Chapter 28
DIEM
“Eleanor . . . are you absolutely certain?”
My doubt was fighting hard to break through the mask of calm composure I’d been wearing since dawn.
With the governing council meeting for the first time, I couldn’t afford to show any hint of weakness.
I was the only one who knew that no new Crown would succeed me.
If I didn’t persuade the people of Emarion to get along, my death might save the Descended from Ophiucae, but it would spare no one from the deadly fight for power that would follow.
Given that, I’d been relieved when Eleanor suggested I let her and Zalaric choose something for me to wear. I knew their clever minds would find the perfect way to emphasize the importance of the occasion.
I just hadn’t been expecting this.
“Yes, we’re certain,” Zalaric said, coming to stand beside me as I studied myself in the mirror. “It’s dramatic enough that the Descended will take note, but simple enough that the mortals will remember where you came from.”
It was indeed dramatic. Though the fabrics were modest, that was where restraint had stopped.
Over a pair of skintight leather pants the color of aged brandy, a stiff wool overskirt in midnight blue-black exploded from my hips into a massive train.
A scrap of filmy white linen draped around my neck and over my breasts, leaving me bare all the way to my navel, held in place by intricate leather straps inspired by the Ignios fist. A trio of chains held two plates of armor on my shoulders, each made of brass cut into gryvern-like scales.
I felt uncomfortably exposed—especially when it came to the mating mark, whose glow threatened to betray me through the gauzy fabric—but I also felt strong. With this on my body, I no longer felt the need to hide it, or myself, away.
“It’s perfect,” Eleanor gushed. “You look like a warrior Queen.”
“A Queen about to give up her power,” I said dryly.
She tutted and tucked a stray hair into place. Though I’d opted not to wear my Crown as a show of deference to the council, Eleanor had insisted on braiding my hair into a circle as a subtle reminder of who sat on the throne.
“You’ll still command the army and the Royal Guards,” she said. “That’s where the real power lies.”
“Only until the war is over. Then . . .”
Zalaric’s head tilted as if he’d noted the shift in my mood.
As one of the few Descended in Lumnos strong enough to feel my aura, I was sure he’d also noticed its absence from having drained my magic the night before.
His Umbrosian upbringing kept him from asking too many questions, but from the way he’d been watching me all morning, I suspected the curiosity was eating him alive.
“Regretting your decision?” he asked.
“If I am, all the more reason to do it. I won’t let myself turn into Remis and the Twenty Houses, fighting over power.”
Eleanor scoffed. “You’re nothing like them. They only want power for themselves. Besides, the Blessed Kindred chose you.”
Not to lead—to be the sacrificial lamb.
“Would you mind giving me a moment?” I asked.
“Of course. Luther’s in the parlor. Shall I send him in?”
“No.”
Eleanor and Zalaric exchanged a loaded look, then left. I found Sorae outside on the terrace, wings slumped at her sides and head propped on the balustrade’s edge.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” I asked her. “It’s warm for spring. Looks like it might be a hot summer.”
She ignored me, refusing to break her gaze from the distant horizon.
I propped a hand on my hip. “Still mad, huh?”
Her nostrils flared with a puff of smoke.
“Sorae, I’m sorry I took Tybold and made you stay back. I was . . .”
Angry. I’d been so fucking angry—at myself, at the gods, at Doriel, at my father’s murderer, who might never see justice now that I was out of clues.
In my rage and loathing, I’d been drawn to Tybold’s vengeful energy. He understood what it meant to hate the world. When my godhood exploded in fury, he’d given me neither judgment nor solace, only the gloomy companionship of two beings who knew that their misery couldn’t be escaped, only endured.
My excuses did little to soothe Sorae’s tender heart. Tybold had chosen her over me, she had chosen me over him, and I had chosen Tybold over her. The three of us were caught in a tumultuous jumble of loyalties, and my volatile emotions weren’t helping one bit.
I leaned my arms on the railing, staring at the palace grounds. From the shadows of the forest, two golden eyes gazed back.
“Tybold never hurt me in Ignios. He couldn’t have, even if he wanted to. You know that, Sorae. He was trying to protect you.”
A growl punctuated the indignant energy rumbling through our bond. The prideful ruffle of her feathers seemed to say: How could I ever need protection from you?
“That’s what you do when you love someone. When you think they’re in danger, you try to save them.” I toyed with my pendant. “Even if you know you can’t win.”
Her wing stretched and brushed my arm, a sweet contradiction to her stubborn glare.
“Sorae, look at me.” She complied against her will, compelled by the bond. “You know what I might have to do at the end of all this.”
She snapped her jaws, tail smacking angrily on the stone.
“I don’t like it, either. But if it does come to that, then I’ll be gone, and so will the Crowns.
You and Tybold will be free.” She let out a whine, and I laid a hand on her snout.
“You deserve a future filled with love. Please don’t let me be the reason you don’t take it.
” I touched my forehead to hers. “Don’t let your pride be the reason, either. ”
She flicked her tail again, valiantly trying to hold on to her irritation, though the longing I felt in her heart told the truth.
I gave her a brief scratch under her chin that she grudgingly leaned into. “No attacking the council meeting, alright? No matter what you sense. You’ve got to let me fight this one myself.”
She chuffed in Tybold’s direction: Are you going to let him fight?
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not the one he wants to fight for.”
I left her huffing behind me as I entered the foyer, now pitifully sparse after my failed attempts to burn all the furnishings into godstone.
