Page 177 of Heat of the Everflame

“New question,” Yrselle declared. “My palace is burning, and you can only save one other person.” She crossed her legs and lounged casually against the arm of her chair. “Who do you choose, Zalaric: Diem or me?”

The energy in the room shifted. The Centenaries hushed, their eyes volleying between Zalaric and their Queen. Even Symond had paused his vigilant taunting of Luther to watch.

This was exactly what I’d feared. I wiggled in my chair and quietly coughed, trying to catch Zalaric’s eye and cursing myself for not warning him sooner.

He reached for the bottle ofgaudenscium, then refilled his glass. “I have an answer, though it might get me killed to admit it.”

“Zalaric,” I started, “you really don’t—”

“Hush,” Yrselle snapped. “Let him answer.”

I winced. Still, Zalaric would not look my way. He took a long drink, then raised his chin. “I’m only saving myself. The rest of you are on your own.”

A tense silence hung in the air as we all awaited Yrselle’s response. Her expression stayed fixed in stone, unimpressed and unmoving.

Then, without warning—a cackle burst out of her. “Oh Zalaric, this is why I’ve always respected you. A man who knows his priorities.”

My shoulders relaxed as the other Centenaries joined her laughter. Zalaric finally looked at me, his expression mildly apologetic.

I grinned. “I respect it, too. I’d rather have your honesty than your loyalty.”

Luther visibly stiffened. I hadn’t intended it as a dig at him, but I sipped my drink with a small kick of satisfaction.

“Alixe,” Yrselle started, “who would you save, your Queen or—”

“My Queen,” she answered immediately.

“I didn’t finish the question.”

“It doesn’t matter what name you choose. My oath is to my Queen. I serve her above all others.”

I braced for Yrselle to declare it a lie. Alixe tensed, and I wondered if she feared the same.

Yrselle nodded. “She speaks the truth.”

Alixe let out a quiet exhale.

“Taran,” Yrselle said. “Your turn. Would you save your Queen or Luther, your closest friend?”

He groaned. “Too easy. I’d save Diem.”

I tossed him a teasing grin. “You’re only saying that so Alixe’s answer doesn’t make you look bad.”

“And he knows I’d kill him myself if he chose me,” Luther rumbled.

“No.” Taran thumped his glass down on the table, glowering through his drunken haze. “I swore an oath too, you know.” He gestured wobbily at us. “Just because I don’t argue about it all the time like the three of you doesn’t mean I don’t take it—” He hiccupped. “—seriously.”

“Truth,” Yrselle said, looking amused.

His face turned somber as he pointed at random to several Centenaries. “I mean it. If you try to hurt her, you’ll have to—” He hiccupped again. “—come through me first.”

“We’re positively terrified,” Symond droned, drawing a round of laughter.

“You should be,” I said coolly.

He bristled as I gave him an unimpressed once-over. Like most Centenaries, he was lean and soft-edged—a body accustomed to comfort, not combat.

“You all have been coddled in Umbros,” I went on. “No one dares challenge you for fear of angering your Queen. But war is coming, and your enemies are not all so afraid. When the fighting starts, you better pray to the Kindred you’ve got someone like Taran on the battlefield to save your pampered asses.”

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