Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 58

58

LUTHER

was going to murder him.I “I’m gonna murder him,” Taran growled.

“Blessed Kindred,” Eleanor gasped, “Diem’s going to murder him.”

Alixe and I grabbed the back of Taran’s jacket and dragged him off his brother, who lay flattened beneath him in the grass.

“Careful with the suit,” Zalaric warned us. “You’ll snag the fabric.” He watched the melee with indifference, as if the revelation he’d shared to start this whole mess had been as banal as a remark on the weather. As Taran exploded into a ball of cursing, swinging violence, Zalaric also made no attempt to make it stop.

Taran pointed a quivering finger at Aemonn. “Once wasn’t enough?”

Aemonn rubbed his jaw. “If you were smarter, you would thank me.”

Taran jabbed both palms out, and a throng of shadowy spears flew for his brother. Alixe managed to conjure a burst of light in time to burn them away, but one slipped through, slicing across Aemonn’s cheek and drawing a line of blood.

“What would I thank you for, trying to ruin my life?” Taran shouted.

“You tried to bribe the man I love not to mate me—again!”

Gasps rippled through the crowd that had gathered to watch the commotion. Alixe’s eyes cut to me and widened. I gave a dark nod of confirmation.

After Taran’s failed first betrothal, I’d tried to keep it quiet to spare him the embarrassment, but when Baird and his House left without explanation and Taran fell into a destructive, drunken spiral, everyone guessed he’d

been rejected. The real truth of why—that Aemonn had paid Baird a hefty fortune to walk away—had been known only to a tiny few.

Until today.

Scornful stares fell on Aemonn. Though betrayal was a time-honored Descended tradition, a mate bond was sacred, and loyalty to one’s House was valued above all. Interfering with both made Aemonn virtually heretic.

The crowd parted with hurried curtseys and bows as Diem walked forward. Eleanor rushed to her side to explain what had happened, and I braced for her reaction—Diem was at her most unpredictable when her family was at risk.

But Diem barely seemed to hear her. Her face was bloodless, her stare fixed on the horizon.

“You slimy, heartless prick,” Taran yelled. “Every time I find something that makes me happy, you come and ruin it.”

Aemonn sneered. “He turned down the offer. Isn’t that what you want?”

Taran rushed toward him, and Alixe and I jumped forward to block his path. “What I want is to forget you exist,” he shouted over our shoulders.

“You’ve been doing that since the day Luther made you his little pet.

And what a good lapdog you are. Look at you right now, sitting because he told you to sit.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Does he take you outside and tell you when to piss, too?”

Angry magic sprang to my palms, my godhood itching to shut him up.

“That’s enough, Aemonn,” I warned.

“What did I ever do to you?” Taran asked him, voice trembling. “Why are you trying to hurt me?”

Aemonn stormed toward his brother. “I’m trying to save you.”

“From what . . . love?” Taran shoved Aemonn’s chest, sending him staggering. “No thanks.”

“From having your heart broken, you thick-headed idiot.” Aemonn shoved Taran back with pathetic effect, an ant pushing a tree. “Zalaric doesn’t love you, he’s using you.”

Zalaric adjusted a fold in the elegant swaths of white silk draped over his slim frame, secured by two golden clasps—one a phoenix, the other a jaguar. He didn’t say a word, looking almost bored by the accusation.

Taran shook his head. “You don’t know him.”

“For once, Taran, use your brain. The second he got here, he started filling his pockets with our family’s money. He won’t do anything unless

someone pays him. I’ve heard him admit he only wants friends who have gold and connections. You think he would have anything to do with you if you had a different last name?”

Zalaric scoffed. “I have no interest in being a Corbois.”

“No,” Aemonn agreed. “You want to be a Bellator. That’s what you said at the council meeting, isn’t it? You only agreed to be Taran’s mate once he was family to the Crown.”

I looked at Diem, whose dazed stare now rested on her sword. Though there was no sign of danger, an irrational unease began to rise, an overwhelming feeling that if I didn’t grab my Queen and hold her tight, I might lose her again—for good.

My efforts to convince myself she was safe were harder than usual to believe when I couldn’t feel her aura. Though Taran and I had regained our magic within days of taking the flameroot, Diem’s was still completely suppressed.

“I know exactly who you are, Zalaric Hanoverre,” Aemonn said. “I’ve dealt with people like you my whole life. You’ll use us for your own gain, then when we need you, you’ll disappear.”

“If I didn’t love your brother, why would I agree to mate him?” Zalaric asked. “The magic would reveal my lie.”

“Maybe you think you do. Baird did. He said no to my offer at first, too.

Then he came back. Said he’d do it if I offered him more.” Aemonn’s eyes

narrowed. “You said the same thing.”

