Chapter 3
LUTHER
The Crowns of Emarion extend an invitation to the Guardians of the Everflame to negotiate the terms for a proposed agreement of peace.
The light of the campfire danced across the paper as I reread the words again and again. Over the hours I’d been studying the message, the text had seemed to come alive, morphing from elegant, handwritten letters into sharp rows of tiny soldiers, lined up and awaiting the order to strike.
“What do you think?” Teller asked. He was seated beside me, hunched over with elbows on his knees. His shrewd focus was not on the note, but on me.
I glanced back at the invitation. The rest contained other pertinent details—where (the Lumnos palace) and when (the start of spring, in two weeks’ time)—and repeated assurances that all those in attendance were guaranteed safe passage “notwithstanding any past or current crimes.”
But it was the very first line that caged my attention.
“You don’t trust the invitation?” Teller asked.
“The Crowns don’t even trust each other. They will go into this meeting anticipating a betrayal. We’d be fools if we didn’t do the same.”
“So you think Mother was right to say no?”
I held the letter out to him. “Tell me what you see.”
He slowly skimmed each line, deliberating over each word’s meaning, just as I had done. He chewed his lip in thought, the spitting image of his sister—the same furrowed brows, the same defiant frustration at a puzzle that didn’t fit.
Reminders of her were everywhere, but nowhere more clearly than in her mother and brother. The Bellators were a family unmatched, each unique in their own way, but sharing the same burning, passionate core.
I saw nothing of myself in my own sister, physically or otherwise. Everywhere that I was dark and angry, she was joyful and bright. I was the imposing Prince who commanded rooms. Lily was the sparkling Princess who made them come alive.
Diem and her brother had their differences, too.
While she was impulsive, Teller was careful, holding back until he was certain of every move.
Still, they were two sides of a coin, molded by loving parents who raised them in their image.
Divided as they were at the moment, I had no doubts the Bellators’ bond would survive.
Family was everything to Diem, and I knew it meant a great deal to Teller and Auralie, too.
That’s why I’d stayed here instead of returning to Lumnos. Protecting Diem’s family was the closest I could get to protecting my Queen—and a part of me hoped that someday I might have the honor to call them my family, too.
Teller frowned at the paper. “This first sentence . . . they didn’t address it to my mother directly. They addressed it to the Guardians. Was that deliberate?”
“Every word in that letter is deliberate.”
He thought for a moment. “The Descended always use proper titles. They take hierarchy seriously.”
“Very seriously,” I agreed. “My father used to burn my tongue with light magic if I didn’t address the highest-ranking Descended in a room first.”
I froze at my own admission—I’d never told that story to anyone.
Sympathy washed over Teller’s face, followed by rage. “Did he do that to Lily, too?”
“No. I tutored her on title etiquette myself.”
I held back the rest—that my father had only allowed it after I agreed to take his punishments on my sister’s behalf for every mistake she made.
“Then why wouldn’t they address this letter to my mother?
Is it because she’s a mortal? Or . . .” Teller’s gaze shifted to a tent nearby.
Its canvas walls were illuminated by the glow of a lantern, revealing the silhouettes of two women in animated conversation.
“Maybe they suspected she would say no, and they wanted the Guardians to defy her.”
I looked around at the mortals gathered by the fire.
Though Auralie and Cordellia had quickly retreated to speak in private, their tension had ripple effects in the camp.
Enduring the Fortos King’s torture without revealing the Guardians’ secrets had earned Auralie a godlike status among the rebels, but now they huddled together, debating in hushed voices whether her choice to refuse the Crowns’ invitation had been strategic or selfish.
Teller tapped the letter. “Haven’t we been hoping for the Crowns to give in and ask for help?”
“Yes, but we thought they would ask for help from Diem. This was meant to be her army. If the Crowns are coming directly to the rebels—”
“They want the Guardians to be their army instead,” he finished.
We shared a knowing look. Working with Diem had been a hard enough sell to the mortals.
Auralie had assured them that Diem was a Guardian herself, and that her loyalty was to the Guardians’ goals.
Not everyone was convinced. Every week, faces disappeared from camp, some to return home to wait out the results of Vance and Ophiucae’s murderous crusade—and others to join it, their hatred of Descended outweighing their faith in Auralie and her plan.
The camp fell silent as muffled shouting arose from the tent. Several leaned closer to hear, many exchanging loaded glances. The solidarity Auralie and Cordellia had so carefully built was crumbling in an instant.
I rose and strode toward the tent. One of Cordellia’s guards sidestepped to block my path. “This conversation is not for you,” he barked.
“I only want to warn them their voices have carried.”
