Page 13 of Spark of the Everflame

Henri held his free hand up in mock surrender. “Sorry. Family business. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Unlikely,” I joked, though I shot him an appreciative look as we turned onto the main road leading into Mortal City.

“How’s school?” he asked Teller. “Are our magical overlords treating you with kindness and respect?”

Teller wrinkled his nose at Henri’s dripping sarcasm. “All they talk about is who will take over once the King dies. They’re even taking bets on it. The man’s on his deathbed, and they’re circling like vultures.”

“Deathbed?” I frowned. “The King is dying?”

“You haven’t heard?” Teller’s lips parted in an incredulous stare. “Diem, he’s been sick for months. They say he’s nearly gone now. He lays in bed and stares at the ceiling, waiting for the end.”

“How sad,” I murmured as I thought of the many patients I’d treated in similar states. Teller was still staring at me with a strange look, and I arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“You really didn’t know?”

“How would I have known?”

“Because Mother was treating him.”

“Ourmother?” I blinked. “She was treating King Ulther?”

Henri matched my brother’s odd expression. “What did you think she was doing up at the palace every day?”

I shook my head. “This doesn’t make sense. If his condition is that serious, why not call in a Descended from Fortos? With their healing magic, they could do far more than a mortal healer could.”

“You know Descended can’t use their magic while they’re outside of their home realm,” Teller said.

“And you know as well as I do that the Crowns can get around any rule they want,” I shot back, earning a loud grunt of agreement from Henri.

Teller shrugged. “Maybe it’s not something a magical healer can fix. My Law of the Crown professor says sometimes the Forging magic itself will decide it’s time for the Crown to change hands, even if they’re young and healthy.”

“If that’s the case, why not simply strike him dead?” I asked. “Letting the man waste away slowly for months seems needlessly cruel.”

“Maybe the magic is as corrupt and soulless as the people who wield it,” Henri muttered. I shivered at the coldness in his voice. He pulled me in tighter, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

Henri didn’t just dislike the Descended—hedespisedthem. Some nights we would lay out by the water, staring at the stars, and he would tell me of his dream that one day Emarion would be free of the Descended and their magic, united into a single nation, as it had been so long ago. I had always dismissed it as a fantasy, but lately there had been a spark in his eyes when he spoke of it—a sense of certainty that day was coming, and that we would be alive to see it.

“Do the Descended really have no idea who the next Crown will be?” I asked.

“None,” Teller answered. “In theory, the magic chooses the most powerful Descended, but measuring their power is more art than science. Some of them can do flashy tricks, but their power drains quickly. Others can only do small things, but they can sustain it forever, even while they sleep.”

“Who’s the betting pool favorite?”

“Prince Luther, the King’s nephew. He’s incredibly powerful, no matter how you measure it. He’s one of the only Lumnos Descended that can wield both light magic and shadow magic.”

I felt Henri tense beside me, his gait faltering, though he said nothing. I shot him a questioning look. “Have you met him?”

His lips formed a tight line. “He comes into town on occasion. He likes to skulk around and gather information. No better than an Umbros spy, if you ask me.”

I looked to my brother. “Haveyoumet him?”

“No, but his sister Lily is in my class. Princess Lilian, I mean. She’s... really nice.” If his splotchy, blushing cheeks hadn’t betrayed him, his casual use of her nickname would have.

“Really nice, huh?” I teased. “Is Lily also really... pretty?” My accusatory grin stretched from ear to ear.

He glared. “She’s Descended. They’reallreally pretty.”

“Let me rephrase. Do I need to hunt Lily down and threaten to slip rosebane into her morning tea if she breaks my little brother’s heart?”

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