Page 44 of Glow of the Everflame

And as hard as I tried to summon the rage I had grown so accustomed to, I couldn’t do it. I could not hate Luther for keeping his promises. Not anymore.

“There’s nothing I can do to convince you to tell me where she is?”

His head gave the slightest shake. “I’m sorry.”

His grip resisted as I pulled away, though he let me go. I turned my back to him and walked to the table where the breakfast spread lay forgotten.

“Go. Leave me be.”

A long moment passed with no words and no movement from either of us. Finally, his footsteps crossed the room to the exit and paused, followed by the sound of a door cracking open.

“I will not break my promise, but I can give you this,” he said. “If she isn’t back by year end, I’ll go get her and bring her to you myself. You have my word.”

My heart leapt. The end of the year was two months away. If I could survive the Challenging and make it through the coronation...

I whirled around to respond, but Luther was already gone.

ChapterTen

Eleanor and I spent the morning plotting a plan of attack for the Ascension Ball. More accurately, I sat in a stupor, mentally processing my conversation with Luther, while Eleanor kindly pretended not to notice as she deliberated over the most strategic combination of dresses, jewelry, and hair.

I didn’t tell her about Henri or Aemonn, the latter because I was embarrassed, and the former because I had no answers for the questions I knew she would ask.

The need to tell Henri—and my father—about the Crown was growing heavier by the second. The last thing I wanted was for either of them to find out through idle gossip, but no amount of standing in front of the mirror and wishing it away had made the Crown so much as flicker, and I couldn’t very well walk into Mortal City with the Crown on my head and a pack of Royal Guards at my hip.

I had to find a solution... and soon.

Eleanor and I had moved to our favorite spot on the back terrace of the gardens, basking in the afternoon sun. After confiding that she’d always wanted to be an artist, I’d coaxed her into showing me her work. Her drawings were impressively realistic, so vivid they seemed to move across the page.

Having then begged her to sketch me a portrait of Sorae, the one thing about the Crown I was unequivocally grateful for, we’d lured the gryvern to the terrace with a barrel of waxy green apples that I was now waving enticingly to hold her attention.

“Tell me about your cousins,” I said.

Eleanor squinted, studying Sorae’s features. “Which cousins? I’ve got hundreds.”

“Just the important ones.”

“Who do you consider important?”

“I’m more interested in whoyouconsider important.”

I jerked away from Sorae’s snout as she nipped at the apple in my hand. She huffed and whipped her tail in frustration. Despite her menacing appearance, the beastly tantrum was so endearing I gave in and tossed her the fruit.

“She’s spoiled enough as it is, you know,” Eleanor warned with a laugh. “Speaking of spoiled... I know you’re already familiar with cousin Aemonn.”

I shot her a look at the suggestive eyebrows she wiggled in my direction. “He’s been very welcoming, though he doesn’t seem to be popular around here.”

“On the contrary, he’sverypopular. Just not with the male cousins. They’ve lost many a prospective lover to his winks and smiles—and Aemonn never lets them forget it.”

The memory of our unsettling garden stroll had my smile fading. “Is he trustworthy?”

She shrugged. “He’s ambitious. His magic is weak, so he’s had to make up for it with charm and wits.” She flipped her hair back and smirked. “Just like me. I’m not surprised he was the first to try to get in your good graces. He knows how to court power.”

“And should I let him in my good graces?”

She chewed thoughtfully on the tip of her pencil. “He could be helpful to you. He knows the other Houses well, and he always has the best court gossip—other than me, of course. But everything with Aemonn is an exchange. Whatever he gives, he always demands something of greater value in return. It may be enough for him that you’re the Queen and he wants your favor, but he could just as easily sell gossipaboutyou as sell ittoyou.”

I groaned. How had I managed to spill one of my most sensitive secrets to a man infamous for selling them?

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