Page 135 of Heat of the Everflame

I scanned the pages with genuine interest. We had nothing like this in Lumnos—at least not in Mortal City. The only news we got came from tavern gossip or mortal travelers passing through on the Ring Road.

Most of the newspaper highlighted local news—marriages, babies, and the like. It was unexpectedly quaint, given Umbros’s depraved reputation. Among all the sin and excess, thousands of refugees who had fled their own realms had built a thriving community here all their own.

What really caught my eye, though, were the images scattered among the printed stories. They were lifelike and vivid, seeming almost lit from within. They shimmered with hints of movement—hair blowing in the wind, eyes crinkling with a smile. It was a novel trick of magic, perhaps from a Lumnos illusion or one of Sophos’s innovations.

There were stories from elsewhere in the realm, including one on my coronation-gone-wrong. I was shocked to see an acknowledgment that the rebels had taken Coeurîle, especially since the Crowns had formally denied it.

“Do you think the Umbros Queen has seen this?” I asked incredulously.

“I’m not sure—but there’s something more important.” He pointed to a story on rebel attacks in the northern realms. Apparently, the Emarion Army had deployed a battalion ofeighty Descended soldiers to Montios—and every last one had disappeared without a trace.

“Gods, an entire battalion? I didn’t realize the Guardians were that strong.”

“They’re not. But someone helping them is.” He reached over to turn the page for me, and my heart jumped into my throat.

Staring back was a face I’d never forget. Striking features, colorless and pale. Silvery, glittering skin. A brilliant glow radiating around him, illuminating a horde of armed mortals at his back.

“It’s the man from our vision,” I breathed. “The one who called me—”

“Daughter of the Forgotten,” he finished. “The same one who asked you to help him kill all the Descended.”

I stared into the man’s eyes. A shiver rippled along my spine and seemed to burrow straight down into my bones. It was like he was watching me somehow, seeing me from a continent away.

Like he knew me.

Like he was waiting for me.

The vision I’d had the day of the Challenging flashed through my mind. The battlefield. The dead bodies. The sword in my hand, and Luther at my side.

The man offering me his hand as I was torn apart by a desperate need tofightand a senseless urge tosurrender.

I slammed the paper closed and shoved it to the side. My heart was thundering, my godhood reeling. “He’s real. And he’s here in Emarion.”

“And helping the Guardians,” Luther said.

“I should be happy to see Descended and mortals working together... but this doesn’t feel like a good thing, does it?”

When I met Luther’s gaze, his eyes were dark with shadows.

“No. It doesn’t.”

Chapter

Thirty

As a continent surrounded by water both inside and out, Emarion’s ports were crucial to its existence. Though each realm had its own, there were only three of significance.

The port in Fortos, while large, was controlled by the Emarion Army. Its tightly regulated activity dealt mainly in weapons and soldiers.

The port in Meros, Realm of Sea and Sky, was the primary port for all nine realms. Ships carrying passengers and cargo alike moved in and out around the clock, a highly organized dance carried out under the always-shining Meros sun, thanks to its Descended’s ability to manipulate the weather through their wind and water magic.

The port of Umbros, however, was its close rival. Though located nearby, Umbros offered something Meros would not: a blind eye for all those willing to share their profits—and their secrets—with its Queen.

No one really knew what passed through its dark docks, because unlike in Meros and Fortos, every ship in Umbros was off the books. Boats wove their way through a tangle of underground passages, stopping in solitary caves to be loadedand unloaded under the cloak of darkness, often with a cadre of paid mercenaries to keep prying eyes and ears at bay.

Only the Centenaries knew the true scale of their port, and they weren’t talking—at least not to anyone but their Queen.

“There are Centenaries stationed at all the places where the canals open up to the Sacred Sea,” Zalaric explained as he led us through the tunnels, draped in an illusion to hide us from sight. “They scan the minds of everyone on board to ensure all tariffs have been paid. Many have tried to outwit them, but no one’s ever succeeded.”

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