Page 372 of Burn of the Everflame

“Before Diem was Queen, I asked her what she thought of the progeny laws,” Luther continued. “I knew she despised them, as did I, but I challenged her with the justification that had always been repeated to me: this is what we must do to keep our realm powerful. A terrible evil, but a necessary one to ensure our Descended remain strong. Do you know what she said in response? ‘If the death of innocents is a cost we’re willing to pay, then we don’t deserve to be powerful.’” His stare drifted among the council members. “I sit here and listen to you argue over money and land and control, and all I can think is that if letting your neighbors suffer is a cost you’re willing to pay to hoard your power, then you don’t deserve any of it. And if this council is going to let the world return to the very same place it was before, if we betray all those who fought and died to give us this chance, then we don’t deserve to rule.” He took the crown off his head. “None of us do.”

Luther started to set the crown on the table, then frowned, touching his chest again.

“We won the war because we didn’t give up,” he said. “Even when victory seemed impossible, we never lost hope. We never surrendered. We bled and we suffered, but we kept fighting. We offered up our lives, something far more valuable than land or money, in the service of each other. After centuries of letting our differences divide us, we made it our strength instead. We came together as one Emarion, and we defeated the greatest threat this world has ever known.”

He winced, rubbing his sternum hard. “Councilor Benette is right. We are back at war, so let us name our enemy. This time, it’s not a single, evil man. Nor is it those whose blood or homeland is different from our own. It is greed. It is selfishness and fear. It is hate. It is going back the way we came. If that is the war we face now, we will only win again if we fight it the same way. And I will⁠—”

Luther froze. His eyes flared wide. He pulled at his shirt as a golden glow began to pulse beneath the fabric.

“Diem,” he breathed.

“Put your crown back on, my King.”

Gasps rippled around the room. Across the table, Auralie let out a choked cry, hands clutched over her mouth. People began to slide from their chairs and kneel, heads bowing with whispered prayers.

The Blessed Mother’s name rose to my lips as I watched Diem Bellator walk into the room, clad in a gown of moon-white light and wearing a crown of silver Fire.

Trembling and silent, Luther sank to his knees. His eyes gleamed as he gazed up at his mate, who stopped in front of him and brushed her fingers over his brow. There was a serenity to her face that, strangely, calmed me, too. I had not realized how much my son’s devastation had become my own until I watched it heal before my eyes. My dark and joyless tundra began to bloom with warmth.

At that, even I fell to my knees and bowed my head.

Diem smiled as she took the crown from Luther’s hands. “What if our story isn’t over, Luther Bellator?” She gently placed it on his head. “What if it’s only beginning?”

“You’re alive,” he whispered.

“There’s work to be done.” Her eyes sparkled with Fire as she looked at the council. “And I’m ready for the fight.”

Epilogue

DIEM

One year later

“Abit more.”

I set the bushel of carrots aside and shook the loose soil from my hands, then circled a finger to throw more of my magic Luther’s way.

He watched with awestruck appreciation, gazing at the dancing Fire instead of the cuts of meat sizzling at its base.

“More,” he said.

I bit down on my lip, but as my fingers twitched again, my smile began to rise with the Flames. Their silvery light flickered over his face, matching the glow in his blue-grey eyes. He held out a hand, marveling at the way the Fire caressed his skin but did not burn.

“More,” he insisted.

“Darling, if it gets any hotter, we’re going to be serving ashes for dinner.”

He looked down and swore, quickly snatching the charred meat from the Flames. He held up a blackened lump and grimaced. “We’re going to need more carrots.”

I laughed. “Vegetables for dinner, it is.” I set my palm on the soil and poured Arboros magic into the roots, speeding the growth of the budding crops until they turned leafy and ripe.

“Here,” Luther said, dropping the ruined meat. “You eat it, Taran.”

The goat nibbling the hem of my dress trotted over to him, stopping too slow and crashing into his leg. It sniffed at the steam rising from the meat, reared its head, then began munching at Luther’s waistcoat instead.

“Not this one,” Luther growled, tugging the fabric away. “It’s the last good one I’ve got left. You ruined all the others.” He ran toward me in a zigzagging route to avoid the goat scampering happily behind him, loose threads still dangling from its lips. “Whose bright idea was the goat again?”

“Yours,” I reminded him, grinning.