Page 354 of Heat of the Everflame

I looked back—and my heart stopped. Among the debris, a Sophos guard lay sprawled and bleeding on the ground. Red liquid gurgled from his lips, his pale pink eyes pleading for help. His shirt had been shredded down the center, where a ten-pointed star had been carved around a gory, jagged wound.

On reflex, I unloaded my healing magic into his skin. Blissfully, miraculously, there was no trace of godstone toxin in his blood. The guard breathed out a moan as his wound stitched closed and the star vanished from his chest.

“You... youhealedme,” he rasped.

I didn’t answer. I flung a shot of wind to push back a mortal stalking toward us, then helped the guard sit up. “I’ll help you find a place to hide.”

“I can keep fighting,” he insisted. He shoved my hand away and fumbled weakly for his weapon.

I hesitated with a grimace. The healer in me knew he should rest, but the hard truth was we needed every person we could get. I reached out a hand. “Come on, then. Let’s fight.”

I pretended not to notice his wobbly stance as I gazed out and spotted bodies littering the ground.

“Cover my back,” I ordered.

Together, we darted through the street, crouching beside each fallen guard. I no longer bothered to conceal the truth of my magic as it flew from my palms in all directions, healing with one hand and hurling defensive attacks with the other. My heart stuttered as I found guards with godstone poison already takenroot, then shattered completely with others for whom my help had come too late.

The brawl fell still at a frantic howl that dragged our focus to the sky, where Doriel had been knocked from Vexes’s back and was plummeting toward the ground. Even with a pillow of wind I conjured to slow their fall, they were dropping faster than their gryvern could reach them—and faster than they could survive. All we could do was watch in horror as Doriel soared toward certain death.

A black and red blur sliced across the skyline.

My heart leapt as Doriel disappeared—then it turned to ice at their ear-splitting scream. They were caged withed in the talon of Ophiucae’s gryvern, the creature’s sharpened claw piercing through their gut.

“Diem!” Stuart’s distant voice called out. “I’ve got the weap—”

He skidded to a stop at the sight of his Crown dangling, bleeding and helpless. “Doriel,” he choked.

“Doriel will be fine,” I lied, sprinting toward him. “What did you find?”

His trembling hands offered up a gilded, ancient-looking scabbard, while the guards with him held an armful of sheathed blades, a spear, and a quiver of black-tipped arrows.

I cringed—it wasn’t enough to arm even half of our group.

“Luther?” I shouted, my heart hesitating to beat until his voice answered back. I spotted him nearby, crafting a thick, shadowy cloud around a horde of mortal men. They swung their blades in aimless arcs, slicing through each other’s shields and unwittingly wounding their own as they bungled blindly in the dark.

I grabbed the scabbard, jerking as a strange pulse of energy shot through me the moment it touched my skin. I waved it at Luther. “Here, take this.”

He shook his head. “You keep it. Give the rest to the guards.”

I scowled. “Luther.”

Amusement twinkled in his eyes. “Have faith, my Queen. I’ve got my eyes on a different blade.”

He set off down the road, where a preening Vance was strolling through the bedlam. In his hand, a familiar bejeweled handle sparkled in the light, a jarring flash of beauty among the violence and blood.

The Sword of Corbois.

I didn’t even like the damn thing, but the sight of it in Vance’s grip sent an inferno raging through my veins. That blade belonged to Luther—and Luther belonged to me.

“You three,” I barked at Stuart’s guards, “get these weapons to whoever needs them. Stuart, find me two Descended, one from Meros and one from Faunos. Brave ones.” I kept the scabbard and handed my smaller blade to him. “I don’t think they’ll hurt you, but keep your distance.”

His brow wrinkled with questions that, wisely, he didn’t stop to ask. He nodded and set off running.

“Dragonfyre,” a guard screamed. “Take cover!”

Thick heat washed over me. Ophiucae and his gryvern tore in a low arc down the city center, Doriel still trapped in the creature’s grasp—a cruel torture to make them watch their city burn. Dragonfyre flooded from the beast’s open jaws, a fiery sea devouring the street in its blistering deluge.

My instincts forced my hand, casting a blanket of ice over every living being I could see. There was no time to separate friend from foe—and even if I could, I wasn’t confident Ophiucae wouldn’t broil his own men alive in order to win.

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