Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 59

59

DIEM

lessed drinks for the Blessed mates!”“B A cheer rang out through the post-ceremony reception in the palace gardens, wine-filled glasses dancing high above heads. The tinkling of their toasting rims was joined by scattershot explosions in the clouds, the result of Guardian bombs that had been modified to burst into colorful embers. With each one that peppered the sky with glowing sparks, the dazzled spectators cheered louder, until I was certain that all of Lumnos

heard our mirth.

Their mirth.

“We can’t let a bunch of lawless rebel rats outdo us, can we?” Luther said loudly. A swirling cloud of magic formed in his palm, and he hurled it over his head. A few seconds later, the sky became a glittering sea of Lumnos light.

From any other Descended, the words would have ignited a brawl, but the Guardians in the crowd let out a laugh. Luther had made himself one of them, as much as any Descended could ever be. He’d lived with them, trained them, fought alongside them, ensured they wanted for nothing, be it food or medicine or an ear to hear their rage. He’d worked closely with my mother, deferring to her command as loyally as he did with mine, and word of how he’d stood up to the Twenty Houses had spread throughout camp.

Though he wasn’t as easy to love as Taran had been, the slow and serious way Luther earned the mortals’ respect had made it all the more powerful.

“Can you do better than that?” he said to the two Guardians firing off the mortars, baiting them with a wink. They grinned and dug through their pile to snatch their largest bomb, then loaded it into a catapult and lit its

fuse before launching it high. The explosion was massive, sending loosened pebbles rattling down the palace’s stone walls. Rainbow light speckled their upturned faces as the crowd roared its approval.

“What do you think?” Luther called out to a group of Unhoused Descended standing nearby. “Shall we outdo them?”

He’d been making inroads with them as well, and the “we” was brilliantly strategic. The Unhoused had never been welcome in Lumnos City or Mortal City, let alone invited guests of the royals. To have a prince —the Prince—so publicly claim them as allies in front of the Twenty Houses and mortals alike, even in a silly duel of light, sent a strong message.

Luther had handed them a chance to shine, and they weren’t going to waste it. Their hands shot up and set the sky awash with shimmering plumes and twinkling orbs, earning a gasp from the delighted guests.

“Brothers and Sisters,” my mother barked, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, “it’s time to show everyone what the Guardians of the Everflame can do.” Fuse after fuse was lit, and bomb after bomb was launched, turning the evening sky into a sparkling battleground.

“Don’t just sit there,” Luther shouted to Eleanor and Lily. “Defend the Corbois name!”

They giggled and added their magic to the fray. Other Descended joined in, and soon the evening stars vanished behind a curtain of sparks that stretched as far as the eye could see. At the center of the crowd, a newly mated Taran held Zalaric against his chest, heads tipped together, watching the world glow for their love.

Luther nudged my side. “I don’t think all our guests are enjoying the show,” he said, glancing toward the palace, where a small group watched with disapproving scowls.

“That’s why they shouldn’t be guests,” I muttered. When Luther made a last-minute suggestion to invite everyone living in the palace to the reception, the proposition had not been popular, especially with me. I trusted the Corbois not to cause trouble, for fear of me if nothing else. I couldn’t say the same for the other Descended who’d moved in after losing their homes in Ophiucae’s attack—especially the Hanoverres. They were always scheming for a fight, and the mating of a half-mortal son they’d thrown away was a tempting lure.

If Luther’s conspirator had been anyone but Zalaric, I would have refused it, but tensions with his paternal family had been brewing, and I sensed he was ready to face them at last.

“Marthe looks particularly irate, don’t you think?” Luther teased. She’d vehemently refused to attend, though her narrowed, blazing blue eyes were a permanent fixture in a palace window.

“I wonder why,” I said dryly. I tossed a pointed look at the cascade of roses flowing over the garden walls and forming a fluffy river that wove throughout the golden mirrored floor. There must have been thousands of them, each one perfectly half white and half red in a nod to Zalaric’s Hanoverre lineage and mortal blood. If he was trying to provoke them, there was no bolder way to do it.

