rest out through clenched teeth. “Speeds healing and wards off infection. It’s a five-petaled flower with a purplish center. Usually grows on riverbanks.”

She said nothing at first, watching me with an unreadable look while I scowled back. Finally, she glanced at a clump of three Guardians and jerked her chin. “Go, but don’t give it to the wounded until I test it on myself first.”

They nodded and scurried off.

I looked her over. “You were burned in the attack?”

“No.” I arched a brow at her response, and she narrowed her eyes. “I’ll give myself a burn on the campfire and test it.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “You really distrust me that much?”

She didn’t answer.

With considerable effort and several grunts of pain, I pushed myself upright and gingerly leaned back against the log. Cordellia crouched at my side and held out a large flask. “Drink.”

I stared down at her hand, then glared back up at her, locking my jaw.

Cordellia sighed. “I guess we’ll do this the hard way.” She gestured for her people to grab me.

“No—stop,” I shouted, snatching the flask from her hands. “Fine. I’ll drink it.”

“All of it,” she ordered. “Spill even a drop, and I’ll have you held down again so fast your head will spin.”

I bit back a slew of snide comments and started to raise the flask to my lips, but my hands were shaking uncontrollably from a combination of my pitiful physical condition and my terror over Sorae and Luther’s fates. I genuinely wasn’t sure I could drink without making a mess of myself, and I wasn’t willing to bet that her threat had been an empty one.

I squeezed my fingers around the flask and willed them to steady, desperately trying to conceal just how weak I had become. The effort was futile—my head lolled, and my vision began to blur and darken as I fought to stay conscious.

The sounds of movement followed, and I felt the warmth of a body sit beside me. Cordellia plucked the flask from my quivering hands and raised it to my lips.

I was too mortified to look her in the eyes as I tilted my head back and took a long drink. She looked amused as my face twisted at the acrid taste. Even after ten years of daily doses, I had never quite grown used to the flameroot’s flavor, like drinking liquid ash.

She brought the flask up again, and I pressed my lips shut. She shot me a hard look. “Diem...”

“Did you kill them?”

Her expression gave away nothing, her face cold and unmoved.

My eyes began to burn with the spring of fresh tears, and I blinked furiously to fight them back. I could not allow these people the satisfaction of seeing me break.

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