Page 64 of Heat of the Everflame

“Are there any more?” I asked, looking up at Luther.

He stared at me with a pale, shellshocked expression. He didn’t answer. From the empty glaze of his eyes, I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me.

I leaned over and laid my palm on Luther’s cheek. He seemed startled for a moment, then he pressed his hand against mine, clutching it with icy fingers that gripped mine like a lifeline.

My heart ached at seeing him so unraveled. His leaden features betrayed a loss he was already beginning to grieve.

“Just the two,” Taran huffed. “Can’t believe I got taken out by a bunch of mortals. It’s a good thing I’m dying, I’d never live this down at home.”

No one laughed.

Luther’s eyelids squeezed shut. Alixe looked away, blinking rapidly as the moonlight gleamed off the wetness in her eyes.

I stared at Taran’s injuries. The gravity of what he faced was overwhelming. The heft of it crushed me down, threatening to drag me back into the gloom of sorrow.

But before I was a prisoner of war or a Queen, I was a healer—and a damn good one. I did not fear wounds or sickness, I saw them as a puzzle to be solved. I might never have the courage to take lives, but I could save them.

At the very least, I could fight for them.

I took a deep breath, packing my panic and terror and heartbreak into a tiny box for another day, then shot Taran an irritated look.

“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re not dying.”

He blinked at me. “I’m not?”

“Of course not.” I ripped off the hem of my tunic and folded it into two squares, then pressed one to the cut on his rib. “I was just telling Alixe these small cuts usually heal on their own.”

“They do?” Luther asked.

I couldn’t risk looking at him and letting his grief crack my facade, so I put him to work instead. I grabbed his hand and laid it on the makeshift bandage. “Here, hold this in place. Firm pressure, but not too much. Alixe, take the one at his shoulder.”

They shuffled closer to Taran to follow my instructions. I made small adjustments until I was satisfied, then I leaned over and plucked a dagger from one of Alixe’s many sheaths. I pulled my tunic off completely and set about cutting it into a pile of long strips.

“Do you need more?” Alixe asked. “You can take mine, too.”

“Or my coat,” Luther added.

“No, those fancy Descended fabrics will irritate the wound. The linen is better.” I grinned at Taran. “You know, if you wanted to get me topless, there were far easier ways to go about it.” I winked. “Just ask Luther.”

Taran winced through his laughter. “I would, but I don’t want another blade in my side.”

I risked a smile up at Luther. His vacant gaze was trained on Taran’s wound.

“Look,” Taran said, jerking his chin toward the forest.

At the edge of the woods, one of the mortal men had begun to shuffle forward beyond the tree line. He was walking haltingly, pausing after each step, his hands quivering at his side.

“Are they scared of the border?” I asked.

“If not, they should be,” Taran muttered.

The man’s progress made him braver. He took larger steps, his back straightening. He scowled up at the three of us and raised a finger. “You can’t run from us forever, Descended sc—”

His voice turned to screams as a fire exploded at his feet, engulfing his body and consuming him in an instant. He fell to his knees, then collapsed forward with a guttural moan. Seconds later, the flames died to a flicker and extinguished. Where once there’d been a man, there was now only a charred, motionless husk.

“Fucking Ignios,” Taran said. “I’d heard the rumors, but I didn’t think it was true.”

“What the hell was that?” I gasped.

---