Page 191 of Heat of the Everflame

I looked over to see Zalaric sit up on Taran’s bed, his chest bare and his legs tangled in the sheets. Only then did I realize Taran was fully naked, save for a pillow he was clutching to his groin.

“When I left, she was with a group of Centenaries,” Zalaric said. “Things were getting very... well, let’s just say she wasn’t leaving any time soon. I’ll go get her.”

I hesitated. “Perhaps it’s best if you stay here.”

“I’m not going to betray you,” he swore. “Not again.” He looked at Taran, then back at me. “Let me make up for what I’ve done. I can be subtle—they won’t know anything’s amiss.”

I didn’t have much choice. If I went out there, they would see the despair on my face and know—

Gods, they already knew, didn’t they? They had seen it all in Luther’s mind. Symond’s taunting, his cruelty—he’d been toying with a dying man.

And the Queen... she knew he needed help, yet she’d forced me to stay here, forced him to play the part of pampered guest. She told Luther her concerns were ‘more important.’

The fury that swelled inside me was volcanic.

No, I couldn’t fetch Alixe myself. I’d end up leaving a bloodbath in my wake.

“Go,” I ordered. “Be careful, but hurry.”

He nodded, and I turned for the hall.

“Diem, what’s going on?” Taran called out. “Is Luther alright?”

My lips trembled. I shook my head as fresh tears welled, and Taran’s face went ashen. His jaw set in silent acknowledgement.

I ran back to Luther’s room. He had slumped all the way to the stone floor, his head turned at an awkward angle.

Eyes closed. Chest still.

I staggered toward him, hands clamped over my mouth.

No. Please, no, anything but this.

I buckled beside him, teardrops splashing over his chest. Losing my mother had set me adrift. Losing my father had drowned me alive. Losing Luther... that would drag me so deep, I might never find the surface again.

He stirred, one hand reaching to stroke my arm. A half-destroyed, half-relieved sob cracked out of me. “I thought... I thought you’d...”

“Not yet,” he murmured.

Not yet.

I eased him back up to sitting and fussed over him, propping up his back with cushions and covering him with a quilt I snatched from his bed.

“You’re going to be fine,” I repeated over and over, a mantra to ward off the hovering fate. “Wounds can look worse than they are. Maura will know what to do. And if she doesn’t, my mother will. I’ll go get her from Fortos.”

“I know you won’t listen, but you should stay,” he gritted out.

“You’re right—I’m not listening to that.”

“Get the answers you need from Yrselle, Diem. If you anger her, you may not get a second chance.”

“Fuckher answers.” I cupped my hands around his jaw. “You’re my answer. The only one I need.”

The bittersweet flicker of happiness in his eyes broke me in an unfixable way. I kissed him, slow and deep, tasting the warm salt of my sorrow on his lips. On my end, it was a plea—a desperate, frantic prayer for him to stay. On his, it was all sweetness, all affection—one last chance to bask in the glow of the woman he adored.

It felt too much like a goodbye.

I badly wanted to break it off, but his hand grazed so tenderly around my neck, his touch featherlight and loving. I couldn’t bear to do it, knowing I might never feel that again.

---