Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 29

29

DIEM

wasn’t expecting the warmest welcome, but the reception I received inI the ballroom was glacial. A hundred eyes of blue and brown—and a handful of orange—noted my arrival, and not a single knee bent. It seemed my abdication of power had already taken root.

This was your plan, I reminded myself, holding my chin high despite the slight. You wanted a Crownless Emarion.

My urge to demand their submission was the only reminder I needed of why this council was vital. Power was a poisonous gas, corroding you from the inside the more you breathed it in. The line between using it to help and to hurt was dangerously thin and rarely all that clear.

“There are some people I’d like you to meet before we begin,” Eleanor said, hooking her arm in mine. She hurried me into the crowd and began a series of introductions—mostly young, all members of elite Houses. It didn’t take long for me to realize these were her Embers. They were more aloof than I’d expected, showing the cool detachment of their older kin rather than the fire for revolution she had suggested. Then again, all eyes were on me, and openly defying their Houses was a perilous game.

As we made our rounds, I kept an eye on the others. Taran and Zalaric quickly ingratiated themselves with the Unhoused Descended, who’d made the trek from their villages on the realm’s distant western coast. With their simple clothes and weathered bodies well acquainted with labor, they looked shockingly like mortals. Most had been cast from their Houses for disobedience, though some had been abandoned simply for having magic too weak or a bloodline too distant. I wondered, with great unease, if that

made them more likely to challenge the Houses or an easy target to be wooed back under their influence.

On the other side of the room, Alixe was talking with Nidara, who I’d appointed as the Ignios Regent over the passionate objections of the desert’s noblemen. Luther paced in a wide circle, trying to keep me in sight while simultaneously avoiding his father, who was chasing him in a zealous effort to speak. My brother stood awkwardly by himself. He was carefully watching Doriel, who had pulled the head of House Benette aside to a quiet corner, both their faces animated with intense discussion.

That left me deeply unsettled. I looked again for Luther, hoping I could signal him to intervene. His father had finally caught up, and Luther was listening to him speak with a troubled frown. After a moment, his gaze snapped to Garath, Remis’s brother and one of my loudest detractors, who was seated at the council table beside Marthe Hanoverre, my other bitter

foe.

Both were smiling.

That unsettled me most of all.

“There you are!” Eleanor’s bright voice pulled my attention back to the short, stocky man whose hand she clutched. “I’m so pleased you agreed to take the seat.”

The man gave a clipped grunt and tried to yank his hand back, though he only succeeded in pulling Eleanor closer. She looked back and forth between us and beamed. “I suppose you two need no introduction.”

I stared blankly at him. Something about his face was vaguely familiar, but with my Sophos magic trapped by the cuffs, whatever memories he inhabited were too hazy to place.

If his scowl was any indication, he had no problem placing me. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

My eyes shot to Eleanor in an urgent help me stare. “I’m certain we’ve met, but your name . . .”

“Perhaps you remember my cousin—Perthe Benette.”

The world flashed icy and dark, that name a falling axe. Suddenly, I was back on Coeurîle, sitting by a grave, alone and cold and hungry and losing myself to madness.

“Yes, of course,” I said hoarsely. “Perthe was very special to me.”

“So it’s true? He’s dead?”

On my wrist, one of the cuffs shuddered and cracked.

I managed a nod. “I’m sorry for your loss. He served his realm with honor.”

His stare hardened. “He served you. I warned him you’d get him killed, but he insisted we both owed you a life debt.”

The memory of our first meeting finally came into view: A burning building. An unconscious man. A desperate Perthe, begging me not to leave

either of them behind to die.

“You were at the armory,” I murmured.

Eleanor’s mortified stare ricocheted between us. “Oh—I thought . . . I heard you saved Norwick the night of the rebel attack. I, um . . . I assumed you’d both remember.”

“I don’t recall much from that night,” he said. “I woke up in so much pain, I begged them to kill me just to end it. After the fifth hour of listening to me scream, I’m surprised they didn’t.”

