Page 73 of Heat of the Everflame

The King laughed and looked around in search of another target for his carnage. His focus landed on our storage pen, his mouth curling into a smirk.

A jarring, high-pitched screech stole his attention. His gaze darted to his gryvern, his thick brows pulling inward. “Into the dunes? Are you certain?”

“Your Majesty,” a voice called out. From the streets of the city, the two women came jogging toward him. “We’ve searched the buildings. It doesn’t seem like anyone’s been here for years.”

“They must have been here recently. There’s fresh blood by the palm, and this is the only oasis for miles. Tybold thinks they fled.” He looked at the other woman. “How soon can our riders get here?”

“If we return now to give the order, they’ll arrive midday tomorrow,” she answered.

“Let’s do a final scout by air,” the other woman suggested. “We’ll have the guards start combing the dunes when they arrive.”

“I want her found,” the King snarled. Both women gave stiff nods and saluted.

They stalked to the gryvern and loaded onto its saddle. The King slammed his fist into the side of its neck. “Fly,” he barked.

The gryvern’s amber gaze lingered on me one last time. Then, with a few galloping steps, Tybold was airborne, and the King of Ignios was gone.

I barely lasted until the wingbeats had faded before I threw off the pen’s cover and bolted for the city.

“Diem, we should wait,” Alixe called, chasing behind me. She could no more have stopped me than halted the setting sun.

“Luther,” I screamed, my feet slamming into the hard-packed sand of the town’s roads. “Taran!”

Alixe followed, nervously scanning the sky. “I’ll take the other streets,” she offered, then sprinted in the other direction.

“Luther, Taran—where are you?” I yelled. I stopped at every unburnt building, throwing open every door. Again and again,I found empty rooms and the unanswered echo of my voice against the clay.

Columns of black smoke rose from the remains of the Ignios King’s fiery attacks. My legs carried me toward them against my will.What if...?

When I got to the first of them, I stood in the threshold, staring blankly at the carnage. An army of tiny flames was scattered among the bits of still-burning debris. The Ignios fire had worked quickly, invading and destroying with savage precision, driven by the rage of its hateful commander.

I shuffled forward and scoured the blackened remains.What if...?

Movement in the corner caught my attention as the burnt husk of a large wooden wardrobe collapsed inward, sending a flurry of glowing embers floating into the air and something metal clattering to the floor, When I dug the toe of my boot into the pile that remained, a curved blade protruded from the ashes.

A scimitar, just like the one Luther had been carrying, inside a wardrobe—a perfect place to hide.

The world stopped turning.

The distant sound of Alixe calling my name grew louder as my trembling hand stretched toward the blade. Had it been his? Had it beenhim?

“Diem,” Alixe hissed, skidding to a stop behind me. “What are you doing in here?”

“Alixe,” I croaked. “I think...”

“Come with me,” she interrupted. She jerked her head for me to follow, then took off running. I stood in a stupor for a moment, then slowly followed behind her.

She disappeared through the door of a large house on the outermost street. When I got there, a rug in the center of the room had been shoved aside to reveal a wooden trapdoor laying ajar. As I crept around its edge, I saw a staircase leading downinto a shadowy abyss—and Taran, his arm slung around Luther’s shoulder, slowly climbing their way back into the light.

“We found this cellar just in time,” Luther said, helping Taran into a nearby chair. “A few more seconds and they—”

He grunted loudly as I hurled myself into his side and wrapped my arms around him, burying my face against his chest.

He hunched forward, then slid his hands to my shoulders and gently pried us apart. “What happened? Did the King see you?”

I gazed up at him, my throat too tight to answer, and soaked in every line and curve of his face. His features were strained and creased with worry, but so perfectly, gloriouslyalive.

He grazed the tips of his fingers along my cheek, and I leaned into his palm, letting his touch ground me. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

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