Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 22

22

DIEM

he one thing I’d had in abundance on the island was solitude, so theT sound of voices passing by my tent hauled me from sleep with a panicked jolt.

Morning light filtered through the canvas and illuminated the corners I hadn’t seen in the evening’s shadows. Two feet from the patch of ground I’d claimed as my bed lay a thick bedroll and a pile of warm blankets.

I groaned, rubbing my chest. It wasn’t just the early risers that had forced me awake—my mating mark was on fire. It throbbed as if it knew the choice I’d made and was screaming at me to change my mind. Though it had only been hours since I last felt Luther’s touch, the urge to lay my skin on his was almost impossible to resist.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I threw the flap open to see him slumped against my tent with eyes closed and Sorrow’s Edge tucked beneath his arm.

Even in sleep, he looked concerned. His handsome face was engraved with furrowed creases and a deep-set frown. His mortal clothes had been replaced with the armored uniform of the Royal Guard, though he’d removed all evidence of title and rank. He’d even removed the sigil of House Corbois, leaving only the crest of the Lumnos Crown stitched above his heart. His skin had been scrubbed clean and his hair trimmed, the loose strands brushing his jaw, where he’d kept his beard.

He looked every inch the powerful, intimidating Prince he was, but darker. Rougher.

I grabbed a blanket from the tent and draped it over his shoulders, careful not to wake him. A glint of gold in his hand caught my eye—the

Meros compass, likely what he’d used to find me. The awareness that I was still the thing his heart desired most was the sweetest anguish.

The heaviness of my new reality weighed me down as I shuffled through the tents. Mortals tended the morning fires while others patrolled the shimmering barrier that enclosed the camp. With no food in sight, I rubbed my eyes and turned for the palace to raid their supplies on the

mortals’ behalf.

“Whoa there!”

I jerked back a split second before crashing into a man carrying two steaming mugs.

“Sorry, my fault,” I mumbled. “I wasn’t looking—”

My thoughts vanished as I met the golden-brown eyes, messy hair, crooked nose, and lips that once greeted me every day with a fond, lopsided smile.

Lips that, today, instantly dropped into a frown.

“Diem,” he said.

“Henri,” I breathed.

“I heard you were back. And I heard . . .” He glanced at my Crown, subtly mouthing the numbers as he counted the nine peaks. “Fuck . . . it’s true. You have them all.”

Not all. I touched my throat, where the ten-pointed star no longer branded my skin, though I kept the secret of its meaning to myself. I regretted that the trust between us had become so damaged, but his hatred of the Descended was a rift we might never cross.

“I thought you’d be with Vance,” I said.

“You told me not to go.” He shrugged. “And Lana wanted to stay. She doesn’t trust Vance, either. Said his people aren’t real Guardians.”

“So you and Lana are still . . . ?”

“Engaged now.” His focus darted around, briefly touching on me before hurrying away. “She’s pregnant. Due in the fall.”

I stilled, waiting for a stab of jealousy, but all I felt was relief that he’d found the life that he wanted and I couldn’t provide.

“Congratulations,” I said. “Your father must be thrilled to have a grandchild on the way.”

“I haven’t told him yet. Actually, we, uh . . . we haven’t told anyone.

Lana wants to wait until she’s further along.” A guilty smile toyed at his lips. “It’s a hard secret to keep.”

“Understood. I’ll keep the news to myself.”

The silence turned awkward, both of us looking at our hands but neither of us moving to leave.

“You know,” he said quietly, “when I found out, my first instinct was to tell you.” I frowned, and he bristled. “Not to upset you, I swear. I’ve thought a lot about everything you said, and you were right. You and me, we were never going to work. And Lana and I just fit, you know? We both want a big family with lots of children. She wants to keep working as a healer, so I’m going to take on fewer deliveries to other realms, help out more here in Lumnos. She’s a real good influence, keeps me out of trouble.

And we’re both . . .” His voice trailed off.

Mortals.

A dark laugh nearly escaped at the irony. When I’d first realized I wasn’t mortal, the knowledge that I would outlive Henri had broken my heart.

As it turned out, if the heartstone had its way, Henri was going to outlive me.

“I love her,” he said. “Different than the way I loved you. But . . . better,

I think. Better for me.”

“I understand,” I said.

And I did. I’d loved Henri in my own way, but it was nothing like the profound, heart-owning love I had for my Prince. Luther wasn’t just the man I wanted—he was the person who made me the best version of me I could be.

I hoped I was that for Luther, too. I had watched his barriers crumble, made him tease and smile and laugh, urged him to embrace parts of himself he spent a lifetime forced to hide. He’d begun to imagine a future for himself filled with so much more than duty.

And what will become of that future when I die?

“You’re going to make an amazing father,” I forced through the burning in my throat. “Though I’m not sure Lumnos is ready for a mob of tiny Henris terrorizing Mortal City.”

His slanted smile broke free in full. “I can’t wait. I hope the first one’s a girl so she can boss around all her little brothers.”

My own smile began to crack. “That is such a Henri Albanon thing to say.”

