Page 366 of Heat of the Everflame

“No,” Doriel answered, and this time, it wasn’t a lie.

As we finished walkingthe city, Luther and Doriel made a tentative peace over discussions of the battle and ways to fortify the realm in case of another attack.

I heard none of it, too adrift in my thoughts to be of any help. I could tell from their furtive looks that my uncharacteristic quiet was making them both uneasy, but neither prodded, nor did they slow when I dropped behind them, perhaps sensing I needed the space.

Omnos.

Omnos.

The name went around and around in my brain.

I’d never felt any reaction to the other Kindred’s names. Resentment, perhaps, fascination at best, but nothing likethis. This name felt like it owned me, like it was written on my flesh.It beckoned to the cold emptiness I’d felt in battle, goading it toward the surface.

My independent spirit itched to burn it off and free myself from whatever hold it had on me. But another side of me yearned to embrace it, to succumb completely and let the power of it swallow me whole.

And though that instinct terrified me, I couldn’t stop wondering what might happen if I did.

“Diem?” a voice called out.

I looked up in surprise to see Stuart walking toward us. I shook my head to clear away my stormy thoughts.

“I never got a chance to thank you for what you did during the battle,” I said to him. “Without your help, I’m not sure we would have survived.”

He beamed so bright, he nearly glowed. “It was an honor to watch you fight. You were so brave, and so strong, and so skilled, and so... so...” His voice went breathy as he leaned in close. “So beautiful.”

“And so already spoken for,” Luther clipped. He might as well have been invisible—Stuart’s lovestruck gaze didn’t budge. Luther growled and swung an arm possessively over my shoulders. “Byme. Her Prince.”

I shrugged Luther’s arm off—earning his deep, unhappy grumble—and leaned forward to set a kiss on the boy’s cheek. “Thank you, Stuart. You’re very handsome yourself.”

Poor Stuart looked like he might pass out—and so did Luther. I wasn’t sure which of them was more eager to snatch me up and run away.

“Stuart can take that sword back to the archives,” Doriel offered, gesturing to my hand.

I looked down at the godstone broadsword. I hadn’t let go of its humming golden hilt since I’d realized it was the same one from my visions.

“Her Majesty should keep it for now,” Luther insisted. “She’ll need it if Ophiucae comes back.”

Doriel looked ill at the mere suggestion. “We’ll find her a replacement. His mortals left several godstone blades behind.”

“None that are worthy of her.”

Doriel sniffed. “That sword is one of our most important artifacts from the Kindred’s era. It’s a priceless relic. It belongs in a museum.”

“It belongs in my Queen’s hand. Swords are meant to be used, not—”

“It’s fine,” I blurted out.

My heart sank. Though I could feel in the deepest parts of my soul that I was meant to wield this sword, I couldn’t risk angering Doriel before my coronation. I’d have to find my way back to the sword another day.

I slid it into the scabbard and offered it up. As Stuart reached for it, my grip tightened on instinct. I had to clench my jaw and force each finger to uncurl before he was able to tug it away.

“I gathered everyone with godstone wounds, like you asked,” Stuart said. “And the herbs and supplies you requested, too.”

“You really think you can heal them?” Doriel asked. “We’ve been searching for a cure to godstone since the Kindred were alive.”

“Not all of them,” I admitted. “But I’ve seen my poultice work before, so it’s worth a shot to try.”

I didn’t mention the cure-all potion from Arboros. I wanted to confront the Arboros Queen about it when I saw her at the ritual in two days, and the slow-moving toxin wouldn’t turn lethal before then.

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