Page 262 of Burn of the Everflame

“You said, ‘It’s not enough.’”

Taran flinched.

Zalaric’s chilly facade finally cracked. He looked nervously at Taran, shaking his head, but Taran wouldn’t meet his eyes, still glaring at his brother.

“So Baird was going to go through with the ceremony,” Taran said. “If you hadn’t bribed him, I would have had a mate.”

“Taran,” I cut in, sighing. Defending Aemonn was the last thing I wanted to do, but I’d long harbored a suspicion that, in this one singular instance, Aemonn had done his brother a kindness. I wasn’t sure Taran would believe it unless the truth came from me. “The mating magic only works if the love is unconditional. If Baird was willing to walk away from you for a price, the bond never would have formed, even without Aemonn’s interference.”

“On Baird’s side,” Aemonn cut in. “But it would have formed on yours. I knew you loved him. You would have ended up a stranded mate.”

Eleanor sucked in a breath. Her eyes went to Diem, and Diem’s eyes rose to mine.

“You’ve wanted a mate since we were children,” Aemonn muttered. “I wasn’t going to let some greedy lower House prick steal that from you.”

Taran gaped, dumbfounded. “Why would you do that? You’ve never tried to protect me.”

Aemonn was not a man given to outbursts. He had no shortage of anger, but it swung like a scythe, not a hammer. In all the years I’d known him, I’d never seen him lose his temper.

That changed today.

“All I’ve ever done is protect you!” Aemonn shouted. “Do you have any idea how many times I stepped in when Father tried to hurt you? How many beatings I offered to take on your behalf? I tried a thousand times to teach you how to keep him calm.”

“It didn’t work,” Taran snarled. “He didn’t stop until the King stepped in. Ulther saved me, not you.”

Aemonn’s magic glittered around him as his eyes blazed a stormy blue. “And who saved me?”

I glanced around at the crowd, disappointed at how gleefully they leaned in to catch every word. Ever since Diem had abandoned any pretense of being a Corbois, the buzzards of Lumnos City had begun to circle the House, sensing the fall of a once-mighty beast and ravenous for its carrion. Though I cared nothing for protecting the Corbois name, neither Taran nor Aemonn deserved for their abuse to become fodder for schemes and gossip.

“We should discuss this in private,” I warned.

“Why bother?” Aemon asked acidly. “Let them see our family for who we truly are.” He looked back at Taran. “Father wasn’t afraid of the King, he was afraid of Luther. So it stopped for you. It never stopped for me. Father didn’t think Luther would step in on my behalf.” Bitterness seethed through every word. “I can’t imagine why.”

My heart hung heavy with guilt. I’d warned Garath that if he ever raised his fists to either son again, he’d learn the strength of mine, but once Taran told me he was safe, I stopped searching for signs that Aemonn wasn’t. Looking back, it shamed me how many I’d missed—his jealousy of Taran, his resentment toward me, the way he remained carefully obedient to Garath’s every word.

Taran escaped, and Aemonn hated him for it.

And when Aemonn did what he had to do to survive, Taran—and I—had hated him back.

Diem’s hand slipped into mine. She’d broken free of whatever had captured her focus earlier and made her way to my side, looking as tortured as I felt. She’d always believed that, deep inside of Aemonn, there was a good man trying to break free. What I hadn’t picked up in a lifetime of knowing him, she’d sensed from the start.

Taran stared at his brother, brows burrowing low, looking as if he wasn’t sure whether to believe what he’d just heard. Aemonn looked as if he’d taken his first breath of air in years.

“I did say that what you offered to pay me wasn’t enough,” Zalaric confessed, “but you misunderstood my meaning. Double your offer, triple it, scrounge up all the wealth of the Descended combined—it still won’t be enough.” He moved to Taran’s side and took his hand. “Keep your bribe, Aemonn Corbois. Your brother doesn’t need protecting—not from me.” He looked at Taran, eyes roaming upward. “Although, now that I see that hair, perhaps I might reconsider. I could use Aemonn’s gold to buy you a wig.”

Taran grinned. “You know what, Aemonn? I’m not angry anymore. I feel bad for you. You can’t recognize love when you see it, because no one has ever loved you. No one ever will.”

A shocked murmur flitted through the crowd. Aemonn flinched, and Taran’s smirk faltered as Eleanor shot him a disappointed frown.

The true cruelty of Taran’s words was in their truth.

Taran had friends. He had family. He had a man who loved him.

Aemonn had no one.

His detached stare was an echo of the governing council meeting, when his father’s outburst had left him a hollow shell. All the anger had drained out of him, but so had everything else.

“Do me one favor, Taran,” he said quietly. “When you start the ceremony . . . make Zalaric go first.” He turned to leave, and the crowd awkwardly averted their eyes, his pain no longer a thrill for them to see.