Chapter 35
Chapter
Thirty-Five
T he next few hours were some of the most enjoyable I’d ever had. I lost all sense of time as I dove head-first into the depthless well of knowledge the Queen’s library contained.
I rifled through the books at lightning speed, my eyes furiously skimming the pages of the ancient tomes. There were books I thought had been lost forever—histories of mortalkind that stretched back long before the Kindred’s arrival—and references to Emarion’s original cities, names we’d been banned from knowing, let alone writing or speaking aloud.
There were treatises on systems of government the mortals had experimented with. Monarchies, councils, parliaments, even self-rule. Though none was without its flaws, the mortals of old had at least been learning from their mistakes. Each successive attempt had been getting more open and more fair—until the Kindred stopped that progress in its tracks by removing mortals from the process entirely.
Perhaps the most interesting find were the scriptures of the ancient religions. Sadly, these were not intact—the true names of the Old Gods had been meticulously burned away, page by page, leaving only vague, ambiguous descriptions.
The Kindred must have believed there was power in names. Why else go to such great lengths to strip them from our collective memory? One could not hold on to what one could not define. In erasing a name, they erased everything that name once stood for. The results had been ruthlessly effective.
The Everflame was the one name that had persisted, and as a result, it had become the rallying cry of the rebellion. If the Everflame’s name had been stolen from us as the Old Gods had, would the Guardians of the Everflame be so united? Would they even exist at all?
The Crowns must have had the same questions, because they’d finally banned any mention of the Everflame after the Blood War. Though mortals still revered it in private, each new generation of mortals knew less and less of its lore. If my plans failed, someday its memory might be lost forever.
For now, at least, it endured—in the pages of these books, if nowhere else.
Stories of the Everflame were plentiful. Apparently, the Old Gods once plucked flames from its branches and gave them as blessings, flames that burned forever and kept their bearers warm even in the coldest of nights. Pregnant mothers would risk their lives to travel the sea once labor began, believing a child born on the Everflame’s blessed soil would be imbued with its sacred power of life. And the glacial pits of hell beneath its roots were not eternal, as I’d been told. Unworthy souls condemned to its ice could petition for a second chance to earn their way into the warm haven of the Undying Fire.
When the clock’s chimes jolted me out of my reverie, I realized the entire afternoon had come and gone. Surely Luther had returned by now.
I stowed the books back on the shelf, wishing I had a lifetime to consume them. Perhaps I’d have another chance once this war was over.
If I survived that long.
As I grudgingly dragged myself to the exit, my focus snagged on the locked cage containing the books on the Kindred. I’d never been particularly interested in their stories, but something Yrselle said had stuck with me.
Umbros had talked to her about me.
And so had Lumnos to Luther.
If two of the Kindred had seen fit to discuss me with their most loyal adherents, perhaps there was something I should know about them .
I walked to the cage and unlocked it with Yrselle’s key. The space was small and well-maintained, with glass cases for each of its books to preserve their delicate condition.
A large, pencil-drawn sketch of Emarion hung on the back wall. A golden plaque described it as the original map used by the Kindred.
I stepped closer and squinted. Faint lines were still visible where old borders had been erased and modified several times over, likely as the Kindred had apportioned out each realm. Only one seemed not to have been redrawn: a barely there scratch through the middle of Montios.
At the center, more erased lines peeked out from where the Everflame had once been labeled, obscured by a rough sketch of what would become the Kindred’s Temple.
My temper prickled. These Kindred, with their divine egos, had defaced our home and rebuilt it in homage to themselves. My interest in anything they had to say was rapidly dying.
I gave a cursory, half-hearted skim of the books in the cases, mostly fawning biographies of the Kindred written by the earliest Descended. Only one item piqued my attention—a small, well-worn notebook on a lavender pillow. Unlike the others, there was no label for its contents.
I lifted the lid and gingerly picked it up. The inside was all handwritten in a fluid, elegant scrawl without dates or sections. I flipped to an early page at random and began reading:
The locals, too, are at war. The hate reminds us of home and all we have lost. It grieves me. I do not wish these people to know the despair we have seen.
We try to help them with our gifts. We end their diseases and feed their hungry. They call us their saviors and bow to us as gods. My siblings welcome it. I do not.
They even gave us names in their language. They call me Montios, for my love of their beautiful mountains.
I gasped.
