Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 84

84

LUTHER

My Diem, It has been three months since I last saw your face.

That’s not true. I see it everywhere now. I look around at the palace, or what’s left of it, and I see you. I see your scowl in the room where I tried to help you set my sister’s broken bone. I see your flushed cheeks in the foyer where I searched you for weapons. I see the tears in your eyes when you woke up beside me and realized I’d been cured from the godstone. I see you in the ballroom where we danced and in the dungeon where we trained. I see you in all the

places where I fell in love with you.

But you’re no longer in them.

I have not spoken to anyone of what happened on the island. I can’t. I never will.

Auralie suggested I write you a letter to tell you how I’m feeling.

She thought it might be easier if you’re the only one who hears my words. She’s certain you’re listening. I hope she’s wrong. I don’t want you to see what I’ve become.

I will tell you of the others instead. Taran and Zalaric are leading the efforts to restore the palace. Zalaric asked for my blessing to make it a home for the children orphaned by the war. They’re going

to open a school, where mortal and Descended children can study side by side. Taran wants to call it the Teller Institute for Talented Scholars.

Aemonn is helping them, if you can believe it. He has become a different man since Garath died in the palace attack. He and Taran still argue incessantly, but there’s no hatred in it anymore. Even Zalaric seems to be warming to him. He says they’ve bonded over their shared love of clothes.

Lily’s a full-time healer now. Maura says she’s as much a natural at it as you were. She moved to Mortal City so she could be closer to the healers’ center. Perhaps it’s also to keep a closer eye on me. She and Maura used the blood you left behind to heal the soldiers wounded by godstone. She wants to develop new methods to treat wounds of the spirit, since the war has left so many in Emarion who need it. I suspect that might be for my benefit, too.

The council appointed Nidara and Lonard to share the title of High General. Though they are trying their best, Alixe’s shoes are hard to fill. They are not the peacemakers that she could so cleverly be. I confess, we feel her absence greatly.

And yours.

Runa and Enness resettled in Arboros. They’re restoring farmland for the medicinal herbs that will not grow in other realms.

I was pleased to see that the group who joined them contained equal numbers of mortals and Descended. Your mother visited them not long ago, and I hear they’re doing well.

The other gryverns left once the war ended, but Sorae wouldn’t leave my side, and Tybold wouldn’t leave hers. She insisted on lighting the pyre at your funeral. Since the Everflame took your body, they burned some of your dresses. Eleanor made sure they chose the ones you hated. Taran told wild stories about you (none of

them were true) and musicians sang songs of your beauty (all of them were true). I wore black.

I convinced Sorae to leave with Tybold the next day. I told her it’s what you would have wanted. I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.

I hope that wherever she is, she’s happy.

I hope that wherever you are, you’re happy, too.

You’d be so proud of Eleanor. She’s thriving in this strange new world. She made arrangements for survivors who wished to return to their home realms, and she’s finding homes for those who chose to stay in Lumnos. She’s working with Auralie to improve conditions in Mortal City, too. She is the leader that—

y hand stilled, ink spreading in a dark splotch across the paper.M She is the leader that you asked me to be.

I squeezed the quill so hard, its shaft snapped in my fingers. I threw it down, then smashed the journal closed and hurled it against the palace wall.

“I was going to say that I was glad you finally took my advice,” a voice said behind me, “but perhaps it wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped.”

I set my elbows on my knees, hunching forward. “Is there something you need, Auralie?”

The sound of her footsteps grew louder, followed by the rustling of her clothes as she perched beside me on the bench. “It’s really something, isn’t

it?”

“Looks nothing like her,” I muttered.

I briefly glanced up at the statue in front of us. Zalaric had hired a Descended survivor from Montios to craft an alabaster effigy of Diem in her armor. The man had never seen her himself, so the others had gathered around him while he worked, debating the width of her jaw, the straightness of her nose, whether the natural curl of her hair was loose or tight. Every time they got it wrong, my temper had grown hotter.

How could the memory of her already be so faded in their minds when every time I closed my eyes, I saw her in perfect clarity?

