Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 34

34

LUTHER

verything was shit.E I never imagined a time would come when I longed for the days before Fortos, but the mood around the palace since our return made the awkward tension of those weeks seem almost delightful in comparison.

Without Ophiucae present, we’d managed to fend off his mortal army, though we’d taken heavy losses. Vance and his men had walked into town undetected and attacked while our guard was down. The knowledge that they could do so again was a constant weight on everyone’s minds.

In the three weeks since, Diem had gone from a dagger—sharp and short, ready to stab if you came too near—to a poisoned arrow, launching herself at any threat she could find. She was running our soldiers ragged all over Emarion in attempts to thwart Vance’s attacks, jumping at even the vaguest intelligence from her mother’s sources.

We hadn’t spoken since our fight. We’d barely had a chance, since she was rarely home and she insisted I stay behind in Lumnos to oversee the Royal Guard. She was once again locked on an island, this time of her own design. So I did now what I had done then: I kept close to her family, I kept them safe, and I continued building her army.

With Diem away in Faunos, today that meant training the Royal Guard’s recruits, including one of its newest—Teller Bellator.

Conditions were less than ideal. Since the Guardians had taken over the training field, we were relegated to a patch of land just inside the magic barrier that surrounded it. Runa and Enness had set up their group’s camp between the rebels and the Ignios refugees, leaving us with an unfriendly audience on every side.

“Look, it’s baby Bellator trying to play soldier,” one of the Guardians called out, joined by snickering from his friends.

Teller didn’t flinch, holding at attention as I’d ordered. I could see his father’s influence. While Diem had inherited Andrei Bellator’s compelling leadership, Teller had taken his discipline.

His cohorts were not so restrained.

“Can’t we train somewhere else?” one recruit whined, a mortal named Owenran with unruly gold hair and a half-crooked nose. Several others grumbled in agreement.

“You’ll get worse heckling than that when you’re on duty,” I warned.

“If you’re Descended, they’ll call you assholes and brutes. If you’re mortal, they’ll call you traitors and sheep. If you can’t handle an insult, you won’t last a week.”

“I could shut them up,” another recruit muttered, a young Descended from House Althiena.

I turned to her. “How do you plan to do that?”

She shrugged, oblivious to the fuse her words had just lit. “A little whip of light magic, I guess.” She shared a smirk with a House Byrnum recruit.

My gaze cut to her friend. “Do you agree?”

She, at least, had the wisdom to wipe away her smile. “Uh, yes, I—”

She swallowed at my narrowing eyes. “No, Prince—I mean, um, Your Highn—Mister Corbois . . . sir.”

I almost matched her grimace as she fumbled with how to address me.

Technically, I was no longer a Prince, nor was I an officer in the Guard.

Even the Corbois name now felt like a lie.

“Which is it, Miss Byrnum? Yes or no?”

She shot her friend an apologetic look. “No, sir. I don’t agree.”

“Very well.” I turned to the first recruit. “You’re dismissed from the Guard.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You can’t do that. I’m from House Althiena.”

“I don’t care if you were birthed from Blessed Mother Lumnos herself.

You’re unworthy of the Guard. Turn in your uniform and weapons, and go home.”

She let out a sound that was half shriek, half huff. “You’ll hear from my parents about this.”

I sent a pulse of my aura thumping outward, knocking the recruits to their backs. In the nearby camps, people shivered and craned their necks. I stood over the Althiena recruit, shadows twining at my palms. “I look forward to it.”

Blood drained from her face. She clambered to her feet and ran toward the palace.

“Anyone else?” I growled, eyeing the others as they stood and returned to attention. “The role of the Royal Guard is to defend the realm and protect its people. That includes the ones you dislike. Our Queen has set the example. She defends her people equally, even those who oppose her.” I glared at the recruits from the Twenty Houses. “Even those whose families Challenged her and tried to take her life. She strikes only when she must, and when she does, she takes no joy in it. She is . . .” My chest tightened.

“She is mercy, and she is strength. As Her Majesty leads, so shall we follow.

Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they murmured.

Only Teller met my eyes. There was a deeper kind of respect in his solemn nod.

