Chapter 59 #2
She’d tried to tell me. Gods, she’d tried. The ominous words about her heir, the clues she left, the promise she’d demanded—and the warning that all of Emarion would pay if I failed.
How much of your soul are you willing to set ablaze?
“All of it,” I whispered.
Something stirred beneath my ribs.
I turned my back to the crowd. “You should take on more of the Crown duties,” I said to Luther. “You’re good at leading. People look up to you.”
His hand slid lower on my back. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”
“Eleanor, too. You should put her in charge of rebuilding Lumnos City. Oh, and about Mortal City—they need authority to set their own laws. A smaller council, made up of people from within.”
“Diem . . .”
“The other realms need councils, too. Not just one. Each city—”
“I know what you’re doing.” He stared at me; I didn’t stare back. “You’re breaking up the Crowns’ power and giving it away so you can be the last.”
“I already am the last. I told you—when I die, the Crowns won’t pass on.”
“Kings and queens ruled these lands long before the Kindred. Their Crowns might end, but others could take their place. Would that be so terrible?”
That was exactly what I was trying to prevent—a new Descended throne, gained by wealth or threat. Gods forbid a mortal monarch arise in response. Emarion would sink right back into division, maybe even war, with half-mortals lost in the middle.
“The people need to learn to govern together,” I argued. “We can’t allow one person to seize all the power for themselves.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“But you don’t think that councils are the way to do it?”
He thought for a moment. “Councils are careful. They discuss, and they deliberate. They take their time. They are wise. They are slow. They bring progress as the tree grows—over generations, in miniscule changes too small for the eye to see. In maturity, they can be strong, but in youth, they can be brought down by a single swing of an axe.”
His hand curled under my jaw and turned my face to his.
“The councils are important. You’re right to establish them, and I pray they will be enough to carry your legacy when your reign comes to its end—many, many centuries from now.
” I tried to look away, but he held me firm, his features resolute.
“Right now, the people need their Queen, too. The councils need a strong Crown to defend them. They need you to keep pushing them forward, and to pull them back when they’ve gone astray.
They need your vision. Your heart.” His thumb stroked across my cheek. “Don’t let go just yet.”
The final Guardian bomb erupted in a starburst of red, and the orchestra launched into a vibrant anthem, joined by distant applause. The colorful wash of light across Luther’s face faded as the sky went dark, leaving only two glowing, blue-grey eyes.
“Luther, look who’s here,” Lily’s voice called out.
His attention didn’t waver, nor did his hand, holding me trapped in his dominating gaze. This was the Luther who came out in the quiet, the Luther who could bend me to his will with one look, one word. He wanted me to listen—not just hear him, but listen.
“Luther, Diem, look. He came!”
It was me who finally broke away, glancing over my shoulder to see Lily bouncing toward us, dragging Remis behind. My nerves immediately went on edge—and by Remis’s guarded expression, so did his.
“Your Majesty,” he said, dipping his chin.
I stared back with no response.
He turned to his son, his lips pressing tighter. “Luther.”
Luther’s eyes remained on me.
Remis cleared his throat. “Blessed Mating to you both.”
Lily’s gaze danced between us, growing wider as the awkward silence stretched on. “Father came to congratulate Taran,” she said, gesturing to Remis’s golden suit. “See, Luther? He’s happy for them.”
I caught the subtle pleas in Lily’s voice. She adored her father and brother both, and I could tell the rift between them troubled her. I took Luther’s hand from my cheek and clasped it in mine as I turned to Remis. “I wasn’t aware you were invited.”
Remis bristled. “I don’t need an invitation. Taran is my nephew.”
That finally caught Luther’s focus. “And when your brother stripped him of his Corbois name, and you said nothing, was he your nephew then, too?”
“I had much to say to Garath about that decision,” Remis said, “but I handle my affairs in private, as I taught you to do.” He huffed. “What happened that day brought shame on House Corbois. We have strayed far from the days when we used our power with restraint.”
“I could have used that restraint when I was growing up, watching neighbors starve to death under Corbois laws or beaten bloody by Corbois guards,” I said frostily.
“You only kept silent because Garath threatened to tell everyone you lost your magic,” Luther snapped.
“Keep your voice down,” Remis hissed, nervously looking around.
