Page 185 of Heat of the Everflame

My hopes at an alliance crumbled to dust. Her words at dinner had lit an ember of hope in my soul that I might not lead this war alone—but now that ember had faded to dark, cold ash.

“Well, I don’t believe in fate.” I gritted my teeth. “Whatever you’ve seen—I can change it. Just tell me, give me a chance, and I’ll show you.”

She swished a hand. “You young new Crowns are always the same. So temperamental. Insist on making all your own mistakes.”

“Then why tell me anything at all? If the future’s set in stone, what good will it do?”

“Not everything is fated. You were destined to wear a Crown, and you’re destined to fight a war. Whether you win or lose remains to be seen.”

I scowled. As a mortal, my life had followed the narrowest of roads bordered by towering walls that left only the illusion of choice. When I became Queen, I’d naively believed those barriers had come tumbling down—that I might step off the paved path and forge a trail all my own.

But lately I felt like I’d only traded stone walls for gilded, bejeweled ones.

“For a bunch of dead people, the Kindred love meddling in our affairs,” I said under my breath, then immediately regretted it as she fixed me with a reproachful look.

“The Kindred are not dead, child.”

“I thought they died with their mortal lovers?”

“They bound their physical bodies so they could age and pass from this world together. But they did not die as you and I understand it. The afterlife is only for those with mortal blood in their veins—the mortals, the half-mortals, the Descended. The Kindred have no mortal blood. Their bodies perish, but they endure.”

“So they can’t ever die? They just... ‘endure’? Forever?”

“Oh, their kindcandie.”

“Then how?”

“Shockingly, the Blessed Father kept that detail all to himself,” she said wryly. “But it is an interesting question, isn’t it?”

She sipped her drink, then set her glass down and looked at me. “We have much to discuss tomorrow. It’s time you finally learn who you are and what you’re meant to do. But for now...” She reached across me to grab a trio of bottles by their necks, then tapped me on the nose. “I’m going to enjoy this evening like it’s my last.”

She winked one onyx eye at me, then turned and strode toward the fleshy pile of moaning, undulating Centenaries in the back of the room.

The sounds of their pleasure ignited my own smoldering desire. Thegaudensciumhad worked as advertised, leaving my blood heated and my core aching. But unlike Yrselle, the object of my longing could not be so easily fulfilled.

The reminder of it was more than I could take. I set off for the door. As I was exiting, I heard my name.

“Are you leaving?” Alixe asked, jogging toward me. “Perhaps I should escort you, just to be safe.”

“I’d prefer some time alone. I’ll be fine.” I glanced at the quickly growing orgy behind us. “I think the Centenaries have other things on their minds tonight.”

She rocked on her feet, seeming to hesitate. “I spoke with Luther today. He apologized. He told me he was proud of you for making me High General, and proud of me for earning the job, and...” Her cheeks flushed pink. “...well, he said many kind things. All is well between us now. I thought you’d want to know.”

My muscles eased from a tension I hadn’t even realized I’d been carrying. “That is a relief, Alixe. I’m happy to hear it.”

“There is something else, though...” She tucked her hair behind her ear, her forehead wrinkling. “I’ve been thinking on what you asked me—about Luther acting strange. Today at the bathhouse, it was as if he wasn’t really there. Not distracted, but as if a piece of him was somehow...gone.” She worried her lip. “I thought I’d seen him at his lowest when he failed to rescue you from the Guardians. Now, though...”

The somber gravity on her face rattled my nerves. “And you don’t know why?”

“He claimed he was only tired.” She gave me a hard look. “Luther Corbois does not gettired.And if he does, he certainly doesn’t let anyone see it. You were right—something is very, very wrong.”

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

By the time I reached my suite, I’d talked myself into barging into Luther’s room and insisting we talk—though whether I wanted to yell at him or beg his forgiveness, I still wasn’t sure.

But when I pressed my ear to his door and heard only silence, I forced myself to return to my quarters instead.

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