Spark Of The Everflame Quotes

For anyone who has ever been told their spark shouldn’t burn so bright and for all the people who loved them precisely because it did.

For every spark that has lost its light and needs a little help remembering how to glow.

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.

Hope without reason is... it’s cruel.

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.

You saw it too, didn’t you?” I stopped, but I didn’t look back. “Last night,” he said, “right before the roof collapsed. The vision. The battlefield.” I couldn’t move, my body paralyzed, my thoughts stunned to stillness. “What if our story isn’t over, Diem Bellator? What if it’s only beginning?

Diem—you’re wearing the Crown. You’ve been selected. You are the new Queen of Lumnos.

We never needed to see all of each other to love all of each other.

Survive, my father’s words echoed in my ears. At whatever cost, to whatever end. Survive first, mind the consequences later.

But I was made of swinging fists and rash words, my edges too jagged and my temper too hot. Nothing about me was delicate.

The stories say the goddess Lumnos and her siblings wanted the Descended to protect the mortals.

He was once again a marble-carved statue—pretty to look at, impossible to know.

He’s gone, she reminded herself. Dead. You killed him. You’re safe, and so is she.

the King of Lumnos was finally, finally dead. Which could only mean one thing... In thirty days, Auralie Bellator was going home.

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

She was my constant lantern when, like now, the world was dark and I didm't know which way to go.

Does your little tree club even take women as members? I didn’t see any last night.” “My little tree club is run by a woman.

But I didn’t choose to be a healer, nor did I choose to take my mother’s role. And I didn’t want gentle or delicate. I wanted to burn.

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.

Harder, Your Highness. Wilst thou give me permission to come, Your Highness? Let me kneel for you and show the Prince’s little prince a good time, Your H—

I cannot tell you what to do with your life, my darling Diem. But whatever you choose— be smart. And above all, survive. Your life is far too precious to me to be wasted.

For every spark that has lost its light

I’d always been a spitfire, and proud of it. An unbreakable spirit in a world that wanted me to be quiet, small, subservient.

Don’t choose a mediocre life for a mediocre man. Go be exceptional.

If you cannot be stronger, be smarter. Choose both your battles and your enemies with care. Know when to flee a fight to win a war.

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.

To beat your enemy, you have to know your enemy—intimately. And there’s no better place to do that than in their own home.” The calculating tone in his voice sent ice creeping up my spine. He sounded more like a soldier preparing for war than the goofy, carefree friend I’d grown up with. “You’ve been spending too much time around the Commander,” I teased, a little nervously. “Your father didn’t teach me that. Your mother did.

What if I don’t want to sit back and do nothing anymore?” I said. “What if I want to fight back?” He cupped my face in his hands, his skin rough against my jaw. “I cannot tell you what to do with your life, my darling Diem. But whatever you choose—be smart. And above all, survive. Your life is far too precious to me to be wasted.

I just... I’ve had a lot on my mind.” “How did that jar even get in my fishing box?

How did that jar even get in my fishing box?

Teller wrinkled his nose at Henri’s dripping sarcasm. “All they talk about is who will take over once the King dies. They’re even taking bets on it. The man’s on his deathbed, and they’re circling like vultures.” “Deathbed?” I frowned. “The King is dying?

I 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.

Only one thing is certain: my mother’s disappearance on that hot, cursed afternoon set off a chain of reactions so unexpected, so far-reaching, that even the gods themselves could not predict the consequences that would later come to pass.

As a child, my mother had forbidden me from any interaction with them: No consuming their food or wine. No venturing into Lumnos City. I wasn’t even permitted to treat Descended patients in my work as a healer.

One by one, I hurled the moon-shaped jars into the sea. One by one, they hit the waves and sank forever to a watery grave. Each quiet splash felt like the creaking open of an old, heavy door, its iron hinges rusted from ages of disuse. I said a prayer to the Old Gods to make me ready for whatever lay beyond.

One of you will be mine. Tell me, Diem Bellator—who do you choose?

According to the old mortal religion, all life began as sparks from the Everflame that fell to the earth as glowing seeds. At death, those found worthy by the Old Gods would be placed among its burning branches, where their earthly bodies would turn to ash but their souls would remain forever warmed by the Undying Fire. Those found unworthy were doomed to an eternity in a cold hell encased in ice, far from the Everflame’s redeeming heat.

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.

Well, in the other realms, most Descended get one type of magic or the other. Only the very strongest get both. In Fortos, it works differently. The female Descended always get healing magic, while the male Descended get the power to kill—they can make your body decay right in front of their eyes. Makes them tough to beat in a fight. There are some who aren’t fully male or female and have both types of magic, but I hear that’s rare.

How did you meet her?” I asked. Before Brecke could respond, the table jolted as if struck. He and Henri exchanged matching glares that had my brows rising, but Brecke rubbed his leg and quickly continued.

Brecke roared with laughter. “Albanon, you better hold on to this one.” He slapped a very nervous-looking Henri on the arm. “If you can.

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.