Eleanor gave a nervous laugh. “Well, we’re both so glad they didn’t.

Look at you now, healed and strong. Thank the Blessed Kindred for sending Her Majesty to rescue you.”

Neither Norwick nor I answered as we held each other’s stare.

“Perhaps it was fate,” Eleanor offered. “The Blessed Kindred must have known this day would come.”

“You mean the day I’d have to sit at a table with the same people who tried to kill me and treat them as equals?” He jerked his head toward my mother. “All because Her Majesty decided to let the rebels go free?”

“The man responsible for the armory attack is in the north,” I said. “And

if I find him —”

The words sputtered to a stop.

I had found Vance, and I’d spared him the death he deserved. I could not promise justice to Norwick when I was the reason that justice had been denied.

So I did the thing I so rarely chose to do: I told him the truth.

“You’re right. I did let the rebels go.”

He balked. Eleanor cringed.

“The Guardians have done many terrible things, but so have the Descended. If I took the life of every person who participated in an injustice in our past, there would be very few left in this room. I’m trying to bring the realm—the continent—together in a way it has never been, where all

people are equal.” His eyes rolled, mine narrowed. “Yes, Norwick, that’s what I believe. That all of us are equals.”

“So they bomb our buildings, and you reward them?” he said, looking repulsed. “That’s the kind of Queen you’re going to be? That’s what my

cousin lost his life for?”

Anger and sorrow spiraled inside me.

“Perthe was killed by Crowns, not rebels. And you’re gods-damned right that’s the Queen I’m going to be. Giving the mortals a voice isn’t a reward, it’s a right.” The crack on my cuff splintered deeper. “I am fighting a greater wrong than one burned armory. Perthe knew that, and he chose to support me. I will not let his death be in vain.”

I turned and stormed away before my emotions overcame me and every influential person in Lumnos watched me crumble at once.

A foreign concern rumbled in my chest. I knew without looking that Luther had seen what just occurred. Before he could find me, I shot toward my seat at the head of a circle of long desks set in the center of the room

and loudly cleared my throat.

“Let’s begin.”

Conversation hushed as everyone shuffled toward their seats. Chairs had been placed at each table for the council members and their advisors, along with several rings of benches for all who wished to watch. The sections for the Houses were filled to the very last seat, as was the section for the mortals. Even the Unhoused Descended and the Ignios refugees had their share of supporters.

My section was filled only by my brother.

Though I’d offered a seat to every House in Lumnos, I was disappointed when all but the Twenty Houses declined, likely out of fear of retribution from Marthe Hanoverre. My hopes of diluting the power of the Descended elite would take more work than I’d thought.

What really caught my eye was the table for House Corbois. I’d grudgingly accepted that the Corbois seat would go to Luther’s father, but it wasn’t Remis reclining leisurely in the chair. It was his brother Garath, with Aemonn at his side.

Remis wasn’t even at the table. He sat among the spectators, watching his son with the deepest frown as Luther crossed the room and whispered in Eleanor’s ear.

Her face went pale. She and Luther shared a somber look, then she whispered something back. Luther’s eyes lifted to mine. Without a word, he walked away and took his seat.

I raised my voice to address the room. “Welcome to the inaugural meeting of the governing council of Lumnos. As you know, I am delegating my authority as Queen of Lumnos to this council, except for command of the Royal Guard and any Emarion Army soldiers present in Lumnos, which shall remain with me.”

“Until that Descended in the north is dead,” Marthe Hanoverre said loudly. “Then, the Guard will be ours to control.”

“Until the war ends,” I clarified. “Whatever form that may take.”

Her peppery eyebrows inched higher. “Are you saying you do not intend to kill him because he is your father?”

“My sire, not my father. I will do whatever I must to protect this realm and the people in it, but Ophiucae is not the only threat to a peaceful Emarion.”

“Indeed,” Garath said, flicking a look toward my mother.

