A Light in the Flame (Flesh and Fire, #2)

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“For all intents and purposes, you are the Primal of Life.”

“You have never been just a mortal, Seraphena.” Holland stepped in smoothly, just as he’d done dozens of times in the past whenever I’d descended into a rant spiral. “You are the possibility of a future for all.”

“Besides your father? Embris knows the prophecy,” Penellaphe answered, referencing the Primal God of Wisdom, Loyalty, and Duty as I pulled myself together. I faced them. This was too important for me to miss while having a mini breakdown. “And so does Kolis. Neither knows more than that.”

“Penellaphe’s mother was a God of Divination,” Holland continued. “That is why she was able to share a vision. Only those gods and the oracles could receive the visions the Ancients—the first Primals—dreamt.”

“The consequences of what Kolis did when he stole the embers of life were far-reaching. Hundreds of gods were lost in the shockwave of energy,” Nyktos explained. “The Gods of Divination took the hardest hit. They were all but destroyed, and no other mortal was born an oracle.”

“It was,” Penellaphe confirmed. “It wasn’t as strong as when a Primal enters Arcadia, and the Fates raise another to take their place, but every god and Primal would’ve felt the shift of energy that occurred. Especially Hanan.”

“Sotoria didn’t belong to him then, and Seraphena doesn’t belong to him now.” Seraphena. I could count on one hand how many people called me by my full name, and none of them spoke it like he did. As if it were a prayer and a reckoning.

“I know that what he calls Revenants are not the only mockery of life he’s managed to create.” Holland’s dark gaze locked on Nyktos. “And you’ve already seen what he’s had a hand in creating. What some of the gods of his Court have been doing in the mortal realm.”

“Craven?” Nyktos’s eyes narrowed as he recognized whatever Holland had said. The Fate nodded. “It is what becomes of a mortal when their life force—their blood—is stolen from them, and the loss isn’t replenished. It does not matter who the mortal was before. The act rots them, in body and in mind, turning them into amoral creatures driven by an insatiable need for blood. Craven.”

In old Primal language, graeca meant life. But as Aios had said, it was also interchangeable with the word love.

“What he means to say is that such a thing, a Primal of both Life and Death, is not meant to exist,” Nyktos said. “It would be unthinkable for the embers of both to thrive in one being. But if they could?” He gave a short laugh with a raise of his dark brows. “The kind of power they’d wield? It would be truly absolute. They could unravel realms in the same breath they created new ones.”

“He wants to rule over all—Iliseeum and the mortal realm,” Nyktos answered. “The Courts in Iliseeum would replace the kingdoms in the mortal realm. There would only be him and his sycophants, and mortals would be put in their place—or so he believes. Beneath those greater than them. And I imagine the mockery of life he has been creating is being done in an attempt to aid his cause.”

“Maia,” he said, speaking of the Primal of Love, Beauty, and Fertility. “I had her remove my kardia.”

“What is a kardia?” “It’s the piece of the soul—the spark—that all living creatures are born and die with. It allows them to love another not of their blood irrevocably, selflessly.” Penellaphe swallowed. “It must have been terribly painful to have that torn from you. To truly be unable to love.”

He was practically breathing down the man’s neck. “How does this charm work?” “It will prevent her from being taken against her will from wherever the charm was placed,” he explained, tilting his head as he finished another line. The weathered lines of his sunbaked face added a rugged handsomeness to his features. “If anyone attempts it, the charm will retaliate.”

“Ward is actually my surname,” he responded. “Vikter is my name.” I belted out a quick, sharp laugh. “You’re a viktor named Vikter?” “He is the viktor,” Penellaphe said, sitting beside me on the dais. “The first.”

“Vikter is far too humble,” Penellaphe jumped in. “He saved the life of someone very important and paid a very steep price for doing so. The Fates decided to reward him and, later, realized they could give aid without upsetting the balance.”

“Love is powerful, Seraphena.” Holland lifted his hand to my cheek, and the touch carried a ripple of energy that hadn’t been there before. “More so than even the Arae could imagine.”

“You are his weakness.”

I was a weapon meant to be used against Kolis. That was my true destiny.

Horrified, I pressed my fist to my chest. “Why did you do it?” I asked, even though I already knew. “I saw what the loss of love did to my father, and what love turned my uncle into,” he said. “And I refused to repeat either of those mistakes or endanger another because of what I felt for them.”

The male god was still there, unmoving and untouched by the chaos of smoke and death. “Interesting. Your blood. It smells like…life.” He sniffed the air, and the glow of essence pulsed behind his pupils as his eyes widened. “Blood. Ash. Blood and—”

“I can sense your need. Feel it. Taste it. You’re drowning in it.” His eyes slammed shut. “I’m fucking drowning in it.” A sharp dart of desire sliced through me. “Then drown with me.”

