Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 56

56

DIEM

’m not wearing that.”“I

“But it’s so beautiful!”

“It is.”

“And so queenlike.” Eleanor fluffed the gown’s skirts where it lay on my bed in the royal suite. “That’s what everyone needs right now, a reminder that we are united under one Queen. A strong Queen.”

Her words hurt more than she knew.

She nudged me closer to the dress. Reluctantly, I grazed my fingers over the shimmering golden bodice, scattered with gemstones in warm hues of honey, currant, and marmalade. A breeze wafted in from the archways to the terrace and billowed the curtains, sending the midday sun flooding into my bedchamber. As it drenched the gown in light, sparkling flecks glittered across the room.

I yanked my hand back. “Please tell me this dress isn’t made with real gold.” Eleanor beamed and nodded proudly, and my stomach turned.

“People are sleeping outside in tents. I can’t wear a dress that costs enough to build houses for them all.”

“We offered to build them houses, remember? They all said no. They prefer the tents.”

“They don’t prefer the tents. They want the war to end so they can return to the homes they already have.”

“It’s almost over. Once we find that mortal—Vance, was it? It’ll be easy to stop him now that Ophiucae is dead.”

I gave her my back before she could see my reaction, and my eyes locked with my brother’s, seated across the room with Lily. We’d barely

spoken since returning from Sophos days ago. He was furious at me for pardoning Henri for his role in our father’s death.

Even if Teller had seen the full truth of what happened, the way Henri was forced to choose between our father’s life and his own, I doubted it would win his mercy. It hadn’t won mine, when I first saw it. Only after reliving the memory a thousand times had my rage cooled enough to admit that Vance was the murderer to blame. He had doomed my father to die that day, with or without Henri’s participation.

I still hadn’t forgiven Henri—I never would. But I’d made my peace that his death would not bring justice for my father, it would only rob another child of theirs.

“Are we sure Ophiucae is dead?” Teller asked.

“Taran said he saw the whole thing,” Lily chimed in. “Completely decapitated. Descended can’t heal from that.”

Eleanor nodded, but Teller’s stare stayed locked with mine. His question was for me, not them.

Since returning from Sophos, I’d learned that Taran had lingered in the shadows that day, his loyal heart deciding that if he could not stop me or Luther from sacrificing our lives, he could at least bear witness so he could tell our story—and tell it he did, to every person who would listen.

My decision not to reveal that Ophiucae was a Kindred backfired, like so many of my secrets had, when everyone assumed Luther’s attack had been a death blow. The morning after our return, I awoke to thunderous cheering and the cracking wood of barrels of ale being pried open. The unity of my army was restored as they shared celebratory drinks as equals.

Even members of the Twenty Houses who’d once plotted my downfall were nodding in respect as I passed, believing Luther and I had slayed their fiercest villain.

Henri knew Ophiucae was no mere Descended, but he had returned to Mortal City, and he’d wisely kept out of sight since. Luther and Teller had held their tongues, awaiting my lead. When I said nothing, I saw the gears turning in their minds: Maybe it’s true. Maybe Diem’s sword was all it took to kill a Kindred, and Ophiucae really is dead.

Two days after our return, Sorae and I led a group to the Forgotten Lands to rescue the children Ophiucae had kidnapped. I spent the entire trip on edge, ready to call a retreat the moment I felt his aura, but there was no sign of Ophiucae and his gryvern, nor Vance and his men, nor the mindless

Meros Descended. We encountered a handful of rebel guards, who quickly fled, and the women Vance had ordered to care for the children. Within an hour of our arrival, we had everyone loaded on wagons and headed back to Lumnos.

In fact, there was no sign of Vance or Ophiucae anywhere in Emarion.

No more attacks on the realms, no sign of their ships on the sea. I sent a letter by hawk to Sophos, asking Ophiucae to meet; no answer came.

Speculation grew that the war was nearly over. The terrorists have gone into hiding, people whispered excitedly. They lost their Descended protector. The Queen’s army will crush them now.

After a few days, even Luther and Teller’s concern began to ease. Talk shifted from war to “what next?”—including moving forward with today’s mating ceremony for Taran and Zalaric. Everyone had turned their eyes

toward the future.

Everyone but me.