“Pair off and start sparring,” I ordered. “Descended, practice using magic to subdue without causing injury. Keep it in the barrier—if stray magic makes it into any camp, I’ll tie you to a post and let them take their revenge. Mortals, use your wits. The Descended you’ll face on duty won’t hold themselves back.”

The recruits split into duos and spread out to begin their fights. As I wove my way through, barking feedback, the Guardians continued their mocking comments. The Ignios soldiers had also taken an interest, shaking their heads at the novices’ sloppy methods.

“Baby Bellator spent a few years at a fancy school, now he thinks he’s one of them,” a rebel called out. “Who’s gonna tell him he bleeds like us?”

Despite their sneers, or perhaps because of them, Teller spun forward with a flawless swing of his wooden sword into his partner’s ribs.

“Good, Bellator.” I shot a withering look at his opponent. “Do they not teach their sons how to shield in House Benette?”

Teller went rigid. His eyes dropped to the sigil on his partner’s uniform that marked him as a Benette.

The man climbed back to his feet, rubbing at his side and scowling. He raised his shield, and they began again, though Teller’s moves were less

certain than before.

“We’re picking on the wrong recruit,” another rebel joked. “That pathetic Descended can’t even handle one mortal.”

The Benette recruit gritted his teeth at the ridicule. He shot out a sloppy burst of dark shards that Teller easily dodged. The Guardians dissolved in laughter, while the nearby Ignios spectators clicked their tongues in disapproval.

The Benette recruit’s eyes darkened. He circled Teller, jaw tensed, muscles tight. He took his shot, casting a cloud of black to obscure him as he lunged. A clever move, but Teller’s instincts were sharp. He closed his eyes to focus on his partner’s pounding footsteps, and he angled his blade at just the right moment. When the shadow magic cleared, the Benette man was on the ground, holding his gut and moaning.

The Guardians whooped. “Come on, baby Bellator, finish him off,” a rebel shouted. “The only good Descended guard is a dead one.”

“Shut your mouth,” Teller snarled, turning toward them. Their cheering turned to delighted laughter at finally getting a rise.

“That’s enough,” I warned them. “Find something more useful to do than interrupting my training, or I’ll have Auralie put you on latrine duty for a month.”

They rolled their eyes and grumbled, then started to disperse. One elbowed another as they walked away. “At least when they’re dead, they don’t go to the Undying Fire. They rot in the ground where they belong.”

Teller’s sword thumped to the soil.

Within seconds, he was on the rebel’s back, slamming a fist into the side of his jaw. The other recruits—mortal and Descended—roared their support, but when the rebel landed a return blow across Teller’s temple, their amusement turned abruptly to rage.

“For Teller,” Owenran shouted, raising a fist. He shot toward the rebels, the others followed, and the scene turned to chaos.

“Break it up,” I ordered. Cords of hissing darkness flowed from my hands and coiled around ankles, yanking them out of the fray one by one. “I said, break it up.”

I stalked forward and grabbed Teller by the collar, dragging him off his bloodied victim. He fought me the whole way, thrashing and swinging at an enemy that was no longer there.

I yanked his face up to mine. “This is not how you honor Perthe,” I hissed, quiet enough so only he could hear. His eyes dropped, though his jaw was still tight with fury. “You think this is going to help Diem earn the rebels’ trust? You’re her brother. What you do reflects on her.”

He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, smearing blood across his face. “Why does everything always have to be about her?”

I sighed and shoved him toward the palace. “Clean yourself up, then wait for me in the foyer.”

I turned to the others. More Guardians had run from camp to join the scuffle, outnumbering the recruits three to one. Nidara’s second—bless the Kindred for her—had seen the tides shift and sent her soldiers to intervene before a simple fistfight turned into something worse. I gave her a nod of thanks, then sent another burst of magic into the fight. Bands of blue light wrapped over the eyes of the worst offenders, blinding them and sending them stumbling apart.

“Get your asses back to your camp,” I barked at the rebels.

“We don’t answer to you,” one shouted back.

“You answer to Auralie Bellator. What do you think she’ll say when she hears you assaulted her son?”

They skulked away as they tossed dirty looks at the recruits. One particularly feisty woman remained, waving a finger in my face. “You spent all that time with us in Arboros. We thought you were one of us. Now you’re defending them. This is why Descended can’t be trusted. Your kind only looks out for themselves.”