“Enness made the roses himself,” Luther said. “Drained his magic every day for a week.” His fingers grazed up and down my spine, lingering in the places where my skin could be felt beneath the bodice’s sheer mesh. “He

did it for you, you know.”

“It’s not my reception.”

“He knows how close you are with them. He wanted to show his gratitude for freeing him from prison. Zalaric insisted on paying him—out of the royal coffers, of course.”

I surveyed the extravagant event: the overflowing tables of food, the full orchestra of musicians, the custom pavilion made of ice-crystal pillars and draped with miles of gossamer chiffon. Sculptures of Ignios fire danced in time with the music atop scattered marble pedestals, while platters of bubbling wine and colorful liqueurs floated on currents of Meros wind. The fragrant roses perfumed the air, along with crisp neroli and rich, smoky sandalwood. Painted in gold onto every plate, table, and chair was the heart-

and-dagger symbol of the mating mark.

My chest was aflame in recognition.

“Did I pay for all of this?” I asked.

“Only the services provided by people in your army. Zalaric paid for the rest, though he haggled them down to coppers. You, on the other hand, were very generous. Especially with the mortals.”

Clever, I thought. A just redistribution of unjust wealth, masquerading as a royal indulgence that no Descended would give a second thought.

“I don’t remember approving that,” I joked.

“I’m certain you wrote the grant of funds.” Luther leaned in, setting a kiss beneath my ear. “Pay no attention if your handwriting looks a great deal like mine.”

A laugh threatened to break free but couldn’t quite surface, smothered beneath the revelation dominating my thoughts and its consequences—who to tell, how to explain it, and what to do next. What he might do next.

Luther tensed at my silence. “Does that upset you? I thought—”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’m glad. I trust you.”

And I did. Though his formal title was ambiguous at best, he’d become the most influential of my advisors. He was the first person everyone turned to with grievances, and his orders were treated with the same weight as mine. I might have resisted it, were he anyone else, but he acted with such careful restraint, only when he was certain our decisions would align. With him, sharing power felt so natural.

Given his recent election as Chief of Council, it was fairly his power to share. I’d delegated my control to the governing council, knowing my reign might be short. Tonight, that seemed more prudent than ever.

“If this is what Enness did for Zalaric and Taran,” Luther said, “I fear what he might do when—if—the day comes for our—your wedding.” He grimaced. The last time he’d brought up the prospect of our marriage, it had ended in my cruel rejection, and he was trying so very hard to avoid crossing a line. “I told him serving in your army was more than enough to repay you. I don’t think it worked. Descended can be stubborn when it

comes to a life debt.”

“Enness doesn’t owe me a life debt.”

“My Queen, everyone in this garden owes you a life debt.”

My gaze roamed over the eclectic collection of guests. There were longtime Bellator family friends like Henri’s father and Maura, who was cowering behind her wife and looking like she wasn’t sure whether to be more terrified of the Guardians’ bombs or the Descended’s magic. There were recent allies like Runa and Enness and their group of freed prisoners, and the female warriors of Ignios, who’d joined the fun by crafting a giant, fiery phoenix soaring through the sky. Though I wasn’t sure I could yet call them my allies, the Embers that Eleanor had recruited mingled amicably with their mortal peers.

Even those who weren’t invited—like Doriel and Obaneryn, who I’d granted asylum—had wandered over from their tented encampments to

bask in the warmth of borrowed joy. The dance floor had been overrun by the children we’d rescued from the Forgotten Lands, chasing each other through a forest of legs and gowns. Their laughter as they played gave me hope that the trauma they’d endured had not destroyed their hearts forever.

Everywhere I looked, I saw a new familiar face—and virtually all, at one time or another, had looked to me to save them. It should have stoked my pride to see the evidence of my work in living, breathing, dancing flesh.

But I hadn’t saved them. Not yet.

When Yrselle had asked me how far I was willing to go to see my plans through, I’d confidently declared that I would give it all, believing my life was the greatest sacrifice I could make.

Anyone can die, she’d said. Can you kill?

I looked down at my hands, pristine to the eye, dripping in blood that only I could see. When I asked myself that question now, my mind filled with silvery light and a battlefield coated in glittering black.