“I said I would never—”

“You said, ‘It’s not enough.’”

Taran flinched.

Zalaric’s chilly facade finally cracked. He looked nervously at Taran, shaking his head, but Taran wouldn’t meet his eyes, still glaring at his brother.

“So Baird was going to go through with the ceremony,” Taran said. “If you hadn’t bribed him, I would have had a mate.”

“Taran,” I cut in, sighing. Defending Aemonn was the last thing I wanted to do, but I’d long harbored a suspicion that, in this one singular instance, Aemonn had done his brother a kindness. I wasn’t sure Taran would believe it unless the truth came from me. “The mating magic only works if the love is unconditional. If Baird was willing to walk away from

you for a price, the bond never would have formed, even without Aemonn’s interference.”

“On Baird’s side,” Aemonn cut in. “But it would have formed on yours.

I knew you loved him. You would have ended up a stranded mate.”

Eleanor sucked in a breath. Her eyes went to Diem, and Diem’s eyes rose to mine.

“You’ve wanted a mate since we were children,” Aemonn muttered. “I wasn’t going to let some greedy lower House prick steal that from you.”

Taran gaped, dumbfounded. “Why would you do that? You’ve never tried to protect me.”

Aemonn was not a man given to outbursts. He had no shortage of anger, but it swung like a scythe, not a hammer. In all the years I’d known him, I’d

never seen him lose his temper.

That changed today.

“All I’ve ever done is protect you!” Aemonn shouted. “Do you have any idea how many times I stepped in when Father tried to hurt you? How many beatings I offered to take on your behalf? I tried a thousand times to teach you how to keep him calm.”

“It didn’t work,” Taran snarled. “He didn’t stop until the King stepped in. Ulther saved me, not you.”

Aemonn’s magic glittered around him as his eyes blazed a stormy blue.

“And who saved me?”

I glanced around at the crowd, disappointed at how gleefully they leaned in to catch every word. Ever since Diem had abandoned any pretense of being a Corbois, the buzzards of Lumnos City had begun to circle the House, sensing the fall of a once-mighty beast and ravenous for its carrion.

Though I cared nothing for protecting the Corbois name, neither Taran nor Aemonn deserved for their abuse to become fodder for schemes and gossip.

“We should discuss this in private,” I warned.

“Why bother?” Aemon asked acidly. “Let them see our family for who we truly are.” He looked back at Taran. “Father wasn’t afraid of the King, he was afraid of Luther. So it stopped for you. It never stopped for me.

Father didn’t think Luther would step in on my behalf.” Bitterness seethed through every word. “I can’t imagine why.”

My heart hung heavy with guilt. I’d warned Garath that if he ever raised his fists to either son again, he’d learn the strength of mine, but once Taran told me he was safe, I stopped searching for signs that Aemonn wasn’t.

Looking back, it shamed me how many I’d missed—his jealousy of Taran, his resentment toward me, the way he remained carefully obedient to Garath’s every word.

Taran escaped, and Aemonn hated him for it.

And when Aemonn did what he had to do to survive, Taran—and I— had hated him back.

Diem’s hand slipped into mine. She’d broken free of whatever had captured her focus earlier and made her way to my side, looking as tortured as I felt. She’d always believed that, deep inside of Aemonn, there was a good man trying to break free. What I hadn’t picked up in a lifetime of knowing him, she’d sensed from the start.

Taran stared at his brother, brows burrowing low, looking as if he wasn’t sure whether to believe what he’d just heard. Aemonn looked as if he’d taken his first breath of air in years.

“I did say that what you offered to pay me wasn’t enough,” Zalaric confessed, “but you misunderstood my meaning. Double your offer, triple it, scrounge up all the wealth of the Descended combined—it still won’t be enough.” He moved to Taran’s side and took his hand. “Keep your bribe, Aemonn Corbois. Your brother doesn’t need protecting—not from me.” He looked at Taran, eyes roaming upward. “Although, now that I see that hair, perhaps I might reconsider. I could use Aemonn’s gold to buy you a wig.”

Taran grinned. “You know what, Aemonn? I’m not angry anymore. I feel bad for you. You can’t recognize love when you see it, because no one has ever loved you. No one ever will.”

A shocked murmur flitted through the crowd. Aemonn flinched, and Taran’s smirk faltered as Eleanor shot him a disappointed frown.

The true cruelty of Taran’s words was in their truth.

Taran had friends. He had family. He had a man who loved him.

Aemonn had no one.

His detached stare was an echo of the governing council meeting, when his father’s outburst had left him a hollow shell. All the anger had drained out of him, but so had everything else.