This was the diary of a Kindred .
I’d always known they existed—the Descended were proof of that—but it was oddly disconcerting to imagine them not as gods but as people, each with thoughts and feelings of their own.
I flipped to another page:
When Lumnos fell, it was expected. Her heart is a soft place where love thrives. Nor were Meros or Umbros any surprise. They are drawn to pleasure, and we have all been lonely for so long.
My siblings and I warned them against their unions. Then our eldest fell. Sophos, our guiding light! I could not believe it.
Though it may have been I who sealed our fate. I have always preferred solitude over the company of others. Once I found my love, that changed. When he and I steal away on Rymari to the mountains, I feel the peace I have always longed for.
Every day, our beloveds age. The thought haunts us all. Sophos believes there may be a way to bind their short lives to ours.
Whatever the cost is, I will pay it. An eternity with him is worth the highest price.
A chill skittered over my skin. Montios had hoped to give her lover eternal life—instead, she’d sacrificed her own immortality to age and die at his side. She had indeed paid the ultimate price, but in a twisted way she hadn’t expected.
I’d made a similar vow earlier to the Queen—to sacrifice everything for my goal. Was I destined for the same fate?
I flipped to the end and frowned. The final section had been ripped out, leaving shredded edges along the center as evidence. I thumbed back a few pages and began reading:
The locals are grateful, though some resent our presence. They fear Lumnos’s unborn child, as well as the life growing in Fortos’s mate. What role will our descendants play in this new world?
There is a plan, but our youngest will not agree. Our lives are shorter now. We must persuade him before our time expires.
I confess, some days I fear him. What happened in our homeland did not scare him, as it should have. Instead, he speaks of it with reverence. Even our Mo—
“Your Majesty?”
My head snapped up. Symond leaned against the doorway, head cocked and smiling. His shirt from earlier was missing, and his skin was coated in dried blood.
“What happened?” I asked. “Are you hurt?”
His smile pulled wider. “It’s not my blood. But your concern is noted.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whose blood is it?”
“Someone who should have known better than to cross the Queen of Umbros.” He stood upright and jerked his chin. “Come. There are Centenaries waiting in your quarters to help you dress for dinner.”
“Have you seen this?” I breathed, holding up the diary. “This was written by a Kindred .”
“I have not. I’m not allowed to step within this room.” His smile tightened. “I didn’t think anyone was, save for Her Majesty.”
I reluctantly set the book down in its case and closed the glass lid, then left the room, locking the door behind me with Yrselle’s key.
“She must think highly of you, to have given you such access,” he said smoothly as we walked. “I take it your lunch went well?”
“I’m not laying at the base of a canyon or digesting in a gryvern’s belly. I’ll call that a success.”
In truth, I wasn’t sure if it had gone well or not. I felt a little like I’d pledged my soul to something I hadn’t fully understood.
I was grateful for his silence the rest of the way. My mind was still spinning from what I’d seen and trying to piece together what significance, if any, it had. Something about what I’d read was gnawing at me, but I couldn’t quite place what it was.
When we reached the corridor leading to my suite, Luther returned to the forefront of my mind. I should have come back earlier—now I would have to rush our conversation.
I gave Symond an awkward wave. “I can find my way back from here.”
“I should hope so,” he drawled. “I need to pick up two of my own. They’ve been here all afternoon.”
“Here? Why were two Centenaries in our private wing?”
His lips twitched with a secretive smirk. “They were requested by one of your guests.”
My frown slowly deepened as Symond accompanied me the entire way down the hall. When we reached the end, he gave me his back, facing Luther’s door and knocking loudly.
Muffled voices came from the other side.
Feminine voices.
The door swung open, and two pretty Centenaries appeared.
“Come, ladies,” Symond ordered. “You’ve had enough fun for today.”
“Hope you feel better now, Princey,” one called out loudly, waving. “Let us know if you want us to come back later tonight.”
“It was a real pleasure ,” the other said, drawing out the final word with a seductive purr.
They walked out arm in arm, whispering in each other’s ears.
“Did you see that scar? It’s huge .”
“That wasn’t the only thing that was huge.”
They collapsed in a fit of laughter as they walked away.
Symond pulled the door closed, but not before I caught a glimpse of Luther—laying naked in bed among rumpled sheets, his back to the door and his clothes scattered along the floor.