It’s a group for mortals who refuse to accept the Descended as the rulers of Emarion. We fight back in whatever ways we can. We call ourselves the Guardians of the Everflame.

But that’s the name—” “Of the mortal rebellion during the Blood War,” he finished with a nod. “The Descended thought they’d crushed it completely, but some of the rebel cells survived. They’ve been operating in secret ever since, gathering information and weapons. The hope is that someday we’ll be strong enough to try again and actually win.

Who is it? Do I know her?” “I can’t say. No revealing anyone’s identity, remember?” My shoulders slumped. “Would I get to work with her?” “I hope so,” he said, his eyes softening with some inscrutable emotion. “She is a force to be reckoned with—just like you.

There was one substance I’d learned could be lethal to the Descended: godstone, a rare material that could only be made by the Kindred. If formed into a projectile or blade, a serious strike could be instantly fatal, and even minor blows risked an infection from its lethal toxin. Though harmless to mortals, its effects were ferociously destructive to Descended, a gruesome and painful death with no known antidote.

If you want to take them on, you have to learn to blend in, not stand out.” Something about his words sat wrong in my heart, the plunk of a distant piano hitting a sour note. The voice inside me seemed to shudder with equal distaste.

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.

You can’t really be considering letting her in. Do you realize who she is?” He continued to watch me, his dark eyes drilling into my own. “I know exactly who she is.” “Then you know why she’s off-limits.

Shadows work the same way. Darkness isn’t just the absence of light—it’s the absence of everything. No light, no heat, no air. True darkness can destroy even life itself.

That still doesn’t explain how you can make it solid. Even pure light and darkness can’t do that.” His lip quirked again—higher this time. “That, Miss Bellator, is why we call it magic.

If the others find you before I do, there will only be so much I can do to protect you.” Protect me? How gullible did he think I was? Did he really expect me to— “Don’t end up like your mother. She betrayed me and lost my trust. You should learn from her mistakes.

And soft. I was surrounded by softness. A nest of it, tucked into me on all sides. It smelled heavenly. Masculine. Fresh, earthy moss and damp cedar. Old, tanned leather with a peppery musk. It smelled like my beloved forest. It smelled like home.

End be your time, a trade in kind, a life well-lived for peace to find. Be not afraid, as shadows fade, all pain and woe shall be unmade. Now fate well-sealed shall be revealed, for those whose worthy souls shall yield. In love and calm, this holy psalm, shall guide your soul to realm beyond.

You,” he croaked, voice hoarse from months of atrophy. “You’ve finally come.” I jerked backward, yanking my arm as I tried and failed to escape his hold. “No—I’m sorry. I—please, let me go.” “They told me you would come for me.” “What? Who?” “They told me your blood would shatter our stone and lay waste to our borders.

All this time, I’d dismissed Luther as someone ice-cold and heartless, too frosty to feel anything true. But Luther wasn’t cold at all. Luther was an inferno.

Inside, we rattled the bars keeping us trapped in lives we didn’t choose. Inside, we roared with an insatiable craving for more. Inside, we paced and we planned and we waited. Inside, we burned.

It’s never the enemy who attacks outright who will strike your killing blow, he’d taught me. It’s the one who hides in the shadows and waits. The one who strikes when you’ve finally looked away. Those are the true predators to fear.

What’s wrong with your eyes, girl?” I squinted in a feeble attempt to conceal them, but the damage was done. “Fortos’s balls, she’s one of them.” “You’re a Descended?

He towered above her by more than a foot, a feature he wielded over her like a weapon, drawn and waiting to strike. He appeared a few years older than me in age, and his face was strikingly handsome, though angular and severe, made even more so by raven-black hair, pulled back low and tight, and the scar that slashed across his olive skin. Its pale, jagged lines splintered like lightning, up from his collar and across his full lips and narrowed eyes. Cold, emotionless eyes. Blue-grey eyes. Descended eyes.

Out of the question,” the man’s voice rumbled, low and deep. Something inside me stirred at the sound of it, like a yawning dragon emerging from slumber.

Let me guess—I’ve already met my true love, I’m going to have a stable full of children, and I’m going to live a long, blissfully happy life before I die.” “No, child. None of that for you, I’m afraid.

Those eyes—a gift from your father, aren’t they? Your real father.” I froze. “And that’s not the only thing he gave you, is it?” My head whipped back to her. “What are you talking about?” “That mother of yours thought she could hide it from the world. Thought she could hide it from you with that little powder of hers. But secrets like that can’t stay kept forever.” Her focus turned skyward, taking in the scattered beams of bloody sunlight around us. “And it appears the Kindred are done waiting.

A chorus of alarm bells erupted in my head. There was no way she could know about the powder and the reason I took it. No one outside my family knew—and no one inside my family would dare share it. Unless... Unless this woman knew the man who had sired me. But that was equally impossible. My mother said he’d died before my birth, before he’d even known she was pregnant. Even the man I now called my father didn’t know his name.

He knows about you, your father. He’s waiting for you.” “My sire, not my father,” I corrected between clenched teeth. “And he’s dead.” “Should be. But he’s a survivor.” She chuckled. “Another trait you inherited, I’m guessing.