“Do me one favor, Taran,” he said quietly. “When you start the ceremony . . . make Zalaric go first.” He turned to leave, and the crowd awkwardly averted their eyes, his pain no longer a thrill for them to see.

“Aemonn, wait,” Zalaric called out. “You might be an asshole, and you badly need to oil those nails—what is it with you Corbois and your hands?

Callouses everywhere, it’s atrocious.” He let out an exasperated huff. “I cannot let Taran blame you for believing a lie I’ve worked so hard to tell.

There’s something I need to say that is long overdue.”

Aemonn hesitated, eyeing him with palpable distrust.

“I grew up in the Umbros markets,” Zalaric said. “For us, loyalty was just another thing for sale. I watched newcomers give up fortunes for a person who swore to love them back, and they always got left behind for someone with more gold in their pouch. I swore I wouldn’t be that fool. I would never let myself care about anyone more than I cared about myself.

That served me well. It made me rich and kept me safe. Although . . .” He looked across the crowd to the Lumnos half-mortals he’d sheltered at his inn. “I was better at keeping my heart hidden than keeping it closed. So that became my way of life: love only in secret, where no one else can see. If Aemonn believed me indifferent, I take that as a compliment.” He flipped his robe. “It means I haven’t lost my touch.”

Zalaric turned to face Taran. “Do you know why I chose to be called the Jaguar? They’re covered in spots, and every jaguar’s pattern is different— but a black jaguar’s spots are hidden. In the shadows, you can’t see them at all. The very thing that makes them unique disappears. Only when a jaguar steps into the brightest light are they truly seen.” He set a palm against Taran’s chest. “I thought concealing my heart would keep me safe, but you and I have never been safe, have we? Not before we met, and not a day since.” He paused. Smiled. “I think this Jaguar is ready to show its spots.”

My hand squeezed around Diem’s as I realized what was about to happen. She looked up at me, an adorable wrinkle in her brow in silent question. I answered with the widest smile as I kissed her hand and held it to my chest.

Zalaric looked around. “Where are our dagger-bearers?”

“Here,” Aemonn said. He pulled out a small knife that looked to be made of solid gold, though its edge revealed a hairline sliver of Fortosian steel. “If you truly mean what you say, use mine.”

Zalaric wrapped his hand around the gilded handle and slowly slid it out of Aemonn’s grip. He let it linger, pointed at Aemonn’s chest, with a predatory glare that would make a jaguar proud.

Aemonn gulped.

Zalaric turned back to Taran. “I’ve spent a lifetime keeping to the shadows. You came into my life, and you saw me for who I truly am. No

matter your last name, or how dreadful your hair, this will never change: my heart is yours.” Tears began to stream down Taran’s face. Zalaric brushed them away with a tenderness that had my chest burning and my arms pulling Diem close. “Taran Bellator, you are my brightest light, and I will love you, unconditionally and eternally, for as long as love exists.”

Zalaric raised the dagger and drew its edge along the jagged line across his neck. His crystal-blue eyes flared with a dazzling golden light, and a familiar symbol shimmered on his skin: two hearts entwined into a dagger, resting atop the scar that once marked his darkest day.

And now, his brightest.

Aemonn’s chin dropped to his chest with a deep exhale. His lips moved with words I couldn’t hear as a spark of light flickered over his palm, rose high, and vanished.

Taran burst into a blubbering, wet-cheeked mess. He collapsed to his knees and wrapped his arms around Zalaric’s legs, burying his face against his thigh. “Yrh mr mhhit,” he cried, the words muffled by Zalaric’s robes.

“Yes, I am your mate,” Zalaric said, swiping away a trace of blood from his mating mark, “but I will murder you if you stain these robes. Silk is a nightmare to clean.”

Beside me, Diem sucked in a breath. “Zalaric’s wound—it’s gone.”

I nodded. “If the mating bond is successful, the place where the blood was shed heals instantly.”

She looked down at her chest, fingers grazing her heart.

Taran gasped for air between sobs. “The dagger—” He reached for Zalaric’s hand. “Give me—I wanna—”

Zalaric held it out of reach. “Absolutely not. You’ll wait for the ceremony. We spent a fortune on this day, and I will not let it go to waste.

Now let’s go fix your hair.”

Taran’s whines were drowned out by well-wishes as the crowd closed in around them to offer congratulations. I doubted anyone needed convincing that their bond would be complete by day’s end. With Taran still pleading for the dagger, Zalaric might only be a stranded mate for a few minutes more.

Diem laid her head against me, the fabric of my coat bunching in her fist as she clung to my chest. I stroked a hand over her hair. “Is something wrong, my heart?”

“I’m just happy for Taran,” she said, barely audible. She didn’t sound happy at all, though I knew she was pleased to see him mated.

