Burn of the Everflame — Chapter 9

9

LUTHER

ou ask too much, Auralie.”“Y “It’s no more than we had before.”

“A mortal governor for every realm? That’s madness.”

“Be grateful we’re letting you keep your Crowns.”

“Letting us? These Crowns are ours by divine right.”

“Not by any god of mine.”

Another round of huffs and eye rolls filled the awkward silence. We’d been at this for only an hour, and it had already become mind-numbingly repetitive. Auralie would lay out a blunt demand, the Crowns would insist it couldn’t be done, she’d refuse to give in even a hair, and conversation would give way to a scowling contest of legendary proportions.

Some of the Guardians’ demands were fair and simple, but many were, admittedly, enormous—enough to require restructuring life in Emarion as we knew it. I might have felt the smallest shred of sympathy for the Crowns if they weren’t responding to both kinds of requests in the same dismissive way.

“Let me get this straight,” Sophos said, leaning forward and steepling their hands. “You want all nine realms reopened to the mortals.”

Auralie nodded. Ignios sneered.

“You want every law that makes a distinction between Descended and mortals repealed,” Sophos continued.

“That’s practically all of them,” Faunos argued.

“Exactly,” Cordellia snapped.

“You want the mortals to elect their own leaders,” Sophos went on, “and you want them to have the same authority as a Crown.”

“Impossible,” Meros said. “A ship cannot have two captains.”

“And you want schools to admit equal numbers of mortal and Descended children.”

“Including the institutions in Sophos,” Auralie reminded them.

Their jaw ticked. “You want me to take unqualified mortals over Descended who earned their place? What good will that do? They’ll never be able to keep up, and our research will suffer.”

“Who says they’re unqualified? May I remind you that we built those institutions. Before your kind arrived, we were scholars and captains and queens. Once you unlock our chains, we’ll be so again.”

“But you can never do all that we do,” Sophos insisted. “You do not

have our magic.”

“And you do not have their hearts.”

They were the first words I’d spoken since the meeting began. Pairs of eyes in rainbow hues moved across the table and stopped on me.

“I am Descended,” I said. “I was raised in this very palace with more privilege than any person should ever have. I’ve met thousands of other Descended across Lumnos, and more while traveling the realms with my uncle, the late King. I know who we are as a people. I know the good, and the bad, that we are capable of doing. And what it has taught me . . .” I leaned forward, my tone bitter. “ . . . is that we have lost our humanity. We are kind—but only to those who do as we say. We are generous—but only to those who have something we value. We care for others only when it requires nothing from us. We are selfish.”

Arboros shifted, avoiding my eyes, and Meros’s stare turned thoughtful.

“Perhaps that is who we always were,” I went on. “Perhaps it’s all we’ll ever be. If that’s the case, then we are already doomed. If Ophiucae does not kill us, we’ll destroy each other eventually. A hunger for power is never sated. It only grows until there’s nothing left to eat.” I stood up and set my palms on the table. “The mortals can teach us what we have forgotten—that there is more to life than control.”

“If you think the mortals are so much better than our kind,” Ignios cut in, weaving words in between wet, hacking coughs, “then we should not corrupt them with our presence.” He gestured a finger toward the Montios throne and the empty chairs around it. “Let the mortals have the mountains.

They can run the realm however they see fit.”

“We cannot give a realm away,” Arboros protested. “What of the Montios Descended?”

Faunos shrugged. “Fine with me. Those mountain slugs never leave their rocks anyway.”

The Crowns continued to bicker, and Auralie and I exchanged a frustrated look. She patted my hand as I sank back into my chair.

“A fine speech,” she said. “Diem would be proud.” She hesitated, then added: “As am I. You’re a good man, Luther.”

Perplexing emotions wound through my chest. The only person to ever tell me they were proud of me was my mortal mother. After failing to protect her, I hadn’t felt worthy of anyone’s pride.

For Diem’s sake, I had hoped to earn her mother’s trust, but this was more than my cold, hardened soul knew what to do with.

Meros banged his fist on the table several times until the arguing stopped. “The things you’ve asked for, Auralie—these are your demands?

All of them?”

Auralie laughed. “Oh, no. We’ve only just begun.”

Sophos rubbed their temples. Meros sighed. Arboros quietly pressed her lips together. Faunos seethed.

Ignios wobbled in his seat, as if trying to stand, and two of his attendants leapt forward to ease him back. Bits and pieces of his skin flaked off and fell at his feet. “What more could you possibly ask for? You want our homes, too?”

“In fact, we do,” Auralie said flatly. “Your mansions are built on stolen land. We want it back.”

“Auralie,” Arboros interjected, “the people who live in those homes now are not the people who took the land from the mortals. How can you expect us to punish people for something that was done generations ago?”

