Chapter
Eighteen
hat was that about?” Eleanor hissed in my ear the second Luther stepped away for yet another part of the ceremony,“W which I was confident was now entering its second century.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” I said as I whipped around to face her.
She shook her head, looking amused. “I thought we were about to get two funerals in one.”
“What Luther said about Garath—what did he mean?”
Eleanor shot a nervous glance at Taran, her voice hushing. “When his sons were young, they would often show up at school with lashes or burns. Very often. Rumor is the King spoke with Garath and made it stop, although...” She chewed on her lip.
“That was when their healing abilities began, so no one knew for sure.”
I eyed Aemonn and Taran. Both were staring anywhere but their father, looking miserable and exposed.
My heart cracked open for them. I had seen in my patients how the wounds of abuse could linger on a soul long after the violence itself had ended.
My attention drifted to their mother, Freah. When I first met her, I thought her to be Garath’s equally cold, equally cruel accomplice. Now, as she gazed blankly ahead, her face gaunt and hard as stone, she seemed more like his shadow.
“What about Freah?” I whispered to Eleanor.
“She would never say a word against Garath. She’s either completely loyal to him or completely afraid of him.”
Or both, I thought.
“Enough about Garath,” Eleanor said. “What’s going on between you and Luther?”
“Nothing,” I blurted out, my voice going shrill. “Why would you even think that?”
“Diem.” She nudged me with her arm. “There isn’t a man with more self-control in the nine realms, but he can’t keep his hands off you. He was about to take Garath’s head off for insulting you. And you were getting jealous over Iléana—”
“I was not jealous!”
“—and he keeps smiling at you. He doesn’t smile at anyone except Taran and Lily.” She shot me a mischievous look. “And those are not the smiles he gives Taran and Lily.”
I felt too hot and laid bare and excruciatingly confused. I’d assumed these moments he and I had been trading were nothing more than glimpses of the real Luther beneath his brusque exterior. I’d thought I was finally seeing a side of him his friends and family had already seen.
It hadn’t occurred to me it might be a side of him no one had seen.
“He’s just trying to flatter me to get an advisor role,” I deflected. “He realized I like nice people, so now he’s pretending to be one.”
“Uh huh.” The knowing gleam in her eyes said she wasn’t buying it.
“Besides...” I paused, yanking her closer and lowering my voice. “I’m already spoken for.”
Her brows shot skyward, a hand flying to her mouth. “What? Who?” She peered down the row. “Aemonn? Blessed Kindred, he moves fast.”
“Eleanor, I’ve been here a week. I’m not engaged to one of your cousins.”
“Engaged?” she squeaked. “We’re going to have a King Consort?” Her head cocked. “Wait, if it’s not someone from here, then they must be—oh... Oh.”
“I know it’s unusual,” I rushed out, seeing her wide-eyed look of alarm. “Please don’t say anything. I’m still figuring it all out.”
“Oh, of course. I, um, yes, that’s...” She shifted in her chair. “Well, I’m here if you want to, uh, talk it through.”
She was making every effort to be supportive, but the horror on her face said it all. Eleanor might be my only true ally outside of Mortal City, and if this was how she reacted...
Luther was right. The Descended were never going to willingly accept a mortal as King Consort.
I reminded myself that I didn’t care. I would not let these people and their prejudices dictate who was worthy to stand by my side. Mortal or Descended, Queen or not, my heart was mine alone to give.
But... but.
“Diem, they’re waiting for you.”
I snapped out of my wandering thoughts. My heart skipped a beat—everyone in the royal box was watching me.
Taran gently nudged my side. “Go,” he urged.
I shot him a panicked look. “Go where?”
“They announced that you would light the funeral pyre.” His head inclined to the front of the dais, where Remis was looking at me, hand extended.
I rose unsteadily with a thick swallow. Luther hadn’t mentioned this part in his preview. I searched for him, finding him standing near the podium wearing a troubled expression that did nothing to ease my nerves.
“Your Majesty?” Remis called out, stretching his hand further.
Slowly, I walked toward him and set my palm in his. My wrist throbbed at the reminder of our bonded bargain, its significance feeling far heavier after hearing the story of Ulther’s mate.
“What is this?” I asked. “I thought my part was complete.”
Garath stepped up to my other side. “Lighting the King’s pyre is the highest honor. As Ulther’s older brother, the task was mine to take, but...” He gave me a serpentine smile. “Consider it a gift, from me to my new Queen.”
Alarm bells blared in my head. The task sounded easy enough, but something in the smugness of his voice sent a chill skittering down my neck.
Perhaps he only wanted to put my black dress on display again to make a spectacle of my ignorance. If that was the case, I was determined to show him that it would take a lot more than that to break my spirit.
I pulled my shoulders back and beamed at him. “How very thoughtful, Uncle,” I crooned, taking a little too much pleasure in how his teeth clenched at the word. “I assure you, I’ll find a way to repay the favor.”
