Chapter 30
DIEM
Iblinked.
Shook my head, as if denial might make it untrue.
My mother pelted the man with harsh words and accusations, but as I stared in dumbfounded shock, my eyes settled on a strange place: his boots.
Nothing remarkable on the surface, the same you’d find in any mortal home. But they were clean—not a fray in the stitching, nor a scuff on the soles. And his hands were covered in the kind of blisters and precise little cuts only earned from hours of meticulous work.
“They bought you back your business,” I murmured—more to myself than anyone else, given the uproar his vote had provoked. Somehow, he heard it, his confirmation in the shame that stared back.
Two weeks.
That’s how long it had taken the Twenty Houses to buy back their power. Two weeks to undo everything I’d fought so hard to create.
Two fucking weeks.
From the second the Crown appeared above my head, I knew I was ill-equipped to wear it. What could a young mortal healer possibly know about leading a realm? But never had I felt this small, this pathetically out of my depth.
“That’s eight votes,” Marthe declared, practically bursting at her withered seams with glee. “The proposal passes. Diem is off the council.”
“Guards,” Garath yelled, “escort her out.”
The guards stared at each other, then at Alixe, unsure how to proceed. One started hesitantly toward me, then stumbled back when Luther eyed him with a snarl.
“As our next matter, I nominate Garath Corbois as Chief of Council,” Marthe said. “His expertise as Warden to late King Ulther will serve us all well.”
Garath made a show of looking shocked. His terrible acting fooled no one. He and Marthe had planned every step of this together.
“I would be honored to serve my realm, Marthe, but only with you as my fellow—”
“Three votes,” Luther’s voice boomed behind me.
His timbre was so laced with dominance, every head turned like trained dogs on command.
“It appears the mortals have mastered basic math, but the Houses have not. Only three votes have been cast in your favor, Marthe. Three, not eight. The Houses have not yet had their say. There are some things they should know before they do.”
“Luther, what are you doing?” I whispered.
“Keeping a promise.” He placed a hand on my side, thumb grazing a searing line across my bare ribs as he nudged me back into my seat.
He seemed to tower ten heads high as he held the room captive. No one dared to utter a word, even as he took his time staring down each House in turn.
That’s what a Crown should be, I thought as I watched him. My heart tumbled with emotions, not all of which I was proud to admit.
They feared Luther. They respected him, too. He’d been groomed to lead, and they’d been groomed to submit. His inheritance of the throne had gone unquestioned for almost as long as he’d been alive. He might not have been fated to wear the Lumnos Crown, but he was born to be a King.
Luther clasped his hands behind his back. “Most of you are aware that, for many years, Iléana Hanoverre and I were . . .” He worked his jaw. “ . . . betrothed.”
Iléana smirked at me. My magic-suppressing cuffs twitched with another crack.
“In that time,” he went on, “she shared with me many of House Hanoverre’s most closely guarded secrets. I think it’s time those secrets see the light of day.”
Iléana’s amusement drained along with the color in her face. Marthe whacked her with her cane. “You stupid girl,” she hissed, “what have you done?”
Luther leaned forward and set his hands on the table. “House Althiena, were you aware that Marthe personally blocked every trade deal you sought because she feared your House might grow stronger than hers?”
At the Althiena table, the wiry eyebrows of its elderly patriarch drew low. His angry stare drifted to Marthe, who silently pursed her lips.
“House Teniers,” Luther said, “let’s not forget the fleas she released in your homes after you received a royal appointment she wanted for herself.”
The woman at the Teniers table screeched. “Marthe, we were itching for weeks!”
“House Ghislaine,” Luther went on, “did you notice that the dressmakers stopped accepting your visits? Turns out one of your daughters didn’t curtsey low enough for Marthe’s satisfaction.
” He rumbled a laugh. “One of her pettier moves. But not as childish as when she paid a chef at House Amraut to cook a special dinner that sent the entire family running to their toilets to—well . . . a gentleman shouldn’t speak of such things. ”
Faces paled at a table to the left, then flushed bright red as the other Houses tittered with laughter. Luther went on—and on and on and on—sharing story after story of Marthe’s scheming and acts of revenge.
Not a single House was spared. Even House Corbois had been a target, causing Garath to silently seethe. With each revelation, Iléana sank further into her chair, while Marthe looked steely and unashamed, though her white-knuckled hands gave her away.
“What do you think, Marthe,” Luther asked, “have they heard enough?”
Her eyes crinkled as they narrowed to daggers.