“My people are still suffering the consequences. Why should yours be allowed to escape them? Justice can’t begin while the evil still remains.”

She drummed her fingers along the arm of her chair. “We can be reasonable. If you prefer, your people can simply pay a fair price. For their land, their homes, and everything else that was taken.”

Faunos snorted. “Next, they’ll want our firstborn babes.”

Auralie smiled. “Now that you mention it, we demand that reparations be paid to the half-mortal children, too.”

The Crowns erupted into another roar of complaint, but my eyes were still on Auralie. Defending the half-mortals would not be a popular decision among the Guardians—Cordellia’s deep frown was evidence of that—but Auralie didn’t seem to care. She was using the rebels’ leverage to secure a future for all Emarions, even those forgotten by both sides.

I understand now, I thought, laying a palm over my heart and thinking of the Queen who owned it, why you’re such a compassionate woman. I see who showed you the way.

“Order!” Sophos shouted. They slammed their palms on the table.

“Order, order!”

Faunos flopped back in her seat and kicked her legs up on the table, clearly done with any semblance of decorum. The other Crowns sagged in their thrones, looking ready to quit.

“Your Majesties, why are we even here?” the Fortos Vice General cut in. “What can the Guardians offer that my army cannot?”

“According to my sources, you’ve yet to win a battle,” Auralie said. Her gaze cut to Alixe. “Tell me, High General, can a war be won by retreating alone?”

My father shot Alixe a warning stare that she pretended not to notice.

“No, Madame Bellator,” she said. “It cannot.”

“And you rebels can do any better?” the Vice General shot back.

“We took the Meros port and the island. We’ve got informants in every palace and active members in every realm.” She stared at Ignios. “Including yours.”

“You lie,” he sputtered. “There are no mortals in my realm. My borders make sure of it.”

“Indeed. Thankfully, some of your own believe you as poor a leader as we do.”

He swung his poisoned glare to the man and woman at his side, whose faces paled. I strongly suspected that Auralie’s claims were a lie, but the seeds of doubt had been effectively and masterfully sown.

“We also have informants in Ophiucae’s army,” Auralie said. “We know when and where he’s going to attack. Can the Emarion Army say the same?”

The Vice General didn’t respond. The Crowns exchanged loaded looks.

“You Descended only know one way to fight—with magic. Even when you fight with weapons, you rely on your shields to protect you. Against

Ophiucae, your magic doesn’t work. We’ve been fighting without magic for centuries. We know how to do it . . . and win.”

“How do we know you won’t join him?” Sophos asked. “You were fond of him once. Enough to conceive a child together.”

“A child he tried to murder,” she fired back. “I know his desire for control. When he’s done killing all of you, he’ll expect the mortals to submit. If we deny him, we’ll be next.”

“You say that now,” Faunos said. “What if he makes you his Queen and offers to let you rule beside him? People give away their hearts so quickly at a little taste of power.”

The air around Auralie seemed to chill. “My heart belongs to my husband, Andrei. Now and always.” Her knuckles blanched where she gripped her chair. “Ophiucae deceived me once. It won’t happen again.”

“His army is made up of your people, is it not?” Sophos asked. “Are the Guardians willing to kill their own?”

Auralie didn’t immediately answer. She turned to Cordellia, their heads bending low in hushed conversation. After a moment, Auralie pulled back and held Cordellia’s gaze in a long, solemn stare. Her eyes touched briefly on me before returning to the Crowns.

“The Guardians who have joined Ophiucae . . . many of them have lost loved ones at a Descended’s hands. They have lived in poverty, with no way to get out. They suffered under your rule, and they want you to feel the same pain. I cannot blame them. It’s the least you deserve.”

The Crowns stiffened, some looking away.

“However,” she continued, “I can’t agree that genocide is ever a solution. I believe a future is possible where we live together in peace, but only if we do so as equals. So . . .” She paused. “Yes. If you accept our demands, we will help you.”

A potent energy seemed to crackle through the room. The Crowns exchanged stares and whispered feverishly with their advisors.

“But if you want us to win,” she added, “we’ll need you to hand over a weapon currently in your possession.”

“Absolutely not,” the Vice General barked. “We cannot arm rebel scum.

They’ll use it against us the second that man is dead.”

“Would you rather we die instead?” Eleanor asked him. “The mortals are offering to help us. Show some respect.”

That was a pleasant surprise. Eleanor was adept at navigating Descended social dynamics, which had made her a useful ally to Diem, but insecurity held her back. She rarely joined an argument, even among friends.

And she’d just used her voice in a meeting of Crowns.

It was Diem’s influence, I knew. The faith she’d shown by making Eleanor her Regent had set my cousin’s confidence ablaze. She’d done the same for Taran, Alixe, Lily . . . even me.

Find her, my godhood begged, softening from a demand to a broken, doleful plea. Save her.