Auralie gave a quiet hum. When they unveiled the final statue a few weeks ago, we’d both offered polite praise, but the look we’d shared revealed our mutual disappointment.

“She’s too serious,” Auralie said. “I know Zalaric wanted her to be remembered as a warrior, but I’d rather her be remembered for her smile.”

I grunted my agreement. Though Diem’s mood had been dark in those final weeks, when I thought about her life, it was her light that filled my mind.

“If you’d like it to accidentally fall over and shatter, say the word,” I mumbled. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse.”

Auralie gave a half-hearted laugh. “For someone who hates it so much, you spend a great deal of time here.”

I scraped my hands up and down my face, fighting an overpowering urge to walk away. “Is there something you need?” I repeated, more tersely.

“Many things.” She held up a finger. “I need the Lumnos farmers to stop refusing the Arboros survivors’ help. The farmers don’t trust Descended magic to boost their crops, but they’re not growing enough on their own to meet the number of mouths we have to feed.” She uncurled a second finger. “I need Marthe Hanoverre to stop hoarding homes in Lumnos City when there’s only a handful of Hanoverres left to fill them.”

She flipped out a third finger. “I need the Faunosians to go home. They’re recruiting all the animals in the forest to their menagerie. There’s hardly any left for the mortals to hunt.” She waved a fourth finger. “And I really, really need whoever is running things in Fortos to—”

“Auralie,” I interrupted, “if this is your way of asking for my help . . .”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling things on my own.” She paused.

“But as King, if you wanted to help—”

“I’m not King. I was King Consort. Now I’m just . . .” I swallowed, not quite sure how to finish.

“Yes, well, about that.” She reached to her other side and grabbed a rectangular wooden chest that I hadn’t noticed her carry in. “We sent a group to Sophos to survey the damage. They found this in the library and brought it back. There was a discussion in Mortal City, and it was decided

that you should have it.”

“What is it?”

She placed it beside me. “I’ll have you know that I was opposed. It’s my opinion that Emarion has had enough of thrones. We have a council now.

That’s where the power to govern belongs, and you’ll not see me waver on

that. Not even for you.”

“Auralie . . . what’s in the box?”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “But I suppose I can concede that a highly respected ceremonial figurehead to enforce the council’s decisions

could be useful.”

“Auralie—”

She shot me a look that said stop asking foolish questions before I stop being too kind to point it out.

I flipped the latch on the chest and carefully lifted the lid. Inside, on a bed of dark green velvet, sat a simple bronze crown, smooth and unadorned.

“It belonged to a mortal monarch,” she explained. “The other crowns from the mortal kings and queens were melted down and remade into jewelry for wealthy Descended. This one was plain enough to be forgotten,

it seems.”

I shut the box. “That’s not for me.”

“The mortals want you to have it.”

“They want Diem to have it. They’re only giving it to me because she’s

not here.”

“Then wear it for her.”

“I don’t—” I stopped, mouth clamping shut.

“You don’t want to?” Auralie guessed. “Or you don’t think you deserve to?”

I hunched forward again, forearms pressed against my thighs, head hanging. My hair, messy and unwashed, fell around my face and the scraggly beard I didn’t care enough to shave. I stared at my feet and realized I was wearing two different boots. I dressed with my eyes closed these days, because I couldn’t bear seeing how the mating mark had turned dark on my skin. Most days, getting up at all was a struggle.

“Both,” I whispered.

Auralie set the box on the ground and slid down the bench until she was lightly pressed against my side. She set a hand on my back and curled another around my arm.

“Good,” she said. “Never trust a leader who does.”

She leaned her head against mine, and we sat in miserable silence.

Her kindness shamed me. Auralie had lost her husband, her son, and her daughter, all in horribly violent ways. She’d lost countless colleagues from the Guardians, as well as several friends in Mortal City. Yet she had not fallen apart.

I knew she was grieving in private. I saw the way her eyes were red and a little swollen every morning, but when others were around, she was the embodiment of strength.

She, too, was everything I should have been.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should be doing more to help.”

“You’re in mourning. It’s perfectly normal to need some time to adjust.