Can you keep going when everyone you care for is lying in a grave?

Can you be the one who puts them there?

She’d tried to tell me. Gods, she’d tried. The ominous words about her heir, the clues she left, the promise she’d demanded—and the warning that all of Emarion would pay if I failed.

How much of your soul are you willing to set ablaze?

“All of it,” I whispered.

Something stirred beneath my ribs.

I turned my back to the crowd. “You should take on more of the Crown duties,” I said to Luther. “You’re good at leading. People look up to you.”

His hand slid lower on my back. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”

“Eleanor, too. You should put her in charge of rebuilding Lumnos City.

Oh, and about Mortal City—they need authority to set their own laws. A smaller council, made up of people from within.”

“Diem . . .”

“The other realms need councils, too. Not just one. Each city—”

“I know what you’re doing.” He stared at me; I didn’t stare back.

“You’re breaking up the Crowns’ power and giving it away so you can be the last.”

“I already am the last. I told you—when I die, the Crowns won’t pass on.”

“Kings and queens ruled these lands long before the Kindred. Their Crowns might end, but others could take their place. Would that be so terrible?”

That was exactly what I was trying to prevent—a new Descended throne, gained by wealth or threat. Gods forbid a mortal monarch arise in response. Emarion would sink right back into division, maybe even war, with half-mortals lost in the middle.

“The people need to learn to govern together,” I argued. “We can’t allow one person to seize all the power for themselves.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“But you don’t think that councils are the way to do it?”

He thought for a moment. “Councils are careful. They discuss, and they deliberate. They take their time. They are wise. They are slow. They bring progress as the tree grows—over generations, in miniscule changes too small for the eye to see. In maturity, they can be strong, but in youth, they can be brought down by a single swing of an axe.”

His hand curled under my jaw and turned my face to his. “The councils are important. You’re right to establish them, and I pray they will be enough to carry your legacy when your reign comes to its end—many, many centuries from now.” I tried to look away, but he held me firm, his features resolute. “Right now, the people need their Queen, too. The councils need a strong Crown to defend them. They need you to keep pushing them forward, and to pull them back when they’ve gone astray. They need your vision. Your heart.” His thumb stroked across my cheek. “Don’t let go just yet.”

The final Guardian bomb erupted in a starburst of red, and the orchestra launched into a vibrant anthem, joined by distant applause. The colorful wash of light across Luther’s face faded as the sky went dark, leaving only two glowing, blue-grey eyes.

“Luther, look who’s here,” Lily’s voice called out.

His attention didn’t waver, nor did his hand, holding me trapped in his dominating gaze. This was the Luther who came out in the quiet, the Luther who could bend me to his will with one look, one word. He wanted me to

listen—not just hear him, but listen.

“Luther, Diem, look. He came!”

It was me who finally broke away, glancing over my shoulder to see Lily bouncing toward us, dragging Remis behind. My nerves immediately

went on edge—and by Remis’s guarded expression, so did his.

“Your Majesty,” he said, dipping his chin.

I stared back with no response.

He turned to his son, his lips pressing tighter. “Luther.”

Luther’s eyes remained on me.

Remis cleared his throat. “Blessed Mating to you both.”

Lily’s gaze danced between us, growing wider as the awkward silence stretched on. “Father came to congratulate Taran,” she said, gesturing to Remis’s golden suit. “See, Luther? He’s happy for them.”

I caught the subtle pleas in Lily’s voice. She adored her father and brother both, and I could tell the rift between them troubled her. I took Luther’s hand from my cheek and clasped it in mine as I turned to Remis. “I wasn’t aware you were invited.”

Remis bristled. “I don’t need an invitation. Taran is my nephew.”

That finally caught Luther’s focus. “And when your brother stripped him of his Corbois name, and you said nothing, was he your nephew then, too?”

“I had much to say to Garath about that decision,” Remis said, “but I handle my affairs in private, as I taught you to do.” He huffed. “What happened that day brought shame on House Corbois. We have strayed far from the days when we used our power with restraint.”

“I could have used that restraint when I was growing up, watching neighbors starve to death under Corbois laws or beaten bloody by Corbois guards,” I said frostily.