“Oh, dear,” Symond said. “I forgot—he requested that you not be told. Be a sweetheart and pretend you didn’t see that.”
I could hardly think over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Surely that wasn’t what it seemed. Luther cared for me, he would never...
Or would he? He’d been with Iléana, and he never cared for her. Maybe that’s how he preferred it—no strings, no emotions. Maybe that’s why he’d been avoiding my touch, why he’d been afraid I wouldn’t forgive him.
In the moment we had in the inn, he’d said I deserved more . More that he couldn’t give me...
Oh, gods .
“Diem?” Symond tipped a finger under my chin, snapping me back to the present. “You should get ready. Her Majesty doesn’t tolerate lateness.”
I nodded numbly and turned to my room.
“Try not to fret,” he called out from behind me. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about at all.”
I barely heard a thing as the Centenaries bathed and dressed me. They painted my nails, curled my hair, even oiled my skin with a sweet-smelling perfume. I stared mutely at the wall the entire time, replaying every word Luther had ever spoken. First I convinced myself that what I saw meant nothing; then I convinced myself it meant everything .
If I found any clarity at all, it disappeared the second I stepped into the corridor and met his gaze with mine.
His hair had been trimmed and pulled back, his sharp jaw cleanly shaven. His suit was pressed and perfectly tailored to show off his broad, high shoulders. Though I could still sense a heaviness wearing on him, regaining some control over his appearance had restored a glimmer of the light missing from his eyes when I’d seen him last.
An excruciating tightness wound around on my chest. I couldn’t deny the appeal of the rugged side of him I’d seen while traveling, but this stately, well-groomed royal was the Luther I’d first met. The Luther I knew on a soul-deep level. The Luther I’d fallen for. And I wasn’t sure why, but that hurt .
“My Queen. You look...” He stepped toward me, the breath rushing out of him all at once. He admired me like the finest work of art, the wonder in his expression bringing a flush to my cheeks.
Taran gave a low whistle as he looked me over. Alixe nodded, smiling wide.
“Finally, a dress befitting your status,” Zalaric said.
I broke my daze long enough to look down at myself. The Centenaries had dressed me in sheer black gossamer, draped to cover as little as possible, with a plunging neckline that dropped to my navel and a slit at the thigh that ran nearly to my ribs. An array of tiny, glittering rubies resembled splattered blood after a gruesome kill.
It was violent and sexual, perfectly suited to the court of Umbros. Though I would never have chosen it for myself, I had to admit, the look injected me with a boldness I hadn’t felt since emerging victorious in my Challenging.
It was an intriguing contrast to my companions, who had been dressed in Lumnos’s traditional blue and silver. Luther was characteristically formal in a high-necked brocade jacket, while Alixe stunned in a flesh-colored bodysuit with strategically placed diamond clusters and a navy overcoat that trailed in a pool behind her. Taran wore breeches of blue-black leather and a harness of straps and chains that left his tanned muscles on display, his godstone injuries now nearly gone.
Even Zalaric’s Lumnosian heritage was evident in his clothing—if it could even be called clothing, considering his open vest and billowing pants were fabricated entirely from shadow magic, with glowing light-made cuffs snaking up his forearms. The Lumnos Queen in me was proud to see him embrace his homeland so openly—but as I remembered Yrselle’s cryptic comment about his fate, worry grew in the back of my mind.
Indeed, I was the only one who looked as if I belonged in the Umbros court. This felt strongly like Yrselle’s way of stamping me with her claim, but to what end, I still wasn’t sure.
“You are stunning no matter what you wear,” Luther said. “But I agree with Zalaric. It is good to see you adorned as the Queen you are.”
Despite his adoring tone, his words were swallowed up by the thoughts plaguing me over what I’d seen.
“Especially with your Crown,” Zalaric added. “I’ve never seen it in person before.”
Alixe’s smile fell. She frowned, then exchanged a look with Taran, whose head had gone nearly sideways, his brows similarly furrowed.
“The Crown,” she started, “does it look...?”
“Different,” Luther answered. His eyes locked on the space above my head.
I smoothed a hand over my milk-white curls, swept back on one side with a garnet comb. I’d been too distracted to look in the mirror before leaving. “Perhaps it changed form due to the coronation.”
“Perhaps,” Alixe murmured, “though it’s always looked the same in old paintings.”
