Page 32 of Burn of the Everflame

“His army is made up of your people, is it not?” Sophos asked. “Are the Guardians willing to kill their own?”

Auralie didn’t immediately answer. She turned to Cordellia, their heads bending low in hushed conversation. After a moment, Auralie pulled back and held Cordellia’s gaze in a long, solemn stare. Her eyes touched briefly on me before returning to the Crowns.

“The Guardians who have joined Ophiucae . . . many of them have lost loved ones at a Descended’s hands. They have lived in poverty, with no way to get out. They suffered under your rule, and they want you to feel the same pain. I cannot blame them. It’s the least you deserve.”

The Crowns stiffened, some looking away.

“However,” she continued, “I can’t agree that genocide is ever a solution. I believe a future is possible where we live together in peace, but only if we do so as equals. So . . .” She paused. “Yes. If you accept our demands, we will help you.”

A potent energy seemed to crackle through the room. The Crowns exchanged stares and whispered feverishly with their advisors.

“But if you want us to win,” she added, “we’ll need you to hand over a weapon currently in your possession.”

“Absolutely not,” the Vice General barked. “We cannot arm rebel scum. They’ll use it against us the second that man is dead.”

“Would you rather we die instead?” Eleanor asked him. “The mortals are offering to help us. Show some respect.”

That was a pleasant surprise. Eleanor was adept at navigating Descended social dynamics, which had made her a useful ally to Diem, but insecurity held her back. She rarely joined an argument, even among friends.

And she’d just used her voice in a meeting of Crowns.

It was Diem’s influence, I knew. The faith she’d shown by making Eleanor her Regent had set my cousin’s confidence ablaze. She’d done the same for Taran, Alixe, Lily . . . even me.

Find her, my godhood begged, softening from a demand to a broken, doleful plea. Save her.

“They deserve a prison, not respect,” the Vice General snarled.

“Silence,” Sophos snapped. “You two may represent your realms, but you are not Crowns. Be like Remis here, and know your place.”

My father bristled. If he’d believed his longtime alliance with Doriel had won him respect, he was evidently mistaken.

“What is this weapon you want?” Meros asked.

Auralie raised her chin. “My daughter, Diem.”

The room went quiet.

“Unfortunately,” Sophos said slowly, as if being careful of every letter, every sound, “that is not an option.”

“Then this meeting is over.” Auralie pushed to her feet. “Best of luck with your war.” She moved to leave, and I rose to follow. To Cordellia’s credit, she did the same, offering no hint of the objections she’d raised in Arboros.

Sophos jumped up. “Surely we can come to some other agreement.”

“Those are our terms,” Auralie called out, continuing for the door.

Meros rubbed his brow. “I knew this would happen.”

“Wait—wait, wait,” Sophos pleaded. “Give us a moment to . . .” They looked around anxiously. “ . . . to discuss.”

Auralie stopped but refused to return, hovering steps from the exit as a pointed reminder.

Sophos scurried to Ignios’s side and huddled close as they began to whisper. Their faces were equally ashen, though Sophos looked near panic, while Ignios looked near death.

He also looked oddly amused.

“Perhaps we should consider it,” Arboros said loudly. “We could use Diem’s help, too.”

“Are you mad?” Faunos cried. “She has four Crowns, Mireille. You think she won’t slit our throats for a fifth?”