Page 370 of Burn of the Everflame

Teller gave me a final smirk, then turned and jogged toward Father, who slung an arm over his shoulder as they climbed inside the boat.

Not far away, standing along the water’s edge, another woman watched me without speaking. Her hair was long and black and wavy, and her skin was a rich, dark shade of olive-gold. Her arms were full of flowers, and though I didn’t recognize her face, there was such love in her warm brown eyes, my heart begin to swell.

The red-haired man held out his hand. “The choice is yours, little flame. Will you join them, will you rest . . .”

The floating ember settled in the heart of his palm.

“ . . . or will you burn?”

86

REMIS

Long ago, when I was just a schoolboy, I learned that mortals believe hell is a glacier. They describe it as an infinite expanse of frost beneath the roots of the Everflame tree. They claim that if you do something so terrible in life that your soul cannot be saved, you’ll be cast into the darkness of the tundra to wander alone, too far from their sacred Undying Fire to ever find comfort in its warmth.

They were right.

Hell was a cold, lonely place.

I knew, because I was there.

“This is disgraceful,” Marthe Hanoverre sniped. “The Crowns are gone, and House Corbois is still finding ways to steal all our money for themselves.”

Across the table, Auralie Bellator narrowed her eyes. “No one is stealing your money. They’re called taxes.”

I rubbed my brow, a headache forming between my temples. The governing council had been arguing for hours, and little progress had been made on any point. The mortals and Descended were still at each other’s throats as viciously as if we’d never fought a war together at all.

“The taxes aren’t going to House Corbois,” Luther said. “The council disburses the funds as we see fit.”

Marthe sniffed. “A council run by a Corbois who has crowned himself as King.”

The others might have looked at Luther and seen a reaction of indifference, but I knew my son. He was one wrong word from putting the Hanoverre matriarch in a long-overdue grave.

“I wear the crown to honor the mortals who gifted it to me,” he said in a steady, even tone, “and to honor our late Queen.” His fingers curled slightly, nails biting into the wooden table. “Whether you call me King or Chief of Council is your choice. What you will not call me is a Corbois.”

I sank into my chair, trying to bury my misery at hearing Luther speak our family name with such distaste. I’d dedicated my life to defending that name, only to watch it crumble to shame in a matter of months. With both my brothers dead and my magic gone, I couldn’t fight back as the wealth and influence we’d built over centuries was seized by the council, portioned off, and given away.

I would not have fought it, even if I could. Now that my wife had left me—a husband without magic is an embarrassment I can no longer bear, she’d said—there were only two parts of this family I cared to hold on to. One was in Mortal City, of all wretched places, ignoring my fervent commands to rest before my grandchild’s impending arrival. The other was sitting before me, a bronze crown upon his head.

“His name is Luther Bellator, Marthe,” I cut in. “And given that you are no longer a member of this council, if you wish to continue coming to meetings, I suggest you not disrespect my son’s mate and her name ever again.”

Auralie gave me a slight nod, though my eyes were on Luther. I’d been trying to make amends, but if my words had won me any ounce of his forgiveness, he didn’t show it. Nearly nine months had passed since his mate’s death, and it seemed he would never abandon his grudges against those who had wronged her in life—a list my name was high on.

This was a cold, lonely hell indeed.

“These are not mere taxes,” Marthe argued. “You took land that belongs to my House and gave it to people who’ve done nothing to earn it.”

Down the table, a mortal man scoffed. “They fought in the war. That’s more than you can say.”

Marthe shot him a glare. “If I remember correctly, neither did you, boy.”

“Henri fought here in Lumnos,” Auralie said. “He gathered mortals to protect the children in the palace when the Montios Descended attacked. All you did was lock yourself in your vault of riches and hide.”

The man threw Auralie a thankful look, though she gave him the same chilly response Luther had given me. He’d been hailed as a hero by many in Lumnos for what he’d done to save the orphans, even elected by the mortals to represent them on the council, but despite Auralie speaking up in his defense, she seemed to be holding some grudges, too.

“Marthe has a point,” a woman near me said. She was young—far too young to be the new Head of House Teniers, in my opinion, but the war had forced the younger generations to grow up faster than any of us would have liked. “The survivors of the war have earned a safe home, I just don’t understand why that home has to come from us. It’s not the Houses’ fault their realms were destroyed.”

“You have far more than you need,” Eleanor said. “Your House can lose twice what the council has taken and still live comfortably for the rest of your lives.”