Page 393 of Heat of the Everflame

“He was torturing them,” I hurried on. “Denying them food and water, drugging them to keep them docile, beating them and warping their bones. He was going to kill my mother without the Crowns’ vote. And he was imprisoning children. I couldn’t let that continue.” My chin rose. “And I won’t apologize for it. If Fortos has lost its humanity, it doesn’t deserve our prisons.”

“If what you say is true, Fortos deserved his fate,” Meros said. “But there’s still the matter of your mother. She’s responsible for attacks that killed people in all of our realms—including yours. Surely you’re not asking us to forgivethat.”

“Not to forgive—to look forward. To choose peace over vengeance. The violence between the Crowns and the Guardians has gone on long enough. You’ve been trying to stop them by executing them or locking them away, but every Guardian you strike down inspires five more to rise in their place. The mortals are never going to stop fighting.Never. And they shouldn’t have to.”

I cast a hard look at each of them. “Everything has been taken from the mortals—their land, their homes, their books, their wealth. Half of you exile them, others crush them under high taxes and unfair laws, and the rest of you hide your eyes and convince yourself it’s not your problem to solve. But it is. How can we call ourselves caretakers of this continent if we’ve failed its native people? None of you—none ofus—are without fault. None of us have done enough.”

Arboros wrung her hands and spoke quietly. “But who’s to say the Guardians will look forward? Umbros gave them safe harbor, and they slaughtered her people. How do we know our realms won’t be next?”

Fear flashed in her eyes. She’d welcomed the Guardians even more than Umbros, and now her realm was filled with them. If the rebels were turning on their allies, she could be the most vulnerable of all.

“There is a powerful Descended man hiding in the Forgotten Lands of Montios,” I said. “He is responsible for these recent attacks, not the Guardians. He has a grudge against the Crowns from the Blood War, and a small group of mortals is helping him take his revenge. My mother is... familiar with him. If you pardon us, she will command the Guardians not to join him, and I’ll...” My throat tightened. “I’ll kill him myself.”

Doriel stepped forward. “Two days ago, this man attacked my realm. I felt his magic—he’s far stronger than any of us, perhaps even stronger than all of us combined. Without Diem, my citywould not have survived. She has my vote, and I encourage you all—” They shot a sidelong glance at Meros “—to vote in her favor, too.”

“Why do we need her?” Ignios asked. “If we know where he is, send in the army to get him.”

“Fortos already tried,” I said. “Every last soldier was killed. The army can’t defeat him.”

He sneered. “Butyoucan?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “Because he’s immune to magic, and so am I.”

A flutter of murmurs filled the dais.

“It’s true,” Doriel confirmed. “They aren’t just immune—they can absorb it. Attacking them only makes them stronger.”

“Iknewsomething was off about you,” Ignios sniped. “How is this possible?”

Doriel and I exchanged a glance. We’d agreed on the boat to keep the tenth Kindred to ourselves, but there was only so much we could hide.

“According to my research, it’s a rare magic that only a few Descended have,” Doriel answered carefully. “As far as we know, they’re the only two alive who can do it.”

“That’s why I may be the only one who can do it,” I said. “With his immunity, he’ll easily kill anyone who comes for him. But he can’t kill me.”

Not exactly the truth. Though I knew my magic couldn’t hurt him, he had yet to strike at me—and I had no idea what would happen if he ever did.

“This man may be the greatest threat to Emarion we’ve ever seen,” Doriel said. “He could make the Blood War look like a skirmish. Our problems with the Guardians have to wait. Wemustdefeat him first.”

No one spoke. As each Crown debated their vote, a pensive quiet draped the Temple, the only sound the crackling of thenine flaming cauldrons that rose above the arches lining the godstone dais.

My eyes drifted to the opening in the perimeter of portals—a gaping hole that pointed straight for the Forgotten Lands. ForOmnos. It was a wonder no one had guessed the truth before.

Then again, that’s how the Kindred had always worked, erasing names and destroying evidence, convincing the world to forget rather than answer for their crimes. They’d obliterated one of their own as ruthlessly as they had dispensed with the Old Gods, and now it fell to me to clean up the mess they’d left behind. No matter how much it chafed at me, thanks to the bonded bargain, there was no turning back.

My resentment simmered as I watched the Crowns ponder whether my patricide would earn me forgiveness—a forgiveness I never owed to them in the first place.

A forgivenesstheyowed tome, and to a hundred thousand mortals and half-mortals just like me.

And to Ophiucae.

Suddenly, I couldn’t help wondering if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.

The sun had not yet set, its fiery orb perched above the horizon, but the full moon had just emerged from her slumber. Pale and bright, my ever-present and never-useful guardian, her silvery eyes spied to see what trouble I’d find myself in next.

“Well?” Doriel prodded. “Lumnos has my vote. What say the rest of you?”

Meros let out a heavy sigh. “You’re sure of this, Doriel? You’re certain of your plan?”

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