“Teller Bellator is a mortal,” I snapped. “So are half the recruits you just attacked. Where’s your loyalty to them?”

She sneered. “They joined the Royal Guard. They made their choice.”

“So you prefer we go back to the days when only Descended were allowed in? You’d rather have people from Lumnos City patrolling your streets, instead of your own neighbors?”

The woman bristled. “That’s not what I—”

“Her Majesty repealed the unjust laws. She gave the mortals a voice in running the realm. She gave them equal rank and equal pay in the army. She is doing everything she can to bring us together as one people, one continent.” My voice grew louder, angrier, building to a roar. “She took on the Crowns to save the Guardians, and it nearly destroyed her. She fights

and she sacrifices every gods-damned day, and you push back on her every fucking step of the way.”

The woman stubbornly crossed her arms. “We’re here, aren’t we? We’re fighting her war. I lost friends in that Fortos attack.”

“So did we,” said the Byrnum recruit.

The two women shared a tense look, then they both fell quiet.

I pointed across the grounds to the other camps. “Everyone here wants the same thing: a safe home and a future with the person—people we love.”

I rubbed at my aching, incomplete heart. “We’ll never get that if we keep fighting each other.”

I turned my focus back to the recruits. Much as I wanted to shred them for their lack of self-control, I was proud of the way they’d united in Teller’s defense. They’d fought with no regard for Houses or bloodkind, united only by their oath to their Queen.

That, I could not punish.

“Tend to your wounds. We’ll resume training tomorrow.”

I returned to the palace, where Teller was waiting outside on the stairs.

His face was still smeared with blood, and a purple bruise had bloomed on his cheek. He was scowling at the ground while an enraged Taran growled in his face.

“Just give me a name,” Taran demanded. “I’ll turn their teeth into a necklace.”

“Teller handled it on his own,” I said, walking up.

Taran cut me a bitter glance. “Stay out of it. This is family business.”

It was a low blow.

A cruel blow, especially from him.

Taran’s easygoing charm was a ruse. His need for loyalty was uncompromising, and it turned nasty when betrayed. It was a side of him I’d seen too often, though rarely directed at me.

“It’s Royal Guard business,” I said.

“Even more reason for you to go away. Teller and I are in the Guard.

You quit.”

“I’m training the recruits. That puts him under my command.”

“What a surprise. You, ordering everyone around, even without a title.”

My jaw clenched. “If you don’t like it, take it up with the High General when she returns from Faunos.”

He swerved toward me, chest puffed. “Maybe I will. And maybe I’ll have a little talk with Her Majesty, too.”

“Can I go now?” Teller muttered.

“Her Majesty has enough to deal with,” I snapped. “Keep your petty issues to yourself.”

“Petty?” His face turned a furious red. “Petty?”

A soft gasp rang out as Lily emerged from the palace doors. She ran to Teller’s side, gawking at his blood-streaked face. “Blessed Kindred, what happened?”

Teller straightened. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” She gingerly touched his swelling cheek. He looked like he was fighting to keep from leaning into her hand. Blessed Kindred, I recognized that struggle.

“Lily, why don’t you use your healer training to check on Teller’s

wounds?” I suggested.

Teller frowned. “I don’t need —”

“He took a hard blow to the head,” I interrupted. “He needs observation.

Take him somewhere private, and sit with him for a few hours. Keep him talking.”

Teller’s mouth clicked shut. Lily nodded vehemently, taking his arm and leading him inside.

Taran glared. “Good to see you still know how to do nice things for some people. Too bad for the half-mortals you find their exile petty.”

I shot him a scathing look. “That’s not what I meant. You of all people should know that.”

“And you of all people should give more of a damn if they live or die.”

My temper began to fray. “Need I remind you that for years, I had to bribe you into helping me save them by promising to have a drink with you after. You didn’t give a damn about their lives then. You didn’t care about anything that wasn’t in a bottle.”

“Well I care now,” he said hotly. “I helped you countless times. You

won’t do this one thing for me.”

“It’s not about you.”

His eyes rolled. “Right, I forgot. Diem’s too fragile to make her own decisions.”

Irritation boiled into wrath. I stepped up to him and snarled. “Watch your fucking mouth when you speak about her. That’s your Queen.”