The clock chimed to signal the dinner hour. I shrugged off their scrutiny and gathered my skirts. “Let’s get on with it,” I said dully.
Luther stepped to my side and offered his hand—gloved, I noticed. An odd choice. Overly formal, even for him.
“May I escort you?” he asked.
“I think I’ll walk alone tonight.” I tried not to notice the slight drop of his shoulders as I breezed past him down the corridor, where a Centenary was waiting to lead us to dinner.
The others followed, Alixe and Taran bantering about their day at the bathhouses with the occasional quip from Zalaric. I picked up that Luther had gone with them, but returned early—“to rest,” he claimed.
I steeled my jaw and focused on our march through the palace. With the exception of our guide, there wasn’t a soul in sight, not even a Centenary on guard. The unexpected emptiness set my hackles rising, especially when we turned into a very extravagant—and entirely vacant—banquet hall.
“Where is everyone?” I asked our chaperone.
“They’ll be along shortly,” he answered, his onyx eyes gleaming with hidden knowledge. He bowed and excused himself, leaving the five of us standing awkwardly by a fireplace.
Alixe flipped back the train of her coat, revealing a glimpse of the many blades she’d tucked into its inner pockets. “Did you learn anything at your lunch with the Queen?”
“She knows more than I thought, and she seems inclined to help me—or at least to not join the Crowns against me. I’m still not sure why. Or what she expects in return.”
Taran rocked on his heels, a smile creeping in at the corners of his mouth. “Does that mean our plan for tonight is still the same?”
“There’s a plan?” Luther asked.
“Oh yes. Queenie’s plan. A great plan. We discussed it last night.”
Alixe sighed. “He means the plan where he gets to drink all night and sleep with the Centenaries to coax information out of them.” Her eyes rolled skyward. “He’s been reminding me all day that it’s Her Majesty’s plan, so I can’t overrule it.”
Taran nodded excitedly. Zalaric glared.
“Yes, Taran, you can enjoy yourself tonight,” I said. He fist-pumped the air, and my smile finally broke free. “You too, Alixe.”
She looked uneasy. “Are you certain? We’re going to be heavily outnumbered.”
I shrugged. “The Queen had a clear chance to kill me at lunch. If she didn’t strike then, I doubt she’ll try now. As long as we keep playing her game, I don’t think we’re in danger.”
Taran pounced and threw his arms around my ribs, crushing me against him. “Of all the Queens I know, you’re my favorite.”
I clutched at my dress to keep from spilling out. “Thanks, Taran. That’s a high honor.”
He gripped me tighter until I squeaked for air.
Luther cleared his throat. “Cousin, please stop grabbing Her Majesty’s chest in public. It’s bad enough you’re sleeping in her bedroom.”
I stiffened and pushed Taran off. “He fell asleep. Nothing happened between us.”
Luther’s frown deepened.
Taran barked a laugh and prodded me with his elbow. “Don’t worry, Lu’s not really jealous. He knows you’re not my type.”
I pretended to look offended. “What is your type? Wait, let me guess—a tall, blonde goddess with giant breasts and a tiny waist?”
Alixe started coughing.
Zalaric blinked.
Taran grinned. “Not exactly.”
His eyes shifted to something over my shoulder and grew two times in size. “Wine,” he breathed reverently, lurching toward the bar like a doomed sailor caught in a siren song.
Alixe and Zalaric shared a look and followed behind him, leaving Luther and I alone. I stared at my hands, my feet, my dress, everywhere but at his eyes. All the while, his heavy gaze stayed on me, watching in his all-seeing way.
The silence became unbearable, and the words tumbled out of me. “I came by your room earlier.”
“I’m sorry I missed you. I must have been at the bathhouses.”
“You weren’t. But you were... occupied.” My stomach reeled. “With two Centenary women.”
I finally, reluctantly, agonizingly dragged my eyes up to his.
His expression was dark and carved in stone. A muscle twitched on his sunken cheek. “It’s not—”
He stopped. Looked away.
His silence stung, but I forced myself to wait. Any second now he would explain, and then we’d make a joke of it, him teasing me about Taran while I ribbed him over... whatever it was, and then I would scold myself for ever having worried.
He retreated a step.
“I’m sorry I missed you,” he repeated.
The words came out like an empty clang, painfully curt yet reverberating without end.
“That’s it?” I asked, choking on the words.