“Just put the dress on,” Eleanor urged. “If you try it and hate it, then . . . um . . . I’m sure we can find something else.” Her eyes slid to my wardrobe, her smile tightening in a way that said there was no something else.

The problem wasn’t how the dress looked. It was the most exquisite dress I’d ever laid eyes on. Though crafted with gold, it looked more like it was made of fire. Tiny, colorful beads depicted a pair of birds wrapped strategically around the sheer bodice. Their bodies grew into large, wing- like pauldrons crafted of gleaming metallic feathers, with a cape of shimmering organza floating in a long train behind. One bird’s tailfeathers fluttered into structural curls over a flowing tulle skirt of bright oranges and reds, dipped in blackened dye at the hem.

What held me back was what the dress represented: a phoenix rising from the ashes to join its mate. It was the perfect symbol for a mating ceremony, especially for two people who had overcome so much pain to find love. Poignant and joyful, a storybook happy ending.

And, as Eleanor had said, it sent a message of strength. The phoenix was a creature that could not be destroyed, only reborn, each time burning hotter than before.

My thumb brushed against Sorrow’s Edge, now returned to its scabbard and hanging off my hip. Its whispers seemed to warn of a curse unbroken. A fate unfinished.

“It’s too much,” I whispered. “I can’t bear it.”

“It’s supposed to be,” Lily said brightly. “Too much is a Descended

tradition.”

I hadn’t meant the dress.

“The more elaborate our attire, the more we show our support for the couple,” Eleanor explained. She gestured to her own billowing ballgown, also in shades of gold, as was Lily’s jewel-encrusted sheath. She’d told me earlier that the color was a nod to the mating mark’s hue when it glowed, as well as the bond’s priceless value. “If you wore something plain, it would insult the couple.”

My washroom door cracked open, and Taran’s face peered out.

“Someone insulted Zal?”

“No, Taran,” Eleanor said. “He’s still outside.”

His brow furrowed. “You’re certain?”

She strolled out to the terrace, leaning over the balustrade. “He’s greeting the guests. Where you should be.”

The door slammed shut.

Eleanor threw me a pointed look. “It’s where you should be, too. Zalaric invited the entire governing council, and members of all the Twenty Houses will be there. It’s a good chance to strengthen your alliances.”

“Luther’s down there,” I said. “He’s doing that for me.”

“You’re the Queen, Diem. No one can replace you. Not even Luther.”

I winced. “But a phoenix is the symbol of House Corbois. I can’t wear that after Garath kicked Taran out.”

“Zalaric wouldn’t have designed it for you if he and Taran didn’t want

you to wear it.”

“Zalaric designed this dress?”

“He designed all our outfits,” Teller said. He wrinkled his nose at his own caped golden suit, which lay untouched on my desk. “Said he refused to take a mate with his friends looking like paupers.”

The washroom door opened, and Taran appeared. “Zal’s refusing to

mate?”

Eleanor groaned. “Everything’s fine.”

“He’s still here?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The door clicked shut. A moment later, it reopened—“Wear the dress, Queenie,” he said—and closed again.

I sighed and accepted defeat, slipping behind a changing screen to disrobe as Eleanor gathered the dress and followed. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “What’s going on with Taran?”

“He’s convinced that Zalaric will change his mind,” Eleanor whispered back. “I told him a thousand times that’s not going to happen. This isn’t like

before.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Before?”

“This isn’t Taran’s first mating ceremony. There was another years ago —a man from a lower House named Baird. Taran tried for ages to convince his father to let them mate, but Garath refused because Baird’s House wasn’t a useful alliance. Taran decided to do it anyway in secret. He thought if he proved their love was true enough for the mating magic to work, his father would accept them.” Her exasperation softened to something closer to pity. “When the time came for the ceremony to start, Baird didn’t show up.”

My eyes narrowed. “Did Garath do something to him?”

She shook her head sadly. “Baird told everyone that he didn’t love Taran enough for the magic to work. His whole House packed up and left Lumnos City. I think they feared House Corbois would retaliate.” She scowled.

“When Garath found out, he laughed. He told Taran it was what he deserved for disobeying him.”

For the thousandth time, I vowed to make Taran’s father pay for the pain he’d put his son through. Even when the physical abuse ended, he found ways to keep Taran battered and bruised.

My fight against the dress melted away. No one deserved eternal, unconditional love more than Taran. If wearing the gown was a sign of my support, I’d wear it with pride.

