Page 120 of Burn of the Everflame

I blinked in speechless surprise. As I fumbled for an answer that wouldn’t bury me in hypocrisy, my eyes dropped to the woman’s throat. Just inside her collar, I caught a glint of golden light. Another sparkle slipped out from the hem of her sleeve.

The longer I looked, the more curious it got. A dagger strapped to her calf had an ivory handle inlaid with dark grey seams of Fortosian steel. Her clothes were not the silks and brocades of Descended fashion, but they were the finest attire mortals could buy in the realm.

Alone, any one thing might have gone unnoticed. It wasn’t unheard of for some of the more privileged mortals to hold items of great value that their families had passed down or saved for years to buy.

But farmers were far from privileged, and the leather pouch at her waist was stuffed fatter than any mortal coin purse I’d seen.

Shit.

I’d feared this would happen eventually. To see it so soon was a devastating blow. After all they’d been through, all the blood that had been shed . . .

“How many for yours?” I asked sadly.

The woman’s head leaned to the side. “Excuse me?”

“You speak to me of the worth of a single voice. When you sold yours to House Hanoverre, how many coins was it worth?”

Pink exploded across her cheeks. She dropped her hands into her lap, tugging down her sleeves.

“Do you see?” Iléana Hanoverre spat from Marthe’s side. “Diem has no answer, so she resorts to smearing the reputation of an innocent woman. She can’t be trusted by mortals or Descended.”

“Iléana,” Luther rumbled, dark and slow.

More than anything she’d said, it was the sound of her name on his lips that had my vision going red. I’d never been a possessive lover, but the mating bond triggered something primal inside me. I had to grip my chair to keep myself from lunging at her throat.

“I am a half-mortal raised by mortals wearing a Descended Crown,” I ground out. “I represent everyone. And I am the tiebreaking vote.”

“We only need a tiebreaking vote if the Ignios scum are given a seat,” Brant said. “They don’t belong here.”

“Neither do the half-mortals,” Iléana said. “They’re supposed to be dead.” Her brother Jean chuckled, his smarmy smile targeted at his forsaken son.

Zalaric yawned.

“The half-mortals have every right to be here,” I said. “I lifted their exile.”

“If they return to Lumnos, no reputable House will accept them, and they’ll be Unhoused,” Garath said. “If they don’t return, they have no stake in how the realm is run. Either way, they merit no vote of their own. Certainly not two. Son, don’t you agree?”

It wasn’t the way Aemonn’s eyes went distant and cold that surprised me. Nor was it the way Taran reddened with rage, forcing Zalaric to soothe him with calming strokes down his arm.

It was the casual cruelty of Garath’s question. It served no purpose—Aemonn had no seat on the council, and his obedience to his father had already been proven many times. The only thing Garath could hope to accomplish was driving the wedge between his sons even deeper than before.

I had a sickening feeling that was exactly the point.

“Yes, Father,” Aemonn said, his voice sounding too small for the charismatic man I knew him to be.

“Fucking coward,” Taran growled.

Jean exchanged a poisonous smile with his sister. “No wonder those two are together. They’ve got so much in common. Both of their fathers would rather they were dead.”

The Hanoverre siblings dissolved into laughter. Luther’s hands flattened on his table. “Iléana,” he said again, “this is your final warning.”

Though she rolled her eyes, her snickering fell quiet.

“We may not have your expensive Descended education,” my mother cut in, “but they still teach basic math in mortal schools.” She wagged a finger in Marthe and Garath’s direction. “You two are trying to stack the council in your favor. Without the votes of Diem, the half-mortals, and the people from Ignios, this seat”—she pointed to the Unhoused Descended—“will be the swing vote. Five mortal votes to six Descended.”

“They must not teach logic at those mortal schools,” Garath sneered. “If all we wanted was more Descended on the council, we’d leave them their seats.”

“Would you?” Zalaric cut in. “The people of Ignios are faithful to their Blessed Mother. If anyone in this room has their loyalty, it’s her chosen Crown: Diem. As for the half-mortals . . .” He adjusted the stack of thick gold bangles on his wrists, many studded with diamonds or colorful jewels. “We have made our own fortunes. We have no need of yours. Our vote cannot be bribed—and I think you know it. That only leaves the other kin you cast aside.” He twirled a finger at the Unhoused Descended. “You’re betting you can dangle the promise of a return to win their vote.”