“The council will be made up of fifteen votes. Five to the mortals—”

I nodded to the mortals’ table, where my mother was seated beside four others chosen by the residents of Mortal City. I was relieved to see that one was Henri’s father, a man I knew to be fair, even toward Descended. I also recognized two others, a well-liked farmer and a man known to be the town’s biggest gossip. The fifth had fire crackling in my veins: Brant, Vance’s second-in-command during his time as head of the Lumnos Guardians. Brant had never trusted me, even then, and the look on his face as he watched me said his distrust had become outright hate.

“Another five votes to the Houses of Lumnos—”

“Only five?” Marthe interrupted. “You said all the Houses would be given a vote.”

“I promised all the Houses would be given a seat. Each House may make its own decision on any given matter. The prevailing choice will carry

the weight of five votes.”

“Five is not enough,” she snapped.

“Limiting the Houses to five votes was your idea, Marthe.” I flashed her an innocent smile. “If the other Houses have a problem with that, I suppose they’ll have to take it up with you.”

Her skeletal fingers clenched around the bronze cuff on her arm. There was strong magic lingering in those brittle old bones, and I had little doubt it burned for a chance at me.

“Five votes is plenty,” Garath said smoothly. His chilly smirk was a never-before-seen level of smug. “It’s all we need.”

I did not like at all how delighted with himself Garath looked.

“Shouldn’t Remis be in that seat?” I asked him.

“My dear brother has decided to retire as Head of House. We agreed that the person needed to guide our family forward in these strange, uncertain times . . .” He leaned forward and steepled his hands. “ . . . is me.”

Beside him, Aemonn shifted in his seat, though his attention was not on his father, but on the man seated between his brother and Luther: Zalaric Hanoverre.

I glanced at Remis. The internal politics of House Corbois meant little to me now, but I had to admit, my curiosity was piqued. Remis Corbois was not a man who let go of power without a fight, yet there he sat, not a word to speak at being so summarily dismissed.

Another warning bell clanged in my head.

I looked at the other tables. House Corbois was not the only one with an unexpected face in its seat.

“Evrim Benette,” I said. “If I remember correctly, you refused to serve on this council.”

He shot me a withering glare. “I changed my mind.”

In the packed mass of spectators from House Benette, Norwick had been relegated to the back. I couldn’t tell whether his dour expression was for me or the uncle who’d unseated him.

My heel bounced nervously under the table. After the catastrophic introduction Norwick and I just had, maybe I was better off taking my chances with Evrim. His greedy motives made him easy to predict. His vote could probably be bought, for the right price.

But I’d given my word.

And that was not the kind of Queen I was going to be.

“My rules were clear, Evrim. A Head of House is entitled to their House’s council seat, but if they refuse it, I get to appoint their replacement.”

Evrim’s face went so hot, I wondered if his mustache might begin to smoke and curl. His fist slammed on the table. “You have no right to choose

who leads my House!”

“You’re still Head of House. Until that changes, Norwick keeps his seat.

But if you’d like to resign, I’m sure one of your kin would be thrilled to take your place.”

The crowd of Benettes quivered with anticipation, sharks in bloody water sensing the aroma of a fresh demise. One glance over his shoulder, and Evrim sensed it, too. He dragged out his chair and nearly shoved his advisor to the ground so he could take the seat beside it.

Norwick’s glare locked on me as he made his way to the table. I felt a little guilty that I’d just made him an enemy within his own House. When he took his seat, Evrim grabbed him by the arm and hissed words into his ear that had his features hardening to stone.

“As I was saying,” I resumed, a little less sure-footed, “five votes to the mortals, and five to the Houses. Of the remaining five votes, one will be cast by the independent Descended”—I nodded at the Unhoused Descended, whose faces flickered with pleasant surprise at my description, then I gestured to Nidara—“and another by our new residents from Ignios.”

A few quiet grumbles rose around the room.

“Two more votes will be held by half-mortals. One for those residing in Lumnos”—I nodded to Luther, then to Zalaric—“and one for those still exiled abroad.” The murmurs grew louder, and I hurried on. “As the Crown of Lumnos, I will hold the final vote.”