All my closest advisors were gathered—the usual Corbois cousins, plus my brother and Zalaric, though Lily was at school.
It was unsettlingly similar to my Challenging, and my nerves were just as high.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Eleanor prodded.
“Never looked better, Queenie,” Taran chimed in. “Except for that time you punched Jean Hanoverre in the face.” He elbowed Zalaric. “It was amazing.”
Zalaric smirked. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“She clocked Lu, too. They both deserved it.” Taran’s brightness dimmed as his eyes darted briefly to Luther. His teasing was nothing new, but there was an edge to his tone that took me by surprise.
Luther, on the other hand, stared at me as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. He didn’t even spare a glance for my body—his smoldering, watchful gaze was fixed to mine.
I hurriedly looked away. I’d hardly slept last night, tormented by how close I’d come to confessing it all.
The only thing that held me back was my certainty that if Luther knew that the spell to kill Ophiucae required my death, he would stop at nothing to prevent it.
He’d go to any length to keep Ophiucae and me from meeting, or he’d steal Sorrow’s Edge and destroy it—or, gods forbid, he’d use it to sacrifice himself in my place.
But I wasn’t ready to accept my death, either. With my body wrapped in his sweater and his scent, and the spark of his magic in the pendant branding his heart in my palm all night long, I’d decided I wasn’t giving up without a fight.
Hearts could change. I’d seen it happen. If I could learn to love so many Descended, then Ophiucae could learn to forgive them. I needed to find my sire and convince him to end this war in a way that didn’t put us both in a grave.
“You look the part,” Alixe said with an admiring nod.
Teller looked unimpressed in a way only a sibling could get away with. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” I said curtly. “Well . . . no time to waste.” I started for the door.
“Hey, Queenie?” Taran’s stare shot to Luther before returning to me. “Before we go, there’s something I wanted to—”
“Taran,” Luther interrupted. “Not today.”
Taran’s brows slammed down. “It can’t hurt to discuss it.”
“Not today,” Luther snapped.
I glanced between them. “What’s going on?”
Neither answered, horns locked in a battle of wills. Zalaric curled a hand around Taran’s arm and whispered something in his ear.
“Forget it,” Taran mumbled, looking away.
Luther slid a hand behind my back and nudged me toward the door, leaving me no time to prod further.
Once in the corridor, he fell back to allow Alixe and Eleanor to flank me, then joined my brother on my right as Taran and Zalaric gathered on my left.
We moved through the palace as a pack, though I wondered if our united front was more fractured than it appeared.
My pulse picked up speed as we reached the ballroom.
Loud chatter from within reverberated down the stone halls.
Royal Guards lined both sides of the corridor.
Though most bore the crests of the Twenty Houses, I nearly stumbled as I passed a guard with no crest at all—and, unbelievably, a pair of brown eyes.
“They’ve been harder to recruit than I expected,” Alixe whispered, seeing my surprise. So much had happened in the months since she and I discussed her plan to integrate the Royal Guard, I’d almost forgotten. “Only twenty so far.”
“And the Descended are accepting them?”
Her features strained in a way I didn’t like. “They will in time.”
Time.
I was beginning to hate that word.
“Push harder,” I told her. “I want a hundred by Forging Day. If the Descended complain, then hire a hundred more.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Outside the ballroom door, several guards stepped forward to secure bronze metallic clamps to all our arms but Teller’s. When one clicked shut around my wrist, a sinking pit of numbness spread through my chest.
“Magic-blocking cuffs,” Alixe explained, cringing as hers snapped closed. “I thought this might make the mortals feel safer to speak their minds.”
“They chose my mother to hold a seat,” I said. “Trust me, speaking her mind won’t be an issue, with or without the cuffs.”
“Now that arm, Your Majesty,” a guard said, gesturing to my other wrist.
“The Queen already has one,” Luther said.
Alixe awkwardly cleared her throat. “The Houses insisted that Diem cuff both wrists on account of her strength. It was a compromise—their first demand was flameroot.”
Luther started to argue, but I waved him off and let them cuff the second wrist. It hardly mattered today. My godhood was so drained, I barely had enough magic to light a room.
“What are they doing here?” my brother asked. I followed his glare to a nearby bench, where Doriel and Obaneryn were seated, hand in hand.
Yesterday’s fury rekindled in a blinding flash. I reached for my sword. “Apparently, I didn’t make myself clear enough in the library.”
Doriel popped to their feet. “Don’t kill us yet.”
“Yet?” Obaneryn sighed. “This was a terrible idea.”
“I want to stay for the meeting,” Doriel rushed on. “No realm has ever tried this before. Someone should be here to record it for the archives. My people will want to read about it and study what happens.”
I gave a disbelieving laugh. “You want to use this for research?”
Doriel looked as if I’d just asked them if they wanted to breathe air or blink their eyes.
“I hate to admit it, but they’re right,” Teller said. “There should be a record so other realms can learn from this, if the council works.”
“When the council works,” Luther corrected.
“Fine,” I said. “But if you’re not out of my realm the second this meeting ends . . .”
“We will be,” Obaneryn assured me.
I started to enter the ballroom when whispering behind me had me slowing my pace.
“Doriel, do your archives have any information on how to form raw godstone?” Luther asked.
“The Blessed Kindred kept meticulous records on godstone,” Doriel answered. “Unfortunately, most have gone missing.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Any idea where they might be?”
Doriel’s gaze turned to mine. “The same place all lost things go—Umbros.”