He laughed. “This is why I wanted to tell you first. Even with all the shit between us, I knew you’d be happy for me.” He looked down at his mugs, then held one out. “Here. Lana’s checking on the wounded soldiers, so I came to bring her tea. This one’s coffee. I know how you get in the mornings without it.”

I took the mug and indulged in a sip, sighing happily as the warm liquid cut through the morning chill.

Henri’s eyes darted over me. “You look different.” One brow rose. “Did

they not have food where you were?”

“No. They didn’t.”

He frowned. I could tell he was waiting for me to explain, but that was a story I wasn’t ready to share.

He suddenly leaned in with a mischievous smirk. “Remember that time we snuck into the bread shop to steal the chocolate buns old lady Poincar was making for a Descended party?”

I groaned. “How could I forget? We had to bribe Teller to convince her it was a pack of wild animals that got loose from Faunos.”

“He made me hide in the trees and make monkey sounds.” Henri beat his fist on his chest and let out a string of shrieks and hoots that sounded more like a dying bird.

A loud laugh burst out of me—the first moment of joy since I’d returned. Henri always had a sense for when I needed to bury my troubles in jokes.

An odd, uncomfortable twang tugged at my chest. Henri’s smile died as his gaze shifted over my shoulder. When I turned, I saw Luther watching us, just out of earshot. Though his expression was flat, I felt the surge of his emotions, courtesy of the one-sided bond.

Jealousy. Confusion. Hurt.

But also a little relief, and a begrudging, almost wistful gratitude.

“You still with him?” Henri asked.

I wasn’t sure how to answer. I’m afraid I’ll die and ruin his life seemed a little intense this early in the morning. So I gave him the truest answer I

could.

“I love him.”

Henri looked suspicious. “But are you happy? Does he make you laugh?”

Memories flashed through my mind: Luther’s dry, subtle humor during our weeks at the palace. The playful side he’d shown me in Sophos. Taran Junior, the goat we’d joked about raising from our orchard by the sea.

I flashed a sad smile. “He does.”

Henri stared into his mug, frowning. “I knew he had feelings for you.

When he found us together in the palace that day, the way he looked at me .

. . he hated me.”

“You hated him, too.”

“I thought he was using you. Thought he just wanted to be King.”

“Maybe he thought the same of you.”

He scowled. “I wanted to marry you before I ever knew about”—he gestured at my Crown, my body—“any of this. I only wanted to be King so we could help the mortals. That’s what you claimed to want, too.”

Old arguments began to rise—accusations of who fell out of love first and why, whose secrets had been the bigger betrayal, all the same blame- casting and resentment that had torn us apart.

Then my mating mark warmed, and my temper sheathed its claws. I had too many looming battles to stay trapped in this one. If I was going to fight, it would be for my people, my life, and my Prince.

“I believe you,” I said. “I do want that. And that’s what Luther wants, too.”

Henri’s frustration seemed to deflate. “I heard what he did in Fortos, helping you free the prisoners. Heard he was helping the Guardians in Arboros, too.” His nose wrinkled. “I guess it’s possible I judged him too quickly.”

I mock gasped. “Is famed Descended hater Henri Albanon admitting that some of them might be good people?”

He shot me a playful glare. “Let’s not go that far. But if you love him . . . I suppose I can give him a chance.”

“Maybe you could give them all a chance,” I prodded. “At least the ones who are willing to fight with us.”

“If I do . . . could we be friends again?” I tensed, and he rushed on. “I know it won’t ever be like it was. Lana’s gonna be my wife, and I don’t want to risk that. And I know I did some things that, maybe, you can’t forgive.” His throat worked, and when he spoke again, his voice was breaking. “I got lost, D. Really fucking lost.”

I pulled him into a fierce hug. Henri clutched to my back, his head buried in my neck, his body trembling. I felt Luther’s eyes on us and his dark emotions at our embrace, but he maintained his vigil from afar.

“I’m so sorry,” Henri whispered. “For everything.”

“So am I. I was a terrible friend. I knew you were hurting, but I was too focused on my own problems to be there for you.” I squeezed him tighter.

“Can you forgive me?”

He nodded fervently. “Can you?”

“I can. I do.”

Though I held Henri close, in my heart, I was letting go—of the anger, the blame, the distrust, the regrets, all the burdens our falling out had left on my soul. And of the friendship, for what it had once been and could never be again.

But maybe, with Lana and Luther at our sides, we could find a way to make it something new.

Both of us smirked at the other’s teary eyes. “Are you sure you can be friends with a Descended Queen?” I teased.

“As long as you don’t expect me to call you Your Majesty. You’re

always going to be ‘D’ to me.”

No answer could have made me happier.

I moved to pull away, but Henri tugged me back. He leaned in, whispering in my ear. “Tell Luther that if he hurts you, he’ll answer to me.”

He kissed my cheek, lingering just long enough to provoke a growl from Luther’s direction, then gave me an impish wink.

“Bastard,” I scolded, laughing. I shoved him away and started toward my Prince, whose eyes solemnly searched mine to make sense of what he’d just seen.