Luther smiled coldly. “Perhaps Evrim Benette would like to learn how his beloved mother really died.”
Gasps sucked the air from the room. A chill crept up my spine at the blackened, boiling rage in Evrim’s eyes.
“Luther,” Iléana choked. “Stop.”
“I warned you, Iléana. I told you at the Ascension Ball that if your family came for Diem, I would make it their end. Do not doubt my loyalty to my Queen ever again.”
“I—I know s-secrets, too,” she sputtered.
“You defied King Ulther. Y-you snuck into Mortal City. Gave them medicines they’re not allowed to have.
And . . . and . . . you changed the tax rolls.
You made it look like some families paid when they hadn’t.
” She jabbed a finger at him. “I don’t think you even executed those half-mortal children! ”
Her eyes darted around the room for allies that weren’t there. Most Descended were still reeling from the news of Marthe’s antics, while the mortals stared at Luther with newfound appreciation. Even Taran and Alixe looked pleasantly surprised.
“You’re right,” Luther said. “Every word of that is true.” His eyes dropped to me. “Will my Queen condemn me for it?”
Gods, I’d never loved him more.
I placed a palm across my heart, fearful that the mark on my skin would burn bright enough to blind the room. “I will not,” I said softly.
His lingering gaze was a warm caress. He looked up to address the Houses. “Two families have controlled this realm for centuries. House Corbois used the throne. House Hanoverre used backstabbing and tricks. They are only two—you are eighteen. Together, you can bring this to an end.”
Garath slowly clapped his hands, the sound echoing into the rafters of the quiet room. “A lovely speech, nephew. Truly enlightening. But you’re a little late. They’ve already given their votes.”
“To who?” I asked.
“To me,” Marthe said.
“And to me,” Garath said. “A pact, agreed on by the heads of all Twenty Houses. Sealed with a bonded bargain, so you can never divide us.”
The miserable looks of regret growing across the Houses were enough to confirm. The head of House Amraut rubbed the space between her eyes. “We didn’t give you our votes, Garath. We agreed the Twenty Houses would always vote as one. Decisions must still be made together.”
“Not this decision. Unless you intend to forfeit your magic, the girl goes.” He looked at Zalaric. “So do the mutts.”
Taran launched over the table. Zalaric managed to snag a fistful of tunic and slow him down long enough for Alixe and Luther to drag their cousin back. Garath smirked at his son’s rage, while Aemonn stared blankly at the floor and the Hanoverres chuckled.
“Have you no shame?” my mother yelled at Garath. “What kind of parent delights in their own son’s suffering?”
Garath couldn’t have looked less ashamed. “The kind of parent who doesn’t tolerate a traitor.”
“Then explain him,” Taran shouted, ripping a boot from his foot and hurling it at his brother. Garath jumped to avoid it, but Aemonn didn’t even blink when the shoe struck the table and bounced into his chest.
“You think those muscles fool anyone, boy?” Garath taunted. “You’re weak. You’ve always been weak.” He picked up Taran’s shoe like it was poisoned and tossed it aside. “You’re a constant disappointment. The only thing I’m ashamed of is sharing your name.”
The fight died in Taran’s spirit. He fell still, his only movement the shaky rise and fall of his heaving chest.
“Brother,” Remis warned, but Garath shot him a silencing look that seemed loaded with something more dangerous than sibling disagreement.
Garath sat back into his chair. “I’ve done all I can to fix you, boy. When something is broken beyond repair, you throw it out. From this day on, you’re no longer a Corbois.”
Aemonn’s head sank lower.
“Then he will be a Bellator.” My mother rose and strode to Taran’s side. She took his hand and wrapped it in both of hers, dropping her voice to a murmur. “I have one brave, strong son that I am very proud of. I’d be honored if you would make it two.”
The look on Taran’s face nearly broke me.
He looked on the verge of saying no, and I feared it was not because he didn’t want to accept, but because some part of him didn’t believe he deserved it.
For as much as he hated Garath, the little boy inside him still craved his father’s love and blamed himself when he did not get it.
Zalaric studied Taran’s hesitance, then let out a theatrical, drawn-out groan. “Thank the gods. I was wondering how I could live with myself if I courted a Corbois.” He visibly shuddered. “A Bellator is a much more impressive catch.”
Taran’s eyes drifted to me. I knew if I spoke, I’d burst into tears, so I gave an encouraging smile. The sound of footsteps brought Teller into view.
“Come on, brother,” he said to Taran. “Sit with me.”