He bumped his chest into mine. “That’s my sister now, asshole.”

“Then act like it.” I shoved him by the shoulders. “Try being a good

brother for a change.”

A low blow.

A cruel blow, especially from me.

So, when Taran’s fist came for my face, I didn’t bother to duck. I savored the crack of his knuckles on my jaw, the pain in my flesh finally a match for the agony I’d been steeping in for weeks.

It didn’t stop me from punching back. Stars were still swimming in my vision when I lunged forward with a wild swing that clipped his shoulder and sent him staggering. Seconds later, he was on me, and we were tumbling down the stairs and into the grass, trading insults and blows.

“Fuck you,” Taran shouted, slamming me to the soil. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

I drove a fist into his side. “I helped you with everything you asked of me since—” I huffed as his elbow knocked the wind from my lungs. “— since we were children. I say no once, and our friendship is over?”

“This isn’t just any ‘no.’” He grabbed my fist mid-throw and knocked it away. “This is the only family Zalaric has.” He bared his teeth as he landed another jab across my face. “And you’re the heartless bastard leaving them in exile.”

I spat out a mouthful of blood. “I wrote letters. I promised them amnesty. I offered to pay for their passage and find them a place here to live. What more do they need?”

“They need Diem,” he bellowed. He leaned over me, sweat and blood dripping from his face. “Your word means nothing to them. She’s the Queen.”

I grabbed his shirt in my fists. “Everyone needs her, Taran. Every damn person on this continent wants something from her. She can only do so

much. It’s my job to protect her.”

“Find some other way to do it.”

“I fucking can’t!”

My voice echoed off the palace’s stone facade. Faces began to appear in windows, drawn by our shouts.

“I can’t.” My arms fell limp at my sides, head slumping against the grass. “I don’t know how. The woman I love is being torn apart, and I don’t

. . .” I closed my eyes, my voice as ragged as my breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

The heavy silence stretched on, broken only by our huffs for air and Sorae’s distant wingbeats as she circled the grounds, awaiting Diem’s return as restlessly as me.

Taran’s hand clamped around my wrist. “Come on. Too many eyes out here.”

He tugged me to my feet, jerked his chin, and walked away. I trudged behind him out the palace gate and into the nearby forest. When we were fully hidden from view by a canopy of spring leaves, he leaned his back against a trunk and slid to the ground. I did the same, hunching over my knees and hanging my head.

“I know Queenie’s going through a hard time,” Taran said gruffly. “We can all see it. But she’s been through worse. Remember when her father died? We thought we’d never see her smile again.”

I shook my head. “This is different. I can feel it.”

He frowned. “And she won’t talk to you?”

“She said she needs space.” I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes until it hurt. “I think I lost her, Taran.”

I’d thought admitting my fear aloud would make it feel too large and unbearably real. Instead, it felt like swimming to the surface and taking a breath.

Taran nudged me with his knee. “Nah. I see how she looks at you. She’s more in love with you than ever.”

I let out a long exhale. “Then why is she so determined to keep me away?”

“A Bellator trait, I think. I tried to talk to Teller about whatever’s bothering him.” He smirked. “Never seen a mortal run so fast. Auralie, too.

Did you know she still hasn’t been to Andrei’s grave? I offered to go with

her. She said she doesn’t need to go.”

“Bullshit,” I muttered.

He grunted in agreement. “Do you visit your mother’s grave?”

“She doesn’t have one. Father had her body taken away and burned.”

My fists clenched. “I’d visit her every day if I could.”

The conversation lulled into silence, and though we said nothing, I could feel the wall between us crumble. We’d been through too much to let one fight divide us.

“I’ll tell Diem about the half-mortals as soon as she’s home,” I said.

“You were right. It’s her choice, not mine.”

He flashed a sheepish smile. “I guess I could have been a little less dramatic about it.”

“I’m not sure you’re capable of that,” I teased, and he grinned. “I know you did it for Zal. He deserves someone that passionate about his happiness.”

“Lumnos’s jugs, I’m glad we’re friends again. There’s something I’ve been dying to tell you.” He took a deep inhale, but didn’t go on. His leg bounced, his hand raking over his stubbled jaw.

“Well?” I asked.

