Page 282 of Heat of the Everflame

Luther stared, face still ashen from the terror of nearly watching me die. He let my mother fall from his grip, and when she climbed to her feet, she took in the scene with equal surprise.

“The guards might have heard him,” I said. “We need to go. I’ll have to hope my magic can burn through all the bloodlocks.”

“Do you have enough left?” Luther asked. “You’ve used so much already.”

I frowned, unsure how to answer. The only time I’d ever exhausted my godhood was the day my father was killed. At the time, I hadn’t exactly been noting my body’s subtle magical signals.

I did feelsomething, though. A hot kind of pressure over my temples, like the beginnings of a brutal headache.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Let’s go.”

My mother planted her feet. “What about the mortals? I’m not leaving here without them.”

I sighed heavily. “Mother, I understand, I really do, but—”

Something brushed against my ankle. I jerked back with a yelp, then looked down to see the King’s hand stretching toward me. The lake of ruby red around his body confirmed my aim for his artery had hit its mark. His slow, vacant blink and his tormented stare sent a chill of dread slithering over my skin.

“You,” he croaked out hoarsely. “You’re...”

“Leaving,” I finished. My focus returned to my mother. “I’m not even sure the three of us can—”

“Daughter of the Forgotten.”

My blood turned to ice.

The King’s voice had... changed.

There was nothing wounded in it, no dying rattle of a final breath.

In fact, he sounded strong. Impossibly strong.

Impossibly powerful.

And impossiblyancient.

My godhood responded to its call like a reunion with a long-lost friend. It brushed excitedly against my skin and hummed with an eerie anticipation, as if straining for some long-sought prize it deeply craved.

The King’s skin began to glow. The scarlet of his irises faded to a churning smoky grey.

“Never before have I made this choice,” his voice boomed throughout the hall. “It was not an easy one for me. Nor will it be an easy one for you.”

I sucked in a breath as the pressure on my head sharply increased. My senses felt heightened and overtaxed, every sound too loud, every smell too noxious. The stifling air became a sea of liquid fire that my gasping lungs couldn’t quite draw in.

“What choice?” I gritted out.

Thevoiceof my godhood answered back. It screamed and shouted, whispered and sang, all at once and in a language I wasn’t sure I even knew.

The King’s skin had grown almost too blinding to gaze upon. I stared down at my own hands, both alight with equal, star-bright brilliance.

“Guard my people well,” the King said.

“Blessed Kindred,” Luther murmured. “I think that’s—”

My legs trembled and gave way. I fell forward, the stone blissfully cold against my scorching skin. Luther rushed to grab me, but on some buried instinct, I raised my shield to keep him away.

The King’s back arched unnaturally toward the sky. “Remember my sister’s words.Beware my brother’s wrath.”

The pressure spiked, an excruciating pain inexplicably mixed with the sweetest pleasure. Light exploded in a wave around me, and I let loose a piercing scream.

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