Chapter 84 #2
I wished I could feel some pride in her words, but my work there had been an act of survival. Slamming a hammer into nails for hours on end gave me an outlet for my rage, and it kept me from having to talk.
Everyone wanted to fucking talk. If I had to answer the question “How are you feeling?” one more time, I was going to swim across the Sacred Sea and impale myself on a branch of the Everflame. At least then I’d be with Diem.
But I’d made her a promise.
As ready as I’d been to abandon it when she died, somewhere in those long hours I spent alone on the island, kneeling among the Everflame’s roots until Taran arrived to coax me home, I decided that I owed it to Diem to try.
“You know,” Auralie said, “there’s another house I know that could use some work . . .”
I groaned. “Don’t start. It’s got a roof and a door. That’s good enough.”
“Luther, she wanted you to finish it.”
“I never should have told you that.”
“Well, you did. And I agree with my daughter.”
Against my repeated, loudly expressed wishes, Auralie had come by the house I built for me and Diem every morning, then stopped in again every night.
Though I usually grumbled at her to leave, she’d linger for hours, putting food in front of me and watching with arms crossed until I ate every bite.
She’d done it silently at first, mouth twitching with things she was fighting not to speak. Eventually, she began to offer advice.
You should put a window on the western wall. Diem liked to watch the sun as it sets.
You’ll need to make the table a long one. She would have insisted on enough seats for the whole family to come.
Make sure to add some fencing in the gardens. Diem got so angry when the wild rabbits ate her herbs.
I still hadn’t decided whether I hated it or loved it.
She gave my arm a light slap. “Honestly, Luther, you can’t keep sleeping on a bare wooden floor. You’re punishing yourself. Diem wouldn’t want that.”
How could I explain to her that it wasn’t a punishment—it was my one small comfort, a reminder of the night Diem and I had spent together as brand-new mates?
Sometimes, if the fire was warm enough, I could even imagine she was curled up against me, sleeping in my arms. Painting over the walls and laying down rugs felt like erasing her from the one place I still felt her presence.
I closed a hand around Diem’s gold pendant, which I’d taken to wearing on a leather cord around my neck. “I like the house the way it is, Auralie.”
I looked over at her, letting my mask slip just enough for her to understand. Her mouth gave a small pinch. “I won’t speak of it again.”
“Thank you. And thank you for looking after me—I know I have not made it easy.”
“You’re my son, Luther. I’ll always look after you.”
Warmth seeped into the gloomy abyss that had become my soul. It had been a very long time since I’d had a mother figure in my life. I never thought I would again.
Maybe this was Auralie’s way of coping with her children’s deaths, by throwing her motherly fussing into me instead. Maybe this was what she needed to heal.
Maybe it was what I needed, too.
“You’re kinder to me than my own parent,” I said.
She frowned. “I thought you and Remis were making progress.”
“We were. Then he told me I was turning into Ulther.”
She scowled. “You’re nothing like Ulther.”
But I was. My late uncle had been a hollow, useless husk of a King, letting others run the realm while he wallowed over the death of his mate. At times, I’d despised him for neglecting his people. Other times, I’d pitied him for a heartbreak I never thought I’d understand.
Now . . . I’d become him.
There was a long way to go before I could trust that my father’s encouragement to embrace the role of King was motivated by more than his own self-interest, but he was right nonetheless.
“Leave Marthe Hanoverre her mansion,” I said. “She’ll be more trouble than it’s worth if we don’t. Move whoever still needs a home into the vacant Hanoverre properties. Tell Marthe it’s an order from His Majesty, the King.”
Auralie sat up, eyebrows rising. “Very well.”
“I’ll speak with Ailani. The Faunosians will be gone by the end of the week—without our animals. I’ll speak with the farmers, too, but you’ll have to come with me. They’re more likely to hear me out if you’re there.”
Her lips tightened, trying to suppress a smirk. Fuck, it reminded me so much of Diem.
“I’ll be happy to come along,” she said.
“And Fortos . . .” I blew out a breath. “Fortos is a mess.”
“They’re used to hierarchy. They don’t know what to do without a clear leader to take command.”
I looked at the wooden chest at my feet. “Then I guess I’ll have to give them one.”
Auralie leaned over and reopened the lid, scooping the crown from its velvet pillow. She held it at her waist for a moment, closing her eyes and murmuring a quiet prayer to the Old Gods. When she finished, she turned to me and lifted it high.
I hesitated. I hadn’t prayed since Diem’s death. The only thing I was willing to offer the Kindred was rage, and I resented the Old Gods for taking her body. Still, it felt wrong to take a mortal crown without acknowledging them in some way.
My eyes closed.
I will not ask for your guidance, I told them.
No matter how benevolent you may be, too much cruelty has been inflicted in the name of some god or another.
The people of this world need to act for each other now.
The hurt we cause in life has to matter more than any reward we may or may not receive in death.
But I will ask you for one thing: Give her peace. Let her rest. And if the life I lead is judged unworthy, don’t make her suffer for my failure.
I dipped my chin to lower my head, and Auralie set the crown atop it. “May the Old Gods answer both our prayers,” she said.
I angled my neck, testing the weight and balance.
It was heavy for something so plain. The fit was snug, its sharp edges digging into my skin.
It seemed like the kind of crown that never became comfortable, no matter how long it sat on your head.
The kind you always felt the weight of. The kind that might come tumbling off if it wasn’t worn with care.
Exactly how a crown should feel.
Auralie leaned back, evaluating my new look. Though she’d been the one to put it there, I saw her trepidation. Even Diem as Queen had been something Auralie tolerated, never celebrated.
“If I ever become anything like the old Descended Crowns, promise me you’ll take this thing back,” I insisted, hoping to ease her concern.
“Oh, you can be certain of that. I won’t have a Bellator King give me a bad name.” She winked, and I smiled—something I hadn’t done in three months.
“You asked me a question,” she said. “I should ask you the same. Be honest with me, Luther. Is there anything you need?”
I quickly shook my head. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not, and neither am I. But we go on regardless.” She took my hand and folded it in hers. “Tell me what you need. There must be something.”
My eyes turned back to the statue. When I looked at its somber face, I saw only the woman who inspired it, her beautiful smile spread wide.
“Just her,” I whispered.
Across the room, the door creaked open, and a small, surprised “oh” echoed through the rafters.
“I’m sorry,” Lily said, staring at me and easing backward. “I didn’t mean to disturb.”
I felt another pang of shame. I’d been curt with my sister, and everyone else, every time they tried to join me here. This shrine to Diem left me feeling vulnerable in a way I could only bear to face alone.
“Come in,” I called out, waving her over.
She lit up. “Really?” She strode inside. “Wait . . . are you wearing a crown?”
“You know how I’ve always dreamed of being King.”
Lily giggled at my disdainful tone. Back when I’d been King Ulther’s heir apparent, she knew it was a role I never wanted, nor intended, to take.
“Would you two like some privacy?” Auralie asked.
Lily looked up at the statue, then shook her head.
“There’s something I want to tell you, both of you—well, I wanted to tell Diem first, but I suppose she already knows—do you think they all know everything up there?
—and you’re both already here, and maybe so is Diem, so I guess I can tell all three of you at the same time, which is kind of a relief because I’m already a little scared and I’m afraid I might just talk and talk and never get it out and I—”
“Lily,” Auralie cut in. She slid away from me, then patted the bench between us. “Come. Sit.”