“I could get information when I’m there,” Esmyra countered. “Idon’t care if they have velsinyte. Now that I know, I’ll be careful. Do you plan to just wait here until they arrive at our fucking gates?”
“We’ll be declaring war on Irah and the other gods, but we need to wait until the velsinyte is under control.” Syrena moved toward the door, halting in its archway. “I’m asking this of you as my sister. My life is bound to yours now too, after all. There’s no need to be selfish.”
Esmyra’s jaw dropped, but Syrena didn’t wait for a response before she stormed into the hall.
CHAPTER 19
Draevyn
The sky was several shades of gray the morning of the funeral, and heavy clouds pressed down on Lephyrin like a suffocating cloak. The cold air bit into Draevyn’s skin as he stood in the royal courtyard surrounded by stone walls, while banners of ruby and gold fluttered lifelessly in the wind.
The handmaidens and healers had dressed his father in the finest silks and adorned his head with the royal crown as his body was laid atop the pyre. The crowd whispered great things of the fallen king as they bustled in, but most knew every word was a lie.
And all Draevyn saw was the cold, pale corpse of a man who ruled with greed and fire until the very end.
The crowd was massive—nobles, soldiers, priestesses, and common folk all forced to gather, their heads bowed in what could barely pass for mourning. None of them wept for the man, and for that, at least, Draevyn was grateful.
His father didn’t deserve his subjects to mourn his passing. If anything, they should be celebrating.
Atlas stood tall at the front with Elowynne at his side, both dressed in black as shadows swirled at their feet. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed in a thin line, and his eyes were…cold.
He and Draevyn still hadn’t spoken since the death of the king,but Elowynne’s warning replayed in his mind nearly every second. He watched her as she just stood at his brother’s side, back straight, eyes focused on the crowd while her thumb stroked the top of his hand.
At least she seemed to comfort him.
The priestesses droned on about honor, duty, and sacrifice. About how King Barrett Rowe was the first to rule with shadow and fire, and the first king to be gifted magic in the form of his heirs by Irah himself.
It was all so godsdamn laughable. Draevyn stared at the pyre, rage twisting his gut as he listened to all the lies. There was no honor in what his father did.
His fists shook at his sides as the words washed over him. They spoke of legacy, of how his heir, Atlas, would now take it over. But no one dared speak of the blood he’d spilled. Of the famish and ruin he’d caused in his own kingdom.
The courtyard fell silent as Atlas stepped forward, his black cloak billowing in the wind as his gaze swept over the gathered crowd.
“Today, we bury a king. Today”—his voice faltered for a moment—“we bury my father. A man who brought this kingdom to what it is today. The Rowe blood built Lephyrin’s throne, and while many don’t agree with how it was done, it washisrule that finally brought us power.”
Draevyn’s teeth clenched at the words. The power his rule brought their kingdom was bought with the life of his sons.
“Now, the weight of this crown falls to me.” Atlas straightened his shoulders, looking like a proud king. “I swear before you all here and now that I will not falter. I will not break. I will rule with strength, with fire, and with the will to burn our enemies to ash.”
His eyes flicked briefly to Draevyn as he stood silently off to the side, trying to hide the disgust from his features. Atlas was already using Draevyn’s magic as a threat.
“Any who stand against our kingdom,anywho dare threaten what he built, will meet the same fate,” Atlas continued. “Now, Prince Draevyn…”
Draevyn’s body tensed.
“Will you do the honors and send our fallen king home?” Atlas gestured to their father’s body atop the pyre as they locked eyes.
Fall in line, his brother’s gaze seemed to say.
Draevyn’s nostrils flared as he obeyed, giving a subtle nod as he lifted a hand toward the pyre.
“May King Barrett Rowe’s fire burn eternal,” Atlas announced.
Flames sparked at Draevyn’s fingertips, and he thrust his hand forward. A roar of fire erupted, and the pyre’s wood was consumed instantly in a roar of scarlet and gold. Heat blasted over the courtyard as the blaze twisted high into the sky, smoke rising like a dark signal to the gods.
As the flames devoured what was left of their father’s body, the crowd remained frozen, their faces pale in the glow of the fire. The smell of smoke, ash, and burning flesh choked the air.
No one moved until Atlas turned away from the inferno and fixed his gaze on the crowd.