“I’m going to die no matter what. The mortal realm will be lost. You can’t stop that. No one can. But I can at least do something about Kolis. Then, he won’t be able to hurt anyone again. He won’t be able to hurt you.”

“But I think you remind her of her mother.”

“We were mated,” he corrected. “It is the same as marriage in many ways. It is not something we draken enter into lightly. The bonds we forge together in a mating can only be broken by death.”

“Two halves that make a whole. Heartmates,” Nektas said, drawing my gaze. He watched closely. “That’s what the Arae call it. It’s rare but real, and I never heard of it occurring between mortals. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. The loss of one’s other half can be…catastrophic. If your parents were heartmates, then I pity your mother.”

“Heartmates usually only occur between two people whose unions are linked to some great purpose.”

“Like what Kolis did to my father. Remove the embers.” My jaw practically hit the table. “Is that possible?” “I don’t see why not.” Nyktos watched me. “Embers are eather, Sera. It’s the essence of a Primal. Kolis found a way to take it from my father without harming him.”

“All but the last drop of your blood would need to be removed,” Nyktos explained. “Then you’d have to replenish your blood with mine.”

Godlings who Ascended weren’t exactly mortal beyond that point. They aged slower—every three decades of mortal life equated to one year of a godling’s. They were susceptible to very few illnesses, and while not as impervious to injury as a god or Primal, they could live for thousands of years—at least, according to Aios.

“Who or what is a Delfai?” I asked. A shadow of a smile appeared on Nyktos’s lips. “A very old and powerful God of Divination.”

“The Pools of Divanash,” Nektas shared, and I blinked. “They are divining pools, once overseen by the Gods of Divination. The pools can show any object or person the seeker searches for. They’ve been relocated to the Vale.”

“She was murdered.” He dragged a hand over his chest. “She was summoned to Dalos, and Kolis murdered her.”

“A draken can gravely wound a Primal, but they cannot kill one,” he reminded me. “And many of the draken did take what Kolis did personally. But with Nektas, it’s…different. He’s old.” “How old?” His gaze drifted back to mine. “He was the first dragon given mortal form.”

We all need someone to watch over us.” Heat crawled up my throat. “Do you?” “Desperately,” he whispered.

There is eather in your blood. That will not be removed, and you will still be able to harness eather once you complete the Culling.” “But not restore life.”

“Does my blood taste like it smells?” He was silent as he dipped the cloth into the water. “It tastes like a summer storm and the sun.” An unsteady laugh left me as my chest warmed. “What does that even taste like?” “Heat. Power. Life,” he said without hesitation. “Yet soft. Airy. Like sponge cake. Like…”

“By the way, when you think I’m moving too fast? I’m not actually moving—not in the way you think.” I frowned. He was clearly changing the subject. “Then in what way are you moving?” “I use eather to will myself where I want to go,” he said, gently pressing the cloth to the skin around the wound. “It’s called shadowstepping.”

You were cut with shadowstone. That would kill a mortal. It would also kill a godling. Your skin and veins would already bear the mark of it, and what blood of mine you have in you wouldn’t have stopped it.”

I’d been right on the mark, but he wasn’t just a warrior. He was the warrior—the Primal of Accord and War. The one people prayed to on the eve of any battle to not only grant armies his deadly skill but also the cleverness to outwit all who tried to outmaneuver them. A Primal who could incite agreement between warring kingdoms or all-out, bloody violence with his mere presence.

“Well, Hanan is having a godsdamn fit right now at Dalos, convinced that you, the Primal of Death, have somehow managed to Ascend a god. The other Primals are worried. That if one god can Ascend to challenge their position, then so can another.”

“Attes is driven by three needs—peace, war, and fucking.”

“Only a Primal is immune to another Primal’s presence.”

“Kolis killed every god and godling that served under Eythos, ensuring that none could Ascend to replace the Primal of Life.”

The only thing we both thought afterwards was that the cell was colder—that we were colder. That was it. But when he touched us, he took our souls.”

“Sera.” I thought I heard Nyktos whisper my name as I began to doze off. “You were never a ghost to me.”

Forgiveness benefits the forgiver, and it’s easy. Understanding is acceptance, and that is far harder.”

“There are only two. Ones that can shift into forms of large felines. They’re called wivern and can usually be found in Sirta. They are fierce fighters in both forms, and most gods know better than to get cornered by a pissed-off wivern.”

“And then there are the ceeren,” he continued, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was aware that he still held my hand. “They are usually found in the Triton Isles.”