“Do you remember what you said to me that night in the dungeon?”

Henri yelled out, though when I glanced back, his stare was on Luther, not

me.

“I do,” Luther answered.

“You were an asshole, but you weren’t wrong.” Henri gave a wistful smile. “Don’t ever stop trying.”

Luther’s gaze slid back to me. “I won’t.”

Henri raised his mug in farewell, then walked away.

I stopped in front of Luther, awkwardly sipping my drink. He held out Sorrow’s Edge. “You left this behind.”

Reluctantly, I took the sword, flinching at the whispers that met my touch. Luther had attached it to a weapons belt that I quickly latched around my waist.

“How long were you outside the tent?” I asked.

“Not long. I had business that took most of the night. When I finished, I couldn’t feel your aura. I may have . . . overreacted.” He cleared his throat.

“Panicked, a bit. I know you asked me to stay away, but I needed to be sure you were safe.”

“You used the compass,” I guessed. “You found me.”

His gaze burned hot. “I found you.”

We lingered in silence, neither of us able to look away. Our auras twirled and twined together, undaunted by the tension that kept our bodies apart.

Luther risked a step toward me. “Diem, my feelings for you have not changed. If yours have, I beg of you, tell me now. I will still stand by you as my Queen, even if—”

“They haven’t changed.” The words rushed out like a breath, my heart answering before my mind could protest. “But I have.”

To my surprise, he looked as if he understood entirely. “So have I.”

“I need time,” I admitted. “Everything with Ophiucae and the Crowns, everyone fighting each other, and what I might have to do if—” I stopped myself. “It’s a lot to take on. I need . . .”

I need answers.

I need some other way to kill a Kindred.

I need a different fate.

I need you.

“ . . . I need more time.”

“Take as much as you want. I’m here however you need me, even if only to advise you.” He hesitated. “Unless you need space, too.” His jaw ticked. “From me.”

Two sides of me wrestled for control—the strong woman, who would sacrifice herself to spare him, and the weaker one, who couldn’t bear to let go. My mouth bobbed open and closed, the answer changing each time it neared my lips.

I was spared by my mother, who spotted me from across the camp.

“Diem,” she called out, waving. “Oh, Luther, I’m glad you’re here, too. We

have so much to discuss.” She frowned at my too-large clothes, then looked at Luther. “Did she get dinner last night?”

“She did.”

“And this morning? Has she eaten yet?”

He eyed me. “I’ll get her something.”

“See that you do. Something nutritious. She needs to rebuild her energy.”

“I can answer for myself,” I said crossly. “Luther isn’t my keeper.”

“Being taken care of doesn’t mean being kept, Diem,” she lectured.

“You’re the first to offer, but you never accept it yourself. I am your mother, and Luther is your . . .” She glanced between us. Whatever she saw compelled her not to finish. “Let us help you.”

I looked away, not liking how precisely her words had cut. “The only thing I need help with is keeping everyone in Emarion from killing each other.”

“We can help with that, too. I assume Luther has already filled you in on everything that passed while you were away?”

“We, um, haven’t had a chance to talk,” I hedged.

She gave a knowing smile. “Ah, yes, of course. First night alone

together in so long.”

My cheeks went hot. “Mother, stop.”

“You’re two grown adults. Sex is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Mother.”

“And Luther and I have put aside our differences.” She gave him a gentle, if a bit awkward, pat on his arm. “I’m happy for you both.”

I slapped a hand over my face.

Luther wisely changed the subject. “You should call a meeting of your advisors this morning. I’d like to ask my cousins what happened here while we were gone. I imagine they’d like to hear the same from both of us.”

My stomach roiled at the thought of the questions my friends would ask, the truths I might have to admit—or the lies I’d have to tell.

“We’ll have time to catch up later,” I said. “I want to visit Mortal City

and check on things there.”

“As do I,” my mother said.

I tensed. “I think it’s best if I go alone.”

“No,” she and Luther said in unison.

“I’ve been away for nearly a year,” my mother argued. “Besides, my presence there will help. The mortals may not trust you, now that . . .” She glanced at my Crown.

“Auralie’s right,” Luther said. “No one knows you were trapped on the island. The Crowns claimed you were in hiding with the rebels. The mortals here may feel you abandoned them. Auralie can attest to the truth. But you both need a guard.”

My mother and I responded with loud, matching scoffs.

“Luther, you can’t really believe—”

“I’m more of a danger to them—”

“This is our home, we hardly need—”

“Honestly, I dare them to try—”

“We walked those streets for years—”

He raised a hand to stop us. “Many times I believed someone too weak, too afraid, or too friendly to be a real threat. Time and again, I was proven wrong. I won’t allow either of you to suffer the same mistake.” He looked at me. “Alixe or Taran can accompany you instead, if you want . . . space.”

My mother’s exasperated look turned to one of interest. Her eyes swooped over us, taking in our awkward distance, my silence, the way neither of us quite looked directly at the other. A wrinkle appeared on her brow.

“It’s fine,” I blurted. “Let’s be quick. In and out. The last thing I want to do is cause a scene.”

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