I pulled my hair over my chest to conceal my mating mark and took the gown from Eleanor’s hands. “Lily, will you help Teller get dressed,” I yelled over the screen. “I’m sure he could use some assistance with those, uh . . . buttons.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” I peeked out just in time to watch Lily pop to her feet and gather the suit. Teller’s somber expression vanished as she grabbed his hand and led him toward his room.

“If this is what Zalaric made for his mating ceremony, I can’t wait to see what he does for yours,” Eleanor said. “We’ll have to melt down every candelabra in Emarion just to have enough gold.”

I tensed. “Oh . . . well, I—you see, um, I don’t —”

“I’m surprised Luther didn’t ask you the second he found you in Sophos. Actually, I’m surprised he didn’t ask you way back when you came home from the island. Anyone can see he wants to. Maybe he’s waiting for the war to end.” She knelt to fluff my skirts. “You know, I did see him talking to your mother this morning. It looked very serious.” She looked up at me and winked. “We might have another reason to celebrate soon.”

My heart skipped. For a moment, I let myself believe. If everyone was right, if Ophiucae was gone for good, then I didn’t have to die. And if I didn’t have to die, I had no more reason to keep the one-sided mating bond a secret.

Perhaps I could get my happy ending after all.

“The top of this dress is so lovely,” Eleanor said, standing. She came around to stand in front of me. “Zalaric gave me strict orders to pin up your curls to show it off.” She grabbed my hair and piled it on my head. “Here, let me—” She gasped and jerked back.

I looked down, and my stomach dropped. The beaded phoenixes had been arranged to cover as little of my breasts as possible—leaving my glowing mating mark starkly visible under the near-transparent mesh.

“You’re already mated,” Eleanor breathed.

“No,” I said quickly. “I mean—yes, sort of, but not—”

“You’re mated!” Her look of shock blinked to one of ecstatic joy.

“Blessed Kindred, Taran’s going to sob. I think he wanted this for you two even more than he wanted it for himself. Can I be there when you tell him?

Wait, does he already know? If you told him and not me, I’ll never forgive

you.”

“Eleanor—”

“Oh, I’m just teasing. But I do want to know every detail.” She grinned.

“When did it happen? How did he ask?”

“Eleanor, no one knows. Not Taran, not anyone. And you can’t tell them.”

“Right. Of course.” She mimed stitching her smile closed and knotting the thread. “Our little secret. You, me, and Luther.”

I shook my head. “Not Luther, either. It’s our secret, Eleanor. Yours and mine. Luther doesn’t . . .” I swallowed as the truth dug in its claws, refusing to be dragged out. “I’m . . .”

Her smile froze, then started to fade. “A stranded mate?” she guessed, and I nodded. “How?”

“You shed a little blood, commit to them forever, and the magic does the rest,” I said bleakly, repeating the explanation she’d once given me. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

She frowned. “The mating bond has to be willingly entered. It can’t be an accident.”

“Well, it was for me.” I fluffed my hair until my mark was fully curtained by my curls, avoiding Eleanor’s gaze so she couldn’t spot the lie on my face.

As I’d stood at the Kindred’s Temple that day on the island and watched Sorae carry Luther away, wondering if I’d ever see him again, there was nothing I wanted more than to be bonded to him for all eternity. It was pure luck, or perhaps more meddling from the gods, that the Ignios King’s blade did the sharp part for me at just the right time.

But pledging my heart to Luther . . .

No. That had not been an accident at all.

The washroom door flew open. “I’m ready!” A pause. “Arboros’s asscheeks . . . everyone’s gone. I knew it would happen again.”

“Taran, no!” Eleanor and I shouted in unison. By the time we rushed out from the changing screen, he’d disappeared again and locked the door behind him.

I ran to the door and beat my fists against it. “Taran, come back. We’re here. Everything’s fine.”

Eleanor rushed to my side. “Diem,” she said quietly, “if you’re worried Luther won’t complete the bond . . .”

“Taran, get out here,” I yelled, ignoring her.

“No,” he shouted back.

“Luther loves you,” Eleanor hissed. “Of course he’d do it.”

“Out, Taran. That’s an order from your Queen.”

A snort rang out through the door. “I break your orders all the time.”

“You can’t hide forever. If you love Zalaric, you have to trust him.”

