Page 352 of Heat of the Everflame

The streets erupted into chaos as the beasts began to buck. Men went flying through glass windows and into stone walls, others tangling in their reins, fighting to stay mounted.

“Was that...Faunosmagic?” a guard asked.

I winced at my slip. “Focus. We need to find a way to stall for time.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” someone shouted. “All most of us have is our magic. They have godstone. If we can’t get through their shields, they can strike us, but we can’t strike them.”

I stole a glance at Luther, his expression grim. The fact that neither of us was demanding the other get to safety showed what we both knew—we were this realm’s best, and maybe only, hope.

“They use godstone weapons for testing in the laboratories,” Stuart called out, emerging from the crowd. “There’s some in the archives, too. They’re locked away, but I have access.”

“Stuart, it’s not safe for a mortal,” I warned him. “You need to take shelter.”

He shook his head. “This is my home. If it’s in danger, I want to help protect it.”

“The godstone blades in the archives belonged to the Kindred,” a guard protested. “We can’t use them. They’re pieces of history.”

“We will be too, if we can’t fight back.” I pointed at a clump of guards. “You three—go with Stuart. Get anything useful you can find.”

Stuart beamed proudly and took off running, the guards following behind.

I turned to the group. “Those of you who have weapons, you’re with me. The rest of you, get everyone inside and barricade the doors.”

The guards split off, a painfully small cadre remaining behind to fight. With quivering hands and green-faced stares, they fell into an arc behind Luther as we marched into the heart of the city.

I’d never felt closer to my father than I did in this moment. He’d led countless battalions into clashes with odds more dismal than these. It had fallen to him, as it now did to me, to find the words that would spark a fire to fuel their will to fight.

And if I chose the wrong ones, they might be the last words these guards ever heard.

“Be smart,” I yelled out, recalling my father’s lessons. “Remember, the weapon in your head is more important than the weapon in your hands. Outwit them, outfight them, outrun them—but above all,outlivethem.” I glared over my shoulder. “And stay the hell away from those black blades.”

A chorus of grunts and thumping fists rose up in answer.

I looked at Luther. “Got it, Prince?”

His eyes cut to me, clouded with shadows, his thoughts already deep in the throes of war.

It was its own kind of weapon, that striking face of his, all pointed edges and hard, unyielding steel. He was glittering poison in a silken pouch—exquisite to behold, but lethal to endure. There was no sign of my sweet would-be goatherd who kissed my forehead and held me in the dark. This was the vicious beast who would kill for me.

Die for me.

“Understand?” I snapped again.

“Yes, my Queen.” He glared at me. “Doyou?”

I turned my focus to the street ahead, where the mortal attackers had abandoned their attempts to tame their horses and were prowling toward us in a wide, menacing line.

“Today is not our day to die, my Prince.” I pulled my blade and pointed its tip at the one-armed man at the center. “I can’t say the same for him.”

“Vance is mine,” Luther growled.

“Not if I get to him first.”

“Is that achallenge?” His eyes gleamed with the same competitive hunger I’d seen in him that night in the Forgotten Lands forest. Though we both now craved a different kind of flesh, it set my heart pounding to the same exhilarating tune.

The sound of laughter hooked my gaze to the left. A group of oblivious teenagers had turned the corner, dumping them smack in the center of the melee. They froze, eyes going wide.

“Get them,” Vance barked at his men. “Kill every Descended you see!”

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