Chapter 23 #3
My throat burned with emotion.
His chin lowered. “Will our home forsake us?”
“Never,” I whispered.
“Luther, what are you talking about?” Iléana’s voice was shrill, almost panicked. “Why do you keep saying we?”
“Son,” Remis growled again. “Do not—”
“Because my mother was a mortal.” Luther turned to face the crowd. “My father killed her to hide the truth. Her name . . .” He faltered, and I slipped my hand in his. His fingers curled around mine as his shoulders rolled back. “Her name was Florille. I am her son, and I am half-mortal.”
The air was thick with silence.
Luther had been a stalwart of Lumnos high society, the respected Prince who embodied the rule of law as the King’s favored heir. My parentage had always been a source of gossip, but his was unassailable, absolute.
Even Alixe and Eleanor looked stunned, though Zalaric had suspected the truth. From the pride beaming on Taran’s face, apparently so had he.
“Half-mortals have no place on any council,” Marthe said. “They are forbidden.”
“Not anymore,” I said. “The people of Lumnos are free to love, marry, and have children with whoever they please.” My glare cut to Jean Hanoverre. “Those who interfere with any half-mortal’s return will answer to me.”
My proclamation was not well-received. The economy of Lumnos was built on the bedrock of sanctioned injustice. Upending it, even in this small fashion, put their entire way of life at risk. Nothing could be more dangerous than a privileged group losing their power.
As the outrage grew louder, Luther’s magic unfurled, shimmering in anticipation of an attack.
But I would not run from the fuse I’d lit.
I let go of his hand and stepped beyond his shield. “I am your Queen,” I shouted, “and this is my command.”
“This is blasphemy,” Evrim Benette roared.
“So you refuse to join the half-mortals on my council?” I asked.
“Of course I refuse. It’s an affront to the Kindred!”
“Very well. Evrim Benette declines his seat. Which Benette will take his place?”
Evrim nearly choked on his tongue. “Now wait a moment, I didn’t say—”
“I will,” three voices shouted behind him. House unity flowed thin when there was power in play.
I looked to Eleanor. “Regent, is there someone you suggest? Perhaps someone with an ember of wisdom?”
Her face lit up at my coded words.
“Maybe Perthe Benette should do it,” Iléana said with cutting brightness. “He is the most loyal of her guards.” She made a theatrical show of looking around. “Perthe? Has anyone seen Perthe?” The knowing cruelty of her smile felt like a hand around my throat. “Perhaps Diem can tell us where he is.”
A smarter politician would have lied. A savvier one would have used Perthe’s death to turn the Lumnos Descended against Doriel and Obaneryn. I was neither smart nor savvy. Just dreadfully, inconsolably sad.
More voices arose, but they came muffled to my ears, drowned out by the funeral bell of sorrow. Luther’s aura curled around me, a glowing tether as a current of dark emotions threatened to carry me away.
“Norwick Benette would be a deserving choice, Your Majesty,” Eleanor said.
“The seat is his,” I choked out, my voice hoarse. “Does anyone else wish to withdraw?”
The room fell quiet enough to hear my own pulse pounding in my ears.
“We’ll meet in two weeks’ time. If any of you c—”
I barely registered the blur of shadow that cut my words short, nor the flash of frozen heat across my skin. By the time the glow faded from my flesh, I’d only just begun to understand.
Someone had attacked me.
Someone had attacked me.
In a room packed to the seams with guards, with several powerful Descended allies at my side, someone had been furious enough to risk it all and attempt to kill their Queen.
“Who was it?” Luther roared, shadows detonating around him. “Show yourself, you fucking coward.”
I raised a hand to stay his rage. I already knew who it was—my Umbros magic, newly strengthened by the absorbed attack, had been drawn to the thoughts of a guilty conscience: an elderly woman from a mid-ranked House, knowing her life was already near its end and fearing the future I would leave for her kin.
Our eyes met. Fear sparked in hers, but she raised her chin, ready to face her fate.
I looked away.
“As I was saying . . . if anyone else is unwilling t—”
Another attack, followed by more gasps.
This one from a familiar foe—Jean Hanoverre—and one I was much less inclined to forgive.
Then another one came, and another. The walls flickered as light and shadow speared through the air and sank into my skin.
When I made no effort to shield, more palms raised, and the assaults against me turned blinding.
Nearly every Descended in the room took a shot at the Queen some envied, some despised, but none of them respected.
The absorbed magic fueled my drained reserves, yet I felt as empty as ever.
I let go of Luther and walked for the door. Though the mob parted to make way for me to leave, the onslaught of magic followed me all the way out.
With Perthe’s memory on my mind, I wished I could feel every blow.