“You only kept silent because Garath threatened to tell everyone you lost your magic,” Luther snapped.

“Keep your voice down,” Remis hissed, nervously looking around.

Lily’s face fell at the bickering, and guilt nipped at me. Though the strife between Luther and Remis stretched long before me, I’d done my part in making it worse. Perhaps I could do my part in making it better instead.

“Remis,” I said, forcing my tone to calm, “if you tell everyone about your magic, Garath won’t have power over you anymore.”

“I see you still don’t understand our people. Descended respond to two things: magic and titles. Once, I had both. I used them to great extent to our family’s benefit, and it earned me many enemies. Now, I have no titles, but my enemies remain. Their belief in my magic is the only thing holding them back.”

“Maybe you should have used more of that restraint,” Luther said.

I toyed with my wrist, the phantom shackle tight against my skin.

“What if I make you my advisor?”

There was no telling which of the three looked more shocked.

“Eleanor is my Regent, but I have not named a Warden of the Shadows,” I said. “Perhaps you could take that role.”

Historically, the Warden of the Shadows moved in secrecy, handling tasks the Crown did not want publicly known. I’d offered Zalaric the position, and he’d politely declined. The years he’d spent trading in secrets were not a choice, but an Umbrosian necessity, and he was hoping for a brighter new chapter in Lumnos.

Though I was loath to admit it, Remis was the next best choice. He was a master of subtle scheming, and his motives were transparent: protect himself and protect his family. If I could give him that, he could be a useful weapon in my armory, and more importantly, a useful weapon in Luther’s— but only if I could convince him to use it.

“My Queen, we can’t trust him,” Luther warned.

“You don’t have to,” I said. “It’s a transaction: you keep him safe, he does what you say. If he betrays you, your protection ends, and you replace

him.”

“You mean you replace him.”

I shrugged. Luther’s grip tightened.

“This leaves me no better off,” Remis said. “I’ll still be at the mercy of someone else.”

“Then I guess you have to decide whose mercy you trust more,” I said.

“Garath’s or ours.”

Remis looked at Lily, whose brows had risen hopefully high. His frown deepened. “If I accept, will you make it clear that House Corbois still has your protection?” he asked me. “Including my brother?”

“No,” Luther snarled.

“Yes,” Remis bit back. “Garath may need handling, but I’ll not put him in a grave. He is family.”

Luther leaned toward his father, pointing at his scar. “You had no trouble putting family in a grave when you did this.”

I tried to edge between them, but Lily tugged me back. “Let them,” she whispered. “I think, maybe, this is what they need.”

“You think I wanted that?” Remis met his son’s challenge, stepping forward, chin high. “I cared for Florille. I sent her away when you were born because it was the only way I could keep you both safe.”

“Then why didn’t you let me go with her when she returned? We would have been safe outside of Lumnos.”

“Florille was never going to leave. She wanted to stay here to raise you as hers. She believed King Ulther would protect you.”

“Perhaps he would have.”

“Later, maybe. Not then. Your magic had not yet come in, and he had not yet named you as his heir. You would have been just another Corbois bastard. Garath had many, and none were spared. I could not let you meet that same fate.” Remis sighed, weary and sad. “What happened that day will haunt me forever, but even knowing what it cost me, I would do it again. It was my duty, as your father and as a servant of the Blessed Mother.”

Luther balked. “What does Blessed Lumnos have to do with it?”

“When you were born, she showed me a vision. You sat on a throne, wearing a crown. She told me to prepare you for that day. When I asked how, she said, ‘Love him.’” He huffed, looking almost offended. “I did not need her command to do that.”

The sincerity in his voice made my stomach turn, and I had to look away. In Remis’s mind, he had done exactly what Lumnos asked. He’d kept Luther alive at any cost and crafted him into a formidable adversary that would make the realm tremble. His love had been both shield and sword, forged to secure a crown. For men like Remis, shields, swords, and crowns were all that mattered.