“They deserve a prison, not respect,” the Vice General snarled.

“Silence,” Sophos snapped. “You two may represent your realms, but you are not Crowns. Be like Remis here, and know your place.”

My father bristled. If he’d believed his longtime alliance with Doriel had won him respect, he was evidently mistaken.

“What is this weapon you want?” Meros asked.

Auralie raised her chin. “My daughter, Diem.”

The room went quiet.

“Unfortunately,” Sophos said slowly, as if being careful of every letter, every sound, “that is not an option.”

“Then this meeting is over.” Auralie pushed to her feet. “Best of luck with your war.” She moved to leave, and I rose to follow. To Cordellia’s credit, she did the same, offering no hint of the objections she’d raised in Arboros.

Sophos jumped up. “Surely we can come to some other agreement.”

“Those are our terms,” Auralie called out, continuing for the door.

Meros rubbed his brow. “I knew this would happen.”

“Wait—wait, wait,” Sophos pleaded. “Give us a moment to . . .” They looked around anxiously. “ . . . to discuss.”

Auralie stopped but refused to return, hovering steps from the exit as a pointed reminder.

Sophos scurried to Ignios’s side and huddled close as they began to whisper. Their faces were equally ashen, though Sophos looked near panic,

while Ignios looked near death.

He also looked oddly amused.

“Perhaps we should consider it,” Arboros said loudly. “We could use Diem’s help, too.”

“Are you mad?” Faunos cried. “She has four Crowns, Mireille. You think she won’t slit our throats for a fifth?”

“The only person slitting throats was him, Ailani.” Her glare shot to Ignios. “A crime he still has yet to answer for.”

“Oh, he’s answering.” Faunos snorted. “Yrselle made sure of that.”

“Arboros is right,” Meros said. “We gambled that we didn’t need the girl, and we lost. It’s time to try something else.”

Sophos ignored him and continued talking quietly with Ignios. Meros frowned, looking hurt by the snub.

Eleanor glanced from Crown to Crown. “I don’t understand. You said Diem was in hiding with the Guardians. Why are they asking you for her return?”

Again, the room fell silent. I took careful note of each expression. With the exception of the Crowns and the Ignios advisors, everyone else in the room looked equally perplexed. Even the Vice General—and, to my surprise, my father—seemed interested in the answer.

Suddenly, I understood why Doriel had been so flustered at seeing me and Teller. They must have assumed we’d died on the island. The Crowns had spun a web of lies, believing there was no one alive to expose them.

My eyes narrowed at Sophos. “Are you going to tell them the truth, or should I?”

They shrank away from Ignios as curious stares bounced between us.

“You see,” Sophos said, “as Crowns, sometimes we must keep certain secrets, for the good of the contin—”

“My daughter never left that island,” Auralie interrupted. “The Crowns trapped her there because they’re cowards who fear her power.”

My hand slid into my pocket and palmed the spinning compass. Still there, I told myself. Still alive.

“You lied to me?” my father hissed at Sophos.

“Doriel manipulated us all,” I said. “After Diem and I saved their city, they betrayed us. They used her brother to trap her on Coeurîle, then cost me the life of an innocent guard.” I jabbed a finger at them. “You’ll pay for that death, Doriel, one way or another.”

They looked pained. “No one was supposed to get hurt. The boy was meant to return to the continent with me. You and the guard should never have come.”

“You left all three of us to die,” I snapped.

My father shot to his feet. “You tried to kill my son?”

“I did what I had to do to protect my people,” Sophos shouted back.

“Nothing is more important than that.”

“Then release my daughter.” Auralie folded her arms across her chest in blatant challenge. “If saving your people is more important than anything else, this decision should be simple. Their lives for Diem’s freedom.”

Sophos’s stubborn anger ebbed back to hand-wringing unease. “It’s not

that simple.”

At the table, Ignios began to chuckle.

Meros shook his head. “She’s right. If this is what it takes to win, we

have no choice.”

“We can’t,” Sophos insisted.

“Then we’re done here,” Auralie said. “I’ll pray to the Old Gods to have mercy on your people . . . but not on you.”

She turned again to leave, Cordellia at her heels, but this time, I did not follow. My focus was stuck on the Ignios King, whose laughter was growing louder and wilder.

His eyes met mine. The black veins of the godstone toxin seemed to writhe in recognition of the victim who somehow escaped its grasp.

“They can’t give you what you want,” he rasped at me.

“Ignios, hush,” Sophos hissed.

The desert King sneered. “No sense hiding it anymore. If they won’t make a deal without the girl, it’s over.”

My godhood stirred. My fingers, still curled around the compass,

twitched in trepidation.

I took a step forward. “Why is that?”

His lips, grey and cracked with blackish blood, curled high. “The Lumnos bitch is dead. And I’m the one who killed her.”

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