I bent a finger under her chin and gently nudged it up. Her red-rimmed eyes met mine, the sight of her pain like an axe between my ribs. “Is there something else?”

She paused for a terribly long time. Finally, her chin dipped in the smallest nod. “I need to call a meeting of my advisors.”

I waited for more, but for now, her reasons stayed trapped within the shadows of her eyes. “Tonight?” I asked.

Teller ran past us, holding up the ceremonial dagger and grinning as Taran chased him around the yard. I hadn’t seen either of them look so unburdened in months.

“Let them have one more night,” Diem murmured.

My instincts bristled. One more night before what?

“Set the meeting for the afternoon,” she said. “Mother, Teller, and I are visiting my father’s grave in the evening.”

I tensed. “You’re going there tomorrow?”

Too soon.

Diem nodded. “She thinks we need closure, and I want to put all this behind us while we can.”

Again, her words nagged at me, a loose thread begging to be pulled, but my racing thoughts carried me away. Tomorrow is too soon. It’s not ready. I forced myself to break our embrace, wrong as it felt. “Why don’t you join our siblings? There’s something I need to handle before the ceremony.”

Diem nodded, and I flattened my hand against the bare skin on her back, needing to feel her warmth beneath my palm. I pulled her in and indulged in a kiss that set my chest aflame. Her fingers rose to my face, tracing my scar, and I was instantly ready to abandon any plan that would take me from her side.

But I’d been working on a project for weeks, and her intentions threatened to ruin my plans. I’d hoped for so much more time to prepare.

When it came to her, I always seemed to run out of it too soon.

I broke the kiss with a soft grunt of regret. Her grip on me tightened.

“Luther?”

“Yes, my Queen?”

“You know how much you mean to me, right?” Her hand lowered to my heart. “I don’t need a mating bond to know that I love you. And I don’t need

one from you to know you love me, too.”

Old habits sprang to life. I carefully masked my true feelings and buried them deep, then manufactured the brightest smile I could muster. “Of course, my heart. It pleases me to hear that.”

Her face fell. She’d always seen right through me. The look she gave me was almost apologetic.

I tried a little harder, made my smile a little warmer. “Tell Taran if he starts the ceremony without me, I’ll tell Zalaric about his bald phase,” I teased with a wink.

She turned away without laughing. It was an effort not to follow, especially when I saw her walk toward Alixe. I couldn’t resist the urge to linger and study their conversation: Diem’s solemn speech, Alixe’s ashen reaction. Diem pointed south—toward Fortos—and Alixe gave an obedient nod.

“Luther?” Aemonn’s voice caught me by surprise. I’d so rarely heard it without its usual condescension. “Thank you for defending what I did with Baird.”

I cocked my head. “Why didn’t you just tell Taran your concerns?”

“Why didn’t you?”

The question was fair. Uncomfortably fair. At the time, I’d doubted Baird, too. I’d feared Taran was too enamored to listen, and I didn’t want him to hate me if I was wrong. As his closest friend, Taran had deserved more from me than silence.

Distasteful as Aemonn’s actions were, he’d been braver than I was.

Taran had just found his life’s greatest joy, and he had his brother’s schemes to thank.

Taran gave up his pursuit of the dagger and returned to his mate-to-be, who rewarded him with a kiss and a loving smile. Zalaric’s pretend indifference had given way to a new, unrestrained affection. I was proud of him. I knew well the cage of suppressing one’s emotions, and despite its lonely cost, it wasn’t easy to leave.

But I was more certain than ever that it was worth the risk.

“They’re wearing white,” Aemonn remarked. “Descended mates wear red.”

“Mortals wear white when they marry,” I explained. “Taran suggested they do it to honor Zalaric’s mortal side—and to make their fathers irate.”

Aemonn smirked. “Taran never was afraid of Father. He always wanted to fight back.” Laughter rose from the friends gathered around Taran and Zalaric, their smiles brilliantly aglow. Something wistful and raw passed over Aemonn’s face. “Maybe I’m the one who should have listened.”

“Maybe you should start today.”

I held out my hand. Aemonn eyed it warily, and I arched a brow in

subtle challenge.

“Fight back,” I goaded.

He shot me a glare, though it was more bluster than bite. He gave my hand a firm shake, then moved to pull away, but my grip held fast.

“Mend things with your brother,” I said. “I’ll support you. I owe you that much. But if you hurt him again—or Zalaric, or Diem—no debt between us will save you from what I’ll do.”

I walked away without awaiting his reaction. My threats had never meant much to Aemonn, because I was not the man he feared. Garath’s control was Aemonn’s real war, and it was one he’d have to wage within

himself.

I had my own battles to fight.

Tonight, I’d face the most important of them all.

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