I awoke to a cold, empty room.
Hours earlier, I’d left Henri and Brecke in the tavern downstairs,
content to let them drink and banter while I enjoyed the solitude of a hot bath, but the more I’d soaked alone in the steaming water, the more my mind had flooded with the many demons nipping at my heels.
My missing mother. The agreement between her and Prince Luther.
Teller’s schooling. The wolf in the woods. The flameroot powder.
Each question was a stone slab in an wall surrounding me on all sides, thick and ivy-coated like the one I’d seen encircling the palace gardens, a beautiful but impenetrable cage. My mind hurled itself at the barrier, clawing for answers, but my pathetic mortal fists only scraped and bled as the wall inched closer and closer, squeezing at my soul.
In retrospect, solitude might not have been such a good idea.
After only a few minutes, I’d scrubbed hastily at my skin and hair before scurrying back to the room and collapsing into the scratchy cotton sheets, grateful to succumb to the refuge of sleep.
But now I was wide awake, and the empty expanse of bed beside me was cold and still neatly made. Henri had not yet come back.
A peek through the window at the moon hanging low in the sky told me dawn was nearing. Worry crept up the nape of my neck, forcing me out of bed and back into my clothing and blades.
As I wandered through the dim hallway and down the stairs to the tavern, worn hardwood planks creaked under my footsteps, slicing through the heavy silence. The air was thick with the scent of stale ale and damp wood, but there was no lively chatter from the patrons, no clink of glasses
and dishware. Like the mottled brass sconces lining the walls, the vibrant signs of life that had illuminated the room hours before had all been extinguished for the night.
A hiss of whispers lured me deeper into the dining room. Around the corner, a group of eight men crowded around a wobbly, rough-hewn table, a single candle at the center casting ghoulish shadows that waltzed along the oak-paneled walls. Their shoulders hunched forward, expressions excited but earnest, as they murmured in low voices.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted the dimpled jawline and disheveled hair of Henri’s profile seated beside Brecke. The grin that had earlier seemed permanently stamped on Brecke’s face was gone, replaced by knitted brows and a hand rubbing unhappily at his beard.
One of the men slammed his fist into the table, and I flattened against the wall. As emotions and voices grew hot, fleeting words and stunted phrases made their way through the room.
“…we cannot allow ”
“…send word to the others. ”
“…gathering forces. ”
“…almost time. ”
“…war ”
The last word struck like a viper, fangs sinking into my skin.
War.
What war? Emarion had been at peace for my lifetime. If there were threats from abroad, surely my father would have mentioned something.
Or perhaps, with Mother missing, he would have kept any troubling news to himself to spare us from further worry. Just as Teller and I had been keeping our problems from him—and each other.
Anxiety tightened around my neck. As a mortal, Teller was now considered an adult by law. If there was a war, he would be drafted to fight.
And so would Henri.
And so, too, might my father. Despite his retirement, his expertise would be invaluable, and the loyalty he commanded among the mortal forces was unmatched.
And I would be left behind. Alone—unless I abandoned Lumnos to join the army, too. Unless I traded in my life as a healer to pick up a weapon and fight.
Fight, the voice inside me echoed.
A tingling sensation coated my skin, and the world around me went dark as a hazy image shimmered in my mind’s eye.
I was standing on a battlefield aflame with silvery fire, clad in armor of deepest black that concealed mud and gore, the speckled evidence of war. My bloodied hands bore a great gold-handled broadsword whose onyx blade was veined with scrollwork that seemed almost illuminated from within. I swung the blade around me in slow, menacing circles that dared my enemy to approach. A shadowed figure stood nearby, and lifeless bodies
—Descended and mortal—lay in a broad ring at my feet, as if they’d been thrown back by the force of a massive explosion. My face was grim, undaunted. Sad, I think—but strong. Unbreakably strong.
I cursed myself again for destroying my flameroot supply and leaving myself vulnerable to these delusions, but something about this vision was… different. Unlike the vivid hallucinations of my childhood, which had felt lucid and entirely real, this seemed more like a glimpse into something vague, something possible. Not a reality that was, but a fate that could be.
The vision faded as quickly as it came, leaving behind an energy humming in my blood. Though I was once again empty-handed in a dark tavern, I could still feel the glossy metal of the sword in my grip, still smell the rotten scent of death wafting on an imagined breeze. That sensation of power—no, of being powerful—was intoxicating in a way that left me as intrigued as I was unsettled.
My cheeks flushed as reality settled back in. I had no place on a battlefield—I was a healer, not a soldier. And even if I was equally as adept with blade or bow, my father had taught me better than to romanticize bloodshed.
