Chapter 59 #3
I grieved the Luther he might have been, in another life. As he was now, he would make a strong King, a wise leader who ruled justly and with restraint. But a Luther who ruled with bold, unswerving love . . . Gods, what a kingdom he could build.
“Wait,” I said. “Lumnos showed you Luther as King?”
Luther tensed, seeming to realize where my thoughts had gone. “What about Diem? Was she in the vision?”
Remis hesitated. “There was a second throne,” he said slowly.
His choice of words did not go unnoticed. A second throne . . . but not me in it.
“He had a crown,” I said, no longer asking, but understanding. “It wasn’t the Crown of Lumnos. It wasn’t any of the Kindred Crowns.”
Remis frowned. “How did you know that?”
Because I’m the last person who will ever wear them.
The bricks fell into place—and buried me beneath them. How excruciatingly ironic that Luther had been the one to remind me that, if the Kindred’s monarchy fell, another could rise to take its place. The post-war leadership he believed Emarion would need . . . it wasn’t my destiny, it was his.
Luther’s chin lowered in a menacing glare. “If you’re getting any thoughts about trying to put me on Diem’s throne . . .”
“I don’t have to,” Remis said. He glanced at me, something unspoken hiding in his guarded features.
Though I had never realized it in the moment, Remis had gone to surprising lengths to keep me alive—allying with me to protect me in the Challenging, teaching me how to make myself seem less of a threat, writing his letter to the Fortos King.
If Remis believed my death would make Luther King, he could have accomplished it many times.
It begged the question, then . . . what else had he seen in that vision?
“You see?” Lily said. “It was all a misunderstanding. Father loves you, Luther. He doesn’t want to hurt Diem.” Lily beamed. “There’s no more reason to fight. We can all be a family now.”
The answering silence was uncomfortable. Me, contemplating my demise; Remis, looking exhausted of the lifelong war with his son; Luther, looking no less angry than before.
Though the last year had been rocky for the Bellators, my family’s reconciliation seemed inevitable. We had a lifetime of happy memories together, and all three of us were eager to return to the smooth road we’d always known.
But the Corbois had never been a happy family. My mother’s secrets were trivial next to the violence and betrayal that lay between Garath, Remis, and their sons. They would have to pave a whole new path, if it could still be tread at all.
“Look,” Lily cried, “it’s time for the Gilded Gryvern!” She grabbed my wrist and began to tug.
“Lily, I—wait, we should—” Her dainty frame was stronger than it looked, dragging me away despite my attempts to resist. “Your brother, he—”
“Needs to talk,” she finished for me, “and Father needs to listen. They’re both too proud to do that if we’re around.
” Hair fluttered across her forehead as she blew out a vexed sigh.
“Men, right? Besides, you need to catch the Gilded Gryvern. Then Luther will have to believe that Father will protect you.” Her expression briefly turned grave. “No one hurts a Corbois mate.”
“Lily, what are you talking about? What’s a Gilded Gryvern?”
She squealed. “It’s a mating day tradition!
” She finally stopped at the crowd’s edge, where the guests were gathering beneath a massive, glowing sphere floating high in the air.
Just below it, Taran and Zalaric stood together, one hand each extended to the sky.
Magic flowed from their palms—light from Zalaric, shadows from Taran—and rose toward the orb, enrobing it in a film of shimmering blue.
“They’re making a shield,” she explained. She spotted Eleanor and Teller, waving to catch their attention. “If it’s strong enough to last until the song ends, every guest has to give them one gold mark.”
The musicians struck up a soft, lighthearted melody as Eleanor reached our side with a breathless laugh. “Zal says that if anyone breaks his shield, he’s charging them five thousand gold marks for all the time he spent folding.” She grinned. “Still worth it.”
“Folding what?” I asked, but their attention had already been stolen by a jagged bolt of Lumnos light crackling through the air.
It hit the orb and sizzled away, and a groan of disappointment rose from the crowd.
A moment later, a shadowy spear crashed into the shield, to no effect—then a plume of Ignios flame, followed by a whipcrack of Arboros vine.
“Let’s try one together,” Lily suggested, and Eleanor nodded. They lifted their hands toward the orb and let loose dual columns of glittering sparks. It hit the shield at the same moment as a large volley of shadowed darts, but the shield didn’t so much as quiver.
The music’s tempo picked up pace, and so did the attacks. All across the crowd, magic shot from palms and thundered against the gleaming orb. “Is that all you’ve got?” Taran roared, though his expression was hopeful. He seemed to want them to defeat his shield even more than they did.
My brother strolled up, and I arched a questioning eyebrow.
He shrugged. “They didn’t teach this one at school.
” The other mortals in attendance looked equally baffled, though the Descended’s excitement was contagious.
They shouted encouragements at one another as the music grew faster, and groups clumped together to combine their magic into more powerful bursts.
“What happens if someone pierces the shield?” I asked.
Eleanor and Lily shared a smile. “You’ll see,” they answered in unison, then fired off another joint assault.
Soon the crowd was working as one, counting down aloud before unleashing coordinated blows.
The cloying scent of roses disappeared beneath a strange magic-infused perfume of smoky fire, earthy moss, and the salty brine of ocean breeze.
Zalaric let out a victorious laugh as his shield remained flawlessly intact.
Lily’s shoulders drooped. “It’s not going to work, he’s too strong.”
“Diem’s stronger,” Eleanor said proudly. “I bet she can do it on her first try.”
“Oh, um—I wish I could,” I stammered. “My magic’s still gone.”
Eleanor and Lily sulked. Lily looked hopefully toward Luther, but when she saw him still deep in conversation with their father, she bit her lip and looked away.
They both turned their focus back to casting magic.
My brother, on the other hand—too damn smart for his own good, or mine—slowly leaned toward me.
“From the flameroot?” he murmured.
I had to bite down hard to stop from cringing. Teller had watched me take flameroot for years, and he was the only one who knew when I began skipping doses. He’d also been studying its effects for weeks to refine the poison he’d invented. If anyone knew how long flameroot took to fade, it was him.
“Yep,” I said—too brightly. “Vance must have given me a pretty strong dose.”
“How strong? It’s never taken this long before.”
I shrugged—too blandly. “I’m sure it’ll start coming back any day now.”
“It hasn’t even started to return? Most Descended begin to gradually feel it within—”
“I’m not most Descended,” I snapped—too sharply.
Teller’s eyes narrowed. He leaned in close, voice hushed. “D, what are you hiding?”
The music was thunderous now and racing toward an end at an urgent speed.
Its pretty tune had turned shrill, accentuated by Zalaric’s cackling.
Though tiny fissures had begun to appear, the shield was nowhere close to giving way.
Heads in the crowd began to swivel in search of a last-minute savior.
One by one, they all came to rest on me.
“Come on, Queenie,” Taran shouted. “You’ve already freed six gryverns—what’s a few hundred more?”
Zalaric’s triumphant pride faltered. Unlike Taran, he could sense my aura, and though he’d been kind enough to keep it to himself, I’d caught just enough of his curious glances to know that he had noticed its absence.
I looked at Luther, silently pleading for help. His gaze instantly snapped to mine—then, seeing me safe and surrounded by smiling friends, returned to his father.