Page 46 of Heat of the Everflame

“Why do you look so happy?” I teased. “Did Taran agree to cuddle with you all night to keep you warm?”

“He is my cousin, you know.”

“Since when has that stopped a Corbois?”

He grunted and pushed off the tree, reaching for me. “I’m happy because you’re safe, and I’m at your side, and—” He stopped abruptly as his fingers curled around mine. His smile vanished. “Why are your hands so cold?”

“Well, itiswinter.”

“You’re a block of ice.” His tone had gone short and displeased. He reached up and brushed a thumb across my mouth. “Your lips are blue.”

“You’re fussing.”

“You’refreezing.”

“I’m f-fine.” I cringed as my chattering teeth gave me away. His fingertips grazed my throat and an intense shiver rocked through my body. It was as much from the effect of his touch as the cold, but it was too late to argue.

His eyes turned dark. “Get out of those wet clothes,” he barked, reaching for the clasp of my cloak and yanking it from my shoulders. “We’ll hang them to dry for tomorrow.”

“I have no others to wear,” I protested. “I can’t—”

My voice hitched as I looked down at myself. My tunic was soaked—not just in seawater, but in dark crimson blood.

The blood of the man I’d slain at the camp.

Mortalblood.

In the chaos of fleeing, I’d blocked it out, forced myself to ignore what I’d done. Now, the evidence was inescapable.

The breath rushed out of me, then came back in short, panicked gulps. I threw off Taran’s baldric and tried wiping theblood away, scrubbing my hands against the thin linen fabric, the scarlet stain spreading further onto my skin.

Blood on my hands,I thought, staring in horror at my trembling palms.Corpses at my feet.

“He was a m-mortal,” I rasped out, my voice hoarse. “He was just trying to protect his people...mypeople...”

“It was an accident,” Luther said gently. “You were only trying to stop his attack.”

“I swore to use this Crown to protect them, and then Ikilledthem.”

He reached for me and I flinched away, feeling unworthy of his touch. I clutched my hands to my chest and squeezed my eyes closed, unable to bear the kindness on his face.

“You did everything you could. More of them might be dead if not for you.”

“None of them would be dead if not for me,” I shouted. My voice reverberated through the forest, hanging among the swaying branches. “Sorae killed some of them, too, and disfigured gods only know how many more—all because ofme, Luther!”

“Look at me.”

I staggered back. “Who even knows how many might have been hurt by the bombs, or burned by the fires, or—”

“Diem,” he growled. “Look at me.”

I forced my eyes open. Luther stood in front of me, his hands hovering a few inches from my face.

“May I touch you?”

His expression was calm, his voice steady—no longer gentle, but not harsh, either. My mountain in the windstorm, my island in a turbulent sea. I didn’t answer, and he waited patiently, not moving any closer.

“Let me touch you,” he urged again, quieter.

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