War is no game, he’d once scolded after spying me giggling as I waged mock warfare against Teller with rocks and wooden sticks. War is death and misery and sacrifice. War is making choices that will haunt you for the rest of your days. You fight to protect, or to survive, but never for the joy of killing, no matter how brutal your enemy.
If war truly was coming, there would be no glory in it. Not for Teller, or Henri, or my father, and certainly not for me.
I was about to head back to the inn when something caught my eye—a man at one of the tables. He had his arm propped up, his dirt-streaked sleeve pushed to his elbow, revealing a tattoo etched into his pale skin: a vine-encircled flaming tree. The Everflame—the same symbol I’d seen on Henri’s shoulder.
My gaze swept over the other men. There it was again—on a calf, visible beneath the hem of cropped breeches. Another on a chest, peeking out from an unbuttoned tunic. A bicep bore the mark, midnight ink barely discernible through a white linen sleeve. One more, hidden beneath tied-up hair.
Each of them had the symbol inked into their flesh, a permanent bond connecting them.
Henri had lied to me. I had asked him directly about the tattoo’s meaning, and he had lied.
“To honor the Old Gods,” he had said. Honor the Old Gods, my ass.
I gritted my teeth and stormed out of the shadows and across the tavern. Chairs screeched as I shoved them aside, startling the men, who quickly tugged at their sleeves and collars to hide the tattoos they had so casually displayed moments before.
Henri jumped to his feet. “Diem!”
His guilty expression only fueled my anger. Whatever he’d been up to, he clearly hadn’t wanted me to know about it.
“These are my friends,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Everyone, this is Diem, the girl I was telling you about.”
The men offered a chorus of nods and grunts, but none dared meet my glare.
“I thought you were asleep,” Henri said, the words sounding more like a confession.
“I woke up,” I snapped. “We need to talk. Now.”
The men exchanged glances, the corners of their lips twitching as they tried to suppress laughter at the domestic trouble Henri had landed himself in. All except for Brecke, who was openly grinning.
I turned and marched back up the stairs to our room, spinning around as soon as the door closed behind us.
“I’m sorry,” Henri began, “I didn’t realize how late—”
“I don’t care that you were out late. I’m not your wife.” Henri flinched. “What does the tattoo really mean, and why do all of you have it?”
He opened his mouth but hesitated, searching for an answer that wouldn’t come.
“‘For the Old Gods,’ was it?” My glare was sharp. “I can’t believe you lied to me.”
“It wasn’t exactly a lie…” He scratched the back of his neck, still avoiding my eyes.
“Are you all fools?” I smacked my palm lightly against his shoulder, and he staggered back, eyes wide with surprise. “Do you realize how much trouble you could get into if anyone saw that?”
“We’re careful. We don’t let anyone see them.” “Like you didn’t let me see them?”
He rubbed his shoulder. “That’s different. I wasn’t trying to hide it from you. There aren’t any Descended around here.”
“Have you lost your mind?” My voice was hoarse with the effort of not shouting, mindful of the thin walls and the dangerous topic. “Henri, we’re in Fortos. The army turned this entire continent into a bloodbath the last time a group of mortals rallied under that symbol.”
His expression hardened, the lines of his face aging him in an instant. “I’m well aware of that, Diem.”
“Then tell me what’s going on.” I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
His voice dropped. “Like you’ve told me what’s going on with you?”
A long silence followed.
I knew he was right. I’d been pulling away from him for weeks, and whatever secrets he was hiding couldn’t compare to the turmoil I was keeping from him.
But another voice inside me, louder, urged me to fight.
This thing inside me was like a lit match hovering over the kindling that was my shredded soul, a constant drumbeat calling my temper to arms at every slight.
Henri rubbed his face. “I don’t want to argue, but it’s safer if you don’t know.”
“I don’t need you to protect me. I’m not going to break.”
“Are you sure about that?” he snapped. “You haven’t exactly been stable lately.”
Fight.
Words bubbled up in my throat—awful, unforgivable words.
Words that could break us in ways we could never repair.
And it wasn’t just words. The thoughts raging through my head filled me with true fear, even as they grew louder and more insistent.
Fight.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
I… I wanted to hurt him. To break his bones. To claw at his skin until he bled. The thought horrified me.
Yet it also captivated me.
It purred to me.
“Go back downstairs to your friends,” I managed through clenched teeth. My trembling hands flexed and fisted, over and over.
The anger drained out of him. “Wait, Diem, I’m sorry.” He stepped toward me, reaching out. I jerked away, staggering backward, my panic twisting into disgust. Henri looked as if I’d slapped him, but I was terrified I would do worse if he stayed.
So much worse.
Fight.
“Now,” I snarled. “Go!”
He stared at me for a moment, heartbreak in his eyes, then turned and walked out of the room.