Remis led me down the steps to the arena floor, Garath and Luther following at our backs. We circled the pyre halfway until we were facing the royal box. I glanced around for a torch or some other bit of fire to cast the initial flame but found nothing. I frowned at Remis. “What am I to use to light the pyre?”
“Your magic, Your Majesty.”
I stiffened. “My magic?”
“There’s dry kindling all around the pyre. A spark of light should set it alight easily enough.”
My breathing sped up. “I don’t—I mean, I... can’t I use a normal flame?” I stammered.
“My son led me to believe you have both light and shadow magic,” Remis said, frowning.
“She does,” Luther cut in. His eyes flared wide with some attempt to convey a silent message, but my mind was too panicked to decipher it.
“Yes, my nephew simply raved about your magnificent power,” Garath purred, delighted at my distress. “He gave us quite a detailed description, but we’re all eager to witness such an impressive display for ourselves.”
I shot Luther a look of betrayal and watched as surprise, then doubt, flickered over his face. The strength of my magic was hardly a secret—I wouldn’t have inherited the Crown without it—but that moment in the dungeon had felt like something intimate, something that belonged only to us. I hadn’t even told Teller the details.
“Perhaps this is a mistake,” Luther said slowly. “If the crowd only sees her magic used for a small gesture, they may misunderstand and believe her weak.”
Garath shrugged. “Then she’ll just have to put on a show for them, won’t she?”
Luther started to protest, and Remis cut in. “Garath has a point. A significant display of power here would go a long way in preventing a Challenge, especially after—” He grimaced at my dress. “—this. If we can’t convince them to trust you, we can at least make them fear you.”
His ominous words called to mind the bloody lengths he and Garath had gone to defeat their brother’s enemies and show his strength before Ulther’s Challenging. I very much doubted they would be willing to do the same for me—but I wasn’t certain, and that alone was enough to unsettle me.
“Go on, Your Majesty,” Garath drawled. “Show us what you’re capable of.”
“I’m not as well-trained as the three of you,” I argued. “What if I hurt someone?”
“The arena has a magical barrier protecting the crowd,” Remis said. He gave me a wary once-over. “Perhaps the three of us should retire behind the shield. Just in case.”
He bowed and turned to the stairs, and Garath followed him with a final poisonous smile in my direction.
Luther reached to take my hand. I retreated a step, my heart still stinging from his disclosure.
His brow furrowed. “You can do this. Just do the same thing you did in the dungeon.”
“I don’t even know how I did it then.”
“You struggled to use your magic that night because you didn’t want to use it. You didn’t want to accept what you are. Once you embrace it instead of fighting it, the godhood will answer your call. There won’t be a single soul in Lumnos who would dare Challenge you then.”
His eyes burned into mine with such ferocity that my breath stilled in anticipation. He cautiously stepped closer, and this time, I didn’t pull away.
“Blessed Mother Lumnos chose you for a reason. She saw who you are and what you can be. Prove to all of them what she and I already know—you are capable of this, and so much more.”
Though his voice was a whisper, the strength in it bonded to my bones like living armor.
“Unleash, my Queen. Show this world what it means to Challenge Diem Bellator.”
His use of my name—my real name—was its own kind of spark on a pyre of dry kindling. A fiery rush of emotion blazed through my body. Pride mixed with fear, hope wound with determination.
Luther’s face illuminated in a soft glow. It took me a moment to realize the effect had come from me—from my own skin, which had taken on a shimmering, pearlescent luminance. I looked down at the black fabric of my dress, realizing that it had transformed into a moving shadow of smoky black tendrils. Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Luther thumped his fist to his chest in salute.
“Unleash,” he hissed.
He held my stare as he backed away, until finally he bowed low, then departed for the stairs where Remis and Garath now waited.
I swallowed and turned to face the pyre. I listened for the voice I had surrendered to each time my magic had exploded from within me. I couldn’t hear it, but I could feel it, stirring low in my chest.
I extended my hands in front of me, willing the power to manifest in my palms in the same way I had seen Luther wield it.
The eager, watchful eyes of the crowd hovered around me like a fog. I wasn’t sure which they wanted more—a scandalous failure or a spectacular success.
A tingling sparked in the hollow of my ribcage. It swelled and spread until it filled my chest, then my stomach, then bled out into my limbs and trickled through to my hands and feet. The familiar sensation of icy heat began to grow at the heart of my
palms.
Luther’s words rang in my ear.
Unleash, my Queen.
My skin glowed brighter with silvery light, forming a halo along the sandy ground where I stood. That night in the dungeon, I had been so terrified to face the reality of being Descended that I hadn’t let myself admit just how good it had felt to let go.
How right it seemed that I should wield this power that was my birthright.
The shadows at my dress spilled into a living pool at my feet writhing with furious energy. The tingling was growing stronger. It pulsed over and over as the sensation in my palms intensified.
