All of me.
“My people,” I begin, voice carrying easily over the hall. “My miners. My soldiers. The families who hold this realm together while their loved ones descend into the dark…”
I pause, letting the words settle.
“You have endured much,” I say. “You have given much. More than you should have been asked to give.”
Faces bow. Jaws tighten.
I see familiar faces near the front, a male I know with his hand wrapped around Evonne’s, her other arm bandaged from hauling injured men during the attack.
Further down, Xavier stands at the end of a bench, straight-backed and sharp-eyed as ever, though his hair is more gray today than yesterday.
“I will not offer you pretty lies,” I continue. “The SoulTakers are not gone. Idris is not gone. The war is not done.”
A ripple moves through the hall.
I let it.
“We will lose more before it is over,” I say. “We will light more pyres. We will grieve again.”
I hear Delia inhale softly beside me.
Then I let my voice harden.
“But hear this, and hear it well—The Ember Vein stands. The wards hold. The forges burn. Nightfall still breathes because you refused to break. Because you stood when our enemies tried to unmake the world.”
The Great Flame flares behind me, responding to my conviction.
“I have asked too much of you,” I admit. “I will ask more before this is done. But I promise you this—that I will never take your sacrifice for granted again. That I will fight not as a Lord alone, but as a man who owes his people everything.”
I glance toward the high table directly below the dais.
Alaric sits there, one arm slung around Jules’ chair, his other hand curled protectively over her gently rounded stomach. Jules catches my eye with a wry little smile, that silver streak in her hair gleaming.
Kael sits beside them, Phoebe at his side, her fingers ink-smudged from the notes she’s been drafting all night while pretending to eat. His hand hasn’t left her thigh since they arrived.
Further down, Dagan sits with a tankard in hand, watching the room with his usual quiet intensity. The stone at his temples is more pronounced today, like the earth has crept a little closer to his skin.
I draw a breath.
“And I will not fight alone,” I say. “Because I am not alone.”
I raise my goblet—filled not with wine, but with molten, glowing ember-ale that smokes faintly in the air.
“Alaric,” I call. “Lord of Air. Dragon of the Eyrie. You brought your storms and your fury when we needed them most. And you brought your stubborn, brilliant viyella, who refuses to let any of us drown in our own stupidity.”
Jules snorts softly. The hall chuckles with her.
“Kael,” I continue. “Lord of Water. Guardian of Castletide. You held back the blaze without dampening the flame, and your mate has given my people words and songs they will remember long after this night is done.”
Phoebe blushes, ducking her head.
“Dagan. Lord of Earth. Warden of the Barrow.” I let my gaze linger on him. “You stayed below until your knees shook and your voice broke, holding the Vein steady while Idris tried to tear it from beneath us. You bought us the time we needed. You saved lives that will never know your name.”
He grunts, uncomfortable with the attention, but lifts his tankard in acknowledgement.
“And once more to our viyellas,” I say, turning my gaze to each of the women in turn. “Jules. Phoebe. Delia.”
