Page 267 of Burn of the Everflame

“The people need to learn to govern together,” I argued. “We can’t allow one person to seize all the power for themselves.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“But you don’t think that councils are the way to do it?”

He thought for a moment. “Councils are careful. They discuss, and they deliberate. They take their time. They are wise. They are slow. They bring progress as the tree grows—over generations, in miniscule changes too small for the eye to see. In maturity, they can be strong, but in youth, they can be brought down by a single swing of an axe.”

His hand curled under my jaw and turned my face to his. “The councils are important. You’re right to establish them, and I pray they will be enough to carry your legacy when your reign comes to its end—many, many centuries from now.” I tried to look away, but he held me firm, his features resolute. “Right now, the people need their Queen, too. The councils need a strong Crown to defend them. They need you to keep pushing them forward, and to pull them back when they’ve gone astray. They need your vision. Your heart.” His thumb stroked across my cheek. “Don’t let go just yet.”

The final Guardian bomb erupted in a starburst of red, and the orchestra launched into a vibrant anthem, joined by distant applause. The colorful wash of light across Luther’s face faded as the sky went dark, leaving only two glowing, blue-grey eyes.

“Luther, look who’s here,” Lily’s voice called out.

His attention didn’t waver, nor did his hand, holding me trapped in his dominating gaze. This was the Luther who came out in the quiet, the Luther who could bend me to his will with one look, one word. He wanted me to listen—not just hear him, but listen.

“Luther, Diem, look. He came!”

It was me who finally broke away, glancing over my shoulder to see Lily bouncing toward us, dragging Remis behind. My nerves immediately went on edge—and by Remis’s guarded expression, so did his.

“Your Majesty,” he said, dipping his chin.

I stared back with no response.

He turned to his son, his lips pressing tighter. “Luther.”

Luther’s eyes remained on me.

Remis cleared his throat. “Blessed Mating to you both.”

Lily’s gaze danced between us, growing wider as the awkward silence stretched on. “Father came to congratulate Taran,” she said, gesturing to Remis’s golden suit. “See, Luther? He’s happy for them.”

I caught the subtle pleas in Lily’s voice. She adored her father and brother both, and I could tell the rift between them troubled her. I took Luther’s hand from my cheek and clasped it in mine as I turned to Remis. “I wasn’t aware you were invited.”

Remis bristled. “I don’t need an invitation. Taran is my nephew.”

That finally caught Luther’s focus. “And when your brother stripped him of his Corbois name, and you said nothing, was he your nephew then, too?”

“I had much to say to Garath about that decision,” Remis said, “but I handle my affairs in private, as I taught you to do.” He huffed. “What happened that day brought shame on House Corbois. We have strayed far from the days when we used our power with restraint.”

“I could have used that restraint when I was growing up, watching neighbors starve to death under Corbois laws or beaten bloody by Corbois guards,” I said frostily.

“You only kept silent because Garath threatened to tell everyone you lost your magic,” Luther snapped.

“Keep your voice down,” Remis hissed, nervously looking around.

Lily’s face fell at the bickering, and guilt nipped at me. Though the strife between Luther and Remis stretched long before me, I’d done my part in making it worse. Perhaps I could do my part in making it better instead.

“Remis,” I said, forcing my tone to calm, “if you tell everyone about your magic, Garath won’t have power over you anymore.”

“I see you still don’t understand our people. Descended respond to two things: magic and titles. Once, I had both. I used them to great extent to our family’s benefit, and it earned me many enemies. Now, I have no titles, but my enemies remain. Their belief in my magic is the only thing holding them back.”

“Maybe you should have used more of that restraint,” Luther said.

I toyed with my wrist, the phantom shackle tight against my skin. “What if I make you my advisor?”

There was no telling which of the three looked more shocked.

“Eleanor is my Regent, but I have not named a Warden of the Shadows,” I said. “Perhaps you could take that role.”