My eyes lifted to Luther. Despite our very public surroundings, he had dropped his mask, revealing that same genuine, wholly unguarded smile he had given me after I released my magic for the first time. My heart sang at its sight.
Unleash, my Queen.
Sparks swirled around my hand, my excitement rising as I dragged my gaze back toward the pyre.
I could do this. I could show them how strong I was—how dangerous I could be, if pushed. I could be the fearsome Queen that Luther saw in me.
I could deliver a blow the Descended would never forget.
Then my eyes caught on something in the crowd.
A splash of black in the highest rows, tucked behind the royal box. The mortal guests, shoved into a corner to keep them out of sight—and right in Sorae’s direct line of fire, if they dared to make a scene.
My good sense warned me not to look closer. I knew I would see faces I recognized, wearing the same disgust I’d seen on Henri when he’d first found me in the palace.
But restraint was never my strong suit.
Almost instantly, my eyes landed on Maura, seated front and center.
Of course. She was the official palace healer. She had tended to the King for months. If any mortal would be invited to his funeral, it would be her.
Her eyes bulged, her face drained of all color. Her hands wrung fretfully in her lap. She stared at me as if she didn’t know me at all—as if I were some beast about to devour her whole.
My power flickered and dimmed as I grappled to maintain control. Focus, I thought. I’ll find her later and explain. I’ll make her see I’m the same Diem she’s always known.
Again I tried to pull my attention away, but Maura turned, and I followed her line of sight.
Straight to the eyes of my father.
My magic vanished on the wind. My skin turned dull. My palms emptied. My dress faded to plain, unremarkable cloth.
Our last conversation played over and over in my ears.
You are not my father.
It was never more clear how true those words had been. And I’d never wanted so badly to be able to take them back.
He was crying. Even at this distance, I could see it—the bright sun glinting off the wetness on his cheeks.
It shattered me. Cracked me wide open.
I had never seen my father cry. Never. Not when Teller was born, not even after my mother had disappeared. He was steady, he was sure, an immovable force. For our family, he was the mighty shield no arrow could pierce.
But this had broken him.
I had broken him.
I crumpled to my knees, barely hearing the gasp that arose from the crowd. All the grief I had felt at realizing I was Descended came roaring back into me. My hands fell to my side, and a violent tremble took over my body. I felt no glimmer of my magic, no whisper of the godhood’s voice.
Nothing but despair.
Chaos erupted. Mortals whispered and pointed, Descended shouted, royals rushed to the edge of the dais to get a better look. In the corner of my vision, I saw Luther fighting to get to me, Remis and Garath holding him back.
I hung my head, unable to bear the sight of any of it. The world closed in around me, squeezing at my neck until I choked for breath.
A ferocious snarl brought the crowd to instant silence. I heard the flapping of wings, then felt a breeze flutter my hair, followed by a tremor that rattled the dusty arena floor, and a soft, breathy whimper.
I looked up and met Sorae’s golden eyes. With a growl that could crack bones, Sorae reared back and unlocked her jaws.
She whipped her head to the side, and a stream of pale blue dragonfyre shot from between her razor-sharp fangs, curling around the pyre.
Within seconds, the King’s body disappeared in an inferno of glittering sapphire flames. The sweltering heat scalded my skin and dragged me unwilling into haunting memories of the armory attack.
I’d almost given in that night. I’d convinced myself my family and friends would be better off without me and the trouble I always seemed to bring, then I’d laid down beside the murdered guard and invited death to fold me into its embrace.
But the voice had refused to give up on me. My godhood had saved my life by forcing me back to my feet and reminding me of the strength that lived inside.
Then I remembered the end—the moment the armory began to collapse. Those last moments, where I’d looked into Luther’s eyes and saw a vision of... what, exactly, I didn’t know. A future that might come to pass, if I had the courage to pursue it.
A destiny.
Suddenly, a solid hand was on my back.
“You need to leave.” Luther’s voice was strained, edged with alarm. “Sorae will take you back to the palace. I’ll follow as soon as I can.”
“My father,” I croaked. “He’s here. He saw me.”
His head snapped to the mortal section of the crowd, and his eyes narrowed. He swore softly.
“I have to see him,” I whispered. “I have to explain, I...” My voice cracked.
“I’ll bring him to the palace. You need to go. Now.”
He crouched and offered out his hand, his muscles bunching forward as if he was one second away from scooping me up in his arms and carrying me out. For once, I gave into my weaker urges and leaned against him as we walked side by side to Sorae, needing the strength that poured through his protective aura. He kept his hands firmly locked on my waist as I mounted the gryvern. When I promised him I was secure, he moved to Sorae’s face and stroked a hand down the scaly expanse of her snout.
“Take her home,” he ordered. “Don’t let anyone she distrusts come near her.”
Sorae huffed in agreement. She didn’t waste a second before launching skyward, leaving the glittering, flaming ruby of the arena in our wake.