Don’t judge yourself for that.” She gently squeezed my arm. “And you are helping. You’ve put in so much work building new homes in Mortal City.

Because of you, houses are going up in half the time.”

I wished I could feel some pride in her words, but my work there had been an act of survival. Slamming a hammer into nails for hours on end gave me an outlet for my rage, and it kept me from having to talk.

Everyone wanted to fucking talk. If I had to answer the question “How are you feeling?” one more time, I was going to swim across the Sacred Sea and impale myself on a branch of the Everflame. At least then I’d be with

Diem.

But I’d made her a promise.

As ready as I’d been to abandon it when she died, somewhere in those long hours I spent alone on the island, kneeling among the Everflame’s roots until Taran arrived to coax me home, I decided that I owed it to Diem to try.

“You know,” Auralie said, “there’s another house I know that could use some work . . .”

I groaned. “Don’t start. It’s got a roof and a door. That’s good enough.”

“Luther, she wanted you to finish it.”

“I never should have told you that.”

“Well, you did. And I agree with my daughter.”

Against my repeated, loudly expressed wishes, Auralie had come by the house I built for me and Diem every morning, then stopped in again every night. Though I usually grumbled at her to leave, she’d linger for hours, putting food in front of me and watching with arms crossed until I ate every bite. She’d done it silently at first, mouth twitching with things she was fighting not to speak. Eventually, she began to offer advice.

You should put a window on the western wall. Diem liked to watch the sun as it sets.

You’ll need to make the table a long one. She would have insisted on enough seats for the whole family to come.

Make sure to add some fencing in the gardens. Diem got so angry when the wild rabbits ate her herbs.

I still hadn’t decided whether I hated it or loved it.

She gave my arm a light slap. “Honestly, Luther, you can’t keep sleeping on a bare wooden floor. You’re punishing yourself. Diem wouldn’t want that.”

How could I explain to her that it wasn’t a punishment—it was my one small comfort, a reminder of the night Diem and I had spent together as brand-new mates? Sometimes, if the fire was warm enough, I could even imagine she was curled up against me, sleeping in my arms. Painting over the walls and laying down rugs felt like erasing her from the one place I still felt her presence.

I closed a hand around Diem’s gold pendant, which I’d taken to wearing on a leather cord around my neck. “I like the house the way it is, Auralie.”

I looked over at her, letting my mask slip just enough for her to understand. Her mouth gave a small pinch. “I won’t speak of it again.”

“Thank you. And thank you for looking after me—I know I have not made it easy.”

“You’re my son, Luther. I’ll always look after you.”

Warmth seeped into the gloomy abyss that had become my soul. It had been a very long time since I’d had a mother figure in my life. I never thought I would again.

Maybe this was Auralie’s way of coping with her children’s deaths, by throwing her motherly fussing into me instead. Maybe this was what she

needed to heal.

Maybe it was what I needed, too.

“You’re kinder to me than my own parent,” I said.

She frowned. “I thought you and Remis were making progress.”

“We were. Then he told me I was turning into Ulther.”

She scowled. “You’re nothing like Ulther.”

But I was. My late uncle had been a hollow, useless husk of a King, letting others run the realm while he wallowed over the death of his mate.

At times, I’d despised him for neglecting his people. Other times, I’d pitied him for a heartbreak I never thought I’d understand.

Now . . . I’d become him.

There was a long way to go before I could trust that my father’s encouragement to embrace the role of King was motivated by more than his

own self-interest, but he was right nonetheless.

“Leave Marthe Hanoverre her mansion,” I said. “She’ll be more trouble than it’s worth if we don’t. Move whoever still needs a home into the vacant Hanoverre properties. Tell Marthe it’s an order from His Majesty, the King.”

Auralie sat up, eyebrows rising. “Very well.”

“I’ll speak with Ailani. The Faunosians will be gone by the end of the week—without our animals. I’ll speak with the farmers, too, but you’ll have to come with me. They’re more likely to hear me out if you’re there.”

Her lips tightened, trying to suppress a smirk. Fuck, it reminded me so much of Diem.