Listen to me and listen close, Daughter of the Forgotten.” She leaned forward and poked me in the shoulder. “Stop running from who you are. Stop hiding.” “I’m not hiding from anyth—” “And stop taking that cursed flameroot powder.

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.

How did that jar even get in my fishing box?” Because I’m planning to take our rowboat out and leave it at the bottom of the Sacred Sea once I work up the nerve.

Prince Luther, the King’s nephew. He’s incredibly powerful, no matter how you measure it. He’s one of the only Lumnos Descended that can wield both light magic and shadow magic.

In a minute, you’ll be called up to confess the worst things you’ve ever done so the group has leverage on you if you try to quit. Then we’ll all strip naked and put a drop of blood in a chalice, and you have to drink it. It’s the second test of loyalty.

But whatever you do or don’t do, sweetheart, do it for yourself. 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.

Those small idiosyncrasies littering his body were signs of his life and character, a map of his soul that only those who truly knew him could read.

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

I braced in anticipation of being seized by the throat, but what he did unsettled me far more. His touch was strikingly gentle as he examined the wound. I didn’t even feel pain, only the slow, careful stroke of his thumb beneath my jaw and down the curve of my neck, pausing at an old scar on my collarbone. A shiver rolled through me.

He snorted. “Big words for a little girl.” “Better a little girl than a little...” My gaze briefly dropped to his crotch, and I clicked my tongue sympathetically.

Men sold the strength of their bodies as sellswords and assassins, bricklayers and carpenters. Why should it be any less acceptable for women to sell the softness of theirs?

Don’t choose a mediocre life for a mediocre man.

Even if that’s the cost required to keep our realm powerful?” “If the death of innocents is a cost we’re willing to pay, then we don’t deserve to be powerful.

Other times I imagined braving the shadowy alleys of Umbros, tasting all of life’s vices and learning how to bring a man to his knees in every possible way.

Luther,” I yelled, waving my arms in the air. “Over here.” He made no move toward me, not even a glimmer of a reaction. “LU-THER!” He shook his head and mouthed go home, then began to turn away. “Luther, you arrogant prick, come over here and talk to me!

As so often happens with a parent’s hope-filled dreams for their children, things did not go exactly to plan.

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.

Let me die with the taste of you on my lips.” Our lips collided, and I was lost.

whatever you do or don’t do, sweetheart, do it for yourself. 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.

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.

Then, I spotted him. With his raven hair and night- black clothes, he cut an ominous silhouette against the raging wall of flickering orange. I couldn’t make out the details of his face, and his imposing body was shrouded by the crowd clustered around him, but somehow, even among the pandemonium, I knew him. More than that— I felt him, his strange aura sweeping across my skin. Luther. As if he’d heard my thoughts, his head snapped in my direction. Even tucked as I was among a sea of onlookers, his glowing blue eyes found mine in an instant.

Go ahead,” he breathed. “Lie to me. I already know the answer. I know you feel my power.” His chin rose, our lips so very, very close. “Because I can feel yours, too.” No. No. He smirked. “You’re no more mortal than I am.

Do it,” he said again. “Kill me, if that’s what you think I deserve. But if you do, give me one favor before I go.” His pulse throbbed against my blood- soaked hand, his heartbeat racing to match my own. “Favor?” His eyes rose to mine. “Let me die with the taste of you on my lips.” Our lips collided, and I was lost.

Our worlds were too distant, our goals too aligned with each other’s destruction. If we ever met on a battlefield, surely it was destined to be as enemies, not allies.

I think,” he said, tugging it from my grasp, “it’s safe to say, Miss Bellator, you’ve already won me over.

I should pull away. Why wasn’t I pulling away? The warm grip of his hand was infuriatingly distracting. I started to speak again, and his eyes dropped to my lips. My mouth went dry. Gods, I really, really hated him.

Only one thing is certain: my mother’s disappearance on that hot, cursed afternoon set off a chain of reactions so unexpected, so far-reaching, that even the gods themselves could not predict the consequences that would later come to pass. And so it’s there that my story begins.

Through the Forging spell, Emarion was broken up into nine realms, each named for one of the Kindred and infused with its patron god’s or goddess’s respective magic.

She looked at me with genuine pain in her eyes. “If she doesn’t fulfill the bargain, then her life would be forfeit. She would be executed by the Crown.

But,” he went on, “sheltering you doesn’t keep you safe forever. To beat your enemy, you have to know your enemy—intimately. And there’s no better place to do that than in their own home.” The calculating tone in his voice sent ice creeping up my spine. He sounded more like a soldier preparing for war than the goofy, carefree friend I’d grown up with.

Touch her, and I’ll rip off your fucking arms.

The hum of his magic was a sword swung in the darkness, an ominous storm you couldn’t yet see but felt brewing in the wind. It was everywhere and nowhere, infusing the very air itself, holding me in its grasp and caressing my skin like a thousand hands.

Oh, that's not love, he's just imagining me tottering around in my knickers.

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.