“You should focus on the dinner,” he said gruffly. Tightly. As if every word hurt to force out.
I stared at him, shaking my head.
“What happened to you?” I whispered.
His eyes shot to me. Beneath the churning shadows, there was hardly anything left of the glowing blue-grey.
“What happened to us? ” I asked, my voice breaking. The emotions were rising too violently to stop. The hurt and the anger, the rejection and the confusion. It was a swirling cyclone, a tempest of feeling I couldn’t contain.
Luther’s throat worked as he watched me collapsing. His mask began to fracture.
“You’ll understand soon,” he said, sounding anguished.
It was his pity, of all things, that finally broke me. A hot, angry tear escaped from the corner of my eye. I stormed away before he could spot it and marched to Taran’s side.
“I need a drink. Fast.”
Taran smirked and bumped me with his hip. “Your wish is my command, Your Maj—” He stopped, his smile vanishing as he watched me wipe my glistening cheek. “Is everything—”
“A strong one,” I interrupted. “A large one. And is there something to drink while I’m waiting?”
He wordlessly handed me his own half-finished glass, and I threw my head back and swallowed its contents in a single gulp. Heat flooded my chest as the alcohol burned through my bloodstream.
His eyebrows rose. “Should I be worried or impressed?”
“What in the Flames was in that?” I gasped between coughs. My mouth tasted like I’d swallowed a gaslamp whole—metal, glass, and all. “That was vile.”
He shrugged. “I grabbed a bottle at random.”
“I’m not sure that was for drinking , Taran. You might have just found the secret ingredient in the Guardians’ bombs.”
He snorted and rifled through the bottles, sniffing and tasting and crafting a new concoction.
As I waited for him to finish, my focus lifted to the mirrored panel behind the shelves, and I got my first glimpse of myself in all my regal glory—but it was the glowing Crown that stole my focus.
It was different.
The dark, thorny circlet had shifted slightly in shape, the peak in front now mirrored on the opposite end. Nestled between the glimmering points of light, shards of broken crystals seemed to form and dissolve at random.
My gaze dropped to my face—that, too, looked different. Smoky kohl had been smudged around my eyes, while a deep, sanguine red stained my lips. With the dress and the Crown, the effect was striking.
I was fearsome, deliciously decadent, a predator on the hunt, fierce and unflappable.
The opposite of how I really felt: wrecked, vulnerable, and painfully raw.
Perhaps the alcohol had already gone to my head, but the hurt in my heart began to harden into an indignant, almost defiant confidence.
Why shouldn’t I be that woman in the mirror? I was a Queen of Emarion, for gods’ sakes. I would not let this, or anything, break me.
And if Luther was determined to push me away, then I would show him what he was missing.
“Where’s that drink?” I asked.
Taran popped upright and offered me a glass brimming with fizzing blue liquid. Without looking, he pulled an unmarked bottle from a shelf and ripped the cork out with his teeth.
“To the Blessed Kindred,” he crooned. “May they find us more useful alive than dead.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
I clinked my glass to his and downed a large sip. Taran, refusing to be outdone, chugged half the bottle in one go.
“Has anyone ever told you that you might have a drinking problem?” I asked, only half joking.
“Alixe and Luther, sometimes.” He scowled. “My brother, daily.”
“Do you ever think they might be right?”
He shot me a look. “Do you want to talk about why you were crying?”
I glared. He smirked. We both threw back another guzzle.
The sound of creaking doors floated through the room. We turned as a group to see Yrselle striding in. Her body was nearly bare, save for an embroidered dragon with emerald eyes that wrapped around her intimate areas, its gold-tipped wings splaying into a gauzy train that floated in her wake.
Behind her, the female Centenaries followed in two lines, each wearing matching skimpy crimson slips that draped low on their chests and even lower on their backs. Another small group followed, its members androgynous in appearance. Their outfits were crafted from the same fabric, the designs more varied but equally revealing.
“They know how to make an entrance,” Alixe said.
“I think I’m overdressed,” Luther muttered.
“I think I’m overdressed,” I agreed.
Finally, Symond led in two lines of swaggering men. They ranged from svelte to muscular, but all wore scarlet satin pants slung outrageously low on their hips, their oiled bodies gleaming beneath sheer mesh tops.
Taran leaned into my side and grinned. “ That’s my type.”