“And one vote is all you will take?” Norwick asked. “Even if the council makes a decision you don’t like?”

Even if we decide to execute the Guardians for what they’ve done? his pointed stare seemed to ask.

This was a dangerous gamble. I would never truly sit back and watch mortals led to slaughter, but breaking my word would have consequences.

Even Vance’s violence might pale in comparison to the war I would start at home.

“Just one vote,” I said. “Now . . . let’s get to the business of running the realm.”

Marthe rapped her bony knuckles on her table. “House Hanoverre has a

matter to raise for a vote.”

The alarms in my head grew louder.

“I propose that the Crown of Lumnos be removed from this council and that its vote be permanently stripped.”

“A brilliant suggestion,” Garath chimed in. “I second the proposal.”

“Thirded,” Brant shouted from the mortals’ table. My mother’s head whipped toward him.

“Out of the question,” Luther said. “Diem was chosen to rule by all nine of the Blessed Kindred. If any person belongs here, it is her.”

No one spoke up to agree.

“Why should you get a seat?” the mortal farmer asked me. “Each of us represent a much larger group. You only represent yourself. Do you believe your voice is worth more than all of ours?”

I blinked in speechless surprise. As I fumbled for an answer that wouldn’t bury me in hypocrisy, my eyes dropped to the woman’s throat.

Just inside her collar, I caught a glint of golden light. Another sparkle slipped out from the hem of her sleeve.

The longer I looked, the more curious it got. A dagger strapped to her calf had an ivory handle inlaid with dark grey seams of Fortosian steel. Her clothes were not the silks and brocades of Descended fashion, but they were the finest attire mortals could buy in the realm.

Alone, any one thing might have gone unnoticed. It wasn’t unheard of for some of the more privileged mortals to hold items of great value that their families had passed down or saved for years to buy.

But farmers were far from privileged, and the leather pouch at her waist was stuffed fatter than any mortal coin purse I’d seen.

Shit.

I’d feared this would happen eventually. To see it so soon was a devastating blow. After all they’d been through, all the blood that had been

shed . . .

“How many for yours?” I asked sadly.

The woman’s head leaned to the side. “Excuse me?”

“You speak to me of the worth of a single voice. When you sold yours to House Hanoverre, how many coins was it worth?”

Pink exploded across her cheeks. She dropped her hands into her lap, tugging down her sleeves.

“Do you see?” Iléana Hanoverre spat from Marthe’s side. “Diem has no answer, so she resorts to smearing the reputation of an innocent woman.

She can’t be trusted by mortals or Descended.”

“Iléana,” Luther rumbled, dark and slow.

More than anything she’d said, it was the sound of her name on his lips that had my vision going red. I’d never been a possessive lover, but the mating bond triggered something primal inside me. I had to grip my chair to keep myself from lunging at her throat.

“I am a half-mortal raised by mortals wearing a Descended Crown,” I ground out. “I represent everyone. And I am the tiebreaking vote.”

“We only need a tiebreaking vote if the Ignios scum are given a seat,”

Brant said. “They don’t belong here.”

“Neither do the half-mortals,” Iléana said. “They’re supposed to be dead.” Her brother Jean chuckled, his smarmy smile targeted at his forsaken

son.

Zalaric yawned.

“The half-mortals have every right to be here,” I said. “I lifted their exile.”

“If they return to Lumnos, no reputable House will accept them, and they’ll be Unhoused,” Garath said. “If they don’t return, they have no stake in how the realm is run. Either way, they merit no vote of their own.

Certainly not two. Son, don’t you agree?”

It wasn’t the way Aemonn’s eyes went distant and cold that surprised me. Nor was it the way Taran reddened with rage, forcing Zalaric to soothe him with calming strokes down his arm.

It was the casual cruelty of Garath’s question. It served no purpose— Aemonn had no seat on the council, and his obedience to his father had already been proven many times. The only thing Garath could hope to accomplish was driving the wedge between his sons even deeper than before.