Lily’s face fell at the bickering, and guilt nipped at me. Though the strife between Luther and Remis stretched long before me, I’d done my part in making it worse. Perhaps I could do my part in making it better instead.
“Remis,” I said, forcing my tone to calm, “if you tell everyone about your magic, Garath won’t have power over you anymore.”
“I see you still don’t understand our people.
Descended respond to two things: magic and titles.
Once, I had both. I used them to great extent to our family’s benefit, and it earned me many enemies.
Now, I have no titles, but my enemies remain.
Their belief in my magic is the only thing holding them back. ”
“Maybe you should have used more of that restraint,” Luther said.
I toyed with my wrist, the phantom shackle tight against my skin. “What if I make you my advisor?”
There was no telling which of the three looked more shocked.
“Eleanor is my Regent, but I have not named a Warden of the Shadows,” I said. “Perhaps you could take that role.”
Historically, the Warden of the Shadows moved in secrecy, handling tasks the Crown did not want publicly known.
I’d offered Zalaric the position, and he’d politely declined.
The years he’d spent trading in secrets were not a choice, but an Umbrosian necessity, and he was hoping for a brighter new chapter in Lumnos.
Though I was loath to admit it, Remis was the next best choice.
He was a master of subtle scheming, and his motives were transparent: protect himself and protect his family.
If I could give him that, he could be a useful weapon in my armory, and more importantly, a useful weapon in Luther’s—but only if I could convince him to use it.
“My Queen, we can’t trust him,” Luther warned.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “It’s a transaction: you keep him safe, he does what you say. If he betrays you, your protection ends, and you replace him.”
“You mean you replace him.”
I shrugged. Luther’s grip tightened.
“This leaves me no better off,” Remis said. “I’ll still be at the mercy of someone else.”
“Then I guess you have to decide whose mercy you trust more,” I said. “Garath’s or ours.”
Remis looked at Lily, whose brows had risen hopefully high. His frown deepened. “If I accept, will you make it clear that House Corbois still has your protection?” he asked me. “Including my brother?”
“No,” Luther snarled.
“Yes,” Remis bit back. “Garath may need handling, but I’ll not put him in a grave. He is family.”
Luther leaned toward his father, pointing at his scar. “You had no trouble putting family in a grave when you did this.”
I tried to edge between them, but Lily tugged me back. “Let them,” she whispered. “I think, maybe, this is what they need.”
“You think I wanted that?” Remis met his son’s challenge, stepping forward, chin high. “I cared for Florille. I sent her away when you were born because it was the only way I could keep you both safe.”
“Then why didn’t you let me go with her when she returned? We would have been safe outside of Lumnos.”
“Florille was never going to leave. She wanted to stay here to raise you as hers. She believed King Ulther would protect you.”
“Perhaps he would have.”
“Later, maybe. Not then. Your magic had not yet come in, and he had not yet named you as his heir. You would have been just another Corbois bastard. Garath had many, and none were spared. I could not let you meet that same fate.” Remis sighed, weary and sad.
“What happened that day will haunt me forever, but even knowing what it cost me, I would do it again. It was my duty, as your father and as a servant of the Blessed Mother.”
Luther balked. “What does Blessed Lumnos have to do with it?”
“When you were born, she showed me a vision. You sat on a throne, wearing a crown. She told me to prepare you for that day. When I asked how, she said, ‘Love him.’” He huffed, looking almost offended. “I did not need her command to do that.”
The sincerity in his voice made my stomach turn, and I had to look away.
In Remis’s mind, he had done exactly what Lumnos asked.
He’d kept Luther alive at any cost and crafted him into a formidable adversary that would make the realm tremble.
His love had been both shield and sword, forged to secure a crown.
For men like Remis, shields, swords, and crowns were all that mattered.
But Luther had never felt his father’s love.
He’d felt his firm hand, his expectant eyes, his punishing boot, but never his warm heart.
Except for those brief, beautiful days Luther spent with his mother, his life had none of the safety that only a parent’s unconditional affection can provide.
It had made him cold, too guarded to trust and too withdrawn to be trusted.
It had earned him few allies, fewer friends.
Remis’s love had not prepared Luther to be King, it had prepared him to fear and be feared—and fear makes for brittle foundations.
The empires built upon them are doomed to collapse.