“Exactly,” Eleanor said, though her stare was pointed at me.

I dropped my voice to a hush. “I know Luther would complete the bond, Eleanor. That’s why I can’t tell him.” Her brow scrunched in confusion, and I let out a long, heavy sigh. “Just promise me you won’t say anything.”

“I won’t,” she vowed. “But Diem . . .” She gently brushed my hair aside, gazing at my mark with a hopeful joy I couldn’t manage to share.

“You’re tied to him now. Whatever your reasons . . . Luther deserves to

know.”

“I deserve to know what?”

I shot a panicked look at the doorway, where Luther stood beside my mother. I hurriedly moved my hair back into place. “Uh . . . we were just discussing . . .”

“Your cousin,” Eleanor jumped in. She turned to him and crossed her arms. “You deserve to know that Taran is being the biggest baby in all of Emarion and refusing the orders of his Queen.”

Luther eyed me closely, surely sensing there was more unsaid. His curiosity was forgotten as he drank in my gilded splendor. Warmth pooled in my belly at the long, possessive linger of his stare on the revealing bodice and the way his fingers curled at his side.

“No one denies my Queen,” he said, voice rough. “Especially when she looks like that.”

Eleanor smirked. “Isn’t the dress marvelous?” She not-so-subtly shoved me toward him, but it was my mother who stepped forward first.

“Diem, you look lovely,” she gushed, pulling me in.

I awkwardly returned the embrace. I had vowed to put the distance between us to rest, but I wasn’t sure how. I still couldn’t reconcile the mother I knew—the warm, loving healer who had been content in a small but meaningful life—with the fierce Guardian leader who had galvanized a continent into rebellion.

It didn’t help that I wasn’t letting her be my mother. I’d made her my advisor, though my reasons had been strategic, not sentimental. Not once had I sought her out for comfort or support. I’d badly needed it, and I knew she badly wanted to provide it, but something had held me back.

When she pulled away, her smile was strained. “That dress is stunning.

You were meant to wear it.”

“Luther, don’t you agree?” Eleanor called out. “Isn’t it perfect?”

He made a quiet noise. “Almost.” He curled an arm around my waist and splayed his palm low on my back to draw me against him. The tip of

his nose dragged along my jaw as he leaned close and rumbled, too low for anyone else to hear. “It will be perfect when it’s on the floor beside our bed.”

My face—among other body parts—flushed with heat. Luther set a deceptively chaste kiss on my lips and leaned away, the corner of his mouth twitching up at the sight of my reddening cheeks.

There was a playful twinkle in his eyes I hadn’t seen in him since before the island, and never in the presence of others. He was making his usual effort to conceal his emotions, but for once, he was utterly failing.

He was happy.

And I couldn’t understand why the sight of it made me so sad.

“You look . . .” I paused and took him in. I hardly had the words to describe him. His suit was my gown’s mirror image, an explosion of color and texture from head to toe. Golden textured silk had been stitched with an inferno of metallic thread and gemstones, with a tall, sculptural collar that towered over his head like a gilded crown. Nearly every inch of him glinted with light as he moved—a blazing sun embodied.

At the center of the dazzling finery, a dark silhouette stretched wide across his chest: a soaring phoenix, made of simple, matte black thread, with a pool of glittering garnets at its heart. I wondered what it was meant to represent—his dark strength in a fiery world, or the emptiness inside that

he had waited a lifetime to fill.

“ . . . handsome,” I finally finished.

Kinglike, I wanted to say.

“It appears there’s a theme,” my mother said, showing off the army of tiny beaded phoenixes rising up her sleeves. I glanced at Eleanor, squinting at the strange symbols on her skirts in search of the flaming birds. She grinned and raised her arms, then began to spin. As she turned, the symbols blurred to form an illusion—a small bird, hunched low and curled inward, slowly spreading its wings as it lifted its head and took flight.

I bit my lip. Though it was beautiful, it was also very Corbois. “I know he loves to tease Taran, but I think Zalaric might have gone too far.”

“Zalaric’s gone?” a muffled voice whimpered through the washroom

door.

Eleanor and I let out a matching groan.

“He’s outside,” Luther called out. “He told me to tell you if you’re not there in ten minutes, he’s pouring out every drop of alcohol in the palace

and you’ll have nothing to drink all night.”

