Page 25 of Burn of the Everflame

In simpler chairs placed near each one, I recognized several other Regents and High Generals. I led Eleanor to one such seat, strategically placed between the thrones of Lumnos and Montios.

“Who is she?” the Fortos Vice General demanded.

“The Regent of this realm,” I answered calmly.

“So she claims,” my father rushed out. “Until Her Majesty confirms it, the position remains with me.”

Faunos rolled her eyes. “He’s the only Regent we recognize, Prince.”

“She is the only one we recognize,” Auralie said. “So it seems we’re at an impasse.”

I shot her a grateful nod as the Crowns crowded around the Ignios throne, trading frowns and whispers. “We cannot seat two Regents of Lumnos,” I heard one of them mumble.

“Then let Eleanor sit as the Regent of Montios,” I called out. “Or Fortos.” I smiled coldly. “Or Umbros.”

I took careful note of the reactions that followed. The Crowns looked uneasy—but unsurprised. The Fortos Vice General’s sneer also showed no sign of shock.

My father, however . . . he, Alixe, and Eleanor wore mirrored looks of stupor.

It seemed the Crowns had been keeping more secrets.

Without awaiting their response, I left Eleanor and walked to the seat on Auralie’s left. I gave deep bows to her, then to Cordellia, and awaited their acknowledgment before taking my seat. Such theater of formality was comical for the Guardians, but to the Crowns, it was a message in a language they would understand.

Finally, my attention turned to the burnt orange gaze of the Ignios King. What I saw wasn’t the fiery tyrant I’d battled on the beach—what I saw was barely human. He seemed to have shrunk half in size, his limbs propped limply on large cushions, stick-thin where his muscles had been eaten away beneath sagging, papery skin. Blackened skin.

Nearly every inch of him was covered in thick tangles of dark, pulsating swirls. Only a few patches of flesh peeked through, but even those had gone greyish and ashy. The onyx veins had even crept into his eyes, turning the whites to a murky yellow-black.

It took me a moment to understand. Another moment to acknowledge where the foul smell had come from, and why it had set my memory writhing.

Godstone.

The Ignios King was not dead—but very soon, he would be.

I had not laughed often in my life. In my entire adulthood, I could count the number of times I had lost myself to uncontrollable laughter on one hand, with fingers to spare.

Today, I laughed.

Loudly.

Joyously.

“You’ll burn for this,” Ignios hissed. No, croaked. His voice was as tainted as his body, reduced to a crackly rasp.

Tears formed in the crinkled corners of my eyes as my laughter grew.

“Prince,” Arboros scolded. “Godstone poisoning is a grave matter.”

“Oh, I’m quite aware.” I grinned at him with hateful glee. “How did it happen? Was it one of the mortals? Ah, what justice that would be.”

“Luther,” my father said sternly. “That’s enough.”

“This is the type of monster we sit across from?” Ignios shouted—wheezed—at the other Crowns. “Those who take pleasure in our dying?”

Auralie lounged in her chair, saying nothing.

Faunos cocked her head at Sophos. “You told us you had a cure.”

Doriel squirmed in their seat. “I thought we had, but it didn’t work. It seems more research is needed.”