I had a sickening feeling that was exactly the point.

“Yes, Father,” Aemonn said, his voice sounding too small for the

charismatic man I knew him to be.

“Fucking coward,” Taran growled.

Jean exchanged a poisonous smile with his sister. “No wonder those two are together. They’ve got so much in common. Both of their fathers would rather they were dead.”

The Hanoverre siblings dissolved into laughter. Luther’s hands flattened on his table. “Iléana,” he said again, “this is your final warning.”

Though she rolled her eyes, her snickering fell quiet.

“We may not have your expensive Descended education,” my mother cut in, “but they still teach basic math in mortal schools.” She wagged a finger in Marthe and Garath’s direction. “You two are trying to stack the council in your favor. Without the votes of Diem, the half-mortals, and the people from Ignios, this seat”—she pointed to the Unhoused Descended —“will be the swing vote. Five mortal votes to six Descended.”

“They must not teach logic at those mortal schools,” Garath sneered. “If all we wanted was more Descended on the council, we’d leave them their seats.”

“Would you?” Zalaric cut in. “The people of Ignios are faithful to their Blessed Mother. If anyone in this room has their loyalty, it’s her chosen Crown: Diem. As for the half-mortals . . .” He adjusted the stack of thick gold bangles on his wrists, many studded with diamonds or colorful jewels.

“We have made our own fortunes. We have no need of yours. Our vote cannot be bribed—and I think you know it. That only leaves the other kin you cast aside.” He twirled a finger at the Unhoused Descended. “You’re betting you can dangle the promise of a return to win their vote.”

If Garath or Marthe were trying to conceal their glee, they were failing in extraordinary fashion. They oozed with self-satisfied delight, not even bothering to deny it aloud.

Marthe sat up. “Let’s bring it to a vote. Those in favor of removing all seats from the council other than the Houses, the mortals, and the”—she smiled nastily at me—“independent Descended?”

I jumped to my feet. “This is not what I agreed to.”

“Oh, but it was your idea,” Marthe said, parroting my earlier words.

“You gave your word that you would abide by the council’s decisions, did you not?”

“Yes, but . . . but—we’ve barely discussed it. You can’t make decisions this important on a few minutes of bickering.”

“You spoke in your own defense,” Garath said. “As did the mortals and half-mortals. Unless either of you has anything to add?” He glanced at the Unhoused Descended, then at Nidara, who glared with a fierceness that rivaled mine. Garath shrugged. “Then let’s vote.”

My eyes darted from seat to seat as I frantically counted votes. They needed eight to pass—with the five from the Houses, the mortal farmer they bribed, and that short-sighted idiot Brant, only one more would carry it.

My focus turned to the representative for the Unhoused Descended. He had the same sheen of divinely inherited perfection that all Descended seemed to share, but his posture was stooped, his head seeming permanently low, and his eyes rarely rose from his hands. It was as if, after a lifetime of being told by the Houses that he wasn’t enough, his own body had begun to believe it.

“Don’t let them do this,” I begged him. “You know what it’s like to be treated as second-class. They took away your voice. Now they want to use you to do the same to someone else.”

The man’s throat bobbed. “My village is suffering. The mortals won’t trade with us because we’re Descended. The Descended won’t trade with us because we’re Unhoused. Some years, we barely survive.” He finally met my eyes, looking as ashamed as he was resolved. “If this gives my people a chance at a better life, how can I turn it away?”

My heart fractured. It seemed like a genuine plea for me to give him a better choice. This was not a man eager to be controlled by the very people who scorned him—just a man desperate to protect his own, who only saw one way to do it.

“Give me a chance,” I begged. “I will help your people. I will lead us all to a better Lumnos—”

Iléana’s shrill laughter cut me off. “You can’t even keep control of the council you formed.”

The screech of Luther’s chair sliding across stone sliced through the room. Iléana’s eyes grew round. She tugged frantically at the cuff on her wrist as Luther rose, but it was Eleanor he walked to. Again, he bent down to her ear and murmured something too low to be heard.