But Luther had never felt his father’s love. He’d felt his firm hand, his expectant eyes, his punishing boot, but never his warm heart. Except for those brief, beautiful days Luther spent with his mother, his life had none of the safety that only a parent’s unconditional affection can provide. It had made him cold, too guarded to trust and too withdrawn to be trusted. It had earned him few allies, fewer friends. Remis’s love had not prepared Luther to be King, it had prepared him to fear and be feared—and fear makes for brittle foundations. The empires built upon them are doomed to collapse.

I grieved the Luther he might have been, in another life. As he was now, he would make a strong King, a wise leader who ruled justly and with

restraint. But a Luther who ruled with bold, unswerving love . . . Gods, what a kingdom he could build.

“Wait,” I said. “Lumnos showed you Luther as King?”

Luther tensed, seeming to realize where my thoughts had gone. “What about Diem? Was she in the vision?”

Remis hesitated. “There was a second throne,” he said slowly.

His choice of words did not go unnoticed. A second throne . . . but not me in it.

“He had a crown,” I said, no longer asking, but understanding. “It wasn’t the Crown of Lumnos. It wasn’t any of the Kindred Crowns.”

Remis frowned. “How did you know that?”

Because I’m the last person who will ever wear them.

The bricks fell into place—and buried me beneath them. How excruciatingly ironic that Luther had been the one to remind me that, if the Kindred’s monarchy fell, another could rise to take its place. The post-war leadership he believed Emarion would need . . . it wasn’t my destiny, it was his.

Luther’s chin lowered in a menacing glare. “If you’re getting any thoughts about trying to put me on Diem’s throne . . .”

“I don’t have to,” Remis said. He glanced at me, something unspoken hiding in his guarded features.

Though I had never realized it in the moment, Remis had gone to surprising lengths to keep me alive—allying with me to protect me in the Challenging, teaching me how to make myself seem less of a threat, writing his letter to the Fortos King. If Remis believed my death would make Luther King, he could have accomplished it many times.

It begged the question, then . . . what else had he seen in that vision?

“You see?” Lily said. “It was all a misunderstanding. Father loves you, Luther. He doesn’t want to hurt Diem.” Lily beamed. “There’s no more reason to fight. We can all be a family now.”

The answering silence was uncomfortable. Me, contemplating my demise; Remis, looking exhausted of the lifelong war with his son; Luther, looking no less angry than before.

Though the last year had been rocky for the Bellators, my family’s reconciliation seemed inevitable. We had a lifetime of happy memories together, and all three of us were eager to return to the smooth road we’d always known.

But the Corbois had never been a happy family. My mother’s secrets were trivial next to the violence and betrayal that lay between Garath, Remis, and their sons. They would have to pave a whole new path, if it could still be tread at all.

“Look,” Lily cried, “it’s time for the Gilded Gryvern!” She grabbed my wrist and began to tug.

“Lily, I—wait, we should—” Her dainty frame was stronger than it looked, dragging me away despite my attempts to resist. “Your brother, he—”

“Needs to talk,” she finished for me, “and Father needs to listen.

They’re both too proud to do that if we’re around.” Hair fluttered across her forehead as she blew out a vexed sigh. “Men, right? Besides, you need to catch the Gilded Gryvern. Then Luther will have to believe that Father will protect you.” Her expression briefly turned grave. “No one hurts a Corbois mate.”

“Lily, what are you talking about? What’s a Gilded Gryvern?”

She squealed. “It’s a mating day tradition!” She finally stopped at the crowd’s edge, where the guests were gathering beneath a massive, glowing sphere floating high in the air. Just below it, Taran and Zalaric stood together, one hand each extended to the sky. Magic flowed from their palms —light from Zalaric, shadows from Taran—and rose toward the orb, enrobing it in a film of shimmering blue.

“They’re making a shield,” she explained. She spotted Eleanor and Teller, waving to catch their attention. “If it’s strong enough to last until the song ends, every guest has to give them one gold mark.”

The musicians struck up a soft, lighthearted melody as Eleanor reached our side with a breathless laugh. “Zal says that if anyone breaks his shield, he’s charging them five thousand gold marks for all the time he spent folding.” She grinned. “Still worth it.”