“I thought, maybe . . . I was considering . . . you know, if he’s open to it

. . . but only if he wants to . . .”

“Out with it, Taran.”

“I’mgonnaaskZaltobemymate,” he blurted out.

What I should have done was smile. I should have beamed and clapped him on the back and told him at length how obscenely happy I was that he found someone he loved enough to make such an important, permanent bond.

What I actually did was stare at him blankly, that final word pounding in my ears.

His face fell. “You don’t approve. You think it’s too soon.” He looked distraught. “You think he’ll say no.”

I shook my head to clear away the echoes. “No—nothing like that.” I managed a smile. “He’d be a fool to say no, and Zalaric is no fool.”

Taran blew out a nervous laugh. “It just feels right, you know? I think he’s ready, too. Last week, he gave me a jar of oil. He said mating magic would never work on a man with jagged nails.” He proudly flashed his nails —still jagged, but distinctly softer. “And with the war and Ophiucae . . .”

He shrugged. “I’d feel better going into battle knowing that whatever happens, we’ll be together on the other side.”

I was happy for him, I truly was. But every word he spoke was a sword through my ribs, a reminder of what I craved down to the core of my being —and what I couldn’t have. The bitter sting of jealousy poisoned my joy.

Taran knew me too well, and I could tell from his pained look that he understood. I loved him all the more that he did not judge me for it.

“Have you thought about asking her?” he said.

I sighed. “Every day.”

“You really think she’d say no?”

“She won’t even speak to me. She thinks I’m too . . .” Pathetic. “ . . . devoted. That there’s nothing in my life but her. She said there needs to be a ‘Luther without Diem.’”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Cousin, I love you, I respect you more than anyone on this earth . . .”

I groaned. “Don’t tell me you agree.”

He grimaced. “Think of it this way . . . if Diem didn’t exist, what would you be doing?”

“I’d probably be King. And I’d be even more miserable than I am now.”

“Pretend you weren’t. Pretend the Crown went to someone you trusted to rule without your help. Someone like Zal.”

“You just want to imagine yourself as King Consort.”

He smiled guiltily. “Don’t change the subject. If your life didn’t revolve around a Crown, what would you want? What would make you happy?”

Her.

“Something that isn’t Diem,” he added. “Nothing about Lily or me or House Corbois, either. What do you want that’s just for you?”

He might as well have asked me the Kindred’s middle names or the best use for a one-legged ant. The idea of a life to myself was so unlikely an outcome, I’d never even allowed myself to consider it.

My head sank back against the tree. “Blessed Kindred, I am pathetic.”

Taran roared with laughter, finding a little too much delight in my wallowing. “Keep trying, cousin. You’re used to being good at everything you do. This is like using a new muscle. It’s uncomfortable at first. You’ve got to work at it every day until it gets strong.” He curled his arm to his shoulders and flexed a mammoth bicep. “Trust me. This is what I’m good at.”

“I’ll think on it,” I promised. I dragged myself to my feet, then helped him stand. We pulled each other in for a tight embrace that lingered just long enough to speak the words we didn’t: I’m sorry. I love you. We are family, no matter what.

As we returned to the palace, my thoughts churned over Diem’s words and Taran’s advice. I went to my room and opened a hidden compartment in my wardrobe, then fished out my journal of the half-mortal children I’d helped. My eyes lingered on another item I’d stowed out of sight—a folded

tunic marked with a bloody handprint. I let my palm rest against it, thinking of the words I’d spoken that day.

If you’re the way my fate finally catches up to me, I can’t fathom a more

beautiful end.

A confession. And an omen, perhaps.

There was no use pretending I could be happy without Diem in my life.

That ship had set sail months ago. I was hers, now and always.

But, perhaps, I could be that . . . and more.

I took the journal into the sitting room of my suite and pulled a chair to the table. I gently thumbed through the pages, chest warming as I realized how long it had been since I’d had to add a new name. I reached the blank pages at the end, smoothed down the spine, and began to draw.

When I finished, I glanced out the window, surprised to see that hours had passed and the sun was low. I didn’t have long—a messenger hawk this morning had told us to expect Diem home this evening. I carefully tore out the page and tucked it into my pocket, then returned the journal to its hidden drawer. I grabbed my cloak and strode for the door.

It was time for a visit to Mortal City.

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