Page 268 of Burn of the Everflame

Historically, the Warden of the Shadows moved in secrecy, handling tasks the Crown did not want publicly known. I’d offered Zalaric the position, and he’d politely declined. The years he’d spent trading in secrets were not a choice, but an Umbrosian necessity, and he was hoping for a brighter new chapter in Lumnos.

Though I was loath to admit it, Remis was the next best choice. He was a master of subtle scheming, and his motives were transparent: protect himself and protect his family. If I could give him that, he could be a useful weapon in my armory, and more importantly, a useful weapon in Luther’s—but only if I could convince him to use it.

“My Queen, we can’t trust him,” Luther warned.

“You don’t have to,” I said. “It’s a transaction: you keep him safe, he does what you say. If he betrays you, your protection ends, and you replace him.”

“You mean you replace him.”

I shrugged. Luther’s grip tightened.

“This leaves me no better off,” Remis said. “I’ll still be at the mercy of someone else.”

“Then I guess you have to decide whose mercy you trust more,” I said. “Garath’s or ours.”

Remis looked at Lily, whose brows had risen hopefully high. His frown deepened. “If I accept, will you make it clear that House Corbois still has your protection?” he asked me. “Including my brother?”

“No,” Luther snarled.

“Yes,” Remis bit back. “Garath may need handling, but I’ll not put him in a grave. He is family.”

Luther leaned toward his father, pointing at his scar. “You had no trouble putting family in a grave when you did this.”

I tried to edge between them, but Lily tugged me back. “Let them,” she whispered. “I think, maybe, this is what they need.”

“You think I wanted that?” Remis met his son’s challenge, stepping forward, chin high. “I cared for Florille. I sent her away when you were born because it was the only way I could keep you both safe.”

“Then why didn’t you let me go with her when she returned? We would have been safe outside of Lumnos.”

“Florille was never going to leave. She wanted to stay here to raise you as hers. She believed King Ulther would protect you.”

“Perhaps he would have.”

“Later, maybe. Not then. Your magic had not yet come in, and he had not yet named you as his heir. You would have been just another Corbois bastard. Garath had many, and none were spared. I could not let you meet that same fate.” Remis sighed, weary and sad. “What happened that day will haunt me forever, but even knowing what it cost me, I would do it again. It was my duty, as your father and as a servant of the Blessed Mother.”

Luther balked. “What does Blessed Lumnos have to do with it?”

“When you were born, she showed me a vision. You sat on a throne, wearing a crown. She told me to prepare you for that day. When I asked how, she said, ‘Love him.’” He huffed, looking almost offended. “I did not need her command to do that.”

The sincerity in his voice made my stomach turn, and I had to look away. In Remis’s mind, he had done exactly what Lumnos asked. He’d kept Luther alive at any cost and crafted him into a formidable adversary that would make the realm tremble. His love had been both shield and sword, forged to secure a crown. For men like Remis, shields, swords, and crowns were all that mattered.

But Luther had never felt his father’s love. He’d felt his firm hand, his expectant eyes, his punishing boot, but never his warm heart. Except for those brief, beautiful days Luther spent with his mother, his life had none of the safety that only a parent’s unconditional affection can provide. It had made him cold, too guarded to trust and too withdrawn to be trusted. It had earned him few allies, fewer friends. Remis’s love had not prepared Luther to be King, it had prepared him to fear and be feared—and fear makes for brittle foundations. The empires built upon them are doomed to collapse.

I grieved the Luther he might have been, in another life. As he was now, he would make a strong King, a wise leader who ruled justly and with restraint. But a Luther who ruled with bold, unswerving love . . . Gods, what a kingdom he could build.

“Wait,” I said. “Lumnos showed you Luther as King?”

Luther tensed, seeming to realize where my thoughts had gone. “What about Diem? Was she in the vision?”

Remis hesitated. “There was a second throne,” he said slowly.

His choice of words did not go unnoticed. A second throne . . . but not me in it.

“He had a crown,” I said, no longer asking, but understanding. “It wasn’t the Crown of Lumnos. It wasn’t any of the Kindred Crowns.”

Remis frowned. “How did you know that?”

Because I’m the last person who will ever wear them.