“Folding what?” I asked, but their attention had already been stolen by a jagged bolt of Lumnos light crackling through the air. It hit the orb and sizzled away, and a groan of disappointment rose from the crowd. A moment later, a shadowy spear crashed into the shield, to no effect—then a plume of Ignios flame, followed by a whipcrack of Arboros vine.

“Let’s try one together,” Lily suggested, and Eleanor nodded. They lifted their hands toward the orb and let loose dual columns of glittering

sparks. It hit the shield at the same moment as a large volley of shadowed darts, but the shield didn’t so much as quiver.

The music’s tempo picked up pace, and so did the attacks. All across the crowd, magic shot from palms and thundered against the gleaming orb. “Is that all you’ve got?” Taran roared, though his expression was hopeful. He seemed to want them to defeat his shield even more than they did.

My brother strolled up, and I arched a questioning eyebrow. He shrugged. “They didn’t teach this one at school.” The other mortals in attendance looked equally baffled, though the Descended’s excitement was contagious. They shouted encouragements at one another as the music grew faster, and groups clumped together to combine their magic into more powerful bursts.

“What happens if someone pierces the shield?” I asked.

Eleanor and Lily shared a smile. “You’ll see,” they answered in unison, then fired off another joint assault. Soon the crowd was working as one, counting down aloud before unleashing coordinated blows. The cloying scent of roses disappeared beneath a strange magic-infused perfume of smoky fire, earthy moss, and the salty brine of ocean breeze. Zalaric let out a victorious laugh as his shield remained flawlessly intact.

Lily’s shoulders drooped. “It’s not going to work, he’s too strong.”

“Diem’s stronger,” Eleanor said proudly. “I bet she can do it on her first try.”

“Oh, um—I wish I could,” I stammered. “My magic’s still gone.”

Eleanor and Lily sulked. Lily looked hopefully toward Luther, but when she saw him still deep in conversation with their father, she bit her lip and looked away. They both turned their focus back to casting magic. My brother, on the other hand—too damn smart for his own good, or mine—

slowly leaned toward me.

“From the flameroot?” he murmured.

I had to bite down hard to stop from cringing. Teller had watched me take flameroot for years, and he was the only one who knew when I began skipping doses. He’d also been studying its effects for weeks to refine the poison he’d invented. If anyone knew how long flameroot took to fade, it was him.

“Yep,” I said—too brightly. “Vance must have given me a pretty strong dose.”

“How strong? It’s never taken this long before.”

I shrugged—too blandly. “I’m sure it’ll start coming back any day now.”

“It hasn’t even started to return? Most Descended begin to gradually feel it within—”

“I’m not most Descended,” I snapped—too sharply.

Teller’s eyes narrowed. He leaned in close, voice hushed. “D, what are you hiding?”

The music was thunderous now and racing toward an end at an urgent speed. Its pretty tune had turned shrill, accentuated by Zalaric’s cackling.

Though tiny fissures had begun to appear, the shield was nowhere close to giving way. Heads in the crowd began to swivel in search of a last-minute savior. One by one, they all came to rest on me.

“Come on, Queenie,” Taran shouted. “You’ve already freed six gryverns —what’s a few hundred more?”

Zalaric’s triumphant pride faltered. Unlike Taran, he could sense my aura, and though he’d been kind enough to keep it to himself, I’d caught just enough of his curious glances to know that he had noticed its absence.

I looked at Luther, silently pleading for help. His gaze instantly snapped to mine—then, seeing me safe and surrounded by smiling friends, returned to his father.

I began to panic. I knew I couldn’t hide my magic’s loss forever, but I’d hoped to wait until Vance and his men were found. My army believed my magic to be its strongest weapon, and if we had to face one last battle, I feared the consequences to their morale.

I felt my hands rise toward the orb before I could think my doomed plan through, and the crowd let out a cheer. Their hands fell, their magic fading to make room for me to do what all of them combined could not.

“Diem,” Teller whispered, “what are you doing?”

The orchestra hit their final note and let it hold, sustained, eyes peering at me over their music.

Suddenly, a flash of light exploded at my palms. A glowing stream spiraled around me, then arced across the sky. It collided into the shield and instantly crushed it into a cloud of glittering mist. From within the shield, a mass of white broke apart, its pieces fluttering toward the ground.

