Spark of the Everflame (Kindred's Curse, #1)

by Penn Cole

“When forgotten blood on heartstone falls, then shall the chains be broke,” she crooned. “Life for life, old debt requires, or eternal be his yoke.”

“You know how every realm has two kinds of magic? Light and shadow in Lumnos, stone and ice in Montios, sea and air in Meros, and so on.”

I smiled and turned my head up to answer her, but she was gazing adoringly at Luther, having moved to his side. His eyes were on me, his expression softer than usual.

Don’t choose a mediocre life for a mediocre man. Go be exceptional. If he’s worth it, he won’t judge you. And if he’s really the one, he’ll come along for the ride.”

always knew what it was to be cherished, to be given a soil of unconditional love to nourish our growth and keep us rooted no matter the world’s storms. Until now, I hadn’t realized just how rare a gift that was.

“At school they said light and shadow work the same, but my magic tutor has both, and she says the shadows are harder to convince into doing what you want them to do. She said the light wants to please its wielder, but the shadows only want to fight.”

“No commentary?” he asked, sinking to his knees. “I’m disappointed.” “I’m too busy enjoying the view.”

We both froze in place as something ancient, something profound passed between us. It was a primal force that transcended word and thought, as powerful as a crack of lightning, a child’s first breath, the endless depth of the sea. It was not of this world but entirely woven within it. It warmed my blood with a calming peace I’d never known, yet filled me with the terrible dread of a fate I could not avoid.

When I looked into those familiar eyes, the most beautiful, heart-wrenching ache burned against the left side of my chest. I covered it with my palm, and on the other side of the field, the figure mirrored the movement.

His pale gaze was still locked on me, his palm still flat against his chest, as was my own. “Diem,” he whispered. “Luther,” I answered.

“Alright. I’ll just, um, go get a dress for her.” “Pants. She—she normally wears pants.” “Pants? I don’t have any—never mind. I’ll see what I can find. You’ll stay with her until I’m back?” “Lumnos herself couldn’t pull me from her side.”

“I am not afraid, Devourer of Crowns. Ravager of Realms. Herald of Vengeance.”

“Give him our gift, Daughter of the Forgotten. When the end has come, and the blood has spilled, give our gift to my faithful heir, and tell him this is my command.”

As I approached the main entry, I caught the eye of the guard I’d brought to his knees on my first formal visit. He took one look at the knife still clutched in my hand and stepped toward me with a vengeful sneer. “Touch her, and I’ll rip off your fucking arms.”

“It would be an insult to dismiss you so easily, and I wouldn’t dare do you that disrespect. I recognize a threat when I see one.” His gaze roamed a languid path down my body, his assessing stare making me feel as thoroughly touched and as intimately exposed as the day he’d searched me for weapons. “And you’re as dangerous as they come.”

“You think I fear my own death?” he whispered in my ear. “Every day I draw breath is as much a curse as a gift. I’ve been living on borrowed time for longer than you can imagine. If you’re the way my fate finally catches up to me, I can’t fathom a more beautiful end.”

“Let me die with the taste of you on my lips.”

Looking at him now was like staring in a mirror in the worst kind of way. I hid behind false bravado and snarky jokes, while Luther’s shield was forged with brooding stares and clenched jaws—but inside, we were one and the same.

I couldn’t seem to force myself to leave—and neither could his magic. The tendrils of his potent presence wound around my limbs and hovered, as if yearning to draw me closer, but holding back.