“I’ll be happy to come along,” she said.

“And Fortos . . .” I blew out a breath. “Fortos is a mess.”

“They’re used to hierarchy. They don’t know what to do without a clear leader to take command.”

I looked at the wooden chest at my feet. “Then I guess I’ll have to give them one.”

Auralie leaned over and reopened the lid, scooping the crown from its velvet pillow. She held it at her waist for a moment, closing her eyes and murmuring a quiet prayer to the Old Gods. When she finished, she turned to me and lifted it high.

I hesitated. I hadn’t prayed since Diem’s death. The only thing I was willing to offer the Kindred was rage, and I resented the Old Gods for taking her body. Still, it felt wrong to take a mortal crown without

acknowledging them in some way.

My eyes closed.

I will not ask for your guidance, I told them. No matter how benevolent you may be, too much cruelty has been inflicted in the name of some god or another. The people of this world need to act for each other now. The hurt we cause in life has to matter more than any reward we may or may not receive in death.

But I will ask you for one thing: Give her peace. Let her rest. And if the life I lead is judged unworthy, don’t make her suffer for my failure.

I dipped my chin to lower my head, and Auralie set the crown atop it.

“May the Old Gods answer both our prayers,” she said.

I angled my neck, testing the weight and balance. It was heavy for something so plain. The fit was snug, its sharp edges digging into my skin.

It seemed like the kind of crown that never became comfortable, no matter how long it sat on your head. The kind you always felt the weight of. The kind that might come tumbling off if it wasn’t worn with care.

Exactly how a crown should feel.

Auralie leaned back, evaluating my new look. Though she’d been the one to put it there, I saw her trepidation. Even Diem as Queen had been something Auralie tolerated, never celebrated.

“If I ever become anything like the old Descended Crowns, promise me you’ll take this thing back,” I insisted, hoping to ease her concern.

“Oh, you can be certain of that. I won’t have a Bellator King give me a bad name.” She winked, and I smiled—something I hadn’t done in three months.

“You asked me a question,” she said. “I should ask you the same. Be honest with me, Luther. Is there anything you need?”

I quickly shook my head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not, and neither am I. But we go on regardless.” She took my hand and folded it in hers. “Tell me what you need. There must be something.”

My eyes turned back to the statue. When I looked at its somber face, I saw only the woman who inspired it, her beautiful smile spread wide.

“Just her,” I whispered.

Across the room, the door creaked open, and a small, surprised “oh” echoed through the rafters.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said, staring at me and easing backward. “I didn’t mean to disturb.”

I felt another pang of shame. I’d been curt with my sister, and everyone else, every time they tried to join me here. This shrine to Diem left me feeling vulnerable in a way I could only bear to face alone.

“Come in,” I called out, waving her over.

She lit up. “Really?” She strode inside. “Wait . . . are you wearing a crown?”

“You know how I’ve always dreamed of being King.”

Lily giggled at my disdainful tone. Back when I’d been King Ulther’s heir apparent, she knew it was a role I never wanted, nor intended, to take.

“Would you two like some privacy?” Auralie asked.

Lily looked up at the statue, then shook her head. “There’s something I want to tell you, both of you—well, I wanted to tell Diem first, but I

suppose she already knows—do you think they all know everything up there?—and you’re both already here, and maybe so is Diem, so I guess I can tell all three of you at the same time, which is kind of a relief because I’m already a little scared and I’m afraid I might just talk and talk and never get it out and I —”

“Lily,” Auralie cut in. She slid away from me, then patted the bench between us. “Come. Sit.”

Lily took the seat, hands fidgeting at her waist. She stared at the ground, then up at Diem’s statue, then at me, then at Auralie, then down at her waist.

We waited for her to speak, but her lips stayed closed, her teeth digging so far into her bottom lip, I was afraid she might leave a bruise.

Auralie shot me a questioning look. I shook my head, equally bewildered.

“Is something wrong?” Auralie asked her.

“Are you in trouble?” I pushed.

“Um . . .” Lily’s mouth twisted to one side, then the other. “Not trouble exactly . . . well, I mean, perhaps . . . maybe with Father . . .”