The crowd erupted. Their hands returned to the air, this time stretching

toward the twirling items.

“Did you do that?” Teller asked.

I shook my head. I looked at Luther—he gazed back, but his frown was written with questions, not answers.

“Let the Blessed Mother Lumnos guide the Gilded Gryvern to its home,” Zalaric announced blandly, feigning irritation as a clapping Taran hopped up and down beside him. Zalaric’s eyes found mine, softened, and

winked.

Thank you, I mouthed.

I’ll send you a bill tomorrow, he mouthed back.

“They’re little gryverns,” Teller said. He grabbed a handful from the air and squinted at the tiny scraps of translucent paper. Each one had been folded into miniature versions of the creature, their pleated wings causing them to flap in chaotic circles as they fell.

A cloud of them rained down over me, their tiny tails tickling my nose. I reached up to catch a few, wanting to save one for Sorae, who’d been spending every waking hour patrolling the borders and coast. My eyes caught on a gleam of warm light—one gryvern unlike all the others, whose edges had been tipped with gold. Its wing had crumpled, causing it to tumble in a fast descent.

I held out my palm to catch it, but just as it grazed my skin, another paper gryvern bounced off my finger and knocked it aside—right onto Lily’s shoulder. She plucked it off and gasped. “I found it,” she yelled, beaming. “I found the—”

Her smile vanished. She looked at Teller, who was distractedly unwrapping one of the miniature creatures to study its folds. Lily quickly placed it in my palm.

“Her Majesty found it,” she announced, a good deal louder and a great

deal less enthused.

I frowned. “Lily, you —”

“It’s a very good omen,” she interrupted. “They say the Descended who catches it will be the next to mate.” Her lips pressed tightly as she nestled into Teller’s side—Teller, a mortal, who she could marry but not mate. Her joy of a moment earlier had transformed into something bittersweet, something made of love and sacrifice and complicated, contradicting want.

He dropped the paper he’d been studying to wrap an arm around her waist, and she hurriedly washed her face of anything less than bliss.

She’d apparently learned a thing or two from Luther about hiding her true emotions, though where Luther’s mask was stone-carved reserve,

Lily’s mask was purity and light. For Teller’s sake, I was grateful for her kindness. For her sake, my heart broke.

I gave a subtle nod to let her know I understood, and her eyes crinkled with silent appreciation. “You’re the right person to catch it,” she offered.

“You and Luther would make perfect mates.”

The mark on my chest burned in agreement.

“Queenie!” Taran hollered. He bounded through the crowd, nearly toppling over countless guests, and swept me off my feet into a lung- squishing hug. “Well, this is ironic, huh?” he murmured in my ear.

I froze in his arms. Shit. What did he know? How did he know it?

He peeled away with a knowing wink, but before I could ask, he lifted me up to perch me on his shoulder. He turned to the crowd and pumped his fist. “May the Gilded Gryvern lead her to her mate!”

The guests echoed his cheer, raising their glasses to me. I looked at Eleanor, wondering if she’d told him, but her bittersweet smile, and my gut instinct, told me no. While she was adept at collecting other people’s secrets, when it came to mine, her lips were a vault.

Alixe came winding through the celebrants. Though she’d been at the ceremony, I hadn’t seen her since. Her somber features didn’t look like she’d returned for dancing and drinks.

I tapped Taran’s shoulder, and he gently slid me back to my feet. He grabbed my hand as the music resumed. “Come on, Queenie, I’m claiming a dance before Lu steals you to himself for the rest of the night.”

“I’m afraid I have to steal Her Majesty first,” Alixe interrupted.

Taran poked out his lower lip. “It’s my mating day. Let me have one dance.” His eyebrows wiggled at me. “I’ve got things to discuss.”

“Sorry, cousin,” she said. “So do I, and mine are rather urgent. A boat of Centenaries just arrived.”

Taran’s smile dropped instantly into a glare. “If they came for Zalaric—”

“They didn’t. They’ve come to seek asylum.” Alixe’s eyes cut to me.

“Umbros has fallen.”

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