Page 210 of Heat of the Everflame

I knew it, he’d said.You can wield all the Kindred’s magic.

He’d seen it in me before I’d seen it in myself. All the way back to Ignios, when he’d braved the flames engulfing me to get to my side, knowing they were mine—and knowing they would not hurt the man I loved.

And if he was right about me healing Lily, there was a chance I could heal him, too.

I poured my magic into him, hoping my godhood understood what I could not. It tingled through my palm and into his chest, cascading around him in an anxious search.

Itwantedto help him, in its own way and for its own reasons. Though it was weakened from how much I’d used during our long flight home, it pulsed with a shared urgency, as if it knew some essential part of us burned in him, and if it extinguished, so too might we.

As my magic pushed deeper, Luther’s godhood rose gratefully to meet it. Side-by-side, they hummed a cryptic harmony, locked in that same strange ethereal dance that had always drawn us closer for reasons unknown.

I felt the godstone in him, too. It was death given physical form, a ruinous substance that leeched the life from all it touched. It wove through bone, flesh, and tendon, and where it stretched, tissue withered and decayed. Luther’s blood seemed to flee from it, rushing to his wound and oozing out in a last, desperate attempt to escape the coffin his body had become.

My magic shuddered as I urged it closer. I briefly leapt with joy as I sensed his organs mending, but the damage returned as quickly as it healed. When I tried to fight the poison directly,my godhood hissed and recoiled as if burnt, and no amount of pleading could persuade it to hold on.

The true devastation came when I finally reached his heart. Tendrils of blackened death enclosed it in a shrinking cage. Miraculously, it was still strong, its flesh healthy and alive despite being surrounded by death. It thumped valiantly in defiance, determined to keep his promise to me tofight, but it was suffocating under the godstone’s unrelenting might, and my magic seemed powerless to help.

My hope guttered. If I didn’t find some way to relieve the pressure soon, even Luther’s warrior heart would fall.

I reluctantly withdrew my magic. I flinched as I felt Luther’s godhood cling to mine, begging us to stay. To save them both.

“Diem? I just heard the good news that you’re ba—oh. Is that...? Oh... Oh, no...”

Near the door, Eleanor’s hands were at her chest, her lovely face twisted in sorrow.

“It can’t be,” she whispered. “Nothim.”

“He’s going to be fine,” I rasped. My throat constricted as grief crowded every hollow place inside me. “A healer’s on the way. She’ll mend him.”

She eyed Luther’s poisoned body, her sapphire gaze heavy with disagreement. She walked over and sat down at my side, then folded my hand in hers.

“I’ll stay with you,” she said. “Until he’s... better.”

We said no more. Taran and Zalaric returned, then Zalaric helped me wash the blood from Luther’s skin while Taran and Eleanor embraced and murmured quietly in a corner.

I knew what they were discussing—the truths they were admitting. But I forced my eyes to divert, and I hummed to fill my ears. For now, I needed the lie.

After a while, they returned, and Eleanor nestled beside me while Taran sat at Luther’s side, hand resting on his friend’s arm. I continued my ministrations as the silence thickened.

At the sound of approaching wings, the four of us jumped to our feet.

“Diem!” Maura cried, sounding as relieved as she was panicked. She was flat on her stomach behind Alixe, where she clung to Sorae’s back with a green face and bone-white knuckles.

I eased her to the ground. She wobbled in my arms, gawking up at Sorae.

“I just flew,” she gasped. “To the palace. On agryvern. It didn’t even try to eat me! And you, you’re...” She seemed to catch her composure and straightened, her eyes scouring me tip to toe. “She said you were bleeding badly. Where is the wound?”

I frowned and glanced at Alixe, who cringed. “I told her you were the one injured. I thought it might give her more motivation to bring every treatment she could.”

Perhaps it was a terribly cruel lie, but I couldn’t have been more grateful to Alixe for it if I tried.

Maura scowled. “You’renotinjured?”

“No. It’s Luther, he’s...” My voice broke, and Maura’s anger softened.

“Show me,” she insisted.

Our years as healers had desensitized us both to all manner of gruesome injuries. We had become skilled at controlling our reactions, knowing patients and their families would watch with eagle eyes, judging their loved one’s fate from our expressions alone. On a normal day, even the most brutal of wounds could barely earn a raised eyebrow.

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