“I don’t care what you want, Descended,” he shot back, spitting the word like a swear. “You’re lucky we let you stay in this camp at all.”
As I opened my mouth to snap a response, Diem’s voice broke through my thoughts.
Careful, Prince, she scolded. Don’t you want to show him Descended can be better than the monsters he’s known?
“Perhaps you might let them know I wish to speak with them, and they can decide,” I gritted out, jaw clenched.
The man smirked. “How does it feel to be on the bottom for a change? Do you like having to beg to be heard?”
My anger cooled. This wasn’t about me—this was a man who had spent his life being choked by Descended hands, finally finding his voice.
“It is not a good feeling,” I admitted. “You mortals should never have been forced to live that way. My Queen and I wish to ensure you never do again.”
He straightened, clearly not expecting my response.
“Just let him through,” another voice droned, this time from a woman I knew to be one of Cordellia’s top advisors. “They don’t need you to decide who they can and can’t talk to, Pabrick.”
I nodded to her in thanks.
The man puffed out his chest in stubborn refusal. “We don’t recognize Descended Queens. Just because we follow Auralie doesn’t mean we’ll ever kneel to your fraud cun—”
His words strangled as my hand closed around his throat. I lifted him in the air, his feet dangling beneath him.
“Go on,” I growled. “Finish that sentence.”
A chorus rang out with the hiss of weapons unsheathing and bowstrings pulling taut. The sharp point of a blade pressed to the back of my neck.
“Put him down,” the woman warned from behind me.
My godhood sizzled beneath my skin, sensing the threat and the insult to Diem, eager to avenge them both. It had been more than a month since I’d used my magic for anything other than crafting illusions. It craved violence, and so did I.
Again, Diem tutted in my thoughts. All the work you’ve done to build trust here, lost over a single word. Where will I find my army now?
I tossed the man in a heap at my feet. Perhaps I was the monster the rebels believed me to be.
I stepped over him toward the tent, throwing the flap open and slipping inside. Cordellia shot me one look and threw up her hands. “Wonderful,” she muttered. “Now I have two people to convince that we should not hinge our decision on one girl’s freedom.”
“This is not about Diem,” Auralie argued.
“Of course it is. She’s your daughter, Auralie. You think I don’t understand? Me, of all people?”
Auralie winced. “Dell . . .”
“I pray to the Old Gods every day for your daughter’s safety. No mother should suffer a loss like I did. But no person’s life is worth our people’s future. The Crowns are offering to hear our demands. We cannot turn this down.”
“It will come at a cost,” I warned. “The Crowns will expect the Guardians to take on Ophiucae.”
“We always planned to fight. If we can get what we want from the Crowns by killing one Descended, is that not a victory in itself?”
“You think you can do that without Diem’s help? Ophiucae is no simple Descended. His magic . . . I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Cordellia shrugged. “Weak and strong magic only matters to your people. It’s all the same to ours.”
“Luther’s mother was mortal, Dell,” Auralie scolded. “Our people are his people, too.”
Did Auralie Bellator just claim me as a mortal?
“If the Crowns are as desperate as Mireille says, they will come again,” Auralie went on. “Next time, they might come with more to offer than an invitation to talk.”
“And if they find a way to kill Ophiucae without our help—what then?” Cordellia fired back. “They’ll execute every mortal who helped him, then they’ll execute us for not helping them. Tell me, Prince, am I wrong?”
I flexed my jaw. Diem would never allow the Crowns to do that, and neither would I—but there would be plenty of vengeful Descended all over the continent who would happily take retribution into their own hands.
Emboldened by my silence, Cordellia took Auralie by the shoulders. “You have always said we could free our people with strategic moves instead of a long, bloody war. This is our chance to see that dream come true.”
Auralie sighed, glancing wearily at me. “Was there something you came here to say, Luther?”
I nodded. “Your voices have carried to the others. Your divide is beginning to spread.”
Both women swore in unison.
“We cannot lose more people,” Auralie said. “We must stay united.”
Cordellia pursed her lips. “Even united, our time is running out. Our people are restless, Auralie. They’re ready for change. If you don’t give them a fight, they’ll find one on their own.”
Auralie was silent for a long moment. Finally, she straightened her back. “We’re not accepting the Crowns’ invitation. We’ll wait until they offer us more.”
Cordellia’s face fell. She stared at me, silently begging for help from the unlikeliest of allies.
It was true that I shared her goals. I, too, wanted freedom for the mortals. I wanted a fairer, more equal nine realms. I wanted to confront the Crowns over what they’d done, and gods knew I wanted a fight.
But I would let it all burn for my Queen.
“We wait,” I agreed. “Until they bring a better offer—or until they let Diem go.”