Page 30 of Burn of the Everflame

“You ask too much, Auralie.”

“It’s no more than we had before.”

“A mortal governor for every realm? That’s madness.”

“Be grateful we’re letting you keep your Crowns.”

“Letting us? These Crowns are ours by divine right.”

“Not by any god of mine.”

Another round of huffs and eye rolls filled the awkward silence. We’d been at this for only an hour, and it had already become mind-numbingly repetitive. Auralie would lay out a blunt demand, the Crowns would insist it couldn’t be done, she’d refuse to give in even a hair, and conversation would give way to a scowling contest of legendary proportions.

Some of the Guardians’ demands were fair and simple, but many were, admittedly, enormous—enough to require restructuring life in Emarion as we knew it. I might have felt the smallest shred of sympathy for the Crowns if they weren’t responding to both kinds of requests in the same dismissive way.

“Let me get this straight,” Sophos said, leaning forward and steepling their hands. “You want all nine realms reopened to the mortals.”

Auralie nodded. Ignios sneered.

“You want every law that makes a distinction between Descended and mortals repealed,” Sophos continued.

“That’s practically all of them,” Faunos argued.

“Exactly,” Cordellia snapped.

“You want the mortals to elect their own leaders,” Sophos went on, “and you want them to have the same authority as a Crown.”

“Impossible,” Meros said. “A ship cannot have two captains.”

“And you want schools to admit equal numbers of mortal and Descended children.”

“Including the institutions in Sophos,” Auralie reminded them.

Their jaw ticked. “You want me to take unqualified mortals over Descended who earned their place? What good will that do? They’ll never be able to keep up, and our research will suffer.”

“Who says they’re unqualified? May I remind you that we built those institutions. Before your kind arrived, we were scholars and captains and queens. Once you unlock our chains, we’ll be so again.”

“But you can never do all that we do,” Sophos insisted. “You do not have our magic.”

“And you do not have their hearts.”

They were the first words I’d spoken since the meeting began. Pairs of eyes in rainbow hues moved across the table and stopped on me.

“I am Descended,” I said. “I was raised in this very palace with more privilege than any person should ever have. I’ve met thousands of other Descended across Lumnos, and more while traveling the realms with my uncle, the late King. I know who we are as a people. I know the good, and the bad, that we are capable of doing. And what it has taught me . . .” I leaned forward, my tone bitter. “ . . . is that we have lost our humanity. We are kind—but only to those who do as we say. We are generous—but only to those who have something we value. We care for others only when it requires nothing from us. We are selfish.”

Arboros shifted, avoiding my eyes, and Meros’s stare turned thoughtful.

“Perhaps that is who we always were,” I went on. “Perhaps it’s all we’ll ever be. If that’s the case, then we are already doomed. If Ophiucae does not kill us, we’ll destroy each other eventually. A hunger for power is never sated. It only grows until there’s nothing left to eat.” I stood up and set my palms on the table. “The mortals can teach us what we have forgotten—that there is more to life than control.”

“If you think the mortals are so much better than our kind,” Ignios cut in, weaving words in between wet, hacking coughs, “then we should not corrupt them with our presence.” He gestured a finger toward the Montios throne and the empty chairs around it. “Let the mortals have the mountains. They can run the realm however they see fit.”

“We cannot give a realm away,” Arboros protested. “What of the Montios Descended?”

Faunos shrugged. “Fine with me. Those mountain slugs never leave their rocks anyway.”

The Crowns continued to bicker, and Auralie and I exchanged a frustrated look. She patted my hand as I sank back into my chair.

“A fine speech,” she said. “Diem would be proud.” She hesitated, then added: “As am I. You’re a good man, Luther.”