“She’s right,” the Unhoused man said. “If this council is to govern instead of you, I have to make sure my people’s place is secure.” He gave me a sympathetic wince before turning to Marthe. “I vote in favor.”

Zalaric scoffed. “Well, I vote against.”

“As do I,” Luther said darkly. He strode over to stand behind my chair,

arms folded on his chest.

“As do I,” Nidara agreed.

“The mortals vote against, as well,” my mother declared. “That’s eight votes opposed. The proposal fails.”

“You do not speak for us, Auralie,” Brant said. “I voted in favor.”

“Have you taken one too many strikes to the skull?” she hissed.

“They’re going to outnumber us.”

“They already outnumber us. The fewer of them on the council, the better.” He leaned back with a menacing smile in House Benette’s direction.

“We have our ways of handling the others.”

Norwick Benette threw me a pointed look. It was all I could do not to

bury my face in my hands.

“Mister Albanon?” I asked.

“I vote against.”

I threw him a thankful smile, then held my breath as I turned to the mortal farmer, whose wide-eyed gaze was dancing between me and Marthe Hanoverre.

My mother leaned near her. “When your daughter was sick, I treated her myself. Stayed at her bedside for hours. Didn’t ask for a single coin.”

“I’ve helped people, too, Auralie,” she said. “I brought seedlings for the orphans. Even taught the babes how to sow them and keep them strong.”

“Indeed. You gave those children a chance to learn a trade and stay fed.”

The woman sat a little taller, a little prouder.

“And the next year,” my mother continued, “when your autumn harvest was lost to blight, the villagers made sure your children were fed. We sent baskets of bread and rice to get you through the winter. Did anyone ever ask

for repayment?”

“Well . . . no, but —”

“And when your crop prices rose, we made no complaint, even though none of us had coins to spare. The Descended market turned you away, did

they not?”

The woman’s gaze fell to her lap.

“I know things are hard,” my mother said, her voice gentling. “There’s not a mortal family in this realm that has enough food or money to weather every storm. The only way we survived is by taking care of each other.” She pointed to Marthe. “She helps you now because you have something she needs. What will happen when your usefulness to her runs out?”

The woman squirmed in her chair.

“Don’t be a fool, child,” Marthe warned. “House Hanoverre is very

loyal to its friends.”

Zalaric snorted.

“Please,” I begged the woman, “you may believe I don’t deserve a voice, but the mortals do. If you cast this vote, they might never get to use it again.”

The woman was quiet for a long moment, the room silent as we awaited her decision. Her fingers grazed her neck and twitched each time they passed over the hidden chain beneath her clothes.

“Please forgive me,” she whispered, and my heart sank—until she snapped the chain from her neck. She slammed it on the table, then ripped the strands of jewels from her wrist. She lifted her leather pouch and dumped its contents on the table, breathing in a gulp of air as if her spirit had been equally untied. “I vote against.”

A smile exploded on my face. I’d almost forgotten this feeling—the joy of hope attained. My stormy spirit parted to let the bright rays of triumph shine through.

My eyes found Luther. The mating mark warmed on my chest as the feeling of his own happiness, and his pride in me, illuminated the bond in his fearsome glow. I pushed my heart out toward him like I’d always done with Sorae, wishing more than anything he could feel it, praying that hope might one day be realized, too.

I turned to the final mortal who had yet to speak, a floppy shoelace of a man known for bartering town rumors, only a fraction of which were ever true. I’d last seen him two weeks after my mother’s disappearance, when Henri had to drag me away before I broke the man’s nose for claiming she’d left the realm with a handsome Descended man.

Turns out he’d been right about that, after all.

His vote would decide my council’s fate, and my hope grew at the certainty of what it would be. He was no stranger to Descended cruelty. The late King had ordered his cobbler shop burned to the ground for serving clients in Lumnos City without royal consent. His family had lost everything. He of all people would never support Marthe’s plan to— “I vote in favor.”

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