Page 257 of Burn of the Everflame

“I’ll go with you,” I said, reaching for my shoes.

My mother snatched them up before I could grab them. “You go ahead, Luther. Diem and I will be there soon.”

The offer sounded more like an order. My mother flashed him a smile that managed to be warm and yet impenetrable as iron—a clear sign that she’d made up her mind to speak with me alone, and not even the Queen of Emarion would overrule her.

Luther’s lips hooked upward with amusement. “I’ll leave you ladies to it.”

I reached for my godhood, intending to shoot him a scathing order with Umbros magic not to leave me behind, only to find . . . nothing. Not a suffocating wall, like when I’d taken flameroot, or an empty well, like when my energy was drained.

Nothing.

Relentless, immeasurable nothing.

Dread grew as I watched him leave, and not entirely because my mother and I were now alone. “I should really go help him,” I insisted, rubbing my wrist.

She nudged me back to my seat, then knelt to slip on my shoes. “If anyone needs help, it will be Aemonn.”

I scoffed. “Aemonn doesn’t deserve any help.”

“That’s quite harsh.”

My cheeks turned hot at the disappointment in her tone. “Our loyalty is to Taran. We’re his family now, not Aemonn.”

She stood and rifled through the items on my vanity. “It’s interesting that he went to see Garath this morning.”

“I wish he’d talked to us first. We could have warned him it wouldn’t end well.”

She chose a pot of rouge and pressed her finger in, then turned to sweep it on my cheeks. “It is the hardest thing in the world, to watch someone you love keep going back to someone you know will only hurt them. The harder you try to pull them away, the harder they hold on. There are some bonds even the most grievous sins cannot erase.” She sighed, adding quietly, “Much as we may wish they did.”

I mulled over her words as she took more rouge and tapped it on the center of my lips. I knew how difficult it could be for the mistreated to let their abusers go. I’d lectured Taran on it myself once, urging him to give his brother a chance. But Aemonn had been given so many chances—and he had not just stayed by Garath’s side, he’d adopted his father’s hateful ways.

“At least Taran sees Garath’s cruelty for what it is,” I said. “Aemonn doesn’t think their father did anything wrong.”

She clicked her tongue. “I doubt that very much.”

“Why else would he be so loyal?”

“Same as any child. Love . . . or pity.” She paused. “You know, when I first met Vance, he was a good man. Devoted to his wife and their three little girls. He took great pride in providing for them and keeping them safe. And when he couldn’t . . .” She looked pained. “What happened to his family opened a hole in him that only violence could fill.”

I stood, my temper growing. “Now you’re making excuses for Vance?”

“Every villain has their reasons, Diem.”

“They’re still villains. No reason is good enough to justify how many people they’ve hurt.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“Even if Aemonn does love Garath—or pity him—he has to face what his father has done.” My voice got louder, sharper. “He can’t look away from the truth just because it’s hard to watch.”

She gazed at me with a sad, inscrutable look.

“And he can’t use the ways he was hurt to justify the ways he is doing the hurting.” I pointed angrily toward the terrace. “He has to be stopped.”

She stood, nodding. “For the good of everyone else.”

“Yes!”

“No matter how difficult it may be.”