Page 266 of Burn of the Everflame

A laugh threatened to break free but couldn’t quite surface, smothered beneath the revelation dominating my thoughts and its consequences—who to tell, how to explain it, and what to do next. What he might do next.

Luther tensed at my silence. “Does that upset you? I thought⁠—”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’m glad. I trust you.”

And I did. Though his formal title was ambiguous at best, he’d become the most influential of my advisors. He was the first person everyone turned to with grievances, and his orders were treated with the same weight as mine. I might have resisted it, were he anyone else, but he acted with such careful restraint, only when he was certain our decisions would align. With him, sharing power felt so natural.

Given his recent election as Chief of Council, it was fairly his power to share. I’d delegated my control to the governing council, knowing my reign might be short. Tonight, that seemed more prudent than ever.

“If this is what Enness did for Zalaric and Taran,” Luther said, “I fear what he might do when—if—the day comes for our—your wedding.” He grimaced. The last time he’d brought up the prospect of our marriage, it had ended in my cruel rejection, and he was trying so very hard to avoid crossing a line. “I told him serving in your army was more than enough to repay you. I don’t think it worked. Descended can be stubborn when it comes to a life debt.”

“Enness doesn’t owe me a life debt.”

“My Queen, everyone in this garden owes you a life debt.”

My gaze roamed over the eclectic collection of guests. There were longtime Bellator family friends like Henri’s father and Maura, who was cowering behind her wife and looking like she wasn’t sure whether to be more terrified of the Guardians’ bombs or the Descended’s magic. There were recent allies like Runa and Enness and their group of freed prisoners, and the female warriors of Ignios, who’d joined the fun by crafting a giant, fiery phoenix soaring through the sky. Though I wasn’t sure I could yet call them my allies, the Embers that Eleanor had recruited mingled amicably with their mortal peers.

Even those who weren’t invited—like Doriel and Obaneryn, who I’d granted asylum—had wandered over from their tented encampments to bask in the warmth of borrowed joy. The dance floor had been overrun by the children we’d rescued from the Forgotten Lands, chasing each other through a forest of legs and gowns. Their laughter as they played gave me hope that the trauma they’d endured had not destroyed their hearts forever.

Everywhere I looked, I saw a new familiar face—and virtually all, at one time or another, had looked to me to save them. It should have stoked my pride to see the evidence of my work in living, breathing, dancing flesh.

But I hadn’t saved them. Not yet.

When Yrselle had asked me how far I was willing to go to see my plans through, I’d confidently declared that I would give it all, believing my life was the greatest sacrifice I could make.

Anyone can die, she’d said. Can you kill?

I looked down at my hands, pristine to the eye, dripping in blood that only I could see. When I asked myself that question now, my mind filled with silvery light and a battlefield coated in glittering black.

Can you keep going when everyone you care for is lying in a grave?

Can you be the one who puts them there?

She’d tried to tell me. Gods, she’d tried. The ominous words about her heir, the clues she left, the promise she’d demanded—and the warning that all of Emarion would pay if I failed.

How much of your soul are you willing to set ablaze?

“All of it,” I whispered.

Something stirred beneath my ribs.

I turned my back to the crowd. “You should take on more of the Crown duties,” I said to Luther. “You’re good at leading. People look up to you.”

His hand slid lower on my back. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”

“Eleanor, too. You should put her in charge of rebuilding Lumnos City. Oh, and about Mortal City—they need authority to set their own laws. A smaller council, made up of people from within.”

“Diem . . .”

“The other realms need councils, too. Not just one. Each city⁠—”

“I know what you’re doing.” He stared at me; I didn’t stare back. “You’re breaking up the Crowns’ power and giving it away so you can be the last.”

“I already am the last. I told you—when I die, the Crowns won’t pass on.”

“Kings and queens ruled these lands long before the Kindred. Their Crowns might end, but others could take their place. Would that be so terrible?”

That was exactly what I was trying to prevent—a new Descended throne, gained by wealth or threat. Gods forbid a mortal monarch arise in response. Emarion would sink right back into division, maybe even war, with half-mortals lost in the middle.