“You’re an adult now,” I reminded her. “You live by your own choices, not Father’s.”

She sat up straighter. “Right. Yes. My choices. And I’m not ashamed of this one. We discussed it—we knew it might happen. And I don’t care what Father says. I won’t regret it. I could never regret it. Not ever.”

“Lily.” I infused my tone with brotherly sternness. “Out with it. Now.”

She took a deep breath and pressed her hands against her belly. “I’m pregnant.”

Her face scrunched, shoulders hunching inward like she was bracing to be screamed at. Auralie and I gaped at each other, looking like mirror

images—stare unblinking, mouths ajar.

“The father?” I asked.

“Teller,” Lily squeaked. She opened her left eye to peek at me, then closed it and opened her right to glance at Auralie, whose eyes had filled with tears.

“You . . . Teller . . .” A sudden, short laugh burst out of her. “I’m going to have a grandchild?”

Lily cautiously relaxed. “You’re not angry?”

“Oh, my sweet, precious girl, I’ve never been happier about anything in my life.” Auralie threw her arms around Lily’s neck, sobbing into her

shoulder. Lily looked at me, beaming for a brief second before burying her smile again as she waited for my response.

I curled a hand behind her head and pulled her in, kissing her hair. “I’m happy, too. I’m going to be the proudest uncle in Emarion.” I set my chin atop her head, needing to hide my face and the sorrow I couldn’t keep shielded for one moment longer.

I was happy for Lily. Her spirit had dimmed so much since Teller’s death. It would be a blessing to her, and to Auralie, to have a piece of him still in the world. And she had always wanted to be a mother. I’d hoped she would have many more years before taking that step, but I knew she’d be incredible at it. Though there would be no replacing Teller as the father, the child would have three devoted uncles—Taran, Zalaric, and myself—to teach them all the things a father should.

Selfishly, I was happy for me, too. Doting on Lily and the baby would be a welcome distraction.

But when the words came out of her mouth, my first thought was of Diem, and how the child would never know the aunt who would have cherished them and spoiled them and teased them and inspired them and taught them about courage in the way that only Diem could. She would have loved this child with all her heart, and they would have adored her.

And that broke me all over again.

Lily looked up at me and startled. “You’re crying,” she said, her voice turning soft. “You never cry.”

“I was just thinking how overjoyed Diem would be,” I admitted, surprised at the relief I felt at showing my emotions, instead of hiding them away.

Lily sighed. “She would have been such a good aunt.”

“The best,” Auralie agreed, swiping at her own tears. “I can help you find a midwife, if you like.”

“Oh—um, actually, I already have one. She’s from Fortos, but all her friends died in the war, so she’s leaving the army. She’s going to ask Maura if she can work out of the healers’ center instead. She’s sooo nice. And beautiful. I think she might be the prettiest woman I’ve ever met. And she’s really smart. And brave—did you know Fortos makes its healers fight and heal patients at the same time? It’s so unfair. Diem would have made them change that. I told Sarla—oh, her name is Sarla, by the way. I named her, actually. The Fortos Descended don’t give their children names, so

everyone just called her Healer 1433-63, which I told her was ridiculous, so she—”

“I can’t wait to meet Sarla,” I said. “She sounds wonderful.”

Lily jumped to her feet. “Will you both come with me to tell Father? He might not be so angry if you’re there.”

Auralie stood and took her hand. “Of course. If he says a cross word about it, I’ll slip some slugs in his next glass of wine.”

Lily giggled, and I smiled despite myself. So much like Diem, I thought again, and though the pain of her absence ached a little stronger, it also gave me joy to know that, with Auralie’s influence and Teller’s parentage, some bits of Diem might live on in Lily’s child someday, too.

“Let’s go,” I said, standing. I wrapped an arm around Lily’s shoulders, walking beside them. “I want to see Father’s face when you tell him you’re carrying a Bellator.”

Lily giggled again, and Auralie flashed a wicked smile. I paused at the door to let them go ahead and glanced back at Diem’s statue.

I hoped she was watching us, after all.

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