“Fine with me,” Taran yelled.

Eleanor laughed. “Taran Corbois, passing up a drink?”

“Taran Bellator.” The door cracked open, one sapphire eye peeking through. “I drink to forget, Ellie. I want to remember today.”

My heart swelled. Luther’s hand found its way to mine and squeezed.

“Cousin,” he said sternly.

“Lu,” Taran answered. Though I could only see a sliver of his face, it was absent his usual grin. His skin looked greenish and clammy, his brows pinched. “You saw Zal? He’s out there?”

“He is. And I think he would prefer if he did not spend his mating day alone.” Taran’s gaze lowered guiltily, and Luther dipped his chin. “If you stay here much longer, Zalaric might start to think you’ve changed your mind.”

Taran’s throat bobbed. “You really think it will work? The mating magic?”

“Of course it will,” Eleanor gushed. “Zalaric adores you.”

Taran looked at my mother, who nodded, then at me as I offered a supportive smile, but he remained unmoved. He looked again to Luther, awaiting his response. It reminded me so much of Teller, always looking to me for reassurance when the world seemed uncertain. Taran’s physical size and irreverent personality made it easy to forget that, deep down inside, he was a little brother, too—though it was Luther, not Aemonn, who had

always been his rock.

“It will work,” Luther said firmly.

The door opened an inch. “Okay.” Another inch. “I’m ready.” He pulled it fully open, though he kept out of sight. “I can do this. It’s fine.

Everything’s going to be fine. Once I see him, I’ll . . . oh fuck, I can’t do this.” He let out a panicked sound and reached for the door.

Luther’s hand flicked up, and a talon of shadows shot across the room and sank its claws into the wooden door. Taran yelped and grabbed the handle with both hands, fighting against Luther’s magic to pull it closed.

“Taran,” Luther barked. “You are coming out of that washroom, even if I have to carry you out myself.”

Taran’s strength was no match for Luther’s godhood, and the door flew out of his grip and slammed all the way open.

“I can’t,” Taran said. “Maybe Zal loved me before, but now . . .” He slowly emerged from the washroom. From the neck down, he looked incredible—a stark white brocade suit edged with wide gold cuffs and embroidery on the lapel depicting a dark-hued jaguar chasing a dancing phoenix through the flames. His trousers were neatly pressed, his collar crisp and jacket all the way buttoned. I’d never seen him so formal—even his ever-present scruff had been fully shaved, revealing a strong, chiseled jaw that took his features from handsome to godlike.

But the shocked gasp that flew out of me was not for his elegant attire or cleaned-up look—it was the wild mess of hair atop his head, awkwardly snipped to ten different lengths and sticking out in every possible direction.

Behind him, a pair of scissors lay on the counter like a smoking cannon, dark blond curls scattered over the floor.

Eleanor’s hands flew to her mouth too late to stifle her laugh, and Taran sagged. “I’m ruined,” he whined.

Luther pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not again.”

“He’s done this before?” I asked.

“So many times,” Eleanor got out between giggles. “Luther used to confiscate all the scissors in the palace a week before any major events.”

Taran flopped onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Zal always looks perfect, and I’m always a mess. I wanted to be perfect today, too. For him.”

His eyes began to gleam. “I hope he does leave me. I don’t deserve him.”

Eleanor’s laughter stopped. “Oh, Taran,” she murmured. “That’s not true at all.”

“It is,” he said. “He’s stylish and beautiful and elegant and he always knows exactly what to say and do. All I’ve ever done is have a royal last name.”

“By the Flames,” my mother huffed, hands on her hips. “No son of mine talks about himself like that. I won’t allow it.” She marched forward and snatched up the scissors, then grabbed Taran’s hand and dragged him to my mirrored vanity. She pointed at the stool. “Sit. Now.”

His eyes widened a bit at the commanding snap in her voice. It was one I knew well, having heard it so many times over the years when she was putting an unruly patient in their place—or, more often, scolding me. Teller and I had always joked that she could be as hard-nosed a commander as our father. It made me wonder if the maternal healer and Guardian leader that I’d been struggling to reconcile were really that different, after all.

She set to work repairing the carnage. “For the love of the gods, Taran, Zalaric does not love you for your hair,” she snapped. “You are as good and worthy a man as he is, and he would be the first to agree.”

Taran said nothing, staring at his hands. Something stirred within me— not my magic, but an old healer’s instinct that had always kicked up when I suspected there was more to a patient’s pain than they were letting on.

I let go of Luther and walked to Taran, kneeling beside him. “Taran,” I said gently. “Did something happen?”

He was silent at first. Eleanor pulled up a stool and sat on his other side, and Luther joined us, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Taran looked around, taking each of our outfits in. “The phoenixes were my idea. When I was a boy, and my father was”—he flinched—“hurting me, I used to find a sigil of House Corbois somewhere in the room and stare at the phoenix as hard as I could. It made me feel like I could survive. Like no matter how bad it got, I’d come out stronger, just like that damn bird. I told Zal I wanted them everywhere at the wedding. I wanted my father to hear about it and know that I’m the real phoenix. He’s just the ash I left behind.” He gave a half-hearted smirk. “Zal loved it. He said he’d decorate the ceremony with white Hanoverre roses so we could piss both our fathers off.”

We all laughed, but Taran’s smile fell away too soon. He pushed out a long exhale. “I went to see my father this morning. I thought maybe . . . I guess I hoped that he . . .” He looked at my mother. “It’s not that I don’t want to be a Bellator. I’m proud to wear your name.” His eyes shifted to me. “I just thought, maybe . . . if I gave him one last chance . . .”

“I understand,” I said, and I did, in ways I was still struggling to make peace with myself. Family could take so many forms—born, adopted, found —but no connection survived all good reason to walk away like those born in blood. “What did he say?”

Taran squeezed his eyes shut like he was trying to keep the memory away. “He said Zal’s using me. He said the Hanoverres didn’t want him, so Zal had to make himself a Corbois, and I’m just the idiot who let him. He said everyone but me can tell that Zal only cares about himself.”

“He’s wrong,” Luther growled.

“I know,” Taran said, nodding. “He doesn’t see the Zal I see. But when I told him Zal loved me, he asked me why.” His head sank lower. “I couldn’t think of a single reason.”

Though the room was quiet, I was certain I heard the sound of four hearts breaking in unison. Eleanor and I shared an anguished look as Luther’s hand clenched around Taran’s shoulder.

“You know,” my mother said softly, “I used to ask myself the same thing about my Andrei. He had the most promising career a mortal ever had in the army, and he left it behind for me—a young, unwed mother, carrying another man’s child. I was certain he would eventually realize he’d made a horrible mistake and leave. One day I couldn’t take it anymore. I fell to my knees and I asked him, ‘Andrei, how is it possible that you love me?’” She set aside the scissors and leaned down to rest a hand on Taran’s chest. “Do you know what he said?”

Taran met her stare in the mirror’s reflection. “What?”

“He looked at me as if I’d gone mad, and he said, ‘My darling, how could I not?’” She smiled fondly. “Taran, you have so many good qualities.

You are a kindhearted, honorable man. You are honest without being cruel —a very rare trait.”

“Whenever anyone is sad, you’ll do anything to cheer them up,”

Eleanor chimed in. “You always find a way to make people smile.”

“You keep your word,” Luther said. “You’re the one I trust when I need it most. And when I felt alone in this palace, you were there to remind me that I at least had you. I know you feel as though I protected you, cousin, but there were many days you were the one protecting me.”

“And me,” I said, thinking of all the times Taran fought to keep me and Luther together when fear had me running away. “You treated me like your sister, even before I was. You looked out for me. I owe you more than I can

repay.”

“As do I,” Luther agreed.

Eleanor nodded. “As do I.”

“As do I,” my mother said. “Not just for what you’ve done for Diem and Teller. I’ve seen you with my Guardians. You kept making efforts, even when they were unkind. Now, they light up when you come around. They opened their hearts to you, and that finally made them understand why Vance’s path is wrong. There’s no telling how many lives that might save.”

She walked around and stood in front of him, taking his face in her hands.

“Why does Zalaric love you? My darling, how could he not?”

At last, Taran’s back uncurled and grew straight, and he gave a single nod. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Good,” Luther said. “Because I came up here to tell you that Aemonn just arrived. We reminded him he wasn’t invited. He insisted on having one conversation.”

Taran scowled. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

Luther gave him a solemn look. “